#and how can you think he would not be hungry

[landopoet]

high enough.

pairing lando x piastri!reader

warnings drug use, smut

playlist so high - doja cat / slow down - chase atlantic / friends - chase atlantic / sex money feelings die - lykke li / the morning - the weeknd / cherry hill - russ

synopsis it’s not everyday you get to see your brother’s teammate take not only the edge off, but also your clothes.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You watched as the smoke rose to the ceiling after the soft puff past your lips. The swirling of smoke hypnotised you, before it twirled and disappeared into nothing.

The joint burned between your fingers when you passed it to Lando. “You have a few puffs left.”

Lando was completely out of it, practically melting into the couch when he mindlessly lifted his arm and softly plucked the joint from your fingers. You turned your head and watched as he brought it to his lips, taking a long drag before pulling the burning bud away from his face.

He could feel your gaze on him, burning about five times as hot as the smoke in his lungs. He can’t lie and say he doesn’t like you staring when all he’s been thinking of was making your eyes roll back into your head. The image of you sprawled across the couch, his lips soaked in you and moans leaving your mouth was enough to make him go crazy.

“You’re taking too long,” you rush him. He turns his head to you, half-lidded eyes hiding so much more than what he lets you see. You could look at those green hues forever, but the soft pull of his lips pulls you back into reality. Or as much of it as you can comprehend in this state.

Lando motions to the joint in his fingers. “You want another hit?”

“Yeah,” you nod, about to take the bud from his hand before he pulls it to his mouth and takes a long drag. “What the–”

Your question gets interrupted when Lando’s hand firmly grips the back of your head and pulls your face in. When he blows the smoke out, you’re quick to understand what he’s doing and suck the smoke in.

Lando smiled to himself as he pulled away, watching how starstruck you were by what he just did.

Even though all he meant to do was to shotgun smoke into your mouth, you can’t help but pull him in to close the gap between your lips. The urge to kiss him was too much to handle for you, even when sober, but the confidence to finally kiss him came when being inebriated.

Lando can’t deny that he’s been thinking the same— he’s been pondering the thought of kissing your lips way before you decided to smoke. He’s been waiting for you to make the first move, knowing you definitely would at some point, and he wasn’t wrong.

Smoke left the crevices forming between your lips as you moulded against one another, hungry hums and whimpers already leaving your throats. Lando’s hands softly pulled your hips closer to him until you ended up in his lap.

The mere feeling of you sat on him, already pulsing against him, had his mind reeling. You felt him hardening underneath you, perfectly slotting his boner against your clothed entrance.

You smirked into the kiss, a single thought popping into your head— teasing him.

The two of you had made a deal. You’d spend some time together, just as friends, before trying to be in a relationship. That seemed to work, for about three weeks, until this night when you invited Lando to hang out. It was supposed to be nothing but you watching a movie together, until you remembered the leftover weed in your grinder.

You remember the light in his eyes when he heard you mention weed. “It’s been a while since I’ve had any,” he said. But you promised to take care of him.

And take care of him you will.

Lando’s mind is a mush, any movement he makes feels like he’s slowed down or like it’s missing frames, so he doesn’t understand that you’re softly rocking your hips against him until he feels the need to fuck you again.

“Love,” his raspy voice whispers against your numb lips, fingers digging into your skin to stop your movements. “What’re you doing?”

“Hm?” You pull away, softly biting your lips as your hands brace you against his chest, hips stilling above his dick. “What do you mean?”

You watch as his lips pull into a smirk again. “Don’t play stupid,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you want me to fuck you, just say that.”

The tone of his voice mixed with the haze settling in your mind just after that last puff of smoke you had is making you think less and do more. Instead of answering him, you crash your lips onto his again and subconsciously go back to rocking your hips again.

He smirks against your mouth, guiding your hips to grind harder against him. You whimper and he catches the noise with his mouth, tongue swirling against yours when you wrap your fingers softly around the base of his neck.

Lando’s hands softly tug on the waistband of your sweatpants. “Take them off.”

You hum, lips still connected to him as you lift yourself up and tug your pants down. They pool at your knees, you still straddling Lando. “Can’t do it.”

“You want me to do it for you?” He asks, more of a mock than a laugh leaving his mouth. When you nod, eyes still half-lidded and examining him, he lays you down with your head on the armrest of the couch. You watch carefully as he softly tugs your sweatpants lower, before completely tugging them off your body.

Lando sits back, hands on your knees as he memorises the view of you— underwear soaked with your need for him, sticking to the curves of your pussy so perfectly that it leaves little to the imagination.

“Can I?” Lando asks, fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You nod, like you’ve been doing for pretty much this whole exchange, and he can’t help but beg you to speak. “You gotta use your words, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, voice hushed as if you’re scared anyone in your empty house would hear you. “Touch me, I need you.”

Lando laughed, almost pitifully at your state as he pulled the panties down your legs, agonisingly slow. You were too high to function enough, so your plea for him to move faster came out as an annoyed grumble.

“Impatient much?” Lando laughed, hands softly dragging their way up your legs from your ankles. When he notices the lack of response from you, he stills. “You okay? How do you feel?”

“I’m good,” you mumble, peeling your eyes open to look up at his worried eyes. “But you could make me feel much better.”

You smile at the return of his smirk. You’ve grown quite fond of it, getting used to the look of his dimples returning. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby. Are you sure you want this, though? You know what Osc would do if he found out.”

“But he won’t,” you bite back a smirk of your own, propping yourself up on your elbows. “He doesn’t have to know about everything I do.”

“Atta girl.” He smiles before positioning himself between your legs. “Lean back and relax for me, pretty.”

You do as told, laying back on the couch and looking up at the ceiling. It took you a moment to realise that he was just looking at you, admiring the view in front of him.

It’s exactly what he imagined. He couldn’t help but watch as your chest rose and fell with fast-paced breaths, anticipation creeping up your spine with each moment. It took everything he had in him not to fuck you right then and there.

Instead, he dragged his tongue through your folds, the taste of you being almost as satisfying than what he thinks fucking you will feel like. Lando wants to take it easy and make the most of your high, so that’s exactly what he’ll do.

It doesn’t take long before he hears the pretty moans fall from your lips at the mere contact of his tongue on your clit. He circles it, gently sucking on it and you feel like you’re floating in space, so relaxed and pleased that it’s almost too much to take.

“Taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, the sound vibrating through your body. You felt some pressure on your clit, his tongue circling it again.

Jagged breaths leave your lips, the feeling of his lips softly suckling on you mixed with the buzz from the joint tipped you over the edge way sooner than you’d expect. You felt the euphoria was over you as he still flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud.

“Lan,” you murmur, fingers somehow in his hair and tugging hard on it. You felt the pattern of his curls embrace your fingers as you arched your back, almost pulling away from him.

Lando wouldn’t have that. His hands firmly gripped your hips and pinned them down. Instead of letting you squirm away, he forced his tongue onto your clit harder, using the base of it to get as much surface area as he can get.

You felt dizzy. It’s the first time you’ve done anything sexual while high and it was better than anything you’ve ever imagined. You almost feel numb, as if you were melting into the couch.

Lando felt your hips tense in his hands, knowing you’re close to tipping over the edge, so he does what he promised you he’d do. He makes you feel the fucking best.

His tongue licks you like he’s a starved man, thirsty for anything he can get his pretty little lips on. And it just so happened to be you.

Lando basks in the pretty whimpers leaving your mouth and the flavour of you on his tongue, not noticing how he let one of his hands travel down to his dick. He palms himself through the fabric of his grey sweatpants, a wet spot already evident.

You feel him moan into your pussy, sending that last nervous impulse that makes you finish all over his mouth. He laps you up, satisfied groans and moans escaping between shallow breaths.

Lando keeps his lips on your skin, kissing your thighs before softly biting them. He mumbles something to you but you can’t hear, too busy looking at the pathetic mess of a man at the end of the couch— sloppily marking your thighs while he continues to palm himself.

“Let me help you,” you whisper and he whips his head up. You watch as he sits up, tugging his sweats down and leaving his boxers on.

Lando watches as you straddle his thighs and softly tug down the Jack&Jones waistband of his boxers. He hisses when his dick flings up and slaps against his clothed abdomen.

It’s your turn to hear the string of curse words and moans leave his mouth as you drag his tip across your folds before sinking onto him, his dick filling you up in just the right way.

“Fuck, baby,” he hums contently, one of his hands palming the back of your neck before he pulls you in for a kiss. “You take me so well, so fucking well.”

You whimper into his mouth, slowly moving your hips after getting used to the size of him. His breath hitches, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you sink back onto him again.

The pace of you riding him quickens in no time, the noise of skin-on-skin contact filling up the empty space of your room.

Lando’s fingers tangle in your hair as he turns your head to the side, lips making a trail of kisses down from your jaw and ending at your collarbone, with the occasional hickey or nibble between kisses.

“Lando,” you moan his name the second you make contact with your clit, lazily rubbing it to match the pace of your hips clashing against his.

His lips make contact with yours again, kissing you with an aggression you’ve never felt before. It was borderline addicting, kissing you. Like a drug Lando knows he would never stop taking.

“You sound so pretty moaning my name,” he mumbles between kisses, not long before his tongue tastes your mouth again.

“I’m close,” you whine, arm tired from rubbing your clit. Lando notices the twitch of your hand and takes over, his thumb matching the pace you had set before.

His hips buckle and a knot forms in your lower belly at the feeling of him pulsing even deeper inside you, your walls embracing his length perfectly. “Me too. Think you can gimme another one?”

“Mhm,” you nod, eagerly. “Please.”

“You don’t have to beg for me to make you cum, princess.” His mocking tone soothes your ears. It’s quite an opposite feeling from the harsh grip he has on your hip with his left hand, the other still toying your throbbing clit.

It’s a few seconds before you feel a warmth filling you up, a string of moans and curses leaving Lando’s lips. It doesn’t take long for you to do the same, head tilted back and chest heaving with hasty breaths and an unsteady heartbeat.

Lando’s hands still guide your hips for a bit longer, before coming to a halt. The green in his eyes traces all over your face, looking for a sign of anything negative. Instead he finds that you’re grinning.

“You good?” He asks, fingers softly tucking the strands of hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead.

“Never been better,” you reciprocate the same thing, playing with the curls at the front of his head. “But you fucked me so good I’m not high anymore.”

“Want me to roll another one?”

“No,” you lean in and close the gap between your lips. “Kissing you gets me high enough.”

© all rights reserved.

[kaisaerinlover]

half vampire sae who notices you at his game and feels so hungry for you he almost can’t focus on the game at hand :< your blood smells so sweet and he wants a taste so badly.

half vampire sae who secretly prays that you don’t leave too quickly so he can talk with you without anyone noticing it.

half vampire sae who’s usually expressionless face almost contorts into something akin to disgust as he sees one of the lukewarm players from the opposing team trying to talk to you.

half vampire sae who’s relieved it was so easy to get you to trust him so quickly after he dealt with the loser who was trying to talk to you. he makes small talk with you and calls you princess subtly and you’re giggling instantly and nodding so sweetly to his request for a date.

half vampire sae who realises why you smell so delicious: you’re so innocent. he hasn’t ever smelt blood as pure and it’s taking everything he has in him to not ravage you in the movie theatre he generously took you to for your date.

half vampire sae who finds you pretty cute actually, he notices your little quirks and how jumpy you are at any physical contact.

half vampire sae who completely flips a switch when he finally manages to lure you back to his mansion, but you’re a little too late to realise it. when you realise him guiding you to his room you blush and look down and tell him you’re a virgin.

half vampire sae who simply leans down a little and licks his lips, and tells you it’s okay, he’s not going to fuck you, as he pins you down onto his bed and salivates at the sight of your neck. so pure, so sweet.

poor you who’s confused yet enjoying him licking and nipping at your neck, til he suddenly sticks his fingers in your mouth whilst leaning over you and chastises you harshly, yet albeit a little soft voiced, that you need to ‘sh’ now.

poor you who’s still sucking absentmindedly on his fingers, you trust him right? stupid naive you, trusting someone as thirsty and deprived of a being as pure as you for as long as he can remember so quickly. he doesn’t feel bad for what he’s about to do though, this will teach you not to be so naive and trusting!

half vampire sae who finally bites into that sweet area of open skin on your neck, and he knows someone like him has no chance of getting to heaven if it’s real, but it can’t get better than the taste of this. he almost allows his mask of nonchalance to slip, not that it would matter anyway, your eyes are closed, sobbing around the fingers he still has slotted in your mouth.

half vampire sae who’s draining the shit out of your neck, the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted. but he knows he has to pull away eventually, he doesn’t want to accidentally kill you after all. he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and is leaning over you, blood trickling down his lips.

half vampire sae who actually feels something for you, he thinks you look delectable down there, caged beneath his arms. and he does something he never did for any girl he thirsted for. he smashes his lips into yours. you can taste your blood on his tongue, and his sharp teeth cut your already aching mouth up.

half vampire sae who’s still showing no expression at all as he pulls away, but the way he just acted says it all. he wants you so bad, and he’ll keep you. you’re a real catch, little thing, he can’t let you go now. he already imagines how much easier life will become having a sweet fountain like you to drink from.

half vampire sae who’s staring down at your terrified form, trapped on his bed beneath his arms. cute. he uses his thumb to wipe away some of the blood from your lip, and sucks it clean. “mine now.” he mumbles to you.

half vampire sae who has one arm draped around you in bed holding you close to him so you can’t escape. he has you dressed so nicely in a white flowy nightgown and some frilly socks. he’s gross, he thinks, because he’s excited to stain it with your innocent blood the very next morning. no morning coffee can beat this, believe him.

half vampire sae who’s never really lusted for girls further than just their blood, which were lukewarm anyway, until now. he falls asleep arms wrapped around you thinking of how hard he’s going to fuck your innocence away whilst drinking you down even more. but he knows you’ll still taste as sweet as ever, you’re an infinite source of purity. he truly won today.

half vampire sae who wakes up and indulges himself immediately, waking you up in the process. you’re so fucking cute when you wear that fearful expression. so scared of him. his princess, his new everything. and he knows it’s sealed when he stops his brutality every few minutes to gently nibble at your lip and peck you so sweetly, an ironic act.

half vampire sae who’s excited to see how the rest of his life plays out with you by his side now.

[merakiui]

a little scenario that’s been floating around in my head for a bit (◕ᴗ◕✿) soft non con with hybrid wolf Jade and a bunny girl darling…

Jade who’s going into rut, delirious and no way to properly relieve himself without a mate… maybe a walk through the forest will help him clear his head! He’s barely managing in his condition ;( all hot and stumbling over himself… this was a bad idea. maybe he should just find someplace to lay down. But he spots a little bunny girl in the bushes and next thing he knows his legs are working again and he’s chasing her through the forest!

The poor thing is trembling and kicking at him, but she’s no match for Jade’s strength! Surely she’s about to be eaten! But he’s more horny than hungry orz and she’s only slightly less fearful when he’s suddenly burying his face between her thighs. He’s not gonna eat her but he still wants a taste! She’s so small and soft and warm… and smells SO good. He won’t listen to her protests but is being surprisingly… gentle… doing his best to prep and stretch her out with his fingers (｡>﹏<) but it’s still so much when he’s finally inside!

Jade’s cooing sweet praises at her for taking him so well between pathetic whining and panting ( ;´ - `;) he wants to be slow but he can’t… it’s the sweetest relief he’s known! He passes out soon after knotting her, and after the swelling went down enough she took her chance to escape! He’s disappointed to see that she’s already gone when he wakes up :(

It’s a relief for her to still be alive after that encounter, but not so much in the following months… She better pray that she never runs into him again, cuz if Jade sees how pregnant she is with his pups he’s sure as hell not letting his little bunny girl escape a second time (๑-﹏-๑)

👁 👁 AAAAA THIS IS A FEAST!!!!! Anon, you have no idea how down bad I am for bunny x wolf dynamic…… orz and with wolf Jade as well,,, it’s over for me. OTL small bunnygirl with a belly full of pups… so heavily pregnant that all of the other bunnies in your village marvel over how you’re able to hold so many, all of them assuming those are baby bunnies. No one knows anything about the wolf you encountered and you won’t tell anyone because you’re too scared, fearing that the others in your village will panic if they think you led a wolf into your safe, peaceful home. >_<

But sometimes it really is so difficult to stand for long periods of time or do lots of work without breaks, and you have the appetite of a wolf now with so many pups!! You’re only a few months along, but you look like you’re at the end of your pregnancy, fit to burst and give birth any moment. You avoid doctor appointments because you worry they’ll be able to tell what really happened even though everything is completely confidential and Dr. Rosehearts would never do such a thing!

Aaaaa imagine instead of encountering Jade again it’s his twin brother…… Floyd who only finds you because you smell familiar (like a wolf or maybe like his family), so he’s confused when he parts the bushes to find…a bunny??? And you panic because you think it’s him—the wolf who chased you down and fucked into you like a mindless beast. Floyd who tries to speak softly and sweetly to get you to calm down. You’re so pregnant. He doesn’t want to stress you out. :< maybe you can come back to his home and he can make you something nice to eat as an apology for spooking you. You must be starving, right?

Wolf Floyd who unintentionally leads you right to Jade. :)

[meanbossart]

So, I was thinking after the newest Bhaalist DU Drow art (and his hand dangerously close to Astarions throat): what would happen if Astarion runs away? Did he ever try?

And, what's also pretty sad, how does affection look like for them in this AU? Does Astarion just push through and dissociate? Can he ever say no? Or does he hope the love of his life (or unlife) changes at some point?

Thankies 💕

CW: Non-explicit description of a coercive sexual relationship.

You know, I'm not sure he would try to run away. I haven't thought about this AU in quite as much depth as I have their canonical story, but I do know that DU drow has turned Baldur's Gate and the area around it into quite the scary place. The "immediate and absolute control over the brain" outcome that we get in the game is a bit too easy for me, but he DOES retain the stones and therefore ownership over it, not to mention a huge bargaining chip in political control of the vicinity.

The church of Bhaal is reinstated, and while it will never be in the interest of Bhaalists to be blatant about their activities, it would become common knowledge that they have eyes everywhere. Killing is still ritualistic rather than mindless massacre, and indoctrination is prioritized - they can't expand and fulfill Bhaal's will if all potential followers are dead. People who don't yet follow the gospel have reason to cooperate with them since that lessens their chances of being killed.

So, if the darling of the cult's head were to suddenly disappear, everyone infected would be immediately zapped with the knowledge of exactly what he looks like and where he was last seen, and what the repercussions are for anyone who fails to report his whereabouts. Astarion knows this, DU drow would make sure that he does.

Also, it would probably be far too easy for Astarion to justify his own compliance and try to make peace with the situation. This IS the man he fell in love with, he DID encourage his pursuit for power at every step, he may not be the grand vampire ascendant, but he is the Murder Prince's beloved. He doesn't beat him, he doesn't torture him, he spoils Astarion with riches, comfort, and all the fresh blood he could dream of; all he asks for in return is his eternal devotion, constant affection, adoration, control over where he is, wears, does, and total surveillance.

When the alternative is braving the cold, ruthless world as a meager little vampire spawn while being hunted down by your ex's minions (hm, sounds familiar) being the equivalent to your partner's boutique pet starts to look pretty desirable. Astarion falling to old habits and resigning to his circumstance seems pretty likely to me. If he did run away successfully, life would be a whole lot harder for him. If he runs away unsuccessfully, he loses the trust of his murderous, power-hungry partner and the few liberties he is afforded at all.

Speaking of liberties, saying no to intimacy is one he still has, however the consequences for being frigid and nonreciprocating would come in other forms, over time, and Astarion would probably rather spare himself the trouble and just play along as the highly affectionate and fiery lover that this DU Drow wants him to be. The happier he is, the easier things are.

Not to mention that, occasionally, he can pretend that everything is back to how it used to be when they are being intimate.

I think there are vulnerable moments where he hopes he will snap out of it, but most of the time Astarion is convincing himself that he hit the jackpot, that he has DU drow wrapped around his finger and he will be able to turn this more in his favor eventually.

[the-au-thor]

A Complete Guide to Delivering Bad News | Spencer Reid Blurb

"You're scared. I'm scared. But we'll figure it out—together."

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warning: click here!

You crossed the door softly, your steps as silent as a ghost. Even the usual clack of your heels didn’t echo through the living room like it normally would when you had something to say. But this time, you weren’t sure how to feel about it. That sharp, gnawing sensation of uncertainty weighed on you, as though the longer you delayed walking to the study, where Spencer was probably sitting and reading, the more time you have to solve that Rubik’s Cube. Yet, when you turned down the hallway and reached the study’s threshold, you realized it was less like a cube and more like a Penrose staircase.

Frozen in place, you stood just inside the doorway, clutching the straps of your bag tightly, already regretting your choice of heels. You watched him from the shadows in that gentle, looming silence—like some kind of deadly warning: break the stillness, and face the consequences. It was as if Spencer were a mythical beast, an ogre, perhaps, who would be angered by any interruption of his reading. But you knew better. He’d finish the book soon enough, lifting his gaze once it was done.

When Spencer read for pleasure, he took his time, savoring every page. But when it was for work or research, he read ravenously—devouring words, lines, and paragraphs like a starving predator. He absorbed them completely, committing every critical detail to memory. Not a single line was ever lost on him.

It only took him a few long seconds to finish his book before he closed it with an almost annoyed snap. He seemed frustrated—maybe the mystery remained unsolved, and that was bound to irritate him. Running a hand through his soft, slightly unkempt hair that was overdue for a cut, he finally lifted his eyes. His chocolate gaze settled on you, and you could see the surprise flicker across his face.

His hand rose to his mouth, his fist partially covering it—a thoughtful gesture you’d come to recognize as religiously Spencer. Behind his reading glasses, which he’d started wearing again after a mandatory work eye exam, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he saw something in you that he couldn’t quite name.

“Hey,” he greeted you simply. “Didn’t think you’d come by today.”

That was just how he was. Spencer didn’t bother with formalities or obligatory social niceties. No “hello” or “how are you.” He always went straight to the point.

For a moment, you forgot how to speak. Looking down at the tips of your stilettos, you let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I was nearby and thought I’d stop by to say hi. But you’re working on a case, so… obviously, it’s a bad time. I’ll just come back when we agreed.”

You faltered, retreating into your own nervousness.

You didn’t believe in irrational fears. Every fear had a source—either a clear, imminent danger or a subtle, buried trigger. Natural fears, like the instinct to flee from a hungry predator, were different from conditioned ones, like the rising panic in a crowded room with stifling air. Whether natural or induced, you couldn’t yet tell which kind of fear this was.

“Hey, no.” Spencer stood, crossing the room to you in just two strides. His hand gently wrapped around your arm, holding you in place as you glanced down at his touch. “You always do this—you show up, say something half-formed, and then you leave. You don’t have to come over just because it’s a day we planned. You know you can come by anytime, right?”

Your brow furrowed slightly as you shook your head.

“There are planned days because you work,” you replied. “And I respect your work too much to get in the way.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. Slowly, he leaned closer to you, his movements deliberate, testing, teasing. You knew what he was doing—he loved the control, the way he could make you feel completely his without even touching you.

It didn’t take much for you to melt into him. With Spencer, you felt like water—your boundaries dissolving, your willpower slipping. When he kissed you, it was as though every principle, belief, and argument you had vanished. You became something fragile yet intensely alive, caught in the paradox of being both deconstructed and reconstructed by him.

When his lips finally met yours, you surrendered, feeling his breath warm against your skin. Your eyes fell closed, not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was a way to shield yourself from the overwhelming rush of it all, or maybe it was your body’s instinctive attempt to hold onto the feeling, locking it inside where it couldn’t escape.

But then something snapped—you realized it was you, shifting closer to him, pulling him to you as your hands clung desperately to his frame. The fear coursing through you drove you into his arms, like this might be the last time you’d let yourself do this.

Spencer didn’t seem to mind. His hands moved from your cheeks to the small of your back, gentle yet unyielding, like he was afraid of breaking you but couldn’t resist the pull to touch you.

He always touched you. When you ate together, your feet would inevitably find each other beneath the table, a playful connection. On rare, rainy afternoons spent watching TV instead of him reading aloud to you, your legs would tangle in an unspoken agreement of intimacy. Even in the quietest moments, when you rested beside him, he would absentmindedly brush his fingers along your shoulder or twirl a strand of your hair around his finger, completely unaware of how tethered he kept you.

As his hands returned to your cheeks, you knew the kiss was ending. He pulled back, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses to your lips before stopping altogether. His smile brushed your forehead as he rested his lips there, lingering for a moment before taking your hand.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, his tone light. “I was working on some research for an old case that’s been reopened. The FBI wants every department to solve at least one old case. But I could use a break—you have great timing.” His eyes sparkled with intensity as he lifted your entwined hands to his lips, kissing your fingers. “How about Chinese takeout?”

Your stomach churned at the suggestion, bile rising at the back of your throat. Normally, you’d say yes, but today, the thought of eating anything made you shake your head. You stopped him halfway down the hall, unable to speak as a tight knot formed in your throat. The words were there, tangled, trapped, unable to escape.

"I need to tell you something."

You couldn’t look him in the eye, so you focused on the undone buttons of his blue plaid shirt. He wore a gray vest over it, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Normally, you’d call it formal, but on him, it was quintessential. Spencer Reid simply wouldn’t be Spencer without his signature style.

"Hey," he whispered, dropping his smile and replacing it with a worried expression, as if your single sentence had triggered his defenses "What is it? What’s wrong?"

You lifted your gaze, realizing your eyes were clouded with unshed tears, ones you didn’t want to let fall but knew would eventually betray you. You hated being the cliché of the girl who cries before saying something important, but there you were. You also hated how you couldn’t rein in your emotions.

You’d tried convincing yourself to see him as just another man you had to interview. That didn’t work. Then you told yourself: He’s older than yoy; he can only ever be your friend. And finally, you can’t love him. And yet, here you were, in love with him, tears threatening to spill over because of him.

"I’m so sorry," you said, pulling your hand free from his.

You wanted to hold on, to cling to him like your lungs clung to air. But touching him only made it harder. Touching him hurt. Looking at him hurt. Loving him hurt.

When you looked at him again, his expression was pained. Spencer couldn’t help it. His job sometimes required him to mask his emotions, and though he had the ability to do it at will, he never did so with you. He allowed himself to be vulnerable around you, and that made you feel even worse. You wanted to give him the same, but your defensive nature always got in the way, tugging at you like two ends of a rope being pulled in opposite directions.

"Why are you apologizing? Seriously, love, you’re scaring me"

Spencer covered his mouth with his hand, studying you thoughtfully. He was trying not to analyze you—you could tell. He always made an effort because he knew how much you hated being read. He had told you before that he preferred hearing things directly from you when you were ready, instead of taking what was yours to give.

You, on the other hand, nervously tucked your hair back and glanced around again, as if the vase, the mirror, or the coffee table might lend you courage. But if courage came, it would have to come from within.

"I know," you stammered. "And I’m sorry for that too. Normally, I’m good with words, you know that, but..."

"Hey," he said again, softly, stepping closer and gently cradling your face to make you look at him. When his kind brown eyes met yours, part of you calmed, finding solace somewhere between the dark freckle in his iris and his pupil. You closed your eyes to shut him out. You didn’t need solace; you needed the dizzying unease to summon the courage.

"You know you can tell me anything," he paused, giving you space to speak, but you didn’t. "Love?" he called again, but you couldn’t answer. Not if the first thing you’d see upon opening your eyes would be him. "Is it really that bad?"

That’s when the first sob escaped you. It wasn’t intentional, but it was the release of all the panic bottled up over the past two weeks and three hours. Two weeks of sleepless nights, subpar work performance, and the subsequent three hours of pure anguish and tension. Nothing about this was okay.

"If I tell you, you’ll hate me," you said, muffled against the fabric of his vest as he embraced you.

Spencer’s hands traced soothing circles on your back and nape, but he tensed at your words. You’d expected that. You were being so ambiguous he could’ve easily imagined you were about to tell him you had mere months to live. You couldn’t help it. That flickering fear ticked away like the seconds on a time bomb, and your tears continued to flow, defying your determination to hold them back.

"I could never hate you," he said with the certainty of someone stating that grass is green and water, when liquid, is wet. "The only way to deliver bad news is to just say it."

"I can’t do it."

"Then pretend you’re a doctor, and I’m your patient. Follow the protocol," he suggested. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, trying to calm yourself despite the tears that kept falling.

"What’s the protocol?"

"First, the doctor must keep their emotions in check."

You scoffed.

"I already failed at that."

Spencer chuckled.

"Alright, let’s move to step two: practice ahead of time what you’re going to say."

"I did," you nodded, sighing as you tried to breathe normally through your sobs. "But I forgot everything."

"That’s okay. Step three: make sure the environment is pleasant and safe."

You glanced around. Still in the hallway, it was safe but far from pleasant. You stepped back, slowly pulling away from Spencer, and led him to the living room, sitting him on the plush sofa. Instead of taking a seat beside him, as you would’ve preferred, you sat across from him. The space between you felt like a chasm. Spencer looked at you attentively, restraining himself, when it should’ve been you—the one delivering this ethical "protocol"—who was calm.

"What’s next?"

Admittedly, it was more an excuse to stall the inevitable than genuine curiosity, but Spencer had started this game with his suggestion, so you felt he should guide you through it.

"Choose the right moment. Is this really urgent?"

You nodded quickly, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan and trying to stop the tears, even as more threatened to replace the ones you’d just dried.

“I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Then the next step is to look the person in the eye and explain everything without overcomplicating it,” Spencer instructed.

Without thinking, you automatically looked at him, your expression contorted in pain as you blinked rapidly to chase away the tears.

“Okay,” you said, your voice breaking into a hushed whisper, but he heard you clearly. “Well… two weeks ago, I had that episode, remember?”

Spencer nodded, his eyebrows lifting in alarm at the memory.

“Yes, but you said it was stress from finals. I insisted you see a doctor. Stress can cause fainting spells, but there’s usually an underlying reason. I would’ve felt much better ruling out anything serious.”

You nodded slowly.

“I went to the doctor this morning.”

Suddenly, Spencer’s expression turned as pale as rice paper. A tremor ran through him, and you could sense it even from where you were sitting.

“It’s not serious… is it?”

His chin quivered with acute panic as he looked away, avoiding your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

You gave yourself five seconds to muster the courage, then let it out.

“I’m pregnant.”

You could’ve sworn you heard a sharp, ringing sound—like a clap too close to your ear that left you dazed and half-deaf. Then came the dreaded silence. You could hear the ticking of the cuckoo clock hanging on the wall, the streetcars outside, even the construction at the end of the avenue. It all swirled around you, as if every small noise now existed inside the room. Even your heartbeat thundered loudly, like a persistent panic alarm inside your chest.

This was what you had feared the most: his silence. You would’ve preferred if he’d yelled, growled, or outright refused to be a father. But his silence was so calm it became deafening.

Minutes passed, and you started to feel suffocated, restless. You fiddled with your hands, glancing at your pale pink-painted nails. You wondered how long it would take before your fingers swelled so much your rings wouldn’t fit. You also questioned if you could do this alone.

You liked kids, and your job would allow you to spend time with a newborn without risking your career. You’d had great parents, who would undoubtedly make excellent grandparents. Your mom—above all—would probably be the first in line outside your apartment, ready to be your main support system.

But you wouldn’t have Spencer, and the baby wouldn’t have a dad.

Life without Spencer… you’d never considered that as a possibility. And you were the type of person who sat down and analyzed every possible option.

Hot tears burned your eyes again, and you decided this was the end of it. You wouldn’t break down in front of your baby’s father. Taking a deep breath, you swallowed the bitter saltiness of your tears and stood slowly, smoothing your cardigan and your hair.

When you finally looked at Spencer, you were startled to see his face filled with distress, still seated in the same position. His eyes were brimming with tears, and he barely seemed aware that you’d moved.

His gaze rose to meet yours, and he finally spoke.

“Do you promise?” he asked in a whisper.

Under different circumstances, you might’ve made a sarcastic comment, but you didn’t have the energy to joke. Instead, you nodded silently.

“I just found out this morning. Honestly, I didn’t even suspect. If it hadn’t been for the fainting and nausea, I wouldn’t have gone to the doctor. My cycle was even normal last month.”

“Yeah, that can happen sometimes. It’s called implantation bleeding. It occurs when the fertilized egg moves into the uterus,” he said, shrugging, “in simple terms, of course. But sometimes… it could be something else. Did the doctor say anything more?”

Your hand rested on your stomach, as it had done instinctively since you’d learned the news. You couldn’t feel any difference, but you knew something tiny was growing inside you.

“They said everything’s perfect, but I have to go back in a few weeks for my first ultrasound.”

Spencer nodded, and for a moment, you wanted to shake him, to force out the words you needed to hear. But you decided to give him the time he needed to process the news.

He frowned, looking confused.

“Why were you scared?”

That word unlocked the fear you’d been holding back, and the heat of fresh tears returned to your eyes.

“Because it wasn’t in the plan,” you mumbled, feeling your nose start to tingle, your chin trembling again. “God…” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and shook your head. “We don’t even have a plan.”

Spencer stood from the couch and pulled you gently toward him, cradling the back of your neck in his hand as he kissed your forehead tenderly.

“I know I said I was being careful, and I was, I swear,” you sobbed, finally letting your fear and sadness pour out. “But I don’t know what happened. The gynecologist said it could’ve been something like a certain food. Even with the most careful use, the pills only have a…”

“98% effectiveness. I know,” Spencer interrupted, stepping back just enough to wipe your face and study you carefully.

You felt like a mess. The tears had left you congested, but none of that seemed to faze him.

“I think I was more prepared for you to explode about it than to act all understanding and loving.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m always understanding and loving.”

You bumped your forehead lightly against his shoulder, embarrassed by your outburst.

“I know. But you once said you were afraid of having kids. You said it was because of your mom…”

“I know what I said,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. His warm breath brushed your skin like a caress. “But I didn’t really mean it. I’ve always wanted kids.”

“Really? But what about me? I’m not even sure I’m the woman you’d want to have a family with. I’m so younger than you, and I know that bothers you, even if you don’t say it. Then there’s your job. And I’m not… you know, cool or a badass. I don’t hunt serial killers for a living.”

Spencer laughed—a deep, genuine laugh that made you step back with a frown.

Here you were, spilling your insecurities, and he was laughing in response.

"That’s never mattered to me," he said, shaking his head. Honestly, it’s a relief you don’t “hunt serial killers for a living.” I’d spend my life worried sick about you."

You frowned harder, scrunching your eyebrows together so much it almost hurt.

"Like I do for you all the time."

Spencer nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You’re amazing. The kindest, most caring, thoughtful, and intelligent woman I’ve ever met. “Cool” is honestly the simplest word I could use to start describing you."

He took your hands in his, his eyes dropping to them as he smiled faintly, shaking his head in thought.

"Sometimes, I’m scared that one day you’ll realize you could do better than someone as damaged as me and leave."

You gently pulled your hands free from his and stepped closer, cupping his face in your palms. Your fingers traced the small creases at the corners of his eyes and the ever-present shadows beneath them. You tried to think of something you’d change about him, but nothing came to mind. You shook your head firmly.

"If I wanted to be with someone else, I would be. I’d never play games with your feelings, and you know that," you said with a smile. "I don’t care about your traumas. Do you care about mine?"

He shook his head, his typical shy smile appearing as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"The only reason I ever think about our age difference is because I worry that one day I won’t be able to walk as fast as you."

This time, you were the one to laugh.

"Then I’ll walk slower."

You knew people who had larger age gaps in their relationships. The only reason it ever came up between the two of you was because a few others had noticed. Sixteen years wasn’t that much, and even if it were, it had never really mattered to you. You were 28, and Spencer was 44—a fact that might have concerned others, but for the two of you, it was just a number.

Spencer ran his hand along your arm, his fingers stopping to rest on the hand you still had on his cheek. He smiled softly.

"I can’t imagine a better woman to start a family with than you. And I know the undefined nature of our relationship must’ve worried you."

"What are we going to do?" you asked quietly.

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, first, I guess we’ll have to start looking for a house with a yard," he said, glancing around the room with a laugh "We’ll tell our friends and our parents."

His expression grew somber at that last part, and you immediately understood why.

"Your mom is going to be an amazing grandmother, whether she knows it or not. The baby will know. And we’ll be there to help her remember. I know that."

He nodded, his eyes glistening with emotion, before his smile returned.

"I’m sorry I was so scared. I must’ve scared you too."

He sighed and chuckled, sitting back down on the couch. But instead of letting you stay standing, he pulled you down with him, wrapping you in his arms and encouraging you to lean against him.

"I thought the doctor had found something strange or serious," he admitted.

You laughed softly.

"I didn’t know how to tell you. We’ve never talked about relationships or kids—except that one time you mentioned schizophrenia and I panicked."

"Next time you have a pregnancy scare, I want to be involved. I don’t want you going through that alone."

You frowned, looking up at him in mild surprise.

"I’m barely two months pregnant, and you’re already thinking about another one? You’re insane."

He groaned in mock protest.

"An only child? I was an only child, and I was constantly bored."

"And I’m the middle child with three siblings on either side. Let me tell you—sometimes it’s better to play alone"

"Four," he countered with a grin.

"Two," you replied, negotiating with a smile.

Spencer’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Three, and that’s my final offer."

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

Some rando tiktok comment that made my eye twitch: "I love Feyre and Lucien's friendship and want them to be best friends forever. He's not to blame for her suffering but he should have done more, she would've done anything to help him."

*deeeeeeeep breath*

All of this is disproven in the text. Lucien was willing to die for Feyre, multiple times, while Feyre literally has a quote ignoring all of that and only praising Rhysand, you know, the guy who abused/s her.

Lucien was also a victim of Tamlin yet he still stood up to him for Feyre while she actively used him as a pawn and put him in harms way with Tamlin.

Lucien stuck with her and even went through the Autumn Court knowing he could be killed. Then when they finally got to the Night Court, Feyre left him tired and hungry and in soiled clothes so she could *checks notes* have sex.

She gets him to come to Solstice twice and doesn't get him a gift either time, but he brings one for them both times

For whatever reason he is supposed to put her first always, go to extreme lengths for her, stand up to their abuser, and more. And even when he does do all of this, it's dismissed and ignored. Nevermind that she never once considers him, considers if he is okay after UTM, considers him as a victim or that he might be suffering too. I actually do like Feyre but she can be extremely self centered and frequently fails to consider anyone outside of herself or the Inner Circle throughout the series (Lucien and Nesta being huge examples)

The only thing I can think of that she has done for him was hurting Ianthe and even at that it was implied that she only intervened after thinking of how Rhysand was hurt in a similar way, not because of Lucien

She allows everyone else to treat him like dirt and violate his thoughts without even blinking, and for some reason it's perfectly okay that she found new friends but it's not for him? After she basically abandoned him he managed to find these new friends and her response was to mock him and bully him?

But sure, Lucien could do more and Feyre is the perfect friend. Please.

It's also crazy that in ACOMAF Feyre calls Lucien out for "not doing more to stand up to her abuser" yet she's in the exact same position now with Rhysand and the Inner Circle. Except with Lucien she was blaming a fellow victim, now she's in a worse position stuck with her abuser and his lackeys and she doesn't even seem to notice

And don't get me wrong. I don't expect Feyre to be a better friend, I don't even expect them to stay friends or particularly care if they do because I think Lucien deserves better. And Feyre doesn't owe him any specific behaviour or treatment but to say that she's a better friend or would do anything for him is a complete and utter joke

[ismellbitches]

I’m ill over the albatrio so yall get my head canons. Some of these are a bit heavy and deal with abuse, trauma and similar themes. Maybe skip this one if you don’t feel up for it 🩷🩷

Jay:

- Kira was her bisexual awakening. They went on a summer camp together and kissed while on a hike. Neither of them have brought it up since.

- She has such bad anxiety bro. Like she is always using nervous energy to complete projects or to fight, but every few days she would just get paralysed by overwhelming anxiety and shut down. Once she shut down in front of chip, now he tries to help her in any way he can when she starts getting too worked up.

- she has a complicated relationship with gender. She’s explored a lot of different things gender wise, but doesn’t quite feel comfortable with any label she has found. She ended up talking to Jaz a bit about it when they were travelling together.

- She enjoys textile work and makes and mends most of her clothes

- She used to only be toned before her time on the Albatross, but she now has a much bulkier build.

- Her favourite subject was math

- She still has a fat crush on Anastasia

- she got a lip ring to match Chip

- She doesn’t like getting drunk around people because she thinks it makes her too honest.

Gillion:

- He loves physical touch. He used to receive so little of it in the Undersea that it is still very hard for him to iniate, but he will always lean into hugs or captain huddles like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

- Gillion is sex-repulsed. That’s it.

- He has a bad habit of digging his claws into the nearest person or object when he feels unsafe or ungrounded. There are so many deep gouges in the captains quarters from times where the ship would rock or he felt particularly unsafe.

- he doesn’t like to think. This one sounds weird but let me cook. It’s not for a lack of intelligence or that he doesn’t consider things deeply, it’s that when he thinks he tends to spiral, and when he spirals it is difficult for him to work. This is reflected in his reckless battle tactics, he has enough ambient knowledge to be a good tactician, but fighting is when he can fully allow instinct to take over. It makes him feel at ease.

- he has a mental list of the awful names his masters would call him. But, during his time in the Oversea, the mental list has been overwhelmed by pet names and compliments given by his fellow captains.

- Sunlight is harsh on his eye so he relies on Jay and Chip more in harsh daylight for perception and awareness.

- he likes to braid ropes, bracelets, hair. Anything he can idly do with his hands when he isn’t working

- he likes to speak Aquan with Jay. It makes him still feel connected to his home.

Chip:

- normally the instigator of any small fights between the captains. He’s so used to always having to be guarded it regularly comes as a point of conflict.

- the ice arena battle deeply wounded his trust is Gillion and Jay. He had just started to feel safe and as though he didn’t deserve to be hurt when he made mistakes, so he felt really betrayed and abandoned after the first ice arena battle. Part of him still isn’t over it.

- He’s sensitive. Reuben used to criticise how easily words and insults affected him, so he presents it a lot less than he used to. But slight criticism or irritation with him or insults really deflate his self worth.

- Chip has a complex about being the weakest link on the Albatross

- After the Black Sea, the thought of seeing Ollie in his undead state is so nauseating it makes him fall over

- The best hug he’d ever received was from Reuben. He was young, sick and hungry and it was storming fiercely on Skullslice. Reuben had held him tight and refused to let him go for the whole night, just hugging Chip while he cried.

- If he could choose any superpower, he’d want the ability to pause, rewind, or fast forward time. Also lasers.

- He has a stuffed animal in the bottom of his trunk that he’s owned since he was 4.

- It took him a long time to figure out how old he was. He didn’t know his birthday, so he ended up choosing one. He ended up picking the day Arlin has let him into the Black Rose

- He’s never tried chocolate.

- He finds Queen really pretty, but in like a platonic, gender-envy type beat

- he has a secret love for writing. He writes poetry, little stories and more, he keeps them buried at the bottom of his trunk because he’s scared of what the others will think if they see it.

- his love language is acts of service

- him, Gil and jay cuddle a lot. Don’t read into that weirdly, all the captains just really need a hug

- he holds people’s hands a lot. It’s unconscious and when he catches himself doing it he immediately stops, but Jay and Gil don’t mind.

- Gil was his gay awakening in the sense that he fell really hard for Gil as a person. But, Jaz was like huge for him because he was just like holy fuck this dude is so pretty what do I do the whole time they travelled together.

- La Alma is on his heart me out cake

[junedenim]

wrap my head around it all

a whole new thing

warnings: it's just fluff

word count: 3k

You're eating a bagel. He's drinking a cup of coffee. There's an ache that's been relieved. It feels this way whenever he comes home and he's been home for a month now but he still feels just how good this is, looking across at you as you scarf down a bagel so quickly he fears you'll choke.

"It isn't going anywhere." He chuckles at his own joke. He's ashamed of himself, you don't have to tell him.

And you know that. You wipe your hands on a napkin and throw your head back with a groan. "I'm so hungry."

He grins. "Do you want me to get you another one?"

You hum in thought, taking your time like you're concentrating on solving world hunger. Then, you sigh, your shoulders slumping as your hands return to what remains of your bagel. "No. I'll spoil lunch."

He chuckles and rests his head in the palm of his left hand. His gaze is soft and relaxed, focused on you. "I hate to break it to you but we're way past noon. That is your lunch."

You whine and rub the cream cheese off the corners of your mouth. "Fine. Then, I'm spoiling dinner. How would your parents like it if I didn't eat anything?"

He laughs at your worry and picks up his cup of coffee, dragging a sip from it. "I think they'll understand. Plus, I highly doubt you won't be hungry by dinner time."

Your shoulders slump as you chew the remains of your bagel. "I know, it's dreadful. This constant state of hunger I've been forced into."

"We all appreciate it," Alex assures, hiding his amusement from your frustration. "At least you're not retching every 20 minutes."

You lean back in your chair and drop the dirty napkin with the rest of your bagel's trash. "Small favours, huh?"

"Do you want me to get you another one?" Alex offers again. His attentiveness to you has only grown through the years. Perhaps, now, it's at an all-time high. But he likes being able to take care of you. It's the least he can do.

You shake your head. "No, I'd like to walk around a little now." It's cold, windy, and slightly raining. People are rushing into the cafe from the cold, but you want to walk around in it. He supposes there is where you lose him but he'll tighten his coat, put on a hat, and slip on some gloves if it's what you want. Besides, if it'll stop you complaining about how hot the cafe is then he can't complain.

He fixes the askew hat on your head and opens the door for you. As you two walk down the street, he places his hands in his pockets, forming a loop of his arms. You slip your arm through it, tugging him close, brushing your side up against his. "It's going to rain all week," Alex comments on the weather patterns.

"I like it when it rains." You are smiling through the gloom. In that smile, there's a lifetime of love and it is so strange that it feels so normal for him to feel this way. It was never a gradual thing. It was sudden the first time you talked to one another and he felt that he could reach out to you and you would never push him away. Silver lining is cheesy but all that tension he builds throughout his life is somehow relieved in the glimmer of your teeth.

The mundanity is the craziest. Everything felt like it had to be a big show of things. He had to slick back his hair and play make-believe in every moment but now, it's a sigh of relief. To come home to someone—to come home to you and not have to play pretend anymore. To roll out of bed and not have to decide who to play today, instead, decide where to go for breakfast.

Maybe it's getting older, but he thinks it lies in learning the importance of caring for someone else. He always has with his friends and family and past girlfriends but there's something different here. It's him relinquishing himself to that, allowing you to look after him. To wake up and find you've made coffee or come home and find you've bought him a new shirt. It's simple. Doing the laundry, cooking dinner, grocery shopping. It's so dull but in fact the greatest thing ever. That feeling has only grown as of late.

"Where are we walking to?" He asks.

You shrug and look over at him. "I don't know. We could...window shop or...," you think, tapping your finger on your chin, "go to the park or—"

"In the rain?" He questions, an eyebrow raised.

You smile and lean closer to him. Something you know gets him all twisted up around your finger, and you are willing to do anything you decide. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," he reasons, but the grin is already playing on his lips and light chuckles ripple through him as your lips grow closer and closer until you're hovering over his.

"Fine," you decide, shocking him.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm cold," you declare. You cuddle closer to him all pouty. It's the way you've been as of late whether the cold of winter or your hormones. "Let's go baby shopping."

"Baby shopping?"

"Yeah, we haven't really done it yet and we could look for cute itty bitty baby clothes," you reason.

The baby is new. Or rather the pregnancy. It's the reason for dinner with his parents. It wasn't planned but it wasn't unplanned. You'd been together for years, married for two, and, well, you, him, and baby makes three. 

You found out a couple of weeks ago. It's changed things for him with the whole caring thing. He's always cared, obviously, but now he finds himself interested in every little aspect of the pregnancy. He'd never thought he'd be that guy who reads the books and talks to your stomach (which you don't know about, he's too embarrassed to do it while you're awake), but things change and he'd never thought he'd be a father but here he is walking into a baby clothing store to buy clothes for his—well, your—baby. 

He still hasn't processed the whole "baby" part of things. He knows there will be a baby but he can't yet imagine having the baby. You being pregnant doesn't even quite feel real yet. You're barely showing and he only feels it might be real when he talks to it. That feels weird to call it it. But he's tried calling it he or she but that's a mouthful. You don't like him calling it it so he started calling it names. 

First, it was normal. "Mary," "John," "Elizabeth," "James," but you didn't like that either because the baby didn't have a name. The baby hasn't even developed that part of them yet. So, he calls it "tot," "bug," "pumpkin," and his personal favorite, "the fetus." You're not sure why but he makes him laugh. Maybe it's the boyish part of him that still thinks boobies are the coolest thing ever.

"Should we really buy clothes if we don't know the gender yet?" He asks as you search through the girlish items.

"A baby isn't modeling for the cover of Vogue. We just need to find an outfit to take the baby home in. A hat and a onesie." You pick up a cute pink one with little pink bows printed across it. "Look how cute and small this one is."

"What if it's a boy?"

You roll your eyes. "Real men wear pink, you know that better than anyone."

He chuckles. "Touché."

You point the onesie back and state, "Besides, we're probably going to have a girl anyway. My family is filled with girls."

"Well, my family has guys," Alex points out.

"What? You?" You laugh at him. "Yes, statistically your parents did have 100% guys."

"Shut up," he mutters as he comes closer and lands a kiss on you. There are the moments that count, that are embedded and embossed deep into his mind. They are small but mighty. It's right up there with shopping for a new shower curtain. It's stupid but it's real. Arguing over whether it should be flowers or ducks (he really wanted the ducks for some reason). You compromised with polka dots, not that that part matters much. It was more doing it with you. He doesn't know why other than it's fun and he loves you. 

You move further down the aisle, looking through bees, princesses, and truck designs. "The baby will be born in August. What screams August to you?"

"Sweat," he replies.

"Be serious," you urge him, your eyes staring strongly at him. He can feel the pupil blaze through him like a laser.

"I am," he says, "I think of sweating, the heat, sun."

"Aw," you coo as a smile grows on your lips. "Cute little suns and if we have a son then it'll be like son and sun. Get it?"

He smiles down at you, struggling to process all of this. "Yeah, I get it." A son, a daughter, a child. It knocks him off his feet. He gets hit with these waves. It's nerves but it's also excitement. The idea that a baby will be in that small onesie. A part of him will be in the world, running off, getting into nonsense. He has a few years until that. Hopefully, he'll catch up by then.

You buy the onesie with suns on it and leave after that. There will be plenty of time to spend plenty more money at the store but for now, you head to the bookstore next door. It's small with aching floors and dusty shelves. You're just trying to kill time until dinner and this seems like a good place to start.

You drag him by hand to the children's book section because despite it being another few years until the baby can read, but you like the idea of reading to the baby every night, even if they can't understand a word of what you're saying. Between Madeline and The Giving Tree, you say, "You know, these are the last couple of months of our lives, it'll be just the two of us."

He picks up Curious George, distracting himself by looking through the pictures. "You say that like you want me to panic."

"No," you assure him, placing your hands on his shoulder, giving them a squeeze. "This is such a special time in our lives. We'll never experience something like this again. Shopping for our baby, nervous, scared, anxious, happy, excited. And I get to do it all with you."

He shakes his head and puts Curious George back on the shelf, turning to you. "You really have a gift."

"What?" You ask eagerly.

Alex takes your hands off his shoulders and squeezes them. "Nothing. You just always know how to make me feel better."

"I know it's hard for you to believe but it goes both ways. I'm panicking too, you know? I have to push a whole human being out of me."

"I know. How selfish am I to be the one who's scared."

"No. It's perfectly reasonable. It's a life-changing thing that'll cry, poop, pee, and spit all over you. I guess, I just take comfort in knowing I have you to hold my hand."

He takes a deep breath and tries to let the stress go. "You're going make me cry next to Harold and the Purple Crayon."

"Well, this is my way of guilting you into changing all the diapers so it works out pretty good."

Alex then gets carried away by a Batman Lego set and despite the knowledge that it can't be anywhere near a child until it's no longer a choking hazard. Perhaps, it's more for Alex than the baby. He doesn't get it because he doesn't want to carry it around for the rest of the day but he's not saying he won't come back for it.

You leave with Harold and the Purple Crayon for memory's sake. The rain has stopped but the wind is still cold and the pavement is soaked wet with puddles. You huddle close together once again.

Alex asks, "Are you cool with the whole giving birth thing?"

You laugh at him. "I don't have much of a choice. Why? Do you want to try?"

"If I could, I would."

"No, you wouldn't, but I appreciate the sentiment. Besides, it's kind of cool. A special thing that only I get to experience. I mean, the thing is growing in me, that's crazy but cool."

"Yeah, the tot is a part of you."

You hum. "I want french fries."

He smiles. "Okay. I could go for a burger."

Fast food being on every corner does have its conveniences. McDonald's is warm, separating you from the world's chill. "My mother had short labours. How long was your mother in labour for?"

"I don't know. You can ask her at dinner."

"I'm definitely getting an epidural. I don't care if it slows the process down. You know I'm in pain from just a headache. I wouldn't survive natural labour."

"Good thing for modern medicine."

"If it was the 1800s you could just give me a bunch of morphine and knock me out."

"I'll tell them to have some ready for you."

You sit in a booth that is mildly sticky but he'll ignore it if it'll ease your feet. He bought the large fries with the intention of it being shared between the two of you but instead, you take it for yourself. He enjoys his burger.

"We should have gotten a Happy Meal," you joke, dipping the fry into the ketchup pile. 

He smiles because despite being freaked out 99% of the time, the 1%—the idea of doing things like this, buying a Happy Meal for his kid—outweighs it all. "Yeah, would've gotten a cool toy too."

"Well, as long as you eat your apple slices." You smile up at him and he blushes. He's been with you for so long and yet he still gets flushed under your gaze, lost in your eyes, falling in love over and over again. It's cheesy and cliche, but that doesn't make it untrue.

He steals a fry away and asks, "What should we name the tot?"

You shake your head. "No clue. Is it weird that that is what terrifies me the most?"

"No, they're going to carry it around with them for their whole life. It's the first major life decision we’ll make for them. Well, after, you know, making them."

You giggle at him with a mouthful of fries. "Yeah. If it's a boy should we name it after you?"

"God no." There doesn't need to be another Alex Turner in the world. That would make things far too confusing.

"What about for a middle name?"

"Nah, the kid is already getting my last name."

"Should we go away? Like a babymoon or whatever it's called?" You ask.

"Sure, if it's anything like our honeymoon." You went to Bora Bora. You didn't see much of Bora Bora. It was your hotel and the water pretty much of which Alex insisted on giving an equal show of things, which you'd be mildly embarrassed by if you weren't so turned on by it. Besides, you came back with no tan lines.

"Shut up," you wish upon him.

He laughs because he really is just a teenage boy who still finds sex to be funny. But it's a lovely sight to see with the crinkle by his eyes and the smile lines forming. You always like him like this. He can be moody and pensive a lot of the time. When he laughs, it feels like he fully lets go, if only for a moment. 

"Where would we go?" He asks.

"A cottage in the woods or something. I don't know. I might be too pregnant to fly by the time we do it."

"You're going to be so cute with a belly."

"Please don't turn into some pregnancy fetishist, Alex," you warn him.

And, no, he won't be going up to pregnant women on the street and asking to touch their bellies but there is something inherently attractive about you being pregnant. It's probably some biological design.

"I can't help it if I want to fuck you."

"Alex!" You scold looking around the McDonald's in shame. Much wilder things have been said in places like this but you still turn red whenever he gets suggestive, especially in this vulgar way like some need has overtaken him and he needs to have you right now. Like he'll take you on the red paint-chipped table. 

He chuckles and bites into his burger. So nonchalant in every way like nothing affects him. It's easy for him to be casual about these things. He's pretty sure a corner of his brain is thinking about things like that all the time. He's pretty sure he thinks of your boobs every night before bed and wakes up thinking about your ass. Again, he's pretty sure it's that inherent biological man thing.

"In a couple of months, you'll be so pumped full of hormones you'll want me to fuck you in the bathroom of this place."

You reach across the table and start smacking him but he just laughs more and more, getting a real kick of this. "Will you shut up?" Truthfully, you kind of want to go jump his bones now.

*

a/n: sigh, just a little something for now. trying to write more but my finals have been a bitch. but winter break is soon...

[osakhee]

never enough, virgin!wonbin x reader

! endurance training, handjob, overstimulation, edging, slight dacryphilia

note : FINALLY something is done with the virgin wonbin thoughts ive been having for a week ..... 🙂‍↕️

"can i please at least be inside just once?"

"nope. not until you can hold it better."

"you always say that... i've done well the last time, when will it be enough?"

"it will never be enough. not until i say so."

wonbin lays back on his seat with a pout. he's glad the bus is mostly empty so no one can catch a glimpse of your conversation. you both sit at the far back of the bus, away from all the people going home at this hour. wonbin looks outside the window just to be met with the heavy droplets that pour outside, and he turns his head to look at you. he's still sulking, and the serious glare you throw at him makes his heart jump in his chest.

wonbin is your classmate. actually, he's more than that, but you like the "classmate" title, even though the boy doesn't think the same. he'd rather call your relationship "friends with benefits but he's the only one getting benefits". when at school, wonbin is all talk about how good he's in bed, he laughs at his male friends for being virgins at their age. he has the pretty face to make anyone believe his words, but little do they know he actually turns into a puddle when you get your hands on him. you wanted to see for yourself how good he is, he's handsome, and since he said he fucks well, why not? but when you dragged him behind the lockers, wonbin turned into a blushing mess, he didn't even know where to put his hands when you kissed him. he was moaning in your mouth in no time, so hard in his pants he felt like he could burst only from your lips that left his to pepper kisses on his jaw. he begged you not to tell anyone, so instead, you exposed you plan to him. he loses his virginity, and you get to fuck him and with him.

wonbin had no idea at first that fucking with him would mean hours of playing with his cock and nipples, jerking him off so slowly it would make his thighs tremble everytime your fingertips touched his skin. you asked him to keep the count, but he can't recall how many times you made him cum anymore. each time, he would be a shaky and whiny mess, he'd beg you to finally give him what he wants. you always promised it for next time, and thinking of the reward of being inside of you always made him harder than ever.

but now it's been weeks since you started to play with him. wonbin is over at your home almost everyday, and he's never getting his way. the way you would taunt him to reveal his little secret always made him comply and fall to his knees so you could stick your thumb in his mouth until he's drooling all over it.

the bus that's taking you and wonbin home finally reaches your stop, and you take the boy's hand to get down. to anyone, you would probably look like a cute couple walking back from school together. but the grip you have on wonbin's wrist and the tension he's feeling all over his body say otherwise. he can already feel the warmth painting his cheeks red and the anticipation building in his lower stomach. you both walk in silence until you reach your apartment. when the door opens, wonbin doesn't even wait for you, he gets inside and walk straight to you room. he wouldn't want to mess up his routine. you take your time, put down your jacket and bag before joining him.

wonbin sits on your bed with large puppy eyes, he's still upset at how harsh you were to him on the bus. he can't tell you how much it turns him on, or you'll have another reason to mess with his head, his secrets getting heavier each time you see each other. you walk to the bed and let your hand travels his face, from his jaw to his pretty lips, your fingers mess with his hair. you tug on his locks lightly to make his head fall back and give you a prettier view of his neck, his smooth skin almost perfect under your hungry lips. wonbin sighs heavily at the contact of your warm mouth, he grips the sheets in his hands, his legs rub together to get some frictions on his clothed dick.

you get away from his skin and push him down on the bed, his back gently hitting the blanket. wonbin knows what's next. his hands reach the hem of his shirt before taking it off, he then hurriedly opens his pants to get rid of any clothes that stops his cock from finally breathing. he doesn't care being naked in front of you anymore, he's used to your eyes burning his body when you look at him. wonbin takes a deep breath when he slides his underwear down, his already red and leaking dick hitting his stomach. you sit next to him and watch it twitch with anticipation, wonbin is almost moaning just from your warm presence next to him.

"are you ready?"

"if i do well, can i finally fuck you next time?"

"depends on how long you last today."

wonbin rests his head on the bed, his chest heaves with his sharp breaths. you let your fingers travel his faintly toned stomach and wonbin already squirm under your touch, shivers covering his whole body. your nails graze his skin down his thighs, his cock drips some more precum when you get so close to it. you could watch him for hours and drive him crazy, your hands massaging his inner thighs enough to have him cum untouched. with one finger, you draw slow circles on his lower stomach, going all the way up his length and rubbing his slit, his arousal quickly coating your finger. you lay next to wonbin and wrap your hand around his dick, your mouth finds one of his nipple and you suck eagerly on it.

the boy on your bed is already a moaning mess, his back arches on the sheets and his hips buck into your hand to get any kind of friction, but you stay completely still, only giving attention to his chest. your tongue twirls around his hardened pink bud, it makes wonbin cry out your name. he claws at the bed desperately for more, and after one more kiss on his chest, you sit up next to him again. you finally give attention to his cock that's calling for you, and stroke him at a dangerously slow pace. wonbin tries to steady his breath as much as he can, his eyes closed and concentrated on the pleasure you give him.

it doesn't take long to break him apart though. once you start paying more attention to his leaking tip, his hips jerk up constantly in your hand and you have to pin him down. the cries that come out of his throat are broken by your name rolling on his tongue over and over again. the way his thighs are shaking when you pick up the pace tell you everything you need to know. you give wonbin one more stroke before letting go of his dick. his knuckles turn white from how hard he's holding the covers under him, his cock twitches desperately. you rub your thumb on his slit and wonbin's back arches again on the bed.

"stop moving so much, that's how you get tired so fast."

"p-please.... give me m-more..."

"you will cum so fast thought."

"i won't i-i swear i won't please keep g-going..."

you want to believe wonbin's weak promise and you wrap your hand again around his length. you watch him close his eyes again and put all his willpower in stilling his hips for you. you give him lazy strokes again, your hand covered in the sticky precum that keeps rolling down his cock. you rest your other hand on his thigh and he jumps in your touch, his lips parting in a silent moan. for a while, only the wet sound of your palm around his dick and his heavy breathing can be heard in your room.

since you started your little training with wonbin, he never really got better, he would always cum awkwardly fast especially if you started teasing him. he lasted longer the last few times though, and you couldn't wait to have him inside of you and feel him filling your insides after a few thrusts. you loved watching him cry out your name each time he ended up fucking your fist, his hips desperately bucking up to meet your hand after you edged him for hours so he can finally gets the sweet release he's begging for.

every once in a while, you leave wonbin's cock to watch him from your place, you sit crossed legged on your bed and smile at the boy's desperation. his black hair stick to his forehead and his chest shines with a thin coat of sweat, his hands weakly rest next to him as he got tired from holding the sheets so tightly. beads of precum form on his slit and roll down his cock or drop on his lower stomach. it stains your bed, it makes your hand sticky and wet, and it gives shivers to wonbin each time you blow on his dick with a chuckle.

it's always when wonbin is the less ready that you start to jerk him off again, you barely listens to him as he speaks about his day so his mind would focus on anything but his throbbing cock. you grip his dick out of nowhere and hear his breath catch in his throat. his thoughts get lost in the pleasure, unable to form a single word but the desperate "please" that escapes his lips over and over again. you pout at his sensitivity and you tighten your grip around him, your palm very slowly making its way up and down.

"are you close already?"

"mmhh... p-please..."

"can you hold it a little longer? just a little."

"i'm n-not... not sure... it's s-so..."

"just a little more, i know you can do it."

wonbin hides his face in the sheets when you quicken your pace, his hips buck up again in your hand and you instantly let go of his cock. wonbin's head jerks up to look at you with a pleading whine, only for his head to drop back when you flatten your hand on his tip. his back arches and his hands find their way in his hair to push away the strands that cover his eyes. your palm rubs the sensitive head of his cock, wonbin's breath gets more erratic and louder. you give him a few pumps and check your phone that sat next to you on the bed. he's actually handling it well, probably the best he has done yet, but it's still not enough for you. you just want to make sure he could last when fucking you, you're just helping out! you feel wonbin's dick pulse in your hand and you stop all your movements again to squeeze it. his voice breaks into a high pitched cry, the tears that had been filling his eyes finally flowing down his cheeks. it's always been your favorite sight, he's such a wreck when you get your hands on him and he's never been more beautiful to you. you massage his thighs and from the way his cock throbs constantly, you can tell he's so close just a touch could make him burst.

"p-please... i'm gonna- i w-wanna cum please... i n-need to cum s-so bad..."

"hmm... you've done well... but it's not enough you know that."

when you start stroking him again, you see his head dig into the mattress and deep in the blanket, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his parted lips let every moan escape his throat. you can't tell if his cheeks glisten because of the sweat or because of his tears that roll down his face and down his neck.

"you know wonbin... i might just let you fuck me next time..."

"a-ah please... i-i'm cumming p-please i'm c-cumming..!"

you jerk him off faster and watch the ropes of hot and thick fluid hit your fingers and his tensed stomach, you make sure to grip his tip through his orgasm that has his thighs shaking. his hips stutters in your fist until he weakly shoots one last drop of cum on your hand. wonbin tries to get away from you and your teasing hand that keeps playing with his sensitive cock, he turns to the side and burry his whines in the sheets, he can't control the desperate thrusts of his hips until you finally let go of him. you check your phone again while wonbin catches his breath, he sniffles audibly when he finally sits up next to you. you look at his messed up face and push away gently a few strands of hair that stick to his forehead, your hand then resting on his cheek so you can wipe away his tears. wonbin looks at you with shining hopeful eyes that could make you melt.

"did i- did i do well? d-did i hold it long enough?"

"you know it's never enough to me... but you did well, i might actually let you inside me next time. you'll do well this time too, right?"

wonbin's cock weakly twitches at your words and the smile he gives you have you burning inside. maybe he could actually hold it when he fucks you. you couldn't wait.

im crazy wonbin is all ive been thinking about for the past few days im CRAZYYYYYY thank you cee for supporting me through the wonbin breakdown

[1425fivefive]

↻FLIP FLOP for Learned Behavior

Monaco afterparty toilets scene - Oscar's POV

would love to see a little sneak into what was going on in Oscar's head, the whole Charles thing, the sex, and especially after the kiss, poor guy has been dealing with Lando's mixed signals for months

Beloved anon, this took me ages. Have 2k of the Monaco toilets scene in Learned Behavior from Oscar's perspective:

Watching Lando from across the room—glaring at Charles, sucking angrily on the straw of his drink—Oscar can’t help but wonder about it. What Lando and Charles were to each other.

When Oscar had asked about it back in Miami, Lando had gotten all weird and cagey, done this awkward, forced laugh and insisted that Charles was straight. But Oscar’s seen the way Charles looks at men. Noticed the way Charles looks at Lando, sometimes, when Lando’s not looking. Something hungry in his gaze.

A part of Oscar doesn’t really want to know all the details. The thing with Lando feels delicate, breakable. Like if Oscar pushes too hard it might shatter, Lando looking at him with watery, hurt eyes, even as he’s telling Oscar to fuck off.

And, like—things are fine the way they are, probably. Good, even. Oscar reckons he’d put up with a lot of shit if it meant he could still have Lando fuck him every weekend, call him a good boy, get off on telling him not to come. Trace a thumb over his lip, pull his hair, tell him how pretty he looks getting fucked.

Oscar surreptitiously tries to adjust his shorts. It’s just—he hasn’t come since Imola and he’s fucking aching for it, keeps dreaming about how good Lando feels inside of him and waking up hard, dripping onto the sheets. Sometimes he thinks about taking a picture of himself, hard and swollen and wet, sending it to Lando, begging Lando to let him come, secretly hoping Lando will tell him no.

Watching Lando staring at Charles, still, Oscar wants to beg Lando to pay attention to him. To forget about whatever bullshit happened with Charles and drag Oscar back to his flat, take him apart until he’s crying, finally let him come. 

But Lando can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Charles and before Oscar can really think he’s walking across the room, sliding into the pocket of space beside Lando.

Lando glances over at him and Oscar sees the way his cheeks flush, eyes going dark. It’s gratifying, at least, to know Lando’s attracted to him. But Lando goes right back to staring at Charles and it stings, being dismissed so easily.

Oscar tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he asks, “What’s got you all pissed off?”

“Nothing,” Lando says, still openly glaring at Charles.

Oscar glances over at where Charles is standing in a crowd of people, eyes bright, laughing and smiling. “You could at least pretend to be happy for him,” Oscar says.

Lando’s brows unfurrow slightly and he finally manages to tear his gaze away from Charles, looking over at Oscar.

It feels like a win, however small. “There you go,” Oscar says softly.

He thinks, for a moment, about letting it go. Asking Lando to take him home. 

But Lando’s been ignoring him for most of the night, and Oscar can’t resist saying, “I’ve never understood why you two don’t get along. Charles is nice—”

Lando snorts. “Charles isn’t nice. He’s polite, yeah, but he’s not nice.”

Oscar wants to say, Of course you’d think that, you two have some weird, fucked-up psychosexual thing going on that’s honestly getting extremely fucking annoying.

Instead, Oscar tries to make a joke of it. “Dunno, mate, the whole adoption thing—”

“Yeah, we’ve heard,” Lando snaps, letting out a mean little laugh. “No one’s been able to shut up about it, honestly.”

Oscar can see the flash of regret on Lando’s face the moment he’s said it, the look Lando always gets when he knows he’s crossed a line. Normally Oscar forgives him. Knows Lando says shit without thinking and doesn’t mean most of it. Especially when it comes to Charles.

But Oscar’s sympathy can only go so far when Lando won’t fucking talk about any of it. Won’t even admit the basic fact that something happened between them.

“Right, well.” Oscar knocks back the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the bar. “I’m gonna leave you to it.”

Lando looks like he’s about to say something, but Oscar’s not really in the mood to hear it. He turns to go, accidentally catching Charles’s eye in the process.

“Oscar!” Charles calls, waving him over.

Oscar knows how it’ll look to Lando if he goes over to Charles, but he sort of wants to make Lando jealous. After Lando’s been, frankly, a bit of a cunt all weekend, even after Oscar finished P2. Lando hasn’t even congratulated him on the podium.

So Oscar goes over to Charles, lets Charles pull him into a hug, lets Charles crow about their father-son 1-2, lets Charles grip the back of his neck and smile at him. It’s nice to have someone care, but Oscar can’t help but wish it was Lando touching him like this, smiling at him and reliving the race.

But before Oscar can really say anything, he hears Lando’s voice saying, “Mind if I borrow Osc here for a sec?”

—

Lando drags him to a toilet and he’s on him as soon as the door’s locked, backing Oscar up against the sink, fingers digging into Oscar’s hips, mouth sucking at Oscar’s neck.

“Fuck, Lando,” Oscar moans, too loud by half for a bathroom in the middle of a club. But he can’t bring himself to care, too relieved at the feeling of Lando’s hands on him, Lando’s thigh slotting between his legs.

Oscar grinds down on the hard muscle of Lando’s thigh, whimpering at how good it feels to finally get some friction on his cock. 

It feels like he loses any capacity for rational thought the moment Lando gets his hands on him, the second Lando starts telling him how good he’s being, gripping his arse with his massive fucking hands. 

“You sound so fucking good,” Lando says, breath warm against Oscar���s neck, sending little sparks down Oscar’s spine. “So fucking hot, Osc.”

Oscar can’t help but whine, grinding harder against Lando.

“Fuck,” Lando groans. He slides a hand down, gripping Oscar through his trousers.

Oscar can feel his briefs get wetter, cock straining against the zipper, the friction unbearable as Lando rubs at Oscar through the fabric.

It’s insane how Lando’s hand practically covers him completely. How Lando barely has to move when he strokes Oscar’s cock, his hand so big it makes Oscar’s cock look tiny, only the flushed head peeking out of Lando’s fist. Lando calls it cute, sometimes, tells Oscar what a pretty cock he has, small and perfect. It makes Oscar feel insane, makes him want to come all over Lando’s fingers and lick it off, beg Lando to fuck him, ask Lando to never let him come again.

“Have you come since Imola?” Lando asks.

Oscar shakes his head, whimpers. “No, I—you didn’t say I could.”

“Jesus, Osc.” Lando tips his head against Oscar’s shoulder, still rubbing Oscar through his trousers.

At this rate, Oscar’s scared of coming in his clothes. But he wants it so bad, feels like he’ll lose his mind if Lando doesn’t get him off. He’d hold it, if Lando said he had to, but he feels tears pricking his eyes at the thought of not being allowed to come tonight. He just—he needs it so fucking bad. Needs Lando to make him come, needs Lando to look at him like Oscar’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, needs Lando murmuring praise while Oscar spills over his fingers.

Lando seems to be able to tell how desperate Oscar is, because he says, “You need to come, yeah?”

Oscar nods, frantic.

Lando’s already undoing the button of his trousers, tugging them and his briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock to the cold air of the toilet.

But Lando’s palm is warm when he wraps it around Oscar and Oscar can’t help the moan that escapes him, eyes sliding shut in relief, head tipping back against the mirror.

Fingers slide through Oscar’s hair, pulling, hard, and Oscar whines, eyes flying open.

“You have to look at me,” Lando breathes, stroking Oscar firm and fast. “You have to look at me if you want me to let you come.”

Oscar forces himself to look at Lando, forces himself to watch as Lando drags him closer and closer to the edge. Lando’s spouting nonsense and Oscar can’t help himself, whining and crying out as Lando rubs a thumb over the head of his cock, brings his hand up to Oscar’s mouth and tells Oscar to spit, before wrapping his hand around Oscar again, everything slick and hot and wet.

Oscar feels like he’s seconds away from coming, his abs aching from the efforts of holding back, thighs trembling.

But Lando looks like he’s enjoying it, like he likes seeing Oscar strung out and desperate. When Oscar meets Lando’s eyes, Lando’s pupils are so wide his eyes are practically black.

Oscar realizes, then, that he might never be able to walk away from this. That he’d let Lando behave as badly as he wants, treat him like shit, never talk about anything, as long as it meant Lando would touch him like this. Firm and confident and in control, looking like it’s a fucking privilege to get to see Oscar flushed and trembling with need.

It’s never—Oscar’s always felt fucking weird about how much it turns him on to be ordered around a bit, told not to come, fucked hard and rough. With his ex he just—shoved it to the back of his mind. Watched porn and otherwise tried to ignore it. There’d been a few blokes throughout the years, but—they all acted like they were doing him a favor. It wasn’t like Lando, who stares at him in awe, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing when Oscar begs for it, whimpers and whines and lets Lando tell him not to come.

Lando’s still stroking him steadily, asking Oscar all sorts of questions—whether he likes it, whether Charles would treat him like this. Oscar barely knows what he’s saying, just knows that he’ll do whatever Lando wants, say yes to anything, as long as Lando will make him come at the end of it.

“What’re you good for?” Lando breathes, eyes flitting over Oscar’s face, hand steadily stroking over Oscar’s cock.

Oscar takes a shaky breath, tries to figure out what the right answer is. He can’t work it out and, ultimately, he simply tells the truth. “Being used.”

Lando’s brain seems to short-circuit at that. He bites at Oscar’s shoulder, grip tightening around Oscar’s cock.

Lando’s hands are pulling at Oscar’s hair and his cock and he feels caught in Lando’s firm grip, laid out on display for him, here to be used however Lando wants. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“By who, Osc?” Lando murmurs, staring at Oscar’s mouth like he’s thinking about kissing him.

Please, Oscar thinks. Please fucking kiss me, I’ll do anything you want.

And Oscar’s already telling the truth, so he says, “You.”

“Come,” Lando breathes, fingers pulling at Oscar’s hair, eyes locked on Oscar’s. “Come, baby, please.”

Oscar’s shaking as he comes, jerking forward as his cock spills messily over Lando’s fingers. It almost hurts, coming after being denied for so long but Oscar likes the edge of pain, likes how it feels almost sharp. Like he can’t do anything other than feel.

Oscar lets out a shocked gasp when Lando darts forward, pressing his lips to Oscar’s.

Lando’s lips feel incredible, warm and soft, swallowing Oscar’s desperate sounds. Oscar wants to fist his hands into Lando’s hair, pull him closer, keep him there. But his orgasm’s still rolling through him and he barely feels in control of his limbs, too overwhelmed by pleasure and the shock of being kissed to do anything other than moan into Lando’s mouth.

But Lando doesn’t seem to care, whining and licking into Oscar’s mouth, a shock of heat as their tongues slide against each other. 

Oscar doesn’t want to stop coming, wants to keep coming in Lando’s tight grip, whimpering against Lando’s mouth, surrounded by Lando’s heat and slightly-sweet scent.

But soon enough he’s slumping back against the mirror and Lando’s blinking at him with a dazed expression.

Oscar’s about to ask Lando to kiss him again when Lando’s stumbling back, grabbing paper towels and wiping Oscar’s come off his hand, tossing them in the bin and banging his way out the door.

Oscar lets out a shocked laugh, staring blankly at the closed door. “Cool,” Oscar mutters, grabbing a paper towel to clean himself up. “Really fucking cool.”

It’s classic fucking Lando. Acting like Oscar’s the hottest thing in the world, like Lando will die if he doesn’t get to fuck him, then going back to being weird and distant the moment it’s ended.

This would all be a whole lot fucking easier, Oscar thinks, if he could stop convincing himself that Lando actually feels something.

[doukeshi-kun]

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 (𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨) + 𝙘𝙖𝙩

note ✥ dipping my toe in the sandman fandom hello :3 i'd like to write longer fic ngl. hopefully i could do it and post it in my writing blog. alas, this is a practice on morpheus' character tbh

content ✥ slight dark!dream of the endless, he's a cat and a certified stalker c'mon now, a little possessive thoughts, gn!reader

Morpheus thinks it is a little ridiculous to approach you like this. 

For eons, he is never afraid to come up to mortals who have caught his eyes, offering them his hand to guide them back to The Dreaming, to indulge in his love. But he could not say the same, in this case. 

He did try. He knows how The Waking and humans work. He has approached you in a manner that people say is normal, but perhaps his stoic voice and straight stance spook you so badly that you retreat the sun on your lips, hiding away from one such as him. 

He first called you by your full name. 

First mistake.

You had never seen him around and yet he already knows full name. Next, he told you his name—“You may call me Morpheus.” He said and he could only watch in confusion as you stuttered and grabbed the cat you were feeding before jogging away from him in haste. 

Is the name Morpheus too unusual for you? Too ancient? Shall he pick another modern alias that could help him blend in among the humans? Well, his real name does hold a sense of modernity in it—Yes, he will introduce himself to you with it the next day. 

And he waited. Only for you to not appear. 

Perhaps it was just a coincidence. But that is impossible. He has watched you for so long, he knows your routine by heart. He decides to stay back in The Dreaming and orders Matthew to fly his way to The Waking. And there you were, in the same place where he waited for you to appear. 

You were feeding the same stray cat. 

At that moment, Morpheus realized, you have a liking towards cats. You are fond of them. He continues to watch you through the eyes of his raven, seeing how you greet every cat you pass by with a “Hi, meow!” 

Your cute voice does bring a shadow of his rare smile. 

But his goal right now is to pursue you. 

He might have lost his mind in an attempt to pursue love, for he has shifted his physique into a black cat, roaming The Waking, searching for his mortal who has tickled his heart unknowingly. 

There you are—he arrives at the usual spot you would stop by to feed a stray cat. He meows and you immediately squeal in happiness at the sight of a new cat in town. 

“Hey, baby!” You chime as you wiggle your fingers, motioning him to come. Of course he would. He walks up to you, ignoring the glare from the stray cat beside your feet. The stray cat hisses at him once before it continues to eat the food you prepared for it. 

Morpheus looks up at you, meowing once to get your attention. You chuckle, petting his head and giving nice scratches on his chin. Oh, how he wishes you would do this when he is in his truest form, in all its glory. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I don’t have food for you left…” You coo sadly. Morpheus does not care about that either. He continues to circle you, rubbing himself against your legs. Yes, he is marking you—he has long decided that you are his anyway. 

“I’ll get you some food. Can you wait here? Yeah, meow?” You talk to him before standing. You are stepping away and he already follows you, catching up fast. It surprises you a bit that he follows you so eagerly. You sigh with a smile. “Alright, you hungry boy. Come on.” You pick him up, cradling him in your arms as you walk through the busy streets. 

Morpheus snuggles against your body, purring. Ah, how wonderful would it be if he had the chance to be himself and actually buries his face into your chest, like this. 

“You don't look like you're from here, Murphy. Maybe you’re lost…” You say to him and he looks up at you with his adorable eyes. You grin. “Murphy sounds cool to you, yeah? You’re completely black like that one weird guy who approached me. He called himself ‘Morpheus’. You kinda look like him… in a sense.” You giggle before you lift your arms a bit, pressing a hard kiss on Morpheus’ head.

“But you are much cuter, Murphy.” You say with a hardened tone. Cuteness aggression is certainly flooding your mind as you press more kisses on his head. “You’re my good luck charm, okay? When you're near, that weird man is not gonna appear to me.”

“He’s a little scary. He knows my full name, can you believe it, Murphy?” You continue to ramble as your feet keep walking and you seem to have a destination in mind. “I’m afraid I have a stalker… I have to report him to the police but I don't really know who he is.”

Any human agency is no match for me, dear love—Morpheus thinks. 

Listening to your rambles, he only stays quiet, relaxing himself in your embrace—something he wishes you to do to him when the two of you are officially together. You keep telling him stories until you arrive at your apartment. 

“I just got an idea, Murphy. I’ll keep you around for tonight and tomorrow we’re gonna find your owners, yeah?” You give him another kiss and bring him into your humble apartment. You put him on the floor and he starts to explore your place by himself. It is not like he has never been here before. When you are asleep, he comes here through your dream, checking this little life of yours. 

You provide him with simple cat food on a paper plate, along with a bowl of water. Then, you leave him in the living room, going to your bathroom to take a shower. He does not even touch the food—he just patiently waits for you in front of the door, sometimes his paw digs the wooden door. 

He has all the power to get inside, but it is better to not rouse suspicion. He learned that he does need to be patient—which is not that pleasing, but he has all the time in the universe to tickle your heart. 

You sure take a while washing yourself. He gives up staring at the door and starts to pace around your house—beginning from the hallway, to the kitchen, to the living room and finally, he gets into your bedroom by sneaking in through the gap between the door. 

He jumps onto your bed, making himself comfortable and cuddles in your blanket. Soon after, you finally enter your room, only in a towel wrapped around your body. 

“Oh, hey, Murphy. You sure are a smart cat.” You give him some more pets before you go to your wardrobe, dressing yourself in a comfy shirt and a pair of shorts. 

Morpheus watches. Of course he will. He never plans to look away. 

You hop into the bed afterwards, making yourself comfortable. Ah, nap time. Morpheus almost forgets this time you choose out of the hours you have in a day. He moves a bit, giving you the room to lie comfortably. You stroke his fur again as you take your phone, scrolling through your social media. 

He just stays there and moves an inch closer when he senses that your sleep is also coming near. Yawning for the tenth time, you finally put away your phone, adjusting your head on the pillow. “Wanna sleep with me, Murphy? Come, come, kitty, kitty.” 

He meows. He gets closer, curling right beside you as he watches you slowly drifting away. Your soul taps into The Dreaming—he can feel it. He waits until the dream in your mind is forming clearer—until your brain cannot tell what is reality and unreality. 

His black fur dissipates into sand—and the sand multiplies, growing larger and larger in size until it forms a tall figure in a black cloak looming over your vulnerable body.

Morpheus’ bony fingers reach out to you as his void of eyes stare deeply into your dream. His finger slowly touches your head, sliding down your face, caressing your skin ever so slightly. He bends down to bring his face close to you. 

His pale lips touch your skin. And your body tenses, as if there is a change in your slumbering mind. 

Dream a little dream of me, dearest.

©doukeshi-kun 2024 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

[chococara25]

Thanksgiving

AU where Buck woke up, thinking about Tommy and decided to cook for Thanksgiving, baking crusty pecan pies & pumpkin pies, delicious green bean casseroles and sweet potato gratins, cheesy cauliflower cheese with turkey bacon bits, creamy mashed potatoes and the classic stuffings.

After done with baking and cooking, he realized he had no one to give it to (Everyone would just give him weird looks if he brings everything to potluck Thanksgiving dinner, plus they had forbid him from cooking) and wondering if he should donate to the homeless shelters cos at least someone can sleep warm with a full stomach when Lucy Donato texted him out of nowhere complaining how everyone is swamped in calls all day long and how hungry they are including Tommy, who came in to cover someone's shift and EPIPHANY!! He can just give them to the 217 AND check on Tommy at the same time.

He starts to pack everything before separating some food into different containers and stick a sticky note on each of them. He then unload the bread loaves and cookies he had been making for the past week into a basket cos waste not, want not right?

Tommy coming back from a weird call involving some idiots trying to make turkey barbacoa in their backyard when he saw everyone gathering around the dining table, stuffing their face, moaning about the delicious food and praising the cook.

He was confused till he turned around to see Evan of all people staring at him, unruly curls and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. Lucy said you guys haven't eaten all day." Evan looked awkwardly at him.

(At the corner of his eyes, he can see Lucy slunking off guiltily, carrying a whole pie and weird a plate of cupcakes with her)

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something but looked away, his lips twisted unhappily. He pushed a bag full of containers and a basket full of bread and cookies at them before running away.

Tommy hid in one of the closets, checking the bag and basket, its contents each marked by a sticky note.

The Banana Loaf - "Everytime I think of calling you, I baked instead. Now my fridge is full but I'm still thinking about you."

The Snickerdoodle cookies - "Jee asked where cool uncle Tommy was. She misses her tea party partner."

Vanilla and raspberry mascarpone loaf cake - "I can't stop thinking how you would enjoy all the cakes and pastries I made for the past few months."

green bean casserole - "I still have your clothes and I kept wearing them to sleep cos its the closest thing I have to you because I have a hard time falling asleep without you holding me in your arms"

Carrot cake loaf - "I saw a helicopter today at work and I wonder if it was you flying it. We never did have that flying lesson."

cauliflower cheese - I'm sorry I never told you I love you when I really do. I love you and I missed every single minute the moment you walk out of my life.

pecan pie - I'm sorry I said the wrong things when I asked you to move in with me. I'm sorry I too much in the end for you and drove you away."

pumpkin pie - I'm sorry you felt pressured but I didn't lie, I really admire you and your confidence made me feel safe, being with you was like waking up for the first time from the lightning coma, I could breath again and you were the one who set me free.

sweet potato gratin - "You said you were my first but not my last. Tommy, you might be my first boyfriend but you definitely my last."

stuffings - "You are my beginning and my forever happy ending. I have no interest in looking for a different happy ending if you're not in it."

By the time he reached the last container, his eyesight were blurry with unshed tears.

Brownies - "Can we try one more time? I'm not ready to give on us."

Tommy was startled when the door to the closet swung open, Captain Pruitt looming over him with a plate of pecan pie in her hands. "I saw firefighter Buckley earlier when he dropped off the food. I don't know what's going on between the two of you and why both of you decided to break up, but Kinard, that man looks as if he still in love with you."

She panicked as Tommy burst into loud tears, holding the container of brownies to his chest.

Evan was cleaning up his kitchen, he was too tired and too emotionally wrung out to stay for the Thanksgiving dinner other than dropping off the last two pies for everyone to enjoy.

He frowned when he hear the doorbell, wondering if Maddie is going to stage another intervention on him when he opened the door, before staring in surprise.

Tommy was standing in front of him, still wearing his flight suit, holding the container with brownies and the sticky notes in his arms.

"Can we talk?" He asked with hopeful eyes.

Evan pulled him into the loft, closing the door behind them.

[lie-lacdreams]

Tender (Curly x Reader)

here's a little oneshot that takes place in Thermodynamics & Turmoil but can be read separately. Sorry if the writing is a little weird - I wrote this at 3 am. I'll create a masterlist soon to clarify timelines as I write more of these.

This goes out to anyone who feels like there’s never an end in sight. I’m right there with you. Things will get better and all your hard work will pay off.

Engineer! Reader x Curly Word Count ~ 1.1k

Dread is an all-consuming feeling – she would know. Disaster always felt imminent, and if she didn’t burn the midnight oil, skip another meal to conserve a precious thirty minutes of time to scan through pages and pages of steam tables, her failure to figure out her responsibilities would fall on her crewmates. 

It was times like these where the cortisol would flood her system, leaving her in a permanent state of anxiety, numbing her to any other emotion. 

(Y/N) had her limits. She was human, after all. Pushed beyond her capacity a long time ago, she had no choice but to continue – she wouldn’t dare think about what would happen if she didn’t succeed. 

She was currently in the lounge, the familiar spread of her texts and loose papers over the table. Hungry and tired, she promised herself a snack after she had a breakthrough, but things weren’t looking promising. Just this morning (or was it technically yesterday morning now?), she sat where she was now, having spent the entire night with books open as the lounge screen grew brighter and brighter. At some point, Swansea made his way in to get some coffee and raised an eyebrow at her, wishing her a good morning. It embarrassed her to no end to be caught, and she tried to lie and claim that she just woke up early to get a head start on work. Scrambling to collect her things, she made her way somewhere else so she wouldn’t get caught by anyone else. 

(Y/N) knew at this point, Curly was very likely worried about her, but she knew that he would know better than to interrupt her when she needed to concentrate the hardest. While she wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and sleep, she knew her work was far from over. 

At this desperate hour at night, the bar for comfort was a low one. Taking a moment to strain her eyes towards the night time display, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she had seen all day. Looking back at the compressibility chart in front of her, waves of lines seemed to melt and swirl together into insignificance. She needed to sleep, but with so much at stake, she knew she couldn’t. Every hour down to the last minute counted now as the ship’s steam tunnels were a ticking bomb unless she could figure out how to decrease the pressure building up. 

Blame it on the heat exchangers that corporate failed to add safeguards to. Or the worn and weathered valves they refused to replace on the insulators. If only the ship were running the way it was supposed to, (Y/N) wouldn’t have to jump through hoops and reinvent the wheel. But alas, she was here now, fighting a valiant battle to keep her eyes open and her brain wired. 

The door opened, and (Y/N)’s eyes darted over to the noise and stuck to the man who entered through it. She typically never saw him out of uniform and in such casual clothes (she assumed what he was wearing now to be his pajamas). A simple white t-shirt spread over his chest and shoulders while he wore a simple pair of sweatpants. His wavy hair, usually parted and somewhat styled, was unruly and disheveled, likely from sleep. The tired expression on his face was unwavering, a deep seated frown and furrowed brows were not budging. 

“Hun, what are you still doing up?” He sounded disappointed, and she slouched further in her chair, ashamed. 

“Duty calls. I’m working on a tight deadline, Captain. The ideal gas law waits for no one, no matter how tired they may be.” She let out a loud sigh as he pressed the pads of his fingers into her shoulders in an attempt to sooth all the knots that accumulated in her muscles. 

“It’s frustrating knowing that I can’t do much to help you. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.” He sat beside her now, gently holding her face in his hands as he caressed the dark circles under her eyes with his thumbs. He brought her head closer to his lips to kiss her face. Her heart leapt, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his arms and feel the weight of his hold. 

Suppressing a whine, she put a hand over his. “You just being here now makes things better already.” 

Curly’s eyes brightened for a second before he stood up, tugging her hand to get up with him. “Come on, I have an idea.” He helped gather all of her supplies as they moved to the couch where he dragged the coffee table closer, moving board and card games to  place her things down. Sitting down in front of the table, he patted the spot between his legs, inviting her to sit with him. With a small chuckle, she sat, continuing with her work once more as he pressed a kiss on her neck and rubbed her shoulders. For an hour they sat in silence as (Y/N) worked diligently, the feeling of being under his hands grounding her to a greater degree than she was before. 

Finally, she put her pen down, leaning her back into Curly’s chest as he wrapped both of his arms around her. “All done?” He asked, hopeful.

“I think I’m in a good place to stop until tomorrow morning. At least this way I can get a couple of hours of sleep in. Swansea will need to help me with tightening and loosening the valves for what I need next, anyway.” There was a rush of giddiness that flooded her as she turned around and kissed him. They both leaned back more into the couch as he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss. Their movements were slow and lazy, likely a direct result of the fatigue they felt, but the grasp Curly had on her was warm and firm – secure and safe. 

“Thank you for staying with me. You made that more bearable than it typically is.” She looked down at him, now laying on his chest. He brought her to rest against him, one of his hands still rubbing her back. 

“I got you, hun.” he said simply. They laid in the silence of the early hours of the morning, savouring the warmth they shared a few minutes longer before (Y/N) reluctantly got up, Curly following suit. But even as they moved towards the door to head to their beds, his touch was ever present on her waist, and at her door he gave her one last kiss goodnight before heading to his own room. 

Working for Pony Express was harsh and unforgiving for her; she was never disclosed the amount of responsibility she would have to shoulder when she first joined, but now, lying in bed, exhausted and starving beyond belief, she couldn’t bring herself to feel regret and disdain. The job was hard, but at least she was here with him, and he treated her so tenderly.

[ofdarknesseyes]

If it wasn’t for the fact that Toji knew this kid wanted him dead more or else, he would have thought that he was trying so hard to “impress” him was adorable, cute, and endearing. It was still quite remarkable to him how much Suguru had changed from that young boy he once almost killed. Maybe he felt the slightest of guilt for kicking him in the face back then. But hey what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. After all, in the end, he helped Satoru Gojo reach his maximum potential did he not? The same could be said with Suguru Geto as he was much more powerful than before. Really the brats should be thanking him.

Though he could tell that he was starting to get on the poor kid's nerves. Serves him right for thinking he can walk all over him and act all high and mighty. Damn princess that he was then so be it. Toji was going to show him how he treated such pretty princesses. He wraps his arms tighter around Suguru’s waist, his chin on their shoulder still and he even dares to nuzzle into his soft black hair ever so slightly. Cursing like a sailor every time he felt a sudden dip in altitude or movement that made him feel like he was going to slip off the curse.

“Humans, sorcerers, curses they are all the same. The sooner you learn that kid, the better off you’ll be.”

He grumbles though he knows there is no changing his mind on whatever crazy ideals he’s cooked up. Toji didn’t really care anyway. Suguru could destroy the planet for all he cared. It wasn’t his problem. The very small thought in the back of his mind reminded him of his son, though he quickly pushed that thought deep down and away.

Another series of curses escapes him when the curse finally lands. Toji hops down onto the ground, happy to be back on his feet. He straightens up and stretches slightly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s not do that often, thanks.”

Toji takes the time to glance around his surroundings, eyebrow raised as Suguru goes on to explain the living situation. He can’t help but grin as he continues to look around. It was quite nice, garden, his own room, and a fully stocked kitchen he hoped. God, he really hopes there is a cook too! Plus training facilities he said, hmm. If there was going to be no fun and fucking around then he defiantly would want to train to keep himself somewhat busy. Well damn, maybe he struck gold here, though it was still hard to tell. It would depend on the pay and how much of a pain in the ass Suguru was going to be, so far it seems like quite a bit. The kid is damn lucky that Toji for the most part is very easygoing.

“No tour? How do I know which areas not to wander off to? You can’t blame me if I accidentally waltz into your bedroom while looking for something to eat.”

His green eyes sparkle with amusement and a sort of hunger that would have most people a little wary, as he swipes his tongue over his lips.

“Oh, I didn’t take you for the jealous type! Fine, I will be sure to have my affairs outside of your castle, Princess”

His grin widens even more and he chuckles lowly. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he waited to see if Suguru was going to show him to his room or if he was going to be let off the leash to wander off and find it himself. Actually maybe he should go find the kitchen first he was damn hungry.

“I’m hungry, where’s the kitchen you mentioned?”

Could nothing phase the damned monkey? Turned out, having his insides flipped upside down with a maneuver not even the Japanese air force was trained on could rattle the filthy man a little. If he continued being on the figurative edge and kept his mouth shut Suguru would have count it as a win. Whether Toji's incessant chatter was a coping mechanism for his insecurities and fears, he did not know... for the man did it constantly. He could have been bluffing but sadly, the black haired sorcerer thought that wasn't the case.

He was just a filthy human but with powers like his, he likely experienced a lot of harrowing ordeals. Killing curses and riding them was different however. Suguru ignored the comment about Toji's eyes, even the sama honorific he ironically used, and just focused on the brief outburst of curses... and the hugging. It should have made his skin crawl. In ANY other situation, it would have been enough to cut one arm off. In this situation it meant Toji needed Suguru. For the young man the power went to his head.

It was amazing the things he was capable of doing with this horrid technique. A technique which threatened to consume his soul would be the saving grace for the future. It would take sacrifice. He was no stranger to sacrifice. So many thoughts and emotions go through Suguru. One moment he's bathing in Toji's reaction and the next he's scowling that such filthy arms were around him. Holding him tight and firm. He had dreamed about this once. Not the exact moment, of course.

Back when he was happy and naive, he did dream of being held by a special someone. Life liked to step on him and laugh on him -- the only person who was holding him close was his enemy, a child killer, and a degenerate gambler. HA! Life had a way of making him laugh bitterly. Outside the context of a sorcerer and an assassin riding on the back of a monster, this could have been something else. Suguru almost feel ashamed for thinking that, ashamed for being attracted to men.

In another life Toji might have been considered goo--- his purple eyes took in the sight of Japan below him. He remembered marveling at the view. Now it was common place and all the lights and sounds were reminders of how filthy the world was. On the curse's back the trip did not take long. In part Toji's response was simple, just as he expected, but there was also a surprising twist to it. He expected Toji to gloat about how he was an expert at killing curses despite not being a sorcerer.

“ You are.. right. Curses are vile as are the people they are created from. There are too many ugly things in this world and humans are the core of it. ”

Toji's grip felt far away. The entire world felt far away. The air was cold as it hit his cheeks and whipped his black hair about. He didn't try to scare Toji again or did he fool around. The longer he remained in the sky, the more attention he brought to himself. Yes, he was confident he could take down any sorcerer, but there was a time and a place. He had to integrate Toji into the fold. He descended down to the Earth and actually made the descent more gentle with Toji on board.

He didn't actually think about it, how considerate he was being towards the monkey he loathed. The curse calmed and it really was like a koi moving through calm water as it penetrated the protective veil surrounding the Star Religious Group headquarters. Sensing its master's cursed energy, no alarms went off in the building. Suguru debated whether keeping Toji in one of the other headquarters as the Star Religious Group had several temples.

Instead he sent his children, Manami, and one other trusted curse user to a secondary location. Suguru needed to TRAIN and keep and eye on Toji. Once they were several feet above the ground he mentally recalled the curse back into his arsenal and dropped to the ground like a cat finding ground. He didn't even wait to see if the killer was okay; he was strong and capable. Suguru flicked his hair over his shoulder as a way of calling for Toji.

“ This is my home and your temporary... living quarters. You will have your own room, access to the garden, the training facility, and the kitchen. Nothing more. Everything is furnished and I expect you to behave. If you need anything... ”

Suguru turned on his sandals and gave the assassin a sharp look with his deep purple eyes.

“ Let me know. This entire compound is guarded by my curses and I am alerted whenever someone enters or exits. If you dare bring... someone to keep you company they will likely be skinned. Understood? ”

[divkazkdovikde]

you know what absolutely doesn’t make sense in the marauders fandom and yet you all people ran with it? moony toast. you know the one, where he cuts it in four pieces and has every piece with different topping? lovely, yes absolutely. i know. BUT WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN A ONE SINGLE OBJECTION ON HOW FUCKING UNREAL THAT IS? like you’re telling me, that one single fucking toast was enough of a breakfast for him? FOR A FUCKING TEENAGER IN DEVELOPMENT?!?!?! FOR A WEREWOLF?!?!?! YOU’RE TELLING ME, THAT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU FAKE ASS BITCHES I’VE SEEN TO POST HERE HOW YOU’RE HAVING A MOONY TOAST, THAT IT WAS ENOUGH FOR YOU?!?!?! nahhh, na-ahh, i’d bet all my money, you had to make at least another three toasts like this for it to be enough. like i dunno what kind of fucking toast bread are you guys buying or you think the elves were making, but the toast in a real world is the least hunger-full-fucking-filling (or something like that i dunno english fuck me) piece of a fucking bread you can buy. i have to have at least four toasts to not be hungry again in an hour. more realistic would be, if he’d just have the four toasts and every with different topping. that, would make sense.

[soulsdontbreaktheybeeend]

may I have this dance?