#and also so much more but from the top of my head

[iamthatonefangirl]

riding beefy bucky while he praises the living shit out of you bug also degrading you just a little (freaking love your work!!!!!!!!)

forever - nsfw beefy bucky

oh you know it anon. I love beefy bucky and his LIPS and his HAIR and his ARMS

(lmk if you'd like to pick an emoji ily)

~~~

he's laying back on the bed, sheets mussed and soaked in sweat. he's craning his neck up to look at you, all while he's whining like a baby and watching you move up and down so perfectly on his dick.

"god, you're such a good little whore for me. taking it so well for me, just like always, you know that, babydoll?"

he grabs at the flesh of your ass before running his hand up to the small of your back where he pushes gently down on you to keep you from moving again. the sudden change surprises you when he doesn't let you up, holding you in place, just admiring the view from behind.

you've never ridden him like this before, facing away from him. while the feeling is heavenly, he misses seeing you.

"wanna see your pretty face, baby," he admits, completely out of breath. you smile to yourself, even as tired as you are, sweat dripping down your forehead and narrowly missing falling into your eyes.

you un-straddle him and turn around to lay on him for a moment, resting a hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his soft, perky lips.

he grips you by the waist, dipping his tongue into your mouth lazily as you kiss for a few slow minutes. everything else seems so infinitesimal as you feel him kissing you so perfectly. somehow he just makes you feel whole, especially when he kisses you like this, like he's truly trying to show you how much he loves you.

eventually, you both get yourself worked up again. he manhandles you without any effort at all, easily picking you up and moving your entire weight on top of him. he wraps a hand around the base of his length and begins to rut up against you, coating himself in your arousal once again.

"love the way you react to me," he says, still sounding like he's stunned into breathlessness. you always take his breath away with your inherent beauty. "such a good girl. so pretty. letting me fuck her the way she deserves," he heaves while he notches his tip against your opening.

he slowly pulls you back down onto him, stretching you out once again. he's far more pleased with this position, watching your every facial expression as he opens you up for him.

he's so big, you wonder every time how it fits inside you. "made for me," he whispers when your hips meet his, taking his entire length in stride.

"you're gonna be gaping for me, all open and loose, aren't you baby?" he teases, and you throw your head back a little bit while you begin to move on top of him.

he helps you, taking the strain off your knees. he's fucking you so beautifully, adjusting your hips under his grip to try and find your sweet spot.

"look at me, sweetheart," he pleads. he needs to see your face, the way your eyes are hooded with lust for him, the way your jaw clenches and relaxes...

"tell me you're my good girl.”

"oh..." is all you manage as he finally thrusts just right to make you whine out into the room.

he watches as your jaw drops slightly to form the syllable, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your skin and the droplets of sweat on your brow.

you're fucking stunning like this. tits on display, face tilted perfectly to let him watch you, letting yourself go as you ride him.

"sweetheart?" he goads, patting your ass gently. "what did I say?"

"your good girl," you affirm for him, knowing it's true. "only for you."

"who stretches you open so good, hmm? who's allowed to fuck you til you're a wet, gaping mess?"

"you, Bucky. only you," you whisper, bringing your fingertips to your clit to send you over the edge.

"uh-uh. when I'm fucking you, I'm the one who pleaures you, baby," he corrects, batting your hand away and replacing it with his own.

once upon a time, you were too scared to ride him like this. but with a lot of encouragement and kisses and orgasms, you gained the courage. he fucking adores the way you're so shameless, granting him the privilege of seeing every inch of you this way.

"yes, please, Bucky," you reply, so in love with the feeling of his fingers on you.

he sees the way you're getting tired, and even with his help, it's a lot of work. good thing he's so damn strong.

he digs his metal fingers in deeper to the plush of your waist and sits up, bringing your chests together. he practically lifts you over and over, doing all the work for you, all with one hand. you love how strong he is, how his muscles and his tits and his tummy are all so delectable.

his flesh fingers continue to work you between your legs where you're joined, and he begins to whisper in your ear. "my pretty baby. too weak to even ride me til she comes, isn't that right?"

"need your help, Bucky, always," you say, spurring him on. you love when he gets like this; you know how it helps his self-esteem, feeling like you actually need him for something. which of course, you do. how he could ever doubt that is beyond you.

"tell me you love me," he says out of nowhere. "please, baby. say my name when you come. and tell me you love me."

he's the one sounding so desperate now. you hear the vulnerability in his words, the way he's getting in his head.

you grip his hair gently but firmly, bringing him to make eye contact with you.

"I love you, James. I love you forever," you affirm.

he nods, taking in your words. it's hard for him to accept, but he knows you mean it. he trusts you, he loves you. he knows you're going to tell him the truth, always.

"I love you, too, baby. love you forever, too," he whines. even for a man of such strength and resolve, you see it begin to crack as his face contorts in need and the movements of his hips begin to falter.

"come on, pretty girl. let me see you come," he encourages. "let me see how good I make you feel written all over your gorgeous face."

at that, you grit your teeth and let it happen. he loves your expressions, the natural responses you have to everything, and he loves to see your face when you come.

you tried to hide your face from him one time when you came, and he was not pleased.

"James," you whine, and your voice breaks as you come. you squeeze him like a vice, sending him into his own orgasm.

he lets out a beautiful cry, saying your name and a soft "love you, baby."

he leans into you, holding you close to his chest, letting your heat soak into his skin. you pepper kisses over his soft cheeks and his lips.

"I love you, baby. so much. always and forever," you whisper as you worship him the way he deserves.

"I love you, baby. gonna make sure you're mine forever. never gonna let anything happen to you..."

~~~

uhh someone tell me where this softness came from. but I guess even with the shameless smut I write I'm still a lovergirl at heart smh

anyways its after 11:30pm and I just wrote this but I had to get a post out before the day is over bc i love you all

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially

[lazysoulwriter]

private island, public love. – pedro pascal. ♡

requested! thank you so much.

---

You kind of expected a quiet dinner at home.

Something chill. Just the two of you. Maybe takeout, maybe the playlist he swears he made “just because,” even though you caught the filename: 1yrbabygirl. Maybe cuddles on the couch. Maybe more than cuddles.

You didn’t expect… all this.

There’s candlelight flickering across silverware. Soft music playing under the quiet sound of the ocean, just beyond the balcony. A dress you found laid out on the bed earlier — new, your size, your style, complete with a little note written in his chicken-scratch cursive: for tonight, mi amor. He’s seated across from you now in a crisp white shirt, top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled just enough to make you feel dizzy every time he moves.

You smile over your wine glass. “You went all out, huh?”

Pedro grins. “Only our first anniversary once.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“Good.”

Your chest squeezes. God, you love him. And just when you think it can’t get any better, your phone buzzes.

Your heart skips a beat when you see it: Pedro Pascal just posted a photo.

It’s the two of you from earlier in the evening. Your hand in his. Your smile wide, head tilted toward him. His caption is simple:

One year of loving you. Not hiding it anymore.

The comments are already flooding in. And sure, your heart races at the idea of the world knowing. But it’s his smile across the table that really gets you.

You glance up. “Are you sure?”

He nods once, firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You’re still reeling from the post when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it like you’re in a damn fairytale.

“I also booked us a place,” he says, like it’s casual. “Three nights on the island. Just us.”

Your eyes go wide. “Pedro—what about filming? What about your schedule?”

“I cleared it.”

“You need to rest—”

“I rest when I’m with you.”

You blink, stunned silent for once in your life.

Pedro chuckles. “You’re seriously worried about me when I’ve been counting down the days to spoil you like this?”

You try to argue again, but he reaches for your cheek and brushes his thumb over your skin with that look — the one that shuts you up and makes your heart leap every single time.

“I love my work,” he says softly. “But I love you more. Come away with me, baby.”

You nod, swallowing back the emotions swelling in your throat. And just like that, Pedro Pascal makes your first anniversary the beginning of a hundred more.

[fairestwriting]

Hi omg I just found your blog ahfbxbd

Could you do smthn (a little drabble or hcs🤷‍♀️) of Leona when his (pref. Fem) s/o is on their period? Since he respects women so much and likely chugs Respect Women Juice (was that cringy?😭 mb)

Could do savanaclaw in general if you wanted but thats up to you and stuff<3 whatever works best for you

Sorry my brains working overtime lmao

Anywho please take care of yourself and drink water and eat something!!<3<3

wah tysm for the nice words! i’m happy you’ve been enjoying my blog!! <3 i haven’t done scenarios/drabbles in a long time so i thought well why not…

also tbh. even if it’s an old meme it’s never cringy for me. every man shoul chug respect women juice like he does.

ೀ pairing: leona kingscholar x f!reader

ೀ word count: 1,396

“…So yeah, it should be better by tomorrow, I think.” You say, letting out a sigh as you press the pillow to your stomach, but not too hard— Leona’s eyes just remain on you for the whole thing, like he’s committing every detail to memory. “It’s always worse on specific days.”

“Looks like it.” Finally showing any sort of reaction, Leona frowns slightly. “And you’re planning on just going to class anyway?”

“Well, I can’t miss an entire week every month, can I?” You huff out a quiet laugh, but he doesn’t seem to really share the sentiment. An alarmed feeling flashes on his eyes, slightly widening, and your laughter increases by the tiniest bit. “Oh my god, Leona, I’m fine. You’re looking at me like I told you I got stabbed.”

“You were *talking* like you got stabbed a few minutes ago.” He points out, glancing behind him towards the kitchen door. There’s the whistle of the kettle, finally— “I’ll get that.” He mutters before you can finish using up the small bits of strength you’d been conserving to get up.

“Do you even know how to fill a hot water bottle?” Naturally, you ask him. Leona’s ears go flat against the top of his head as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, Herbivore. I wasn’t raised in a barn.” He snarks at you. You raise your eyebrow, unconvinced, and he huffs. “You know I have cousins, right?”

“And you were the one filling those up for them?” You reply with another question, and he clicks his tongue, just making his way to the kitchen without a word.

His footsteps feel almost noisy, contrasting with the silence that the entire dorm building is submerged into. Grim was somewhere in there, in his bedroom, but you’d already told him to keep it down when you had a headache earlier.

He tried to be sassy at first, but quickly changed his tune— There are maybe certain traits of guys that transcend species, you think.

”Ow, fuck—“ You hear Leona’s hushed swear from the kitchen, and it gets a small laugh from you.

“Careful!” You call after him, the hint of the smile staying on your face. He doesn’t respond to it, but you can kind of imagine the look on his face.

…It’s a few more moments of aimlessly staring off into space until he’s coming back. The hot water bottle makes its characteristic sloshing noises with every step of his.

Right now, that basically sounds like the first notes of Heaven’s choir as the gates open for you. He holds the bottle by its neck with one hand, like he’s afraid of the heat radiating from it.

“You can just hand it over.” You tell him, and just now you notice he’s setting down a glass of water on the coffee table in the meantime.

“Aren’t you supposed to cover that up with something?” He asks, and you blink, confused for a second. “The bottle, Herbivore. This thing’s hot.”

“Oh, it can go on top of the blanket.”

“You sure that’s enough?”

“Yup. Just hand it over.”

He hesitates a little, but the bottle is with you soon enough. You exhale, sighing in relief as you feel the warmth against your body, slowly seeping through the rubber and getting its hands into the tightly wound painful spots on your abdomen.

Leona watches closely. You can see his eyes moving in small steps, following what little movement you make. He sits on the couch, right where your feet would be if you hadn’t curled up on yourself like that.

“Do you believe I know how to make those things yet?” A bit to your surprise, he’s the one to break the silence, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lip. You hum thoughtfully, hand resting on top of the hot water bottle like you’re grading it.

“Hm. Yeah, it’s not bad.” You shrug, shifting to get more comfortable. A surge of pain spikes through from the movement, making you wince, but the reward that comes later is enough. “Did you actually make them for your cousins?”

You ask the question absentmindedly as you pick up your phone, not planning to do anything in particular. He pauses. The silence tells you enough.

“…That’s what I thought.” You say with a smirk, mostly to yourself, and he makes an annoyed grunt.

“Oh, give me some credit. You said I did fine.” He complains, and your smile widens a little. “Is there anything else you need, or do I just get to be your footrest now?”

“Footrest is okay.” You snicker, looking up from the screen to see a spark of amusement on his face. Finally, you think, he was really looking so serious before. It’s almost funny to compare. “You’re gonna stay? I thought you had practice later.”

“I have practice whenever I feel like having practice.” Of course you do, you think as he shrugs. “We don’t have anything coming up anyway. I got more important things to do now.”

“Like being a footrest for your girlfriend.” You poke fun at him a little. The reaction you get is smaller than you expect.

“Yes, Herbivore. I’m booked for the whole afternoon.” He replies without missing a beat. You’re still kind of curled up, even though you’re laying more on your back now, but just to make the point, you let your legs shift a little, poking at his thigh. “I’m guessing those pain meds kicked in.”

“Oh, yeah. Thankfully.” You say, looking back at the screen, and Leona hums.

“…Do they actually take all of the pain away?”

“Not always, but it’s working pretty well now.”

At that, he frowns again. “And you’re saying you’ll just take those and go to class tomorrow.”

“…Yeah?”

Silence. Leona just kind of stares. You can kind of see the gears turning behind his eyes. It’s established this was his first time filling a hot water bottle, yeah, but you kind of wonder if it’s his first time helping someone with… anything period-related at all.

“Skipping is an option, you know.”

“Ugh, don’t tempt me. My attendance’s gonna go to hell.”

“You know I can just get that sorted out for you, right…” He replies in kind of a murmur.

…You said it like a joke, but he didn’t return that part of the gesture at all.

“What?” He asks, and you notice it’s been a few seconds since you started actually considering the pros and cons of skipping tomorrow’s classes.

It’s a little funny, how flustered he suddenly looks. And he only gives you that look *right now,* when you’re giving him that oh, I’m surprised you can be that nice look.

“Stop looking at me like that.” He mumbles, averting his eyes. “Just take the day off. No way you’re getting anything done if you feel like you’re getting ‘punched in the stomach’ for the whole day.”

…You’d used those exact words to describe your situation a few minutes ago, it reminds you. And he definitely wasn’t wrong, but…

“What about my notes, though…?” You protest, but your soul can’t be quite in it. It’s right at this moment that you feel your guts twist again, even through the muffling of the water bottle and the pills…

“I’ll pay Ashengrotto off to get you copies or something. Are you convinced enough now?” He responds without missing a beat. Your eyes widen a little at how eager it sounds. “C’mon, Herbivore. I know you’re stubborn, but it can’t be that bad of a deal.”

“Well, what if I’m also in pain the day after tomorrow? Would you pay for that too?” …You’re kind of just pushing back for the sake of it. It’s just how you talk to each other. You get a feeling Leona can sense that, especially when he gives you a smile

“I’ll make it a damn monthly subscription service if it means you’ll stay put when you’re in pain.” Again, he doesn’t miss a single beat.

You’re tempted to push back, but well…

It definitely sounded like a good idea, right now— And when you do agree to it, Leona gives you this grateful smile, you don’t think you’ve ever seen it on his face before.

And you smile back, getting the feeling this week definitely wouldn’t be as miserable as you expected it to,

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[cherrreid]

𝜗𝜚 MY LOVE , MINE, ALL MINE, ALL MINE ❤︎𝄢..

📞 — aftercare with JASON TODD 𝜗𝜚

✉️ — contents : : aftercare , mentions of jay's scars , fluff , yearner!jason todd , first time having sex ( in their relationship ) , grammatical errors , ooc (?)

✉️ — word count : : 1.9k

✉️ — vi whispers : : woohoo !! we reached 700!! also,, i'm still in the hospital, unfortunately. but i will be doing an event 😋 just expect,,, late responsdjes. back to my oldoldold format!!! NOW. this is acc for @fromdove !! like,, remember when i told you that i'll write you a reply?? well, here it is !! lol, how dare you be upset. + will be redoing my m.list. couldn't edit this bc my mom took my laptop

your skin still tingles. it's as if your entire body is remembering what just occurred in waves ▰ the weight of his palms, the way he spoke your name like it was something sacred. the air smells of sweat & heat & him. all is black except for the warm yellow light from the hallway seeping in through the half-open door. the blankets are kicked halfway off the bed, wrapped around your ankle. you're there with your chest rising & falling slow, like the only thing holding you to earth is the weight of his body beside yours.

he's on your side, one arm slung over your waist, forehead against your shoulder. breathing hard like he's still trying to come down. his palm glides up. your ribcage ▰ not sexually, just there, anchoring himself with you. his lips brush the back of your neck. you feel him smile a little.

"you okay?" he asks, but it's softer than normal. almost like he's afraid to screw this up.

you hum, nod, still panting. "yeah. better than okay."

jason pulls nack a little so that he can see your face. his hair is standing up in a dozen different directions, cheeks flushed, lips puffy. his eyes are dark & gentle & so, so exhausted. but they're all for you like you're the only thing in the world that exists. like perhaps he still can't get his head around you being with him, still with him after ▰ & not just forgotten like everything else.

"good," he mutters, but he still scans your face like he's trying to verify something. then, a beat behind, he adds, "didn't mean to be too rough."

you snort. "you weren't."

he's not looking convinced. his fingers are drawing small circles along your hip now. he doesn't say a word, just presses a kiss to your temple & exhales like his entire body is deflating. you reach down, grasp his hand in yours & bring it to your lips. kiss his knuckles. it's slow, gentle, & something in his chest stutters. cracks. hitched.

he rolls onto his back, arm still wrapped around your waist, & glares up at the ceiling as if it has answers scribbled all over it. his throat bobs as he swallows hard. you can tell he's thinking too much. his walls are still up, just thinner now ▰ llike he's cracking his door open a little, even if he's afraid.

"you sure you're okay?" he repeats. & it was the first time you both had sex ever since you two officially became a couple. & it's not just sex. it's everything. about how much he wishes he could be good to you. about the thousand demons in his chest that tell him he can't.

you shift closer until you're half on top of him, nose bumping his jaw. "jason," you whisper, & that's all it takes for him to relax a little.

his arm wraps tighter around you as if he's scared you'll disappear if he releases you. his other hand runs through your hair, hesitant at first, then more insistent, like he remembers you like it that way. he kisses your forehead, your cheek, the edge of your mouth. over & over, slow & soft, worshipping. he doesn't speak but his hands do ▰ they say thank you & i missed you even though we live in the same apartment & don't go.

his voice is hoarse when he speaks again at last. "lemme get you water."

"don't wanna move."

"i'll carry you."

you laugh into his neck. "you're naked."

he smiles, a little. "so are you."

"bold of you to assume i'm getting up."

"fine," he breathes, leaning his head to kiss you again on the jaw. "we'll dehydrate together. tragically romantic."

he doesn't actually get up for another couple of minutes. just stays there with you on top of him, fingers brushing the curve of your back, languid & awed. but after a bit he rolls over, pats your leg.

"alright," he says softly, "give me two seconds." & already he's slipping under & away from you.

he stands, stretches, runs a hand through his hair. & god ▰ you look. he's hot. you can't help it. the way his back curves, all that muscle shifting under skin like a sculpture made of marble that stood up & decided to look at you like that. he notices you looking & grins, wicked. bitch.

"take a picture," he jokes, picking up his sweats from the floor. "it'll last longer."

you toss a pillow at him. he catches it in mid·air, smiling. "what, can't handle the view?"

"get me water, todd."

he salutes, tugging the sweats on. "yes ma'am."

you watch him walk out & your heart kind of… swells. not just because he’s hot ▰ he is, but it’s more than that. it’s the way he hums under his breath when he thinks you’re not listening. the way he double checks the temperature of the water before bringing it to you. the way he wants to take care of you, even if he’s still learning what that means.

he returns with water & a protein bar. holds the cup to your lips like you're royalty & he's your servant, which cracks you up again. until he says "drink" with this expression that shuts you up real quick. you sip a few times. he stands there the entire time like your health is the most important thing in the world.

you remove the cup from him & place it, then pull him back onto the bed. "your turn," you tell him, pushing his hair behind his ears. "you okay?"

he stiffens a little. as if he wasn't expecting that. as if he forgot that people are allowed to ask him that too.

his voice is gentle when he speaks. "yeah. i just…"

he trails off. but you know. you know.

you run your fingers over his chest. "you don't have to say it."

he nods, then leans in & kisses you again. slow & deep & a little desperate. like he's trying to memorize this. the safety. the closeness. you let him. you kiss him back until he sighs against your lips, until he lets his shoulders relax under your hands, until he's not red hood or a broken boy or the bat's second sidekick ▰ just jason. just yours.

he buries his face in your neck afterwards, whispering, "you're really okay?"

you kiss his shoulder. "yeah. are you?"

he pauses. "i will be."

you hug him closer.

he's so close. you can feel the thump of his heart in the way he presses his chest against yours. it's a slow thrum. not quick, but gentle. intimate. honest. he's not letting you go anytime soon, & honestly, you don't want him to. his mouth leaves tiny kisses along your neck, slow & deliberate, like he's playing catch-up. perhaps he doesn't realize that you see it, but the way his hands are trembling ever so slightly is all you need to know. he's still hesitant, still so goddamned starved for you even though he already has you. there’s something in him that doesn’t stop needing to touch, to feel, as if it’s the only thing that keeps him grounded.

you bite your lip, pushing your fingers through his messy hair. his eyes flicker open & meet yours, half-lidded with exhaustion but intense.

“you’re really here,” he murmurs. like he needs to hear it out loud.

"yeah, jason," you reply softly, tracing your thumb over his cheek. "i'm right here."

he leans his forehead against yours, releasing a breath as if he's not saying anything. his arms wrap tighter around you once more, as if he's worried that you're going to get away if he doesn't hold on. you roll over onto your back, pulling him along with you, the blanket wrapped around your ankles. it's silent for a bit, the only noise is the constant thrum of the city out there & the slow, thudding pulse of his breathing.

then, out of nowhere, he begins kissing you again. slow at first, just his lips grazing against yours. but then, he goes deeper. soft & hungry, his hands cradling your face like you could break. it's warm, it's soft, & you can feel every inch of him. when he pulls back, he gazes at you with uncertainty. his lips red, his hair disheveled, his face too vulnerable for the jason todd you once thought you'd known.

"don't go," he utters softly, & it's as if his entire universe hangs in the balance.

you smile, weaving your fingers through his hair once more. "i'm not going anywhere."

he sighs, a little relieved. but the moment doesn’t last long before his fingers start feeling your body again, gently this time ▰ tracing the line of your spine, the curve of your hip, your stretch marks. his thumb runs over your wrist, brushing lightly, like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t miss a single detail of you.

you reach up to touch his chest, & feel his muscles tighten beneath your fingers. he winces a little when your hand slips down, causing him to brush across a scar, but doesn't flinch. instead, he appears to lean into the touch, as though he's finding peace in it.

"sorry," he grunts softly, looking down. "forgot about the scars."

you glance at him, tracing the line of his jaw with your hand. "don't apologize for them," you tell him softly. "they're part of you. and i… i like all of you, jay."

he swallows hard, his chest tightening. "yeah? even the broken ones?"

"especially the hurt ones," you answer ( & corrected ) without hesitation, your eyes locking with his with all the sincerity in the world.

he nods, lips shaking, before he leans in to kiss you once more. this is a softer, slower kiss, like he's trying to say everything he doesn't know how to put into words. when he pulls back, his forehead pressed against yours. his hand wraps around your waist, his fingers digging in a little.

you lay a hand to his chest, tracing little circles over his heart. "you're good, jason," you whisper. "you're more than good."

he shakes his head slightly, closing his eyes for a moment as if your words are too much to take in. then, he nuzzles into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “don’t think i know how to do this,” he says quietly, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "like. this. i don't know what you need."

you smile gently, tracing your fingers through his hair once more. "just be here with me," you breathe. "that's all i need."

he grunts in his throat. but he does not argue. instead, he glides closer, holding you against him as if he is afraid you might slip out of his hands. his lips brush the top of your head, & he stays there, his breathing slow & even against your skin.

you can tell he's going out of his way. attempting to do this right ▰ despite not knowing if he knows he's doing it wrong or not, he's learning, kiss by tender kiss, touch by tender touch. he wants you to feel at peace with him( you are ). he wants to take care of you, even though he's terrified that he's going to get it all wrong.

you lean into him, your body against his, & shut your eyes. "you're doing it right," you whisper. "this is perfect. so are you."

his arms wrap tighter around you once more, & for a second, you think you're the only thing that matters to him. his voice is husky when he talks, low & rough. "i'm not perfect, you know."

you kiss his chest, your lips touching the scar on his ribs. "you don't need to be," you say. "just.. be you. that's all i need, jason."

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

[arrenjo]

Part one is here

Summary: Your apartment floods and you do your best to make it on your own, but when Robby finds out he takes matters into his own hands; part two

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A/n: the only true part two so far but leaving all the unresolved tension without so much as a kiss seemed kinda rude. I’m an angsty gal at heart so of course it has to be dramatic. Also my first time writing almost-smut, be gentle ;D srry for lack of gif, I know it’s more aesthetically pleasing but I couldn’t find one that scratched the itch, yk?

Content/trigger warning: Panic attack portrayed, plot with a bit of almost-smut sprinkled in. 18+ only, minors DNI!!

The following morning, you woke up with your head on Robby’s chest. Your hair splayed in every direction across the burgundy fabric of his shirt, his chin resting on top of your head. His thumb made small circles on your shoulder blade over the fabric of your oversized t-shirt as he held you. Your legs were entangled with his, your bare legs against his thin sweatpants. You felt safe, secure. You didn’t move for a moment, almost afraid it was a dream. You opted to lie still for a moment to try to assess if he was awake yet.

“Good morning,” He murmured into your hair after a moment, lips brushing the top of your head. Your stomach did a flip as you tried to decide whether to look up at him or not.

“Mm,” You said softly, willing yourself to keep your breathing even, trying not to think about the fact that you were literally in Robby’s bed.

“How long have you been awake?” You asked.

“A while,” He responded simply, still rubbing small circles on top of the fabric of your tshirt. Neither of you felt particularly inclined to move, this was as close as you had ever been to him and it was comforting to know he at least wanted you close like you did him, but his silence unsettled you.

Last night, the silence had been comfortable. There was something different about this morning though, almost as if there was something hanging in the air. Your stomach started to turn at the thought of him regretting letting you be here. You could have easily just fucked up, arguably, the best and most important work relationship you had.

Had he not wanted to sleep in the same bed? Had you asked too much? Did he not feel the same way? The touches and the coffee and him running his fucking thumb over your lips in the supply closet like he was considering fucking you right there sure seemed like there was something between the two of you, but maybe you were wrong.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, your brain said relentlessly on repeat.

Your breathing started to pick up speed and tears welled in your eyes.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up,

You were in your own head and you needed to get away. The panic was starting to set in and it was impossible to coordinate your movements, you needed to get away. You started to push him away and he tightened his arm around you.

Away, away, away, your brain said.

Don’t let him see you like this,

You tried to push him away again and choked back a sob.

“Hey, hey,” He said as soon as he realized what was happening. He quickly placed his hands on your waist, under the hem of your shirt and just above the waistband of your shorts, fingers making contact with your bare skin. He lifted you in one smooth motion to partially on top of him and to eye level. You looked away from him, desperately trying to blink the tears back. Your breathing turned ragged, desperate for air. He took your chin in his hand with one hand, the other arm still securely around your waist, and moved your chin so you were looking at him.

“Where is your head at?” He asked, his voice low.

“Michael-“ You choked out with a sob. Robby almost physically winced, hearing you desperately say his name like that was almost too much. Robby moved to completely under you and braced the back of your head with one hand, the other still around your waist tightly. He quickly sat up with you, your legs on either side of his torso. He held you close to him as your body racked with a full-on sob.

“Hey, I’m right here. I’ve got you,” He soothed. The hand attached to the arm around your waist started rubbing circles on the small of your back. He stroked your hair with his other hand and said your name in the same soothing, low tone as you sobbed again.

“I’m sorry,” you tried again, managing to get the words out between sobs.

“No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Everything is fine. Everything is perfect,” he soothed you. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He repeated. After a moment, he used one hand to gently tilt your chin up to him again, forcing you to make eye contact with him. His brown eyes searched yours for any sign of what might be wrong. He looked at you, pleading, desperate for an explanation.

“I shouldn’t have asked and now you regret it and I’m sorry,” You pushed the words out in one breath before you dropped your head and pressed your palms to your eyes, breath hitching on another sob that you were desperately trying to control. “Fuck, Robby, I’m so sorry,”

It took Robby a solid ten seconds to process what you had said before he reacted. He pulled your hands from your eyes and grabbed your chin again.

“You think I regret this?” He asked in a low, steady voice. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about waking up next to you? Thought about having you in my bed?” You were silent as you took another steadying breath, heat flushing your face and chest. You were suddenly very aware that you were fully in his lap. Your hands found the fabric of his t-shirt on either side of his body and you gripped it tightly.

“Long before Pittfest, long before that first time I acted like a jackass,” He continued.

“That was the best I’ve slept in a long time.” He said, eyes locked on yours. “I think I was still a little disoriented,” He admitted through a half hearted chuckle that vibrated your body. He let his smile fall, “I never want you to think that I regret this, not for even a second,” You nodded, processing what he was saying, breaking eye contact with him for the first time in several minutes.

“Hey,” He said softly after a beat of silence. You looked back at him again and he slowly pressed his forehead to yours, noses touching. You closed your eyes and one hand reached up to stroke his beard. He let out a small ‘hmm’ at the contact.

“I could never regret you,” He whispered. You took in a ragged breath at his words, it was all you could do to maintain what little composure you had regained.

Your mouth was centimeters from his, his breath hot and wet on your lips. His hands moved to under the hem of your shirt, on either side of your hips. He squeezed gently and you moaned softly, feeling his dick almost immediately harden beneath your weight. The sensation sent waves of heat up your neck and down your abdomen, and it lingered between your legs.

You tilted your head up just enough for your lips to ghost over his and that tiny bit of contact seemed to be all the permission he needed, his lips crashed into yours, hot and desperate. One hand found the hair at the base of his neck and you pulled him closer as his lips moved frantically against yours. His tongue darted into your mouth and you moaned against his lips. His hands squeezed your hips again and you shifted your weight into him, creating friction between you and his erection. He let out a low moan against your mouth and started trailing kisses down your jawline and your neck, stopping to lick and suck with each individual kiss.

“Robby,” You moaned, desperate for more. His lips found yours again after a moment and his hands moved upwards under your shirt as he claimed your mouth. Your breathing was ragged and so was his. In one smooth motion, he laid you back and was on top of you, your hands started to glide up his shirt when the shrill alarm on Robby’s phone went off, startling you both.

“Fuuuck,” Robby groaned, dropping his forehead against your collar bone. You both had completely forgotten about work and didn’t have time to finish what you had started. You laughed humorlessly.

“Figures,” You said, stroking his hair.

“We can be late?” He offered with a grin, looking back up at you. The proposition brought a real laugh out of you.

“Uh huh, and we would never ever hear the end of it. Can’t you imagine both of us walking in at the same time, both late? Jack Abbot would be insufferable.”

“It would get the rumor mill started for sure,” He tugged the neckline of your shirt down and pressed a kiss to your collar bone. His beard combined with your heightened senses had you clenching your jaw. You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

Maybe being late wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The shrill alarm interrupted your thought process again and you groaned. “No, we have to go,” You said, mostly to yourself. Robby laughed and pressed one more kiss to your lips before getting off of you and walking out of the room. You whined at the sudden loss of contact. You laid there for another minute, trying to compose yourself, when Robby reappeared with a set of folded scrubs in his hand that he offered to you. You immediately sat up, your brow furrowed.

“I did some laundry last night after you went to sleep, thought you might need some clean scrubs.” He explained. It was all you could do to keep your mouth from dropping open.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You started.

“I know, I wanted to.” He said, you took the scrubs out of his hands and smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” You whispered, standing up to press a kiss to his cheek. Robby wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, let’s go. The more I think about it, the more I realize that you’re right and Jack is about to give us hell.”

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my angel bunnies: Hell is empty all the demons are out there.

Or you're the beautiful, precious black diamond of one of Asia's most dangerous mob bosses, Choi San, and to ensure your safety, San appoints Seonghwa - his rabid, psychotic dog - as your personal bodyguard, but without realising it, San himself pushes you into the hands of the devil himself. And you will be more than happy to be seduced by its darkness, completely burning between two black suns.

San knew that Seonghwa was always a bit on edge, slightly crazy, but along with his wild, almost animalistic behaviour, Hwa was devoted to San to the core and would do the dirtiest and most horrible things for him without question, even if it was completely against his own wishes and principles.

To say that Seonghwa was furious when San ordered him to guard you and be your personal dog on a leash would be an understatement, but he still obeyed without question.

At first he couldn't understand what it was about you that made San crawl on his knees in front of you, ready to lick your heels, because when he wanted a tight, warm pussy he only had to snap his fingers, but the more time he spent with you, the more he understood what San saw in you.

And the stronger and more dangerous his desire to possess you became. With each passing day his thirst grew and Seonghwa wanted you so badly that he was willing to burn the whole fucking world to make you his.

Hwa sleeps and sees how he will fuck you. How he makes you his, over and over again. Hwa tosses and turns in his bed, feverish, sweating and breathing heavily, imagining so vividly how he's going to eat your cunt.

And he won't just eat your pussy, he'll devour and ravage your cunt like it's his last meal. Seonghwa will bring you to orgasm again and again, make you come so hard that his whole face, neck and even chest will be wet, and that's not counting how much you have squirt directly into his mouth, you will cry and squeal sweetly, beg him to stop, push his head away from your pussy, pull his hair, but Hwa will only slap your pussy roughly and aggressively and penetrate your anal with his fingers. "Mmm, my precious little angel, you will take everything that is given to you and you will take it until I myself decide that you have had enough."

In contrast to the aggressive, rough and almost wild pussy eating that Seonghwa always gives you, San treats your pussy like some kind of royal, almost divine thing and spends hours and hours licking and caressing it. Unlike Seonghwa, who fucks your hole with his long, slutty tongue until you squirt into his mouth, only to spit it all out on your cunt, San sticks out his kitty tongue and rubs your clit with his thumb, waiting for your juices to squirt onto his tongue, purring sweetly at the taste of your cunt and greedily swallowing everything you give him.

But there are also nights when they both end up in your bedroom, nights when San forces Seonghwa to watch him lick and fuck you. It irritates him so fucking much, the way you ride San's face while his kitty tongue tries to penetrate you as deep as possible, but he's too short and soft to bring you to orgasm by penetration.

Or the way you bounce on his thick cock, and even though your cunt stretches sweetly around his massive girth, Hwa knows he can fuck you better, all he has to do is insert the head of his cock into you and you'll squirt like a fountain for him. Or the way San rubs his cock on the sheets as he eagerly licks your pussy, and if it were him you'd be on top of him in a hot slutty 69 with your pussy rubbing against his nose and his tongue between your folds as you play with his balls and slurp his cock like candy.

And perhaps it would have been wiser for you to have chosen one of them before things got dangerous and deadly, but you wanted both, and you couldn't say no to either.

You were a fool to play with fire so carelessly, but as they say, let it burn.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do Eddie and shy reader with nipple play? Could he also be a little mean with the teasing?

cw: MDNI (18+) nipple play

The bed dips when Eddie sits next to you on the bed. He moves to lay on top of you and since you know exactly what he wants, you lift your shirt to reveal your bare chest. Your nipples are hard and Eddie raises his hand, massaging one of them with the pad of his thumb. It’s a teasing touch and you know what you need to do, but your squirm under his touch.

“Gotta beg for what you want,” he tells you but your not giving in so easily. You’re whining and his pinches your nipple between his fingers, staring at you, to see if you’re going to break. Of course you are. You always do.

“Eddie, please,” you beg and now he’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he lets go, bringing his mouth to your nipple. He starts by kissing your breast, peppering it with them. He knows this isn’t what you want, but tonight, he feels like being a little mean. You’re begging underneath him and it does wonders for his cock. Maybe if you’re a good girl tonight, he’ll finally give you what he knows you’re so badly wanting. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Let me work,” he mumbles against your skin. Just when you feel like you’re going to go crazy, he brings your nipple into his mouth and gives it a hard suck, causing you to gasp at not only feeling but also at how quickly it’s happened. 

Your hands slide into his hair and once you give it a yank, he knows that he’s doing something right. He continues to lick and suck and when he decides your ready, he bites down. And hard. You moan loudly as you pull on his hair again, feeling your brain rapidly turn to mush. 

This is just as much for Eddie as it is for you. You know how much he enjoys doing this. He might even like this more than actually getting inside you. He loves that he can make you come with just his mouth. That as soon as he bites down on one of your nipples, that you’re putty in his hands. He loves being the one in control. 

His tongue flicks back and forth across your nipple between each bite to help diffuse the sting, but it doesn't do much good. It still hurts, but you don’t mind it. You actually kind of like it. He continues, feeling his scalp ache from you pulling his hair so much when he pulls away to see where you’re at, he bites down even harder when he sees that your eyes are already rolling back into your head. 

“Eddie, oh my god,” you whine as you reach your orgasm and Eddie pulls to admire his work, your tit shining with his spit, the bite marks very visible on your glistening skin. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face as you’re screaming his name. He then leans down and kisses his way down your torso as he pulls down your panties, sinking down onto his knees. 

“Alright, princess, how about I make you see some more stars, hm?” He asks as he hooks your legs over his shoulder, his head staying between your thighs the rest of the night.

[starlighthosh]

My favorite flavour - c.sc

Pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, a lot of smut, MDNI!!, switch!reader, switch!seungcheol, big dick!seungcheol, oral (m.receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe y’all), dirty talk, both very needy, breeding kink, degradation, swearing, a bit size kink, kinda voyeur, reader is a tease

Content: today you wanted to test how long it takes for Seungcheol to snap at your provocations. Sadly for him, the other members were around. But after taking the right opportunity, he finally gets what he’s been wanting.

Word count: 1,8k

You loved cherries. Everything inside your apartment was cherry scented. Your parfums, shampoo, lip balm, skin care, even your drinks. The fruity and sweet taste left you feral every time you smelled or tasted it. You also call yourself the ultimate cherry lover.

So now, it only makes sense that you also started dating a cherry. The biggest one ever, literally. And his name was Choi Seungcheol. Since you’ve met him, everything changed for you. Suddenly you weren’t that independent strong woman. Well, you still are, just not with him. The way his big beefy arms hug you while your head rests on his breathtaking chest. It all made you loose your mind step by step.

Oh and the sex, yes it was amazing. More than that even. The way he manhandles you in the position he wants you in. Whispering sweet nothings to you while fucking you into another timeline. Everything was perfect. You were his. Truly.

But you also had a different side to you. Most of the times Seungcheol was on top, treating you like his own playdoll. You loved it, of course. On some days though you just wanted to.. test his limits. And today was one of those.

You two planned on spending the day with the other members and also inviting them to your home afterwards. Not all of them agreed due to schedules, but you still had a lot of fun together.

Well, you did. Seungcheol looked like he was about to crash the fuck out. The whole day you’ve been teasing him with all kinds of stuff, knowing exactly what effect that has on him. From putting on his favorite red top and wearing the cherry parfume he bought you for your birthday (one of a lot of gifts), to secretly grinding on him, feeling the giant bulge against you ass. And all he could do was nuzzle into your back to hide his need from the other members.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Dino asked sitting next to him.

No he wasn’t. His face was burning red, eyes glassy and under the pillow a big fat cock waiting to be freed.

“Yeah” he said. Not even looking at Dino. But hold on. This is the perfect chance to finally making them leave.

“Actually, no” “no?” Dino looked at him with surprised concern. Seungcheol looked over to you and you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No, I’m kinda feeling a bit sick right now. I think I need to get some rest” haha rest my ass. The following hour will have nothing to do with resting.

“Alright, then I think we should leave now. It’s also getting late. Come on guys” all of them stood up and hugged you a goodbye.

You didn’t even fully closed the door yet and suddenly you’re pressed against the wall. Seungcheols lips on yours, his body completely surrendering you. The kiss is filled with so much need, desperation and whimpering.

“You were really testing me today” Seungcheol breathed in between the make out session. “I wanted to see how much you can take before you snap and fuck me till I can’t walk anymore” “God, I fucking love you”

The next second you’re both split naked on the couch. You on top of him grinding down to his arousal. Seungcheol can’t help but moan while sucking on your nipples and marking your ass with his grip on you. “Baby, I can’t take it anymore. I need you so bad. Please” he looks up at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Oh, poor little baby. Then let me take care of you”

You slowly make your way down to him, kissing from his jaw down to his neckline, his abs, leaving wet kisses all over him till you reached his cock. It was red and covered with pre cum, glowing with arousal. And also, it was so so big. You could cum just by the sight of it.

With one more look up to his needy face, you take him in your mouth. Normally you start with just the tip, already filling up your whole mouth, but since you were feeling a little funny today, you took all of him. All at once. He let out a surprised moan, already trembling by your touch and the warmth of your mouth. “Fuck baby, you’re absolutely out of your mind”

You slowly start bopping your head, each bop getting faster certain to make him cum real fast, so you can finally taste that beautiful dick not just inside your mouth, but also in your dripping pussy. He certainly was so big, tears streamed down your face. But stopping? No, never. That dick was your favorite. If you could, you would suck him off every free second, just tasting the sweet juice that comes out of him. You could swear it also tasted like cherry. Your favorite flavour.

“Shit.. ah.. I-I’m gonna cum baby” his moans became progressively louder. The way his dick was twitching in your mouth and his grip in your hair became harder, told you he was close. So it was your time to make sure he feels every second of it. You went even faster, massaging his balls, moaning around his cock. Yeah, you were the only one that could make him feel like this.

It only took one more look up to him, catching his eyes and he came straight into your mouth. The room filled with his pretty moans and his whole body shaking. You continue sucking him, making sure you get every drip of liquor. After you finally free him, you take one of his hands and wipe off some cum in the corner of your mouth, sucking on his fingers. It just tasted so god damn good.

He kissed you again, tasting himself on your lips and he could cum again just from that. “Okay you had your fun, now it’s my turn to make you feel good” Seungcheol quickly moved you under him, still kissing you breathless. You felt his hard dick on your thigh, whimpering in need to finally feel him. “You want to feel this dick huh? You’re such a pathetic slut” you huffed at that. Wasn’t he the one moaning like a pathetic slut just a minute ago?

He positioned his tip at your entrance, teasing it a bit. “Fuck, you’re already so wet, just for me?” you hummed in agreement to that “Since you’ve been being so bratty today, I’m sure you can also take it all from the start”

He undertoned the last syllable with his dick thrusting balls deep into you. You screamed at the sudden stretch from his cock, feeling like you’re being ripped apart. Your walls clenching around him and your eyes shut by the pain and pleasure. He takes one hand and grabs your neck. Not too hard but still firm. “Look at me baby. Look into my eyes while I fuck the living shit out of you. Shit, you’re so tight”

You only manage to let out a whimper, still star struck by the feeling of his cock. He pulls out of you till his tip is only left inside you. And with one swift thrusts into you again. Another cry comes out of you. “Yeah, you’re such a whore for me” he says with a grin. He then starts to thrust into you in a rapidly rising rhythm. The pleasure you feel from it is immaculate. The room is now filled with your moans and cries and the skin to skin clapping.

“Cheollie, fuck me, make me yours and cum inside me” you manage to say in between your moans, barely above a whisper. That’s it for him, he does not need to hear that twice. His lips meet yours again in a messy kiss and he’s now going at a lightning speed. The grip on your neck getting tighter again. “Cum for me. Cum around my cock, I want to feel it”

He moves his free hand to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. The additional pleasure makes you throw your head back into the pillow. Your cries becoming even louder. Seungcheol carefully watches the part where you two connect, listening to your beautiful sounds and the wet noises from your pussy. “That’s right, let the neighbors hear exactly how I make you feel” he said with a smug grin.

“cheol.. I’m gonna cum. Fuck I’m gonna cum” with one last moan of his name, you cum. Your whole body trembling, your head fallen back showing your neck to him. Cheol swears it’s the most beautiful sight for him ever. His hips stuttering for a second and his dick twitching inside of you, while still pounding the life out of you.

While you (tried to) calm down from your high, Seungcheols almost reached its breaking point. “I love you so much. You’re mine. Look at me when I cum inside of you. Look at how I fucking breed you” his voice thick with arousal, sweat drops dripping down on you and his eyes are filled with hunger and lust.

He thrusted into you a few more times and then also came right into you. His eyes never leaving yours, looking down at you with an opened mouth and furrowed eyebrows. His moans were quite literally music to your ears. But besides what you saw in front of you, the sensation of what’s happening inside you was immaculate. His hot cum filling you up, mixing together with your own.

He collapsed on top of you, still heavy breathing and buried deep inside you. Both of your cum leaking out of you, messing up the couch, but you didn’t cared. You both just layed there for a while, no one even moving an inch. His presence and body weight on top of you almost made you drift off into dreamland, but then Seungcheol moved. He pulled out of you with a low groan. His dick covered with your cum. He could bust again just by the sight of it.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed” he reached out for you hand and pulled you up. Your lips connecting again in a soft but deep kiss, sending you spiraling. “I don’t think I can walk anymore” Cheol laughed at that. He carefully picked you up and brought you to the bathroom, where he continued to clean you up. Your sexy times were really intense, but the aftercare was even better. It just made you feel so cherished and loved.

You looked at him with big puppy eyes. “What’s wrong love?” he asked you, a bit concerned. “I love you Cheollie. Always” “I love you too y/n”. You both layed down in bed, after putting on some pyjamas. Lips meeting again as a goodnight, before you nuzzled into his chest surrounded by his arms. Lips curled into a soft smile while you fell asleep.

It wasn’t the cherries. It was him. He was your favorite flavour.

Authors note:

Remember, all the actions in this are purely created by me and not real. I hope you enjoyed it. Requests are open!

[hannahbarberra162]

Long Forgotten Fairytale Ch. 3 (soft Yan Shamrock x Reader)

On Ao3

The previous chapters

Note: Some gore mentioned though not described in great detail.

Also Reader would have been branded much earlier but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also I’m going to age them to 18 in the next one, last chapter as kids I promise.

Thank you to @sordidmusings and @gouraminnow for beta'ing and giving me their comments, suggestions, and CC!

“Ah! I finally found it!” Shamrock yelled out with true excitement, jumping off the top of the library’s ladder to the tiled floor below. You were sitting on a stool, patiently awaiting his return as you watched the tiles crack under his feet as he landed. Padding over to you in his soft leather house shoes, Shamrock revealed to you the cover of the tome in his hands. You gave him a vacant smile as you looked at the book, still seated on the floor cushion.

“It is a written version of the same story you tell me at night. I believed we had a copy and I was finally able to locate it,” he stated proudly, opening the book to show some of the pictures within. Your smile faded slightly but you continued waiting for his extrapolation. Shamrock titled his head as he watched you nibble your lower lip.

“Why does the book upset you?” Shamrock asked, as you brought yourself back to a neutral facial expression.

“It does not upset-”

“Enough.” Shamrock waited a few moments in silence, allowing his presence to discomfort you. After about a minute you bit your lips again and wrung your hands. By the second, you began speaking.

“If Young Master reads the book, my services in storytelling will no longer be required,” you said in a near whisper. Shamrock softened his face as you took in a shaky breath in response to his regained composure. As he gave you an indulgent look, you relaxed slightly into the cushion. 

“Are you saying you enjoy the time spent with me at night?” Shamrock teased in a dry tone. Your face flushed deep with color as you studied the tile beneath his feet. “Read me the book and we’ll see how they compare. There’s no book that can win against your stories,” he said while sitting on the couch nearest you. He wasn’t sure why his attitude was so personal that day but he chalked it up to his excitement. After handing you the book, he laid down on the couch, his boots dirtying the fine purple silk with the mud still caked on them from the morning’s practice. You sat quietly, not speaking or reading.

“Well? Begin,” Shamrock snapped as he closed his eyes, idly jiggling a foot in the air. What was taking you so long?

“I cannot, Young Master,” you said in a hushed tone. Shamrock frowned and opened his eyes. ‘Cannot’ was not something you’d ever said to him before and not something he wanted to hear now. Further annoyed, Shamrock sat upright and swung his feet over the side of the couch. He glanced down to see you staring at the cover of the book, tracing your finger over the letters of the title. Ah. Right. 

Shamrock wanted you to recite the book to him but slaves weren’t allowed to learn how to read. He quickly thought through solutions to the problem - you were intelligent, much better than he was at mathematics if he was being honest, and you picked up skills easily. And really, why shouldn’t he do what he wanted and teach you to read? He was a Celestial Dragon - he made the rules and society followed. If you were literate, it would be much more convenient for him, which is really all he cared about.  There had been quite a few occasions when he’d wanted you to fetch him books or labeled jars and you hadn’t been able to discern which ones he meant immediately. If there was something Shamrock hated, it was being inconvenienced.

Really, it would make much more sense for you to be able to read. It would be preposterous for regular slaves to be able to read but you were in a completely different situation. You were his personal slave, his property that he could do with as he wanted. And he wanted you to read to him, so you would. He didn’t know how to teach someone to read but you’d pick it up quickly, he was sure. Perhaps you’d finally learn something from him, instead of the other way around like in mathematics lessons.

Matter settled in his mind, Shamrock lay back down on the couch and snapped his fingers so you moved closer to him. He took the book from your offering hands, cracked it open and put his finger on the first word. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud.

“Once upon a time, in a far off land” he began, articulating each word carefully. He kept his finger on the word that he was reading, but you were studiously looking at your lap. “You’re not listening. Pay attention. You know how I feel about repeating myself,” he chided, tugging on your hair gently. You turned to watch as he started again at the beginning, his finger tracking the word he was reading. He read for half an hour before he grew weary of the book and stopped for the day. “We will pick back up tomorrow after my practice. Did you notice how they omitted all the fine details you include about the Beast’s castle? Your version is clearly superior,” Shamrock stated with a sniff, slamming the book shut between his hands.

By the end of the second week you were slowly reading to him at bedtime, your finger now trailing across the words on each page. It was a long ordeal but it didn’t bother Shamrock as much as he thought it would. He laid in his bed patiently, gently corrected you on more challenging words after allowing you several stuttering attempts in your lilting voice. 

Shamrock started keeping several books in his chambers, eventually necessitating a bookshelf. He didn’t know and didn’t care what happened to the books in his absence, though he did periodically have new books brought in once they stopped moving around on the shelves. 

Shamrock didn’t worry about anyone finding out you could read. He’d been taking haki lessons from a fishman slave who had been bought for the sole purpose of Shamrock’s education. He’d practiced his observation haki by trying to locate you throughout the castle, finding you an excellent means of focusing on the endeavor. He had learned of a third type of haki, Conqueror’s, and based on his lineage factor he was sure he would be able to unlock it soon. But as long as he had observation haki, he’d know if anyone tried to approach you without his knowledge. Even Father.

~

Shamrock’s 15th birthday was on the horizon but he wasn’t all that excited for the day to arrive. As a child, thought of his upcoming birthday would fill him with glee as he anticipated all the presents he’d be getting and the various celebrations about the household. But this year he didn’t care to think about any of that foolishness - none of it sparked joy within him. Of course, he still wanted the fancy gifts promised to him- a new sword that had eaten a devil fruit, new longer boots, new slaves, all things that should make a 15 year old excited. And he did want those things, especially the sword. But instead of looking forward to the merriment, Shamrock found himself thinking about your looming branding.

Slaves didn’t have birthdays, but they did receive their branding as they came of age. In your case, you’d started to turn into a woman - and a pretty one at that. No one dared attempt anything in his presence, but Shamrock saw the way heads turned as you passed by, the way the male servants would shove each other in the ribs behind your back. It was grotesque and unsightly but Shamrock understood that human nature meant others would find you attractive, even though you were a slave.

You needed to be branded as all slaves were; it would likely happen around his own birthday. He couldn’t trust someone else with the task of marring your skin - he’d seen some of the ghastly burns on slaves who’d had careless servants brand them. Some were lopsided or uneven, and some slaves were branded twice if the first time was particularly illegible. And really, if you were caused injury or harm, he’d have to wait longer for your recovery and that would ruin the tournament he was participating in within the next few weeks. Really, it wouldn’t be best if the brutes in charge of branding did yours, he decided.

It soured Shamrock’s stomach to think of your soft, even skin being ruined by such an ugly marking. He didn’t mind the hoof on the other slaves but on your body it needed to be done with consideration to the flow of your form. Shamrock couldn’t imagine looking at a lopsided brand on your body for the rest of his life. And really, why should he? As his property, it was his right to ensure that your brand turned out as best it could. There was no way around it, even you as his personal slave needed to be branded, but he could ensure it wasn’t completely ghastly. No, Shamrock needed this done correctly and most importantly, once . Which meant that he needed to do it himself. 

After a few days of research and gathering supplies, Shamrock was prepared for the endeavor. One night, he sat in front of the fire with his hands steepled as he awaited your return with his night tea. Despite the fact that you entered his chambers silently, Shamrock was aware of your presence as he was always attuned to you. You approached him calmly, the tray in your hands carrying his favorite tea and nighttime snacks as well as a few others. He’d asked for more than normal, your arms straining under the weight of the plates of food, drinks, and the bucket of ice he’d asked for. You’d be needing food in the coming hours and Shamrock didn’t want to have to send for it afterwards.

“Set it over there, I do not wish for it yet,” he said, continuing to stare into the fire. You walked along obediently, setting the tray down by his bedside. Returning to his side, you sat on the cushion at his feet, readying yourself for his next command. 

“Some things in life are necessary, even for one such as myself,” Shamrock began, unsure how to broach the topic. He didn’t need to explain anything to you, you were merely a slave, but he thought the process might go more smoothly if you weren’t panicked. You weren’t prone to outward displays of emotions, it was something that had been tamed out of you long ago, but he still wished for you to know what would be coming. 

“It is time for your branding,” Shamrock stated, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward on his elbows. He kept his gaze trained on the fire in front of him as he heard no sounds from you. The eyes roved over the brand currently in the fire, the red hot metal glowing like the embers it was set in. 

“Take off your dress and lay on the rug,” he stated with no hint of emotion in his tone. Your face was ashen as your shaking fingers grasped the hem of your dress. Still, you took off your dress overhead and laid on the floor noiselessly as he’d ordered you to do. Shamrock belatedly realized he’d never seen your figure in so few clothes, but perusing your body was not on his mind at the moment. You shook in your simple undergarments as you lay on your stomach in front of the fire. 

“I will make this as efficient as possible,” he continued, gathering the supplies he’d ordered brought to his chambers. Shamrock had taken the care to have another slave bring him the items - he didn’t want to frighten you or have you dwelling on the procedure before the time for the branding arose.  

Shamrock grabbed the rubbing alcohol along with a clean cloth and debated how to proceed. He’d never touched your skin directly before, he’d always worn gloves in the few times that he’d needed to touch you. But the guide he’d read said that he needed to use clean hands on clean skin otherwise the risk of infection grew exponentially. You wouldn’t be able to reach the area that he wanted to brand with your own hands; Shamrock was going to have to disinfect your skin. 

Pouring some of the alcohol onto the cloth, Shamrock moved your brassiere strap out of the way and rubbed the cool liquid on your shoulder blade. He thought that it would be the least obtrusive place for your brand, something he wouldn’t have to see daily. You jumped at the touch of the cloth, perhaps mistaking it for the brand. Your skin prickled under his ministrations, much like his own did in the cold. It was soft under his fingertips, softer than his own. A sudden urge had Shamrock placing his hand on the lowest part of your back near your spine to calm your tremors. He idly wondered if you always felt like this, cold and prickly, or perhaps it was just the effect of the upcoming procedure.

Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, Shamrock stood and walked over to the fireplace, clutching the handle of the poker within his steady hand. Shamrock’s heart was beating furiously as he removed the brand from the fire. He’d had a new brand made just for you - it was smaller than the one normally used so instead of the bulky thick lines used on the rest of the slaves, you’d have one with the thinnest possible outline. He’d ensured the circle was not filled in so that in the middle of the hoof there was room for a four leafed clover. It would be clear to everyone just who you belonged to - who you served body and soul. 

After removing the brand from the fire, Shamrock turned to face your nearly nude body. Your lips were pressed together and your eyes squeezed shut, your hands balled into the carpet by your head. You reminded him of a frightened rabbit Shamrock had recently caught during one of his hunts. His dogs had chased it down and were going to rend it to pieces before Shamrock stopped them with a whistled command. To destroy such a pitiful thing didn’t bring any emotions of joy or satisfaction, and you were no exception.

Shamrock turned the brand so it was oriented the correct direction, looming over you to begin the process. And yet, he hesitated . Shamrock set the brand back in the fire as you anticipated the pain, sweat glistening on your forehead. He..he…he couldn’t bear to harm you, not like this. He wanted you asleep, kept safe from the feeling of your own flesh burning under his hand. Shamrock wanted to stop this process, but the only protection he could offer is if you weren’t able to feel it at all. 

It had to be done, it had to be done, it had to be done, it had to be done , he repeated in his mind, trying to use the mantra to crowd out the panic seeping through the cracks. It felt like he could feel your heartbeat, the heartbeat of the fire, of the stones, the walls, the brand, his own, all merging into one.

He stared down at you, feeling something swelling inside himself as you squeaked in discomfort and moved your limbs sluggishly. It had to be done, it had to be done, it had to be done, it had to be done…your face contorted in pain, you crying out for him, your skin cracking peeling blistering bleeding, it had to be done, it had to be done…

A blast of red haki emanated from him - the bright red charge striking you in the chest. You immediately went limp on the carpet, though Shamrock could see your chest rising and falling. Picking up the brand, he quickly stamped it onto your left shoulder blade and marked you, the smell of your burning flesh seared into his mind. You were his.

Forever.

Shamrock hadn’t been asking you to do much for him in the past few days, instead ordering other slaves and servants to bring him what he needed as you recovered. He’d seen other slaves sent back to work immediately after their branding, their skin still boiling and blistering, but he didn’t want that for you. If the brand became infected it would take even longer for you to heal and he’d continue to suffer under the incompetence of other servants. It was barely tolerable to have to check on you throughout the day in your room as you napped or read books on your bed. 

As you were not around to bring his meals, they were left in his chambers. Shamrock would eat his fill and leave the rest on the plates once done, servants ordered not to come in for an hour after his meals. By the time they came in, the food was completely gone. If anyone noticed he was ordering double the amount of food he normally did, they didn’t say anything. 

Overall, you were healing quickly, Shamrock thought. He changed your bandage and applied salve to your back as well, but that was only because you couldn’t reach the spot yourself. He took care to carefully remove the gauze covering the oozing wound and inspect it daily, as the book recommended. Though he didn’t like that the wound was on your body, he’d done a fine job, he thought. 

Shamrock was lost in his thoughts about the red haki from the night of the branding as he passed by an open doorway. Servants were within, speaking with one another, hardly a notable occurrence. However, he heard your name being spoken in soft tones so he stopped to listen into the conversation. Derisive laughter had him reaching for his sword. 

“-seen how she’s lookin’ these days. Few more years and that’s a woman I’d take to bed. Or against a wall,” a male voice said with another grunt of laughter. Shamrock’s hand tightened on the pommel of his sword as he listened closely. 

“You better act fast, aboutta have more red haired bastards running around the place soon the way he acts with her,” another voice sneered quietly as the first laughed. 

No sooner than the laugh rang out than the first speaker’s head was on the floor, blood spurting from his now decapitated body. The head rolled towards Shamrock, the cranium crushing easily like a fall gourd under the heel of his boot. Shamrock looked the remaining servant in the eyes as he stood frozen, mouth agape. No sounds were heard except the dull thud of a now headless body slumping to the floor and the gush of brain under Shamrock’s boot as he ground the skull into the floor.

Shamrock turned his body fully toward the servant, who cowered and covered his face with his hands in an attempt to protect his own neck. “Never speak of her,” Shamrock ordered calmly, seeing no need to yell. His message heard, Shamrock turned and left, his boots tracking the blood pooling out from the dead servant. 

His heels clacked along the floor as Shamrock rolled his eyes. Great , Shamrock thought, now he’d have to change his boots before he returned to his room. You didn’t like cleaning blood off of them.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @rebeccawinters @sanjisleggy @nerium-lil @unwillingstars @ceramic-raven @retardhaven @srisshh @yunheadlings

[bleedingichorhearts]

I've been thinking of this smut imagine: A hot space marine husband who got Reader, his wifey sent him nudes while he's in a mission as a suprise for him and It's her boobs pics:

https://twitter.com/natrepellant/status/1900432992155451572?t=N4HXDBVOWj0G7ZTWUu5Sdg&s=19

Well it's just pics of her boobs covered by his favorite books and that is the hottest thing for him, he got horny and he's several planets away from wifey, so when he got back, wifey is looking at days of being bred for making him so hot and bothered while he was on his mission 🙂

"Ough, well ain’t you a bag of goodies? You’re definitely going in the sinners box." - Ichor

Summary - "You send a rather brave image of yourself to your marine with he’s doing his duty to the Emperor, and in turn? He vows he would breed you once he returns."

TW// Smut, Size Difference, Breeding.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

You didn’t think much of it when you sent the picture. Well, not until it took you a few moments to realize what you had did, and now you mentally cringe at yourself at the heresy that you have done. Heck, you’re not even sure he would like such pictures!

Does he like boob pictures? Booty pictures? Side profile? Top or bottom profile? Open? Closed? Showing more or less? Why were you more nervous about how you positioned and presented yourself rather than being worried about why you had sent it, not that you had any particular reason. You had just felt good that day but still missed your lover. Your lover that had responded with a promise.

“Little wife, I’m breed you into the bed once I’m back.” Is what he responded with, and you swear to the Emperor you had exploded into a puddle right then and there. He wasn’t supposed to respond like that! He was supposed be a… a loving warrior! Well, you guess that was a way of showing his love… but you are not used to responses like that, and you wouldn’t have figured he would send a reply like that either!

“Your picture plagues me.” Is the last vox that you get from him after a few weeks before it is silenced. A blush going to your cheeks at the simply thought of him… No! You need to focus on your duties! That is what your hubby is doing right now, and you shall do the same, and you do, but you also forget about sending him such a picture anyway after a while of nothing happing.

Well… until your hubby comes back and snatches you away and doing what he had promised.

“My little tease.” The space marine behind you groans, rutting up into your core like his life depended on it. His chest pressed up against the back of your head, showing you just how much bigger he is. His hands fisting at the sheets around you, not willing to squish you beneath his weight and break you. “Giving such a brave picture of your breed-able frame.”

He huffs, and you can feel how his chest inhales and exhales behind your head, hear it. Feel how his cock splits you into two, claiming what is his again and again, making sure that it was- is only him fucking you like a rabid dog in heat. His hands twisting and tearing at the sheets as his weight alone keeps you in place on his cock.

“You would like that? Would you, my little wife?” A low, frustrated growl leaves him that turns into a groan when he feels your walls squeeze around him. His body having to curl a little around your body to give a kiss to your forehead before resuming his pace. “To be bred by your husband whom you teased with a simple picture of your breasts, covered by some books.”

“Y-yes!” You moan out into the sheets, your heated breath making them a bit moist as you claw at the sheets yourself. Your body arching back into him while he hits the special spot inside of you. Your walls already trying to milk him of his worth. Not that your body could handle all of his seed.

“Oh? Did I hit the spot?” He teasingly coos, pausing for a brief second to lean back and trail his hands down the sides of your body, very pleased at the size difference as his cock inside of you gives a twitch. “Sweet little wife, taking me so well."

“You ah, r-remembered?” You breathe, nuzzling into the sheets, trying to calm yourself of being rutted into like an animal. Your body feeling like it was pulsing.

“Of course I do, little wife.” He responds softly, leaning back down to kiss the back of your bare neck and spine. Scarred lips making contact with your sensitive skin. “You’re a delicious little thing to look at, even if you’re with child.”

You hum, affected by his last comment. Your walls giving him a gentle squeeze as you imagine how he would work with you. Lifting you up into his arms so you won’t have to walk with a hefty belly… “Seems like you’re not against that idea. Shall I make it true?”

His weight presses gently into you one more. One of his arms hooking under your knees and slowly rising it up to put you in a more open, comfortable position, but still gets access to you. His thrusts coming in slow at first. Both of you getting used to the new position.

“You… you sure?” You ask, getting breathless over more while his pace increases. Hands dusting the sheets a lot harder considering he lifted your leg up for more access, and damn wasn’t he hitting everything inside of you just right. “We- ah! Should talk about it.”

“We already have, little wife.” He coos again, a bit more sweetly this time. Another huff and groan leaving him. Skin slapping against skin as a whine leaves your mouth, getting you to shut up and flutter your eyes closed for a moment. Feeling that familiar coil inside of you snap.

You had expected him to stop, to let you breathe again, but he fucks you through it. Having yet to climax himself. His huffs being the only thing heard as he puts more of his weight down on you. Effectively trapping you.

“Don’t worry, little wife.” He manages to huff a low chuckle, purring. Reminding you of what he had said in text. “I’m just going to stain those pretty thighs of yours a shaking white. Perhaps have a taste of those teasing breasts of yours.”

Fuck, he was just doing what he promised to do: breed you into the bed with some additional ungodly thoughts added. Perhaps, it would be best to send a nude picture when he more closer, but making him wait and want you was a bit more delicious than you would admit. You’ll be definitely trying it again.

That is if you can get out from underneath him from fucking you senseless of course.

“@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000, @passionofthesith, @insanity6666, @ilovewolvezz.” - Tagged

[cranberrymoons]

anyway. at some point in the future on a happier day, buck will fold himself down into the space on the floor under his ugly midcentury modern wayfair millennial dining table and eddie will be wearing boxers and a hoodie and he'll have a scruffy chin because they're on hour 78 of a 96 off. and everything will be warm and full of sunshine coming in from that big bay window and there will be a song playing crackling from the record player like maybe girl from the north country by bob dylan (specifically the version with johnny cash because eddie found an old copy of Nashville Skyline at the rose bowl flea market last month). and anyway. the song will be playing and the air will smell like good strong coffee, and buck will get down on the floor under that table and eddie's hand will reach down to scratch through the soft unstyled curly hair that has dried kind of wild and crazy on top of his head from last night's shower. and he'll lean back in his chair and smile down at him like :) and he'll say 'hey bud, what do you think you're doing?' and buck will give him this face 😊 and he'll say 'oh nothing just thought i'd say hi. and thanks for breakfast. and i love you.' while his hands push up the outsides of eddie's big meaty thighs. and eddie will say 'oh well if this is what i get for making scrambled eggs, I'm going to start doing it more often. who cares if eggs cost $11 right now' and buck will just laugh and say 'well that's my job actually. the egg making. I only let you do it this one time because I like you so much. but you'd better watch it mister.' as he's reaching into eddie's boxers to pull him out. he's only half hard because it's morning and nothing's happened yet, but buck goes in anyway, likes how he can feel eddie coming alive against his tongue and filling up all his senses at once. and the hand on the back of his head, and his grip going a little tight, and eddie still drinking his coffee where he's sitting in his chair. and when he comes buck will try to get up to climb in his lap but he will forget how big he is and bonk his head on the underside of the table and they'll spend the next ten minutes running around with the first aid kit to bandage up the frankly not that big cut on his forehead. and then buck (sitting on the edge of the bathtub by now with eddie perched on the closed lid of the toilet so he can finish dressing the wound) will say hey :) I love you. and Eddie will say I love you too! please keep your head in one piece though. and buck will say okay. next time I'll make you push your chair back a little more. also 🫶 your dick is still out. and then they'll have stupid sweet giggly laughing sex on the bathroom floor. which is kind of gross, but they don't really care.

[norrisidous]

run for the hills

The hotel room was dimly lit, the city below glowing like a secret you weren’t ready to share. Lando’s hoodie hung off your frame as you curled up on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He had left for media early that morning, promising to be back before dinner. Promising he’d stay low, like always.

“Can’t risk a photo, not yet,” he’d whispered that first night after Monaco. And you’d agreed—too much noise, too many headlines. But hiding had started to feel like suffocating.

The door clicked open quietly, and his voice filled the silence.

“Miss me?”

You looked up, trying to be annoyed, but the stupid smile was already tugging at your lips. He kicked off his shoes, hair still messy from his cap, and crossed the room in three strides, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re late.”

“You love me anyway.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was hard to argue when his hands slipped under the hoodie, cold fingers pressing against your warm skin.

“I saw a tweet about you today,” you said casually, not missing the way he tensed for a split second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Someone said you were dating a model.”

He snorted. “You are model-level hot. Technically, they’re not wrong.”

“Lando,” you warned.

He sighed, sitting beside you and taking your hand. “I know. I hate this too. The hiding. The sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “We’re not.”

“I know. But you’ve seen what it’s like. The cameras. The DMs. The gossip accounts.” He paused. “You’re not a secret because I’m ashamed. You’re a secret because I’m terrified of what the world will do to you once they know.”

Your throat tightened. You understood, you really did. But that didn’t stop the ache every time you had to walk behind him in a crowd or pretend you were just a “friend of a friend” at race weekends.

“I hate lying to people,” you whispered.

He turned to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Then maybe we stop lying.”

You blinked, heart thudding louder. “You mean—?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want to keep this part of my life hidden. You’re the best part of it.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

You kissed him softly, fingers curling into his curls. “No more waiting"

The next morning, your fingers trembled slightly as you handed him the phone.

“You’re really doing it?” you asked

Lando nodded, already opening Instagram. “No captions. Just this.” He showed you the photo—it was one from your Polaroid stash. You were wearing his hoodie, perched on his lap, mid-laugh with his nose pressed into your cheek. Pure joy. Unfiltered.

He tapped “Share.”

Your stomach flipped.

The internet, as expected, went wild.

There were screenshots on Twitter within seconds. Edits on TikTok. “Hard launch” memes flooding the replies. And yet, amidst the chaos, there was also love. Fans who said it made sense. People who pointed out how happy he looked. How soft.

You and Lando didn’t say much that day. You stayed curled up in bed, your phones buzzing constantly, but your hands were laced together, calm despite the storm.

“Feels weird,” you admitted.

“Yeah,” he said. “But also kind of freeing.”

He glanced at you then. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

He smiled, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Told you. No more hiding.”

—

The first public paddock appearance together happened in Silverstone, of all places.

You wore a papaya crop top under your denim jacket, and Lando hadn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped out of the car. People stared. Cameras clicked. But he only had eyes for you.

As you stood by the McLaren hospitality entrance, he leaned in and said, “You know, you can still run for the hills if this gets too much.”

You raised a brow. “And leave you to do this solo?”

He grinned. “So you’re saying I’m worth the chaos?”

“You’re worth everything,” you said without hesitation.

The smile that broke across his face could have powered the entire garage.

That night, after the race (a P3 finish and a podium grin that had everything to do with you waiting at the end of parc fermé), you lay in bed beside him, tangled in sheets and sunlight from the setting sky.

“I love you,” he murmured against your shoulder.

You turned, brushing your fingers across his cheek. “I love you too.”

He kissed you like it was the first time. No more secrets. No more hiding. Just soft, golden light and hearts full of something steady.

“I’m glad we stayed,” you whispered later.

“Where else would we go?” he replied. “We didn’t need to run. We just needed to hold on.”

And so you did.

[softtdaisy]

scars become stars / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when Hotch gets tired of hating his body, he calls you, the escort he questioned for his last case, to help him

words count. 2 975

what to expect. mention of Foyet's attack and allusion that it's a SA, mention of his scars, 18+ MDNI oral male receiving

a/n. thank you insomnia i wanted to write this story so bad I got to imagine it all in my head, this is so sad and hot like??? but I'm happy the way it turned out I think so here it is 🩷

Aaron Hotchner series masterlist | criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

“Room 509, 9 p.m.”

Your boss’ messages had always been very simple, almost cryptic. And it got worse after the FBI sent the BAU over for a case. One of the girls was missing, kidnapped by some psycho but thankfully saved by the team.

The past week had just been a reminder that what you were doing was far from being safe, no matter the amount of security measures your boss kept adding. But you also had to be as secret as possible to not get caught one day by one of these -hot- agents.

When you entered the lobby, nobody was there except for the guy at the reception. Not a surprise, it was one of the few hotels in town that was used for…professional meetings.

“He’s here.” Jason—was it Jason? Or maybe John?—said, handing you the key.

The process was always the same. The client arrived before, got the key, and went to the room to wait for you. It gave them a moment to think and leave before you arrived—you couldn’t imagine the number of men who freaked out before even seeing you. And then, it was your moment. Around ten minutes after them.

In the elevator, you played the same game every time. Trying to guess your client's appearance. His age, his ethnicity, his height, and sometimes his kinks when you were in the higher floors.

But tonight, nothing could have prepared you for what you saw.

“Agent Hotchner?”

There he was. The man that led the interrogation a few weeks ago. The very same man: dark hair, more messy than the last time, dark grey suit with the jacket resting on the bed, a white shirt underneath, and a navy blue tie with little dots still around his neck. Sitting on the bed, his large hands on his thighs and his head barely up, like he was insecure at your sight. That was the only changing point from your memory.

The agent Hotchner you met was far from being insecure. He was the man in the room. You remembered it perfectly. That type of confidence always did something to you.

“This isn’t a trap,” was the first thing he said. 

And when he finally looked at you, he added, “And you can call me Aaron.”

You laughed, very briefly. “What a reassuring first thing to say.” You sat next to him on the bed. The long coat you were wearing, one that hid the outfit you chose—a short black dress that wouldn’t be embarrassing in case you got a problem—opened on your legs. And you didn’t miss the way Hotch Aaron’s eyes went down on your body. At least, this seemed to confirm this wasn’t a trap and that man was indeed interested in you.

But he stayed in silence. His head was still facing the floor. Still playing with his hands. And he didn’t seem to care that you took this moment of peace to look at him, to analyze him. The mole on his cheek, the few hairs of his beard growing back, the little grey in his hair and beard, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the dark circles under his eyes. 

You were so close that it felt almost unreal to look at Aaron Hotchner like that. He wasn’t the chief of the BAU right here, right now. He was a client, sure. But admiring him, he was a painting. A, obviously, very sad and broken painting.

“Listen,” you started. You sighed very briefly before bringing one of your hands on his. How little did it look on top of his. Your fingers could almost slip in between his fingers. “As much as I don’t mind being paid for doing nothing, would you like to tell me why we are here? In this room.”

Silence. Again.

Then Aaron got up and started walking in the room. It wasn’t an unusual habit. Most clients, especially when it was their first time, seemed to need this walk to accept what was happening. And well, a walk said a lot about someone. And there you could see the glimpse of the agent you’ve met. No matter how unsure he might be about the situation, his steps were confident. That was a man of power.

Then he turned to you. “Nothing will leave this room.” 

This wasn’t a question. This was an order, you guessed.

You moved your hands up. “Professional secret,” you replied with a smirk. You always found it funny that you were using the same excuse as lawyers, doctors, or therapists. 

Aaron nodded. But he kept his mouth shut, his lips tightened even to not say a thing. And so you got up too and walked to him, slowly. Almost like he was a deer in the headlights. “The moment you and I leave this room, I will forget everything that has happened here.”

You smiled as his eyes followed every movement of yours, from your walk to the way you stopped right in front of him. From the way you opened one single button of your coat to the way your hand moved to his arm. 

“Everything?” he asked.

“Well, almost everything,” you whispered, letting your fingers run all along his arm. “It’s hard to forget about a man like you, Agent Hotchner,” you emphasized in his name. Trying to make him understand that Aaron would stay in this room and only Hotch would stay in your mind after this. 

This seemed to convince him. After a last sigh, you heard him say, “I almost died two years ago.” 

This was clearly not what you expected.

Your hands slowly moved to his tie while he continued. “He stabbed me. Nine times.” You felt every word he said, almost like he was feeling the knife going under his skin again. You only kept one hand on his tie, undoing it, while the other rested on his chest to calm his heart—or at least tried.

“They healed,” he continued, looking at the way your fingers danced around the tissue of his tie. “But they’re still there. And I didn’t think about them much. After my ex-wife died, I couldn’t care less about what these wounds might make me look like.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured while the tie fell on the floor in silence. Everything was very silent with Aaron. Even the little shrug he gave you to say it’s ok. It wasn’t. It won’t ever be. But it wasn’t the point of the night.

“But I went on a date two or three weeks ago.” You ignored the little pinching in your heart at the idea that a woman got to touch that man. Not his wife—you couldn’t be jealous of a wife, especially not a dead wife. But another woman. You shouldn’t even be jealous of a woman, actually. 

“Everything went well until the moment we went to her place. When she kissed me, I knew what was coming. And suddenly, the idea of showing… I can’t show this to anyone.” His voice fell low at the end of his sentence. There was his insecurity.

You undid the first button of his shirt. “What do you want me to do, Aaron?” This was a genuine question. One you had to ask every client. But this one felt…different. He wasn’t looking for a one-night fuck, for a night with a stranger to have fun and change his life. You could clearly see that Aaron needed something more from you. 

Something you weren’t sure you could give him, to be honest.

And when he stayed silent another time, you wondered if he had profiled you through this and knew you weren’t sure about this either. 

“Hey.” You moved your hand to his face, cupping his cheek, while your other hand was caressing the little triangle of skin from his chest you could access. “Again, I can live with being paid for doing nothing. But I refuse to get paid for forcing you to do something. This can stop right now, Aaron, if you…”

“Help me love myself again.” 

If he still sounded insecure, you noticed the little bossy tone in his voice. He asked, Yes. He ordered, somehow. But mostly, he begged for you to do something. 

“Ok,” you simply said when your fingers went down on the next button and the next one. Until you started to see the healed scars on his chest. Until you could actually count them. You had to stop midway, fighting the sickness of imagining what this man went through. You could see how down they were going, where they were leading you.

But that wasn’t the point. You could show Aaron how sad you felt about his body when your mission was to make him feel better.

So you put your thoughts away in a little bubble inside your head. A bubble that won’t explode until later when Aaron won’t be right in front of you.

Something you were used to doing depending on the client. Except this time it wasn’t about your own feelings, but to protect his.

Softly, your lips met the first scar in a gentle kiss that lasted seconds. You gave it another one while your hand was finishing unbuttoning the shirt. Soon you felt the tissue opening, and your fingers had all the space to travel on his skin when your mouth was going down on the second scar.

“It’s a shame this body isn’t loved properly,” you whispered, looking up at Aaron. Your lips were still on the second scars, your fingers drawing invisible shapes on his skin. You saw how his eyes were barely open, just like his mouth. Living the moment, immersing himself in the appreciation you were trying to give him. 

“Hmm” was all he was able to reply. But the way his hand slowly moved to your hair when you went further, meeting another scar. 

You followed the same process the whole way down every scar. Kissing one, caressing the skin around the past one to not hurt him or create an unpleasant feeling but to keep the appreciation alive even without your lips on it.

If Aaron wasn’t speaking, the little moan that kept escaping his mouth was the only approval you needed. And maybe the way his fingers were now tangled in your hair, pulling them from time to time, was a good indicator too.

But then there was only one scar left.

You knew; you counted them.

You knew; you could almost see it.

It was mostly hidden by his pants, and maybe that was the worst part. The story these scars were telling. The placement, the number, the last one. 

In any other situation, you wouldn’t have done that. Not when the client already gave his approval before—and in this case, more than once. But still, on your knees in front of Aaron, with his eyes closed, waiting for the following kiss, you couldn’t just continue like it was nothing.

“Are you still sure?” You asked him, your hand on the buckle of his belt. 

At first, he didn’t answer. He tilted his head back, enough to rest it against the wall. He moved his hand to rest it on yours. You thought he would move it away or maybe help you to unbuckle it. But his thumb caressed your hand.

“You can go on,” he whispered.

So you did. The belt was open, the zip undone, the pants on the floor, and the boxer just barely down so you could access the scars—the more you had to lower it, the more you felt sick.

But again, you didn’t show anything. Instead, your lips fell on the last remaining scars. The one waiting for you. The one that Aaron needed you to heal the most. 

Because it wasn’t much about the scars on his chest. He found them awful and ugly. He hated that they were there. He hated that during the summer, he had to deal with looks on it when he was on holiday with his son. He hated that it was a reminder every single day of what he'd been through.

But this one. He knew why it was there. It wasn’t just a stab. It was more. That son of a bitch told it himself. If Hotch didn’t consider himself a SA survivor, he knew he was checking all the boxes.

When he felt your mouth on the scar, the whole world went silent. Not that there were many sounds. But Aaron could hear everything: the cars outside, the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, even the very low voices of the people in the next room.

Now, he couldn’t hear anything. Anything but the wet noises of your lips on his damaged skin. How, this time, your hands weren’t lost higher on his chest, but you were caressing his back. Your fingers going further and further, bringing his boxers with you as your kisses kept going lower too. 

You knew what you were doing.

He knew what you were saying.

That the scars didn’t destroy the desire you had for him. 

Him, agent Hotchner, the man who led the interrogation in that small room and that gave you an authority kink you didn’t even know you had.

Him, Aaron Hotchner, the man who decided to call an escort—you—to help him.

Him, Aaron, the man who melted under your touches and your kisses.

Your lips stayed on his scar longer than on the other ones while you helped his boxer slide along his long and muscular legs.

But once the coast was clear, your lips went lower too. Kissing his thighs, little by little, until you arrived at his inner thighs. Until your lips had no other choice but to meet his thick cock, waiting for you—for your kisses and your touches too. 

One last look. One. Just one. To be sure. 

Aaron was biting his lip so hard you wondered how it wasn’t bleeding already. Made you wonder for how long this man hadn’t been touched.

And maybe that little, very brief pause lasted too long—you thought it was a second, but maybe one second too many for him—but now his two hands were on your hair. And he had a very great pleasure guiding you closer to his cock. Again.

So with this approval, you finally took him in your mouth. And the loud moan that he let out, the loudest since he came in this room, was the confirmation this was all he needed. 

He felt everything: your tongue playing around his veins, his tip hitting the back of your throat, your fingers sinking into his thighs. He felt these things. Yet, everything felt like a distant dream. A fantasy that couldn’t be real.

Yet, when he opened his eyes, there you were. Still on your knees in front of you, your glossy eyes rolling at the pressure he put in your mouth and spit running down your chin. You were real. And you were making him feel real.

As he expected, he didn’t last longer around your lips.

And he was grateful there was a chair right next to him because he would have fallen on the floor in a second. 

It took him a moment to get everything in order in his head. But he looked back at you; you were still there. Sitting on the floor, your arm going on your mouth to get rid of what he left on you. “Thank you,” he muttered with all the sincerity in the world. 

Maybe he wasn’t healed yet, but he truly felt better. Because not once did he see a glimpse of disgust in your eyes when you were on him. And he had seen it in many people, even those who weren’t intimate with him. But not you. 

When you opened your mouth to speak, he expected you to say something like, That’s my job. 

Not “You look beautiful, Aaron.” 

He watched as you got up again simply to do the four steps that separated you from him.

He watched as you sat on his lap and put a hand on his neck to caress the base of his hair. 

“Don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise, ok? These scars, they are there; they won’t leave. And I'm sorry about that. But they don’t make you less of a man.” 

You let a single finger go down each of them, from the first one to the bottom one you gave more attention to.

“And if someone ever makes you feel like they make you less pretty, less…human. Send them to me; I’ve learned a few tricks to protect myself.”

Aaron laughed, bringing a hand to your waist to keep you against him. “Not sure it’s a thing to say to an FBI agent.” 

“Or you can come back,” you added with a smile. “This room will always be open for you.”

He looked at you in silence, the same goddamn silence that kept following him everywhere—hotel room, home, his bedroom. But this time, just to appreciate the view of this beautiful woman, who got to see many people on their knees for her, offering him, out of anybody, to come back. When he didn’t even give you any pleasure. 

“I thought you said you would forget about me when I leave.” 

“I said, I can forget about Aaron if I want to.” You corrected him. “And one of your agents said that the brain is a wonderful tool when it comes to memory.” 

He smiled at this because he remembered Spencer saying that to one of your colleagues who said she needed help to memorize her client. 

“So who knows, maybe I can find a locked drawer for you in case you come back.” 

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee @raysmayhem-72 @kajjaka @pastelpinkflowerlife (if you want to be in it, ask me and I’ll be happy to add you x)

[vicolette]

Childhood Memories !

– A/N : ahhh look at himmm😖😖😖

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, translated words into Catalan, not proofread

"Uh, your mom just texted me?"

Pau looked away from his phone as the popcorns were held in his hand mid air, his gaze focused on you instead of the ongoing film. You two had planned to do a movie marathon together, since you both had the afternoon for yourselves, so the idea didn’t sound that bad.

Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the series extremely boring - The Vampire's Diaries, or whatever it was called.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion, barely seeing what was displayed on your phone screen as he wondered why his mother would text you. It wasn’t necessarily that you both had a bad relationship (in fact, you might be the favorite one), but you two never really chatted much.

"Hm, what did she say?" His words were muffled as he spoke with food in his mouth, which earned a glare from you in response to his nastiness, whereas he rolled his eyes at your dramatic behavior.

Just then, while you were busy checking the messages, Pau quickly grabbed the tv remote and paused the movie. He searched for something that was more likable in his opinion, something that would actually get his attention.

All of a sudden, you let out the loudest gasp ever heard with a shriek, making him visibly flinch as he turned his head around. "Baby? Is everything alri-"

"Why did you never tell me you looked this adorable?!" Before Pau could even begin to give you a reaction, you shoved your phone to his face, causing you to accidentally hit his nose. You snickered before moving closer, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose while he whined about the pain.

"Merda, what is going on?" Your boyfriend asked in a sleepy tone, leaning closer as he stared into your eyes, which got you the slightest bit shy. When he saw how you giggled, then reached out for his cheek, he got curious by the notifications.

"At least you still have a baby face." You muttered in a low voice, making him furrow his eyebrows before the realization started to settle in.

No, she didn’t, did she? Would she do something like that? Oh, she totally would! No, no, no, no, no, no-

"What did my mom send you, meu amor?" As Pau sat up and took your phone out of your hold, you grinned at how his eyes flickered to see what it was, his jaw dropping as he saw the pictures.

His baby pictures.

"Oh my- delete these." Before he could tap on the pictures and click on 'delete', you stole your phone back and held it tightly to your chest, a scowl on your face as you shook your head. His frown only deepened at the sight, crossing his arms in an attempt to persuade you into deleting them.

But nothing worked. No kisses, no promises, no hugs. Nothing.

"Y/n… come on, it’s not funny…"

"Oh, but it is!" With his arms tightly wrapped around your waist and his face hidden behind your shoulder in embarrassment, Pau could only suffer while his ears had to endure the angelic sound of your giggles at his baby pictures.

His constant struggle with convincing you to get rid of them was quite hilarious, to be honest, earning a sympathetic laugh from you before you gasped at yet another absolutely adorable photo of him, this time with a giant dog by his side.

The photo must have been taken when little Pau was barely two years old, at most, with a Spider-Man shirt on and a sunflower in his hand. His grin was big as you saw how he had a flower on top of his head, matching with the smiling dog who also had one.

Just then, as Pau was considering to get up and go to sleep in your shared bedroom, he heard quiet sniffles. Once he had moved his head to see your face, only to see how you were tearing up, he immediately got worried.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Instead of replying like a normal person, you once again shoved your phone to his face, but he tilted his head at the perfect moment. Then, as he saw that his goddamn baby pictures were causing you to cry, he looked at you dumbfounded.

"Seriously?"

"But, Pau, look at him! Or, well, look at you!"

– A/N : my reminder to watch Vampire Diaries for a friend, also my last Pau fic was posted last month…🥀

[sunbeamlessreads]

The Wager - Lando Norris x Reader One-Shot

❝ “Eyes on the track, Norris.” ❞

lando norris x reader

~3.6k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, explicit sexual content, dom/sub tension, semi-public style risk, overstimulation, orgasm control

he said he could handle five laps. you said he wouldn’t last two. there’s only one way to prove it.

notes: this is my apology for making lando such a douchebag in my last piece. went in with present tense again. i think it kinda works for the papaya boys, no? enjoy! <3

(i also admittedly didn't proofread this as much as usual so i apologize if it sucks.)

my masterlist

His sim room is dim except for the dull, shifting glow of LED lights tracing the walls, pulsing in sync with engine revs on Lando’s screen. He’s been here for at least an hour, maybe more, laser-focused—shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel like he’s in an actual cockpit.

You’re in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies. It hangs low, nearly brushing the tops of your thighs, soft and loose, the sleeves covering your hands. Your skin’s warm beneath it, and a little flushed—maybe from watching him so long, or maybe from what you’re planning.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. Not really. Just a distracted smile earlier when you brought him a drink. Since then? Silence. His attention’s been chained to the corners of a virtual Silverstone, chasing tenths of a second like they owe him something.

Your eyes trail over him now—the way his thighs flex slightly every time he shifts, the way his bottom lip tucks under his teeth when he brakes late. His headset’s pushed back around his neck, and a single bead of sweat slides from his temple to his jaw.

You step into the room without a word and let the door click shut behind you.

“Still trying to shave off that tenth?” you ask, voice syrup-smooth, laced with mischief.

He responds without looking.

“Not trying. Dialing it in.”

You smile. There’s the Lando you know—cocky, precise, addicted to speed and winning.

You drift closer, hips swaying just enough to be deliberate. You round his chair slowly, stopping just beside him, eyes locked on his screen like you’re playing innocent.

“Mm," you trail a finger across the edge of his steering wheel. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” he asks, flicking his eyes toward you briefly.

“If you’ve got more control out there—” you tap the glowing screen gently, “than in here.”

His brow lifts slightly. That got his attention.

You move behind him now, running your fingers across his shoulders, down his arms, mapping every muscle beneath the fabric. You lean forward, letting the warmth of your breath kiss the shell of his ear.

“I bet,” you whisper, “you can’t hold out for a whole race.”

That makes him pause. Really pause. His hand leaves the paddle mid-corner, and the engine whines as his car drifts off line.

“Hold out?” he echoes, voice thick with skepticism—and interest.

“Mmhm.” You glide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, featherlight. “I bet I can make you come in five laps.”

He laughs once, but it’s low and tense, like he’s trying to stay calm.

“Five?” he repeats, indignant. “You think you can break me in five?”

You press your body against the back of the chair, hips nudging the rig seat.

“No, baby. I know I can.”

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder—mouth parted slightly, eyes dark now. He sizes you up like he’s about to take you apart with his hands and teeth.

“And if I make it through five?”

You slowly circle to face him, easing yourself onto his lap—one knee on either side of his hips. You don’t grind down yet, but you settle, letting him feel the heat of you through his joggers. You make sure he notices you’re not wearing anything underneath his sweatshirt. 

You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling gently, pulling him just close enough that your lips brush his.

“If you make it through five,” you murmur, “you get me.”

A pause. Then you whisper the rest like a promise wrapped in sin.

“However. Wherever. Whenever.”

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching, hands still locked on the wheel because if he touches you now, he’ll ruin everything too early.

You reach down between you, slow and unhurried, palming him through his joggers. He’s already half-hard. The thrill of your challenge, the sound of your voice—he’s trying so hard not to show it.

“You’re on,” he mutters. “Five laps. Don’t go easy on me.”

You grin.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

And as he restarts the session, you start to move—just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to make him wonder how the hell he’s supposed to last.

Lap 1/5

The moment the race loads, you feel it—not just the hum of the sim coming to life, but the shift in Lando’s body beneath you. He squares his shoulders, tightens his grip on the wheel. His voice had been so sure a minute ago, all bravado and arrogance. But now?

Now he’s already working not to react.

You try to stay as out of the way of the screens as you can to at least give him a fighting chance.

Your thighs rest on either side of his, warm skin brushing against his joggers. His seat is snug, built for speed and pressure—not for having someone perched in his lap, slowly undoing him with the smallest touches. You feel him beneath you, hardening slowly, restrained only by thin fabric and sheer willpower.

And still, you don’t rush.

You breathe him in instead. He smells like clean sweat and fabric softener, like tension and heat and the lingering scent of cologne he probably applied this morning without thinking about how close you’d be later.

The first corner of the track comes and goes, and he nails it.

Good.

You want him calm. In control. Thinking he’s got this.

Your hands find his chest, fingertips dragging over the curve of his pecs, then lower, to the subtle ridges of his abs. Not pressing—just trailing. Ghosting. Enough to make his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Enough to make his breathing stutter, just once.

He exhales, shaky.

“That all you’ve got?” he mutters, not looking at you, trying to stay cocky.

You grin against his skin.

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting comfortable.”

You shift slightly—just enough to make sure he feels your bare heat press against him through the fabric. A gentle grind, one slow circle of your hips. His hands tighten on the wheel.

You press another kiss just below his ear. Then another, a little lower.

Your voice stays sweet, nearly innocent:

“How’s your sector time?”

“Shit,” he mutters.

You smile.

Your hips begin a slow rhythm—barely moving, but perfectly timed. Every time he shifts gears, you shift forward. When he straightens out for a straight, you rock back just a little. It’s not enough to drive him over the edge—not yet. But it’s enough to plant the idea. That pull. That ache.

And you can feel him growing harder under you, his body reacting even as he tries to stay stone-faced.

He keeps his eyes on the track. He thinks ignoring you will help.

You know better.

You start trailing your fingers under the hem of his shirt, this time tracing the edge of his ribs, featherlight. He twitches beneath your touch, his hips jerking upward once—reflex. He catches himself, swearing again.

You glance at the screen. One lap just passed halfway.

You lean in and whisper like it’s a secret.

“Four and a half to go, baby.”

He growls under his breath and tightens his grip again. But he doesn’t tell you to stop. You feel it—the way his hips lift an inch into you. Not consciously. Not controlled.

An instinct.

A slip.

You smile.

He wants to win.

You want to ruin him.

Lap 2/5

The moment he crosses the lap marker, you feel the change.

He exhales—just a little too sharp—like he’d been holding his breath since Turn 9. Like the first lap took more out of him than he’ll admit.

You don’t let him settle. You don’t let him recover.

You roll your hips forward again, just slightly more than before, then back. A little faster. A little firmer. His joggers provide friction now—barely a buffer between your heat and his restraint. His cock is hard beneath you, thick and twitching under the fabric, but he hasn’t moved. Not a single touch.

That’s okay.

You plan to do all the touching for him.

Your hands slide lower, sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to find skin—warm, taut, twitching under your palms. You trail your fingers across his abs, then down, slow, until you’re just above his waistband.

You don’t go beneath.

Not yet.

Instead, you rest your hand there, light but suggestive, letting your thumb trace lazy circles against the band of his joggers.

He shifts in the seat, just barely.

“Eyes on the track, Norris.”

You murmur it against his jaw, then kiss just below his ear—barely touching. Just enough for him to feel it.

He grits his teeth. “You’re playing dirty.”

“You agreed to the rules.” Your tone stays breezy, but your hand doesn’t. “Not my fault if you’re losing already.”

You feel the rise of his chest under your palm—he’s breathing harder now, trying not to show it. His foot jolts slightly on the throttle. His car clips a curb. You hear the penalty chime—just a second’s warning—but it’s enough.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh softly.

“What was that?”

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep going.

You shift your weight forward again and let your lips brush further against his ear.

“Want me to make it worse?”

Still nothing.

You grin—

Challenge accepted.

You lower yourself just enough that you’re flush against him again, your folds hot and slick against the barely-there barrier of his joggers. You rock once—firm, intentional. He groans, just barely, a sound caught in his throat.

Your voice is soft, almost cruel in its sweetness.

“Two laps in. I haven’t even touched your cock yet.”

You reach down, palm him through the fabric now, slow and deliberate. He bucks into your hand instinctively, and that’s the first time his focus slips completely. His car veers wide on a turn, and you hear the wheels screech as they kick up gravel.

“Concentrate,” you whisper, laughing gently against his skin.

“You’ve still got three laps left.”

His response is a low, broken sound that could be frustration or arousal—or both.

You press your mouth to his neck again, your hand still working him through the fabric, your body moving in that slow, taunting rhythm.

You feel him throb beneath your palm. He’s close already. You could push him now—finish this before the third lap even starts.

But you don’t.

Because you want him begging.

Lap 3/5

The moment he crosses the line into lap three, you feel the shift in him.

His thighs tense beneath yours. His arms strain on the wheel. The hard line of his cock is pressed firmly against you now, no longer just reactive—but aching. Desperate. His control is hanging by threads.

And you’re ready to cut every single one.

You rock forward again—this time with real intent. Not teasing. Not suggestive. Deliberate. Precise. 

You grind against him with the rhythm of the engine’s growl, syncing your pace with the sharpness of each gear shift. Every time he accelerates, you move with it—hips rolling, breath hot, dragging friction over him that feels anything but accidental.

He makes a sound this time.

A real one.

A low, strangled curse punched out between clenched teeth as you slide your hands under his shirt again and let your nails drag across his stomach. His abs tighten beneath your touch, and you feel his hips twitch up once—seeking more, chasing it despite himself.

You smirk against his neck.

“Feel that, baby?” you murmur, lips brushing skin. “You’re practically pulsing.”

He growls. His voice is rough now, raw at the edges.

“You’re making it impossible to drive.”

“That’s the point.”

You move again—harder this time, a slow, grinding rhythm that drags your slick heat directly over his cock. You can feel him now—hot and thick and wanting more. The only thing separating you is a single layer of fabric.

You lean close to his ear, your voice velvet and wicked.

“Want me to ride you while you finish the lap?”

He groans��a real one, involuntary and half-broken—and his car jerks again on the screen. He recovers, but barely. His knuckles are white on the wheel. Sweat beads along his hairline. He’s silent now, like if he speaks he’ll give in.

You slide your hand down his chest again—slower this time. Taunting. You dip your fingers beneath his waistband now, finally—just a little. Just enough for him to feel your nails against bare skin.

He jerks. His hips buck up into you with force.

You don’t flinch.

You hold steady.

“Three laps,” you whisper. “You’re already fucking shaking.”

His voice is barely a rasp.

“You’re evil.”

You smile.

“You’re hard.”

Your hand brushes against the base of him, just once, and he twitches so violently the rig seat creaks. His breath catches like you’ve just punched the air out of him. His hips thrust up again, instinctual, and your body moves with his—grinding back down.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

You drag your tongue along his throat now, your hips meeting every unconscious thrust, letting his body tell you what his pride won’t.

And you’re so close to taking it.

To breaking him.

But not yet.

You press a kiss to his flushed cheek, then whisper sweetly in his ear:

“Still think you’ll make it through five?”

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Lap 4/5.

You feel it—the way Lando’s whole body tenses underneath you. Not from the race. Not anymore.

Because he knows what’s coming.

Your hand is still wrapped around him, just beneath the waistband of his joggers, fingers teasing but never giving him enough. You feel him throbbing—full, flushed, leaking now. His cock twitches every time you shift your hips, even just slightly.

You look up at the screen.

His car is still on track, somehow. Barely.

You lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“You made it through three,” you whisper, slow and mocking. “Good boy.”

His breath stutters. He swallows hard.

“But you’re not gonna make it through four.”

And then—before he can reply—you slide your hand fully inside.

You grip him, slow and firm, and pull him free from his joggers. He lets out a low, strangled moan, hips jerking up into your hand automatically. His cock is heavy, hot in your palm, already slick at the tip.

He grips the wheel tighter like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

You shift forward, rising just slightly onto your knees. One hand holds him in place. The other guides your hoodie up, exposing the slick, desperate heat between your thighs.

You hover.

Just above him.

Just close enough that he can feel your warmth.

You hold him there.

“You still think you can last?” you ask, voice syrup-sweet.

He nods once—tight, desperate. “Yeah.”

You smile.

And sink down onto him in one slow, devastating slide.

He practically gasps. Chokes on it. His head drops back against the seat. His hands? They don’t move. He’s still gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from coming right now.

You bottom out with a soft moan, intentionally dragging every inch of him into you. He’s so deep inside you it’s almost painful—in the best way. He throbs violently, twitching inside you.

You stay still for a moment. Let him feel it. Let him suffer in the tension.

“Lap four,” you breathe into his ear. “Let’s see what kind of endurance you really have.”

And then you start to move.

Slow at first—grinding against him in long, deep strokes, your thighs pressing against his, your core clenching around him just to watch his jaw go tight. He’s panting now, fully gone, biting back sounds that are barely human.

He shifts slightly in the seat and his hips jerk up once—uncontrolled, needy.

You don’t slow.

You ride him with purpose—steady rhythm, deliberate pace, perfectly timed to the corners he’s trying so hard to take cleanly.

Every time he tries to focus, you tighten around him. Every time he regains rhythm, you pull him deeper. You watch him unravel.

“How’s your lap time now, baby?” you purr, bouncing slightly harder. “Still think you’re gonna make it?”

He’s sweating. Trembling. You feel him gripping the wheel like if he lets go, he’ll lose everything.

“Fuck,” he grits out, barely audible.

You’re soaked, your thighs slick against his. Every time you sink down, the pressure builds, and you know he’s holding on by a single, fraying thread.

He turns to say something—but his voice fails him. Just a strangled moan.

You lean forward, mouth at his ear again, grinding your hips in tight, pulsing circles that make him jerk beneath you.

“One more lap to go,” you whisper. “You really think you can take it?”

He whimpers.

You smile.

Because you already know the answer.

Lap 5/5

The moment it flashes on screen, he stiffens beneath you like he might have a chance. Like he’s got just enough control left to make it to the line.

You smirk.

Good. Let him think that.

His hands are shaking on the wheel with how hard he’s gripping it behind you.

Not from adrenaline. Not from the track.

From you.

From the way you’re riding him like it’s your only mission—to destroy him one perfect roll of your hips at a time.

You plant your hands on his chest and start to move with intent—grinding deep, slow strokes that force him to feel every clench, every pull, every slick slide of your body swallowing him whole. His head drops back against the rig seat, jaw slack, mouth parted in a silent groan.

But he doesn’t let go.

His hands stay on the wheel.

His eyes flicker between the road and you. His knuckles are bone-white. Every muscle in his body is tight with restraint, as if his sheer willpower might keep him from tipping over the edge.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to make it.”

“I am.” The words barely scrape out of him.

You chuckle, slow and low, clenching around him mid-thrust. He bucks into you so hard the rig creaks, but his grip stays on the wheel.

You ride him harder now—hips slapping softly, slick heat dragging down his cock with perfect, punishing pressure. His entire body jolts with every downward roll of your hips.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.

He groans—deep and wrecked—and tries to focus. Tries to stay in it.

You press your forehead to his and grind in a slow, delicious circle.

“Not the track, is it?” you purr. “You’re thinking about how close you are. How good it would feel to just let go.”

“Fuck—” he gasps, hips jerking up against your rhythm. “No. No—I can finish—”

“You can’t.”

And you make sure of it.

You change your angle—just slightly. And he feels it. Buried even deeper. You clench around him again, dragging a desperate sound from his throat. His back arches against the seat.

He’s trembling. Fully. Visibly.

You slow your pace just enough to tease, your voice syrup-sweet against his cheek:

“I can feel it, baby. You’re right there.”

“I—I’m fine,” he lies.

You pick up speed.

His breath hits high and frantic now, his body jerking with every bounce, every squeeze of your thighs.

“You think you’ll last?” You move faster. “You think you’ll make it across the line without coming in me?”

He whines.

Actually whines.

You dig your nails into his chest, pull his head back, make him look at you. His pupils are blown, his lips pink and parted. He’s wrecked and still trying.

Still trying to win.

You grin.

And then you slam down once, hard, angled just right—and he breaks.

His whole body arches. A sharp, guttural moan tears from his throat as he spills inside you—deep and hot and uncontrollable.

His foot slips on the pedal. On screen, his car jerks wide, flies off the track.

DNF

You collapse into him, both of you panting. Your lips press to his jaw, soft now, breathless.

He’s trembling.

He doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

And you whisper, just for him:

“I told you.”

Lando’s head is tipped back against the seat, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His hands are finally off the wheel, one dangling limp at his side, the other gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He’s still inside you. Still pulsing from the aftershocks.

You shift your hips—just slightly—and he twitches, letting out a broken sound that’s half a whimper, half a curse.

“Fuck me,” he groans, voice ragged.

You lean forward, kiss the corner of his mouth—sweet, smug, slow.

“Oh, I did.”

His eyes snap open.

There’s fire there still—under the wreckage. Under the loss. The glint of a man who isn’t done, even when he’s spent.

He reaches up and cups the back of your neck, dragging you down into a kiss that’s too deep for someone that wrecked. Desperate. Tongue and teeth and the bite of someone who’s not ready to admit defeat.

When he pulls back, his lips are slick, his eyes heavy-lidded but sharp.

“Just because I lost,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean I don’t get to take you… whenever. However.”

Your breath catches.

He grins—slow and dark, still breathless but already hardening again beneath you.

“That was only round one.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the shift in him—the way he’s already coming back to life beneath your thighs.

“Already?” you whisper.

“You said I couldn’t last five laps.” He grabs your hips, guiding you down again, grinding into the mess between you. “Let’s see how many rounds you can take.”

Your eyes flutter.

He’s not asking this time.

And just like that, the game starts over.

notes: i really hope it isn't terrible and makes sense lol. i wanted to get this one out quickly, especially after his sprint win yesterday.

taglist: @literallysza @piceous21

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[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Joel Miller x Reader

Title: Fingers Crossed

Warning(s): None

Character(s): Joel Miller, F!x Reader, Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, mention of Sarah’s mother.

Author’s Note: I do not know much about Sarah’s mother other than her not being there.

I didn’t proofread so my apologies. Prompts are in bold, and credit goes to @ seaside-writings Also the song italicized at the bottom is a Miranda Lambert song from the Marfa Tapes Album.

Relationships were something Joel was inexperienced at. When he and his ex had Sarah, they were young. He got married in a rush because he wanted to do what was right—marry Sarah’s mother. Then she decided that the marriage and having a baby was too much. So one day, she got up and left—said nothing. Not even a good-bye. Left him alone to figure out parenthood, and left him to constantly wonder: what did he do wrong?

Sure, he worked a lot. But diapers, formula, and a house? It cost money, and money only came in by him working constantly. Juggling young fatherhood and a job was tough.

Finding someone was a job all in itself; one he didn’t have time for. He could’ve found someone after Sarah had gotten older, but he could barely juggle his time between work and his own daughter, so why would he add more to his plate?

When the outbreak happened, he had no intention of continuing on with his life after Sarah tragically died in his arms. But the universe had other plans for Joel Miller— he was given Ellie.

A second chance at being a father figure and protecting her from the world. He didn’t know he was going to grow attached to the girl that was supposed to be nothing but cargo. But he did. He became attached and after being told what those surgeons were actually going to do, Joel couldn’t— wouldn’t allow it.

What were the odds of this cure actually working? The odds weren’t good enough for Joel to allow this to happen. So he saved her. He saved her. If Ellie found out, she wouldn’t see it that way. She wouldn’t forgive him for blatantly lying to her face. Maybe Joel was selfish in his decision, but he couldn’t have continued on without her. She was a handful, but Joel genuinely enjoyed her company.

When they had gotten back to Jackson, it was definitely a culture shock for the two of them. They no longer had to worry about struggling to survive winter, or where their next meal was coming from.

Everyone insisted on Joel and Ellie taking their time before taking up their chores or jobs. But Joel threw himself back into work; he’d patrol, watch the gate, and as Jackson grew more and more, he helped build houses. Fix things. He felt needed, and like his life had value now. But on top of that, he still had to raise Ellie. Sure she was a teenager, but she still needed guidance and direction.

Again, there was no time for him to mingle. But Maria had insisted that Joel meet someone that she thought was the perfect match. No matter how much he declined, Tommy came in and dragged his brother to The Tipsy Bison.

“Trust me, you’re gonna like her. She’s beautiful, and musically inclined.” Tommy said as he patted his older brothers back.

Joel kept his eyes on the ground the entire time. When the squeaky doors creaked open, voices chattering and a guitar strumming loudly filled Joel’s ears.

Tommy led Joel to a barstool and ordered two glasses of whiskey. Then he heard a voice singing some song about a smoking jacket, and the voice was sweet, but rugged in a way. He lifted his head and his eyes landed on you, sitting on a barstool singing and expertly strumming the strings of a black guitar. He felt his brother’s eyes on him; Tommy was smirking, “I told you. She’s beautiful. She’s a fucking pistol.”

Joel was entranced by you— your voice alone was dragging him into a deep state of wonder. Who were you? Why hasn’t he come across you before? From that moment, Joel knew you were one of Jackson Hole’s most precious jewels. No matter how hard he tried to tear his gaze from you, he couldn’t. It was like a moth drawn to a flame, you were igniting a fire within him— Joel was like a wick, one that refused to be lit, and when you locked in on him, something sparked.

His hand wrapped around the chilled glass, bringing it to his lips. Your stare was intense, and his eyes never left yours. Joel swiped the remaining whiskey from his lips, and you gave him a smirk. Tommy nudged Joel’s shoulder ripping his gaze from you, “Tommy. Fearless leader, and now matchmaker.” Joel turned on his barstool to face the counter, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Tommy laughed, “Yeah, sure. You weren’t just eye bangin’ her right now?” He mumbled as he took a sip from his own glass.

Joel didn’t hear the music stop, but he heard a voice to his left. “Who are we eye bangin’?” You asked and Joel froze.

Even when you weren’t singing, your voice was sweeter than honey. The bartender passed you a glass, and Tommy got up, pulling you into a hug. “How’s it goin’ sis?” He asked as you placed your guitar into its case.

“It’s going. Am I on the patrol list?” You asked and Tommy nodded. “Got you down for 8 in the morning. Don’t be late.” He said and you pulled what looked like a joint from your jean jacket. You lit it over one of the candles on the counter, and Joel glanced over at Tommy. “You’re not gonna be on time tomorrow are ya?” Tommy asked and you shrugged.

“It’s just one joint. I’ll get up.” You said as you brought it to your lips, taking a long drag from it. “By the way, I’m Y/N.” You said as you held your hand out to Joel.

He shook your hand, “Joel. It’s nice to meet ya.” He said and you smiled.

“I normally don’t offer to share, but you want a hit?” You asked as you held out the doobie towards Joel and he held his hand up, rejecting the offer.

You shrugged your shoulders and climbed up onto a stool right next to him. Joel’s nostrils were filled with the smell of pot, but there was a hint of lavender and vanilla wafting off of you. Even your scent was intoxicating, “Hey. Take that thing outside or put it out.” Seth, the town dickhead, said to you.

Before Joel could say anything, you were already talking. “Why don’t you go outside if you don’t like it, Seth.” You said nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass.

Seth’s shoulders tensed, “No. It’s cold outside.” He replied and you looked up at the man who was a good foot and a half taller than you. “Exactly.” You said as you stood up from your bar stool. Seth took a step back, and you opened Seth’s hand, placing the blunt between his fingers. “Looks like you need this more than I do.” You patted his shoulders, and then turned back to Joel.

“Wanna dance?” You asked him, and Joel nodded. He couldn’t help but to smile at your interaction with Seth.

Seth stood there dumbfounded and Tommy chuckled, gently taking what was left of the joint and putting it out. Your hand grabbed Joel’s hand, leading him to the dance floor as someone else took the stage to sing. Your hand fit perfectly in his, and when you turned to look back at him, he could’ve swore he felt the blush rise in his cheeks. Was he seriously getting flustered?

You must’ve noticed how nervous he was, because you stopped, and turned to look up at him. Joel looked down as you guided his hands to your waist, and then your hands trailed up his arms to his shoulders. “I haven’t danced in a very long time.” He mumbled and you closed the gap between the two of you. “It’s just a basic two-step— this song is easy to get the hang of it.” You replied as you guided him through the dance.

Joel’s heart was pounding in his chest, not from the quick dancing, but from you. The way your eyes remained on him, it was like you were trying to read him.

Were you able to see right through him? Did you know about the bad things he had done? Has word gotten around about how bad of a person he was? People were not very fond of Joel to begin with, so were you dancing with him out of respect and kindness for Maria and Tommy? Was this all just a huge favor to his brother? Because why would someone like you, have agreed to a blind date with him— or was he the only one who was left blind? Surely you knew about who you were meeting tonight.

Your hand rested on the nape of his neck, fingers gently toying with his hair. “Get out of your head, Joel.” You whispered. His eyes fell on you, his breath was caught in his chest, the anxiety of this moment was catching up to him. He pulled back from you, and quickly made a beeline to the front door. His breaths were quick and raspy, it felt like his heart was going too fast, and his brain was tricking him into believing his lungs weren’t getting enough air.

Joel held onto a wooden post, and his other hand clutched at his chest. “Joel?” Your voice called over his shoulder.

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, and then you were standing in front of him. “Hey..” you spoke softly. “Take a deep breath with me.” Now both of your hands were on his shoulders, and you took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Joel inhaled and exhaled with you, the cold, bitter air burning his nostrils. When his heart began to slow and it didn’t feel like there was a cinder block on his chest, he felt embarrassed.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know— that happens sometimes.” He said quietly as he looked anywhere but at you. You probably thought there was something wrong with him.

“Joel, that was a panic attack.” You said as you tried to get him to look at you. He was expecting you to leave him standing there, or for you to say there was something wrong with him. To his surprise, you picked up his hand, “Don’t ever apologize for that. It happens to a lot of people, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Once you learn how to identify your triggers, you can get through it. Even alone.”

He gave you a questioning look, “how did you—?”

“I use to get them. A lot.” You explained and the two of you started walking. Your arm was wrapped around his, “I started getting them after my parents died. My little sister was the one who managed to help me get them under control. And when she— when she died, I had no one to coach me through them. So I had to learn.”

“I’m sorry to hear ‘bout your family. Are you alright?” He asked and you gave him a small smile. “I’m okay. Your brother helped me. He saved me.” Joel nodded, but before he could ask anything else, the two of you came to a stop.

You knew where Joel lived, and he looked over at you, “How do you know where I live?” He asked with a small smile, and you nervously shifted on your feet. “I guess I have had my eye on you for a while now, Miller.” You said in a creepy voice, and Joel tensed.

But when you started laughing at his expression, he relaxed. “I live right across from you, dork.” You said as you pointed at the house across from his. “Just think, if you would’ve looked across sooner, you could’ve fallen in love with me sooner.”

You turned on your heel, and started walking across the street. Joel was stunned by your words, “Who said I was gonna fall in love with you?” He asked and you turned, now walking backwards. “No one. But I have a hunch you’re gonna fall deeply in love with me.” You shouted, and he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna fall in love with you.” He replied and you stopped in your tracks.

“Promise?”

He looked around, making sure Ellie wasn’t eavesdropping again. “I promise. I ain’t gonna fall in love with you, doll.” He said and you smirked. “Good-night, Joel.”

“Night, Y/N.” He replied as he took the first few steps up his porch. Then he turned to watch you walk up the stairs of your own porch. You turned and he could see you smile, and you blew him a kiss. Tommy was right. You were going to be a damn pistol, but in a way Joel liked that. But he tried to shake that feeling, because he wasn’t going to fall in love with you. He couldn’t. There was no room for a relationship in his life… When he walked in and kicked his boots off by the door, he counted how many years had it been since he went on a date. But it was long enough for him not to remember.

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a full year. A full year of you making yourself a permanent fixture into the Miller household. You ate dinner with him and Ellie most nights, you went to work with Joel nearly every day, and then you became his permanent patrol partner. One morning, Joel had a realization as you sat across from him. The three of you sat at the breakfast table; you were drinking a cup of coffee, your hair was wavy and perfectly messy. It was then he realized he hasn’t had one panic attack since that night at the bar.

Ellie chattered on about what her and Dina had planned to do to Jesse when he wasn’t looking. Her voice sounded like it was a million miles away, and he watched you intently. You were laughing along with Ellie, encouraging her prank idea, and Joel found himself smiling. “I feel like Jesse needs to loosen up a bit. And I think this prank is going to do just that.” You brought your coffee cup to your lips, and your eyes had landed on Joel.

You smiled behind the dark brown coffee mug, and Joel smiled back. “Well, Ellie, good luck on your prank. Joel, will I see you tonight at the Bison?” You asked and he nodded. “If everything goes as planned at the job site.” He responded and you pushed in your chair. “Good. Because I’m going to sing your favorite song tonight.”

“I look forward to it.” He said trying to be nonchalant.

“See y’all later. Don’t get caught Ellie!” You shouted as you closed the door behind you.

“Wait— what do you plan on doin’ to Jesse?” Joel questioned and the teenager pushed her chair back.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ellie said as she put her bowl into the sink and Joel turned in his chair. “Yes, I’d like to know.”

“Can’t tell ya, because it’ll jeopardize the plan.”

“You just told Y/N what you were doin’.” He said and Ellie smiled. “Maybe instead of giving her fuck me eyes, you should’ve listened.” She replied and Joel choked on his coffee. “I wasn’t— don’t say that!” He scolded and she quickly put on her coat. “Bye Joel!” She said before darting out of the front door.

Joel sighed, was he that obvious? You had become a really good friend of his, and he didn’t want to ruin that by a relationship. He wasn’t any good at them. The entire work day, he was thinking of you; what were you doing right now? Did you see him staring at you from across the breakfast table? He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to tonight. He couldn’t wait to see you all cleaned up, wearing one of those damned sundresses.

He thought about the color you were going to wear tonight. Would it be the yellow, the baby blue, or the pink one? When the work day was completed, he raced home to shower and clean up. When he combed back his hair neatly, that was when he realized he had fallen in love with you. Shit. He had just admitted it to himself. Joel had fallen in love with you. No matter how hard he tried not to, the love he felt for you was inevitable at this point. There was no use in trying to deny it.

After he was ready, he quickly made his way to the bar, and the moment he walked in through the door, he heard you up on stage singing.

“Well if you ever get time to two-step down to Texas, find yourself down ‘round Austin way.”

The bar room was buzzing with the sound of people singing, laughing, dancing, and clapping along as you sang.

Your eyes landed on Joel, just like they had the first night he met you. You tipped your imaginary cowboy hat towards him, “I’ll be waitin’ every time with my cowboy hat and wine—” He leaned up against the counter, and clapped alongside everyone else, “If you two-step down to Texas and go steppin’ out with me!” You finished strong, and Joel laughed.

You sat your guitar in its case on the stage and jumped from the stage, running over to Joel. Everyone clapped for you, and the bartender handed you a shot glass. It was like a tradition you had with the bar room of people; you would take a shot after every “show”.

After you finished your shot, everyone cheered, and you laughed. “Joel! I was singing your favorite song, and I looked for you in the crowd but didn’t see ya.”

Joel smiled, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t stop the song on my account.”

You smiled and gently punched his shoulder, “There would’ve been a damn riot if I did. People are wanting to dance tonight.” A man got up on stage and introduced himself, before bringing the microphone you were just using to his lips. “Speaking of dancing, join me.” You said as you pulled him away from the counter, dragging him to the dance floor.

Instead of your hands guiding his to your waist, he took the initiative of doing it for you. Your body went frigid as he pulled you into his body, you were wearing the baby blue sundress, and it was by far his favorite.

Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, and you smiled up at him. “Look at you… you’re learning.” You said and the two of you began to sway to the slow song.

“Learned from the best.” He responded and he spun you around, earning a giggle from you. Joel pulled you close again and now your cheek was resting against his chest. He hoped you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was beating.

Your eyes were closed and a sigh of content escaped your lips. Joel smiled at this— maybe he wasn’t doing so bad after all. Just the mere idea of you melting against him, feeling safe in his arms, and you feeling the same way as he did, made him believe he was doing something right.

The song was at its end, and instead of getting lost with all of the questions that overloaded his mind, he chose to dip you down in his arms. He held you down, and you smiled up at him.

There it was— the smile he had fell in love with. He pulled you back up, spun you around, and your back was against his chest, your arms tangled with his.

You looked up at him and his cheek was pressed to your forehead. "You promised you wouldn't fall in love with me.” You whispered, and your eyes met his.

Joel breath was caught in his throat, he felt you shiver against his touch, “I had my fingers crossed.” He replied his lips inching closer to yours.

The two of you stared into each others eyes, looking for confirmation in one another’s face. Joel boldly closed the gap between you two, his lips ghosting over yours, testing the waters. But when he could no longer hold back, you turned in his arms, your hands going to his cheeks. His lips pressed gently into yours, and you tip toed, leaving no space or gap between you and him.

Joel’s hands held your waist, he could taste the shot of whiskey as his tongue gently pressed past your lips. Your lips were soft, and the sudden burst of love he felt for you was dizzying.

When you pulled away, you were smiling, and so was he. Breathlessly, you spoke, “Fingers crossed, huh?” Joel laughed.

He was given a lot of second chances in his life; but this will be the first, second chance he got at having a relationship. ‘This one was gonna be forever.’

But forever was cut short.

————-

Author’s Note: I hope y’all enjoyed this! Reblogs, comments, and likes are GREATLY appreciated. It really encourages us writers to put out more content 🩵

Xoxo