#and then realizing he's just going to touch the box. so he has to do something too

[sugxto]

transformer - volt/reader. part two.

⋆syn: Eddie has had enough of Volt's mouth. You decide to try your hand at finally getting him quiet.

⋆wc: 3.8k

⋆cw: m/afab, g/n pronouns, dom/sub dynamics, dick riding, maybe some very mild choking, light bonade

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, lips, entrance, cunt and clit. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

This wasn’t going to go anywhere easily. You rack your brain, trying to figure out if there was any way you could manage to at least stop him trying to charm his way out of the wires.

The logical solution, you realized, was going to be to occupy his mouth.

You sit up, take a deep breath. “Eddie says you never know when to shut up,” you say, and when he makes a sound to retort, you put a hand over his mouth. His eyes flash and spark, growing bright at your boldness, and lighting a fire inside you. You like this look of surprise, you decide, like the way the fire starts to burn. “And I’m really starting to agree with him.”

transformer

It’s late, later than usual, when you make your way to the Breaker Box, and you know it won’t be terribly long before the boys are doing their last call. It’s been slammed the last few days, busier than usual, so you want to try and lend a hand if only for a few minutes.

It’s as lively as ever, working your way through the tables to the bar, smiling to yourself as you see Eddie behind the bar, drinks flying left and right. You have to stop yourself from running directly to him, but you know he’ll be all yours soon.

He doesn’t see you at first, when you round the bar, and you cautiously touch his arm to get his attention. His head whips around just as he snaps, “I’m coming -” 

His face instantly relaxes when he realizes, and he kisses your cheek without a word. “Sorry spark.”

“S’okay,” you say, your small smile still on your face. “Busy night?”

He scoffs. “Isn’t it always?”

You nod, going to grab a rag, listening to Miranda’s solo as you try to clean up what you can around Eddie. But you’re surprised when, instead of Volt, it’s Barry you hear on the stage announcing the next act. He’s got the knack for it sure, all his flourishes, but -

“Eddie,” you say, looking around the club, sweeping your eyes over every inch you can find, “where’s Volt?”

Eddie doesn’t look at you, doesn’t answer immediately, just continues to fill a shaker. “He’s out tonight,” he finally says, throwing a rag over his shoulder. 

You stare at him, waiting for more, but it doesn’t come. “Out?”

“Yep.” He throws the shaker around, still not meeting your gaze.

When the sound finally stops, you try again. “Out, where, Eddie? Is he sick?”

“He’s not sick.” 

“Is he like, with someone?”

He fills two tumblers, passes them over the bar to Memoria and Cam, along with a plate of scrap garnish for Cam. When he turns to you, finally, you notice that the steel of his eyes is dark, hardened, and his voice is quiet, but there’s something else there you can’t place. “He’s out, live wire.”

Annoyance, you realize. He’s annoyed. At you?

You furrow your brows, cross your arms, and just stare at him, until he sighs, and he glances around the bar before stepping closer to you. “Sorry. Sorry. Look,” he looks around again, and grabs your shoulder to move you away from the patrons, “he’s upstairs, alright? But he’s not coming down tonight.”

“But why?” You look at him, incredulous, annoyance creeping into your own voice. “Eddie, is he sick? Can you get sick?”

“No, no, he’s…” he groans, runs a hand over his jaw, and he lowers his voice again, “he’s… tied up with something.”

Oh. 

Oh.

Your eyes widen, and you drop your voice. “Tied up with something?”

“Yes,” he says, crossing his own arms. 

Again, you wait for him to provide just a little more context, and you roll your eyes when he doesn’t. “Fucks sake Eddie, why?”

He shrugs. “He pissed me off.”

“He - Eddie!” You were going to strangle him, this elusive, brooding man, whom you loved dearly. “First of all, you know you can just, tell me these things, instead of being so fucking cryptic.”

“You like when I’m cryptic.”

“No I don’t. Second. How did he piss you off?”

Again, he shrugs, but stutters when he sees that look in your eye. “He - he just does sometimes! You try living with someone you share a soul and emotions with, who knows every single way to push your buttons but somehow never knows when to shut up.” He points a finger up to the ceiling. “He likes to push me, so I pushed back.”

Hold on. They shared emotions?

This wasn’t the time to follow that thread, you told yourself, and you shift your weight on your feet. You didn’t like them being annoyed with each other, you decided, didn’t like how it pulled at your heart, despite a logical part of your brain knowing it was nothing, less than a drop in the bucket of what Eddie and Volt (and by extension, you) shared. This wasn’t how you did things, with cryptic and vague excuses. 

“I’m going up,” you say, and you move to turn, but Eddie’s hand finds your shoulder. 

“Spark, he’s fine, I swear. Some days he just wakes up and decides he’s going to be the biggest brat he can be.” He sighs. “I love him more than life, but he’s a fucking piece of work.”

You purse your lips, your shoulders slump. “I don’t like the idea of you two not getting along.”

“I… get that. But we’re fine. Swear. He’ll be alright when he finally gets what he’s after. I just had to delay it for a while.”

“And he’s after…?”

Eddie cocks a brow, gives you a knowing look with a hint of a smirk on his lips. His cheeks bloom with pink, and he pulls you closer, makes sure his voice is low enough that absolutely no one will hear it over the chatter of the bar. “He wants, to push me, to the point of where I’ll fuck him senseless. And I. Am not. Giving that to him.” He raises both brows. “Yet.”

A shiver runs down your arm at the mental image, Volt delirious from pleasure, a satisfied grin on his fucked out face. You know exactly the noises he’d make, how he’d plead, goad, beg with that sinful voice. It’s an… enticing scene, you think to yourself. Eddie must have the restraint of a saint. 

You lick your lips, hoping your face doesn’t reveal these new thoughts of yours, and say with as nonchalant a voice you can manage. “Okay. Well. I still think I should check on him.”

Eddie nods once. “Fine. But live wire,” he points a finger at your face, meets your eyes with dark grey ones, “do. not. untie him. Cuz there’s plenty more wiring up there if someone else doesn’t listen to me. Understand?”

Perfectly.

The sight that greets you when you open the bedroom door is like something out of a dream - mouthwatering, gorgeous, electric. Volt’s naked skin is practically glowing, white wires wrapped around his hands and through the headboard, descending down and around his wrists. They blend into his white mess of hair, splayed across the pillows, and when he turns his head to you, white eyes spark to life. 

(You think, before you remind your brain of the circumstances, he looks almost angelic.)

“Live wire!” He exclaims, the widest grin appearing on his face. He tugs a bit at the wires, tries to turn himself closer to you, but stays locked in place. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.” He looks you up and down and licks his lips, the gleam of mischief growing in his eyes. “Any chance our darling Eddie sent you up to set me free?”

You see what Eddie means about him not shutting up. Volt’s voice could charm the pants off anyone in the house, he knows it too, and he is always trying to use it to his advantage. And Eddie is the only person perhaps with full immunity. 

You clear your throat, try to only focus on his face, not how his wide, wide chest is shining, how he bent leg creates a line leading straight to his -

“He - no, he did not,” you say. Eyes eyes focus on the eyes. “He actually didn’t even want me to know you were up here at first.”

He tsks his tongue, and his lightning brows scrunch together. His eyes, though, don’t dim at all. “Aww, he wants me alone and aching then. Pity. Tell me,” he tries to shuffle himself up again, and fails, “did he tell you what I did to deserve such a treatment?”

You step closer to the bed, cross your arms. “He said you were, and I quote, being the biggest brat you could be, and you were only pushing him so he’d fuck you senseless.”

His laugh is like velvet, warming your body and frying your brain. He’s like a cat, sometimes, a tiger, that will play in your lap before biting your hand. “Well,” he purrs, licking his lips, “does that sound like something I’d do?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” He chuckles again, adjusts his legs - don’t look don’t look. “I suppose it does.”

“He’s pretty pissed at you.”

“Exactly. I like when he gets all rough and uncaring every so often,” he hums, maybe lost in thought for a moment. “You should try it sometime, spark. It’s quite a treat.”

Your mouth is suddenly dry, and you will your brain to stop making such filthy mental pictures of these men, and you grip your arm to snap yourself out of it. “I will… keep that in mind.”

The timbre of his voice lowers as his eyes find your lips. “Maybe I could give you a taste of something similar, hm? If you untied me?”

That does sound -

No! No no no!

This man is a silvertongue, you remind yourself, digging your nails into the skin of your arms, and Eddie’s threat blinks in front of your eyes, neon, like the sign of the Breaker Box. If you don’t listen, you are next.

You steel yourself, take one more step to the bed, hope your eyes don’t betray the lust growing inside you. “I can see why Eddie was so annoyed with you.”

He barks out a laugh, then hums as he puts his head back on the pillows. “He loves me. You love me, too, darling, don’t lie.” He turns back to you, a different spark in his eye this time. “Eddie says you can’t untie me then, yes?” You nod, and he smirks. “That doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun.”

Eddie may have full immunity. You, however, certainly did not. 

“Fuck it,” you say, shedding your clothes and climbing atop Volt’s waist, trying to ignoring the shit-eating grin that graces his fucking face. Your hands run over his chest, his nipples, and he makes a small hiss at the touch. 

“Amps sake, you are a welcome reprieve, little wire,” he purrs, bucking his hips up slightly, and tugging his arms at the wires. “I hardly want to wait to be inside you, feel you around m-”

“Volt,” you groan, pressing your hands to his shoulders, just enough pressure to keep him down, “do you ever turn it off?”

Volt only grins brighter, shakes his head the smallest bit. “It goes against my very nature, darling.”

“Okay, well,” you try very hard to think clearly, “you realize that’s probably why Eddie tied you up?”

“Very much so.”

This wasn’t going to go anywhere easily. You rack your brain, trying to figure out if there was any way you could manage to at least stop him trying to charm his way out of the wires. 

The logical solution, you realized, was going to be to occupy his mouth.

You sit up, take a deep breath. “Eddie says you never know when to shut up,” you say, and when he makes a sound to retort, you put a hand over his mouth. His eyes flash and spark, growing bright at your boldness, and lighting a fire inside you. You like this look of surprise, you decide, like the way the fire starts to burn. “And I’m really starting to agree with him.”

He chuckles, the bastard, when you remove your hand to find the headboard, steadying yourself as you climb over his chest, neck, jaw, keep your legs around his arms. You feel his breath against your folds, and you lower yourself down, down to his waiting mouth. 

You gasp when his tongue envelopes you, hot and full of sparks that shoot through your belly, your legs, all the way to your fingers. Your grip tightens on the headboard, needing stability, and you cast your eyes down to watch him. 

Volt’s white eyes are locked on yours, hooded with lust, hunger, greed, as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and licking and making your legs already start to shake. He is so fucking good at this, you think, and -

Oh, actually. There’s an idea.

You lick your lips and try to relax your face, not wanting to show Volt just how quickly he’s gotten to you. “You’re so good at this, Volt,” you say, emphasizing the word like how Eddie does with him. “So fucking good.”

Volt hums against you, and you feel the graze of teeth, and fight back a moan. “You like to talk and talk and - ffuck - but this,” you huff out a breath at the smallest bite, “this is what your mouth is best at.”

It’s like Volt’s skin powers up with your praise, and you can practically feel him vibrating under you, working your folds like a man starved. You mean it, too - Volt in this position, his words, his tongue at your mercy, was certainly a dynamic that you could continue to support.

You feel his tongue prod at your entrance, and your fingers squeeze around the headboard. “Yes, Volt, yes, just like that - good boy, good - fuck!” you cry as he enters you, and it’s like fireworks teasing your skin. His eyes flutter closed, focusing solely on your pleasure, and you rock your hips just slightly, searching for more friction. 

You inhale, shakily, and say in your honeyed voice, “J-just like that, baby, fuck if you make me cum, I’ll ride you, yeah?” You feel him moan in response, muffled under your weight. “You want me around your cock, don’t you? Yeah? Then you ha-have to be good, and make me cum.”

No sooner do you say it than you feel your climax building, under your skin and in your belly like a growing flame, and your grind against him again. His lips and tongue are everywhere inside your folds, your hole, all at once - it threatens to fry your mind, overheat your circuits, before you even realize it.

Your arms start to shake, and you watch his face as he works you, and you’re only able to say, “Yes, yes, Volt, so good, so fucking good, Volt, yes, yes!” as your orgasm overtakes you. You try to press your knees together, but his body keeps them separate, and he doesn’t stop his ministrations even as you start to shake. You hear him hum, moan, before finally forcing yourself up, and adjusting yourself to sit back on his chest. 

Volt’s eyes are proud, and his smirk confident, his lips wet and shining from your slick. He makes a show of licking them clean, before saying, “Well, well, little wire. I rather like this side of you.”

You shove a hand over his mouth, still trying to catch your breath, and the resulting look in his eye is one you can only describe as devotion. “Volt,” you say, holding his gaze with what you hope displays composure, “I’m serious. This is when you should shut up. Okay?”

He pauses, only for a moment, before nodding. In other circumstances, the glint in his eyes would bring you worry, anticipation, over what he might do to you. 

But, you remind yourself, in other other circumstances, you weren’t the one in control.

“Good.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Now I’m gonna fucking ride you until I come again.”

He’s finally silent when you remove your hand, watching you adjust your position over his body. When you find his cock, he makes a small groan in the back of his throat, but nothing more. His white eyes watch with rapt attention as you wrap your hand around him, hard, aching, and leaking pre from his tip. It’s enough that you’re able to use your thumb and coat the head, but it’s not enough, you know, so you give him a long, slow lick.

Volt hisses through his teeth, and the headboard rattles as he pulls at his arms, but still, he’s quiet. You work your tongue along the shaft, the blue veins, the head, coating him with your spit so he’ll slide perfectly inside you. His breath is heavy through his nose, and at one point, he throws his head back, his teeth grit together.

When you rise, and line your entrance up to him, you can’t help but curse and dig your nails into his skin as you lower yourself onto him. He makes you feel so full, so alive, like you’ve been plugged into a socket and are finally able to charge.

Tentatively, you lift your hips, then lower them, finding your balance, but still Volt is quiet. Good, you think, he’s finally listening.

You find your rhythm, fucking yourself up and down on his cock like you were made for it, and after a minute, you lean forward with your hands on his chest, keeping you steady. “You,” you moan, your voice raw with want, “have such,” you gasp when you feel him twitch inside you, “a perfect fucking cock.” You curse again when you bring your hips down, finding a delicious new angle. “But you, you know that don’t you?”

The flame of fight that was in Volt’s eyes has dwindled, replaced with unbridled need that sparks off of his skin. His jaw is slack, his knuckles white with the force of the fists he’s making, and his eyes haven’t left the sight of your his cock, disappearing inside of you over and over and over.

One of your hands, almost of its own accord, finds its way to his neck, and you give a small press of your fingers, feeling the beat of his pulse thrum under your skin. He preens at the touch, lifting his chin, giving you the access you want without even being asked.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, and his eyes practically sparkle, “letting me fuck you like this.” Your hips increase their speed, finding the exact angle you’ve been looking for. “Fuck, Volt, you’re making me feel so fucking good and y- fuuck,” you moan, clenching around him, “you’re not even touching me.”

You sit up, releasing his neck, and you hear him whimper at the loss, but you lean back and steady yourself with a hand on his thigh, and bring your other hand to your clit. You’re still sensitive from Volt’s tongue, and the touch makes you clench again, prompting another whimper from his lips. You have to ignore it, you tell yourself, as you find the movements you love, the fullness inside your cunt multiplying the pleasure tenfold. You blink your eyes open, find white one’s across the bed, and knowing he’s watching brings you almost immediately to the edge.

You moan Volt’s name as your fuck yourself on his cock and work your fingers over your clit, trying to focus through the haze of pleasure, the trying to make sure, when you inevitably climax, that Volt does. not. cum. You’re close, so close already it’s almost unfair, and you can’t stop it when, hardly without warning, it overtakes you, makes your whole body spasm and writhe, your fingers digging into his thigh for dear life. There’s no words, only cries of pleasure, and the feeling of his hard cock inside you is the only thing grounding you to your body.

When finally, you find the strength to open your eyes, the first thing you see is Volt’s face, his cheeks tinged blue and the muscles of his arms pulling as hard as they can against the wires. He is ruined, desperate, and it’s all because of you.

You feel drunk, high off your orgasm and the power you feel Volt feeding you. Even now, in your blissed out state, you know you still have practically total control over if he even comes or not.

Volt had said he liked this side of you. Maybe you could get used to this position.

“Live wire,” you hear, but it’s not Volt’s voice, it can’t be, he’s being quiet, and you whip your head around to the doorway. 

Eddie leans against it, his arms crossed, his titanium eyes looking absolutely fucking thrilled. He says, with a tone of disbelief, “you have done something that I have only been able to dream about. You have gotten Volt to shut his fucking mouth.”

You feel your face flush, still hot from the orgasm, as he takes slow, careful steps towards the bed, grey eyes never leaving yours.

“Usually I have to gag him, force his face into the bed, but even then,” he huffs air out of pursed lips, shakes his head, “he’s the furthest thing from quiet.” He’s at the edge of the bed now, only a reach away from you, and your breath hitches when he brings one of his rough hands to your chin. “But you, our little wire. Got him perfectly quiet. How can I ever thank you?” Eddie’s eyes are just glowing with pride, with adoration, and you raise your own hand to touch the side of his wrist.

He pulls you in to meet his lips, his kiss so full of love it practically burns you, and you feel your body melt all over again. You think, somewhere far away, you hear Volt whimper, and remember his aching cock is still inside of you, but that’s not important right now.

When Eddie pulls away, you start to speak, but you’re unable to, as his fingers fly from your chin to your cheeks, pressing down on the sides of your jaw, hard. His eyes darken, and his voice is low, making goosebumps on your skin. “But maybe, I needed to be clearer downstairs. That, in addition to not untying him,” he squeezes again, and you gasp, “you also should not fuck him.”

Yeah, okay, he kinda got you there.

He releases your jaw, goes back to cupping your chin like it was nothing, and you swallow your words until you know he’s finished speaking. “But seeing as you have done me, you, the whole house a service that I thought impossible, we’ll just ignore that, yeah?”

You nod, daring to speak. “I think that sounds fair, Eddie.”

“Good.” He turns his gaze to Volt, and you turn to look at him as well. Eddie’s arrival has reignited that spark of fight, his eyes back to cocky, defiant. A challenge. But still, he’s quiet. Eddie hums his approval. “I would just love to see how long he can stay this way.” When he turns back to you, a smirk curves at his lips. “You wanna suck his cock while I fuck him senseless?” And oh, wouldn’t you love nothing more.

[scribbles-here]

Sweeter Than Chocolate

You decide to try a game with Cove with a familiar sweet treat; pocky.

tags: established relationship, step 3 Cove, fluff bc we all need a little bit of love

pairings: Cove Holden x F! Reader

note: this has been sitting in the drafts for WAYYY TOO LONGGG and I totally forgot about it also shout out to my friend on discord who didn't know I was scribbles-here and loved my work, this one's for you (´°ω°`)

Now matter how long you and Cove have been together; he has and will always be shy to kiss you first.

Don’t get him wrong! He loves kissing you! It’s just... with how close you are, how your perfume invades his nose, the shampoo you use mixing in, your warm chest pressing against his as you wrap your arms around Cove’s shoulders. 

It’s heaven for him. 

“Cove!” You shout, giving the boy’s front door a few firm knocks. “I bought something, and I want to try it with you!” 

Waiting, you heard the thumps against the wooden floor come closer and closer to the door. Cove opens swings open the door with a surprised expression written on his face. 

“(Name)? Did something happen?” Cove questioned in a concerned tone, quickly darting towards you, ocean blue eyes scanning you from head to toe for any injuries.

You giggle. He can be so cute sometimes but right now, you cannot wait any longer to ask him something.  Cove’s expression turns into a relieved smile once he realizes nothing bad happened to you. 

Noticing the plastic bag you were holding, his expression turns curious, tilting his head to the side to try and peak inside. "What did you buy?"

Hiding the bag out of your boyfriend's view, you walk inside his home, Cove trailing behind you, and set the bag of goodies on his kitchen table.

Watching you carefully take out the items and placing them in front of you, Cove grabs the box. "Pocky?" He read out loud, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Yeah, have you tried them before?" You questioned, grabbing a chair and taking a seat in front of Cove. He copies you, settling his chair next to yours, knees touching.

"No, but I've seen them in stores." He shrugged, placing the treats back down. "Never got the chance to try them."

Beaming at this, you place your hands on Cove's knees and lean forward, noses grazing. Cove flinches at the closeness, cheeks turning into a nice shade of red. "Well today's your lucky day because we are going to be playing a game with this."

"A game?"

You nod, opening the packaging and pulling out a biscuit. "Yup, a totally easy game."

Crossing his arms, intrigued at the information. "Sounds... interesting. How do you play?"

"First we each hold onto the end of this pocky," gesturing to the pocky stick to which Cove nods. "Then we each get a turn to take a bite; whoever backs out loses."

Cove nods at your explanation, eyeing the biscuit. "Sounds easy enough."

"Great! Let's start!" You placed one end in your mouth, leaning forward for Cove to do the same. Cheeks burning, Cove leans forward and hesitantly bites down on the other end.

Cove watches you take a bite, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

Taking a bite, Cove has a thought. Wait, if we keep taking bites and don't back down, eventually we're gonna... Oh my god!

Zoning back to reality, Cove notices how close you both were. A small whimper leaving his lips, cheeks burning red. He blinks rapidly, but he's too late to stop himself. He takes the last bite and locks lips with yours.

Shutting your eyes, you lean into the kiss, reaching over to grasp Cove's hands in yours. Squeezing them, Cove relaxes his shoulders and flutters his eyes close, thumb rubbing your knuckles.

Pulling away from each other, you gauge at his red and flushed face, biting your lip to hide a smile growing on your face. Cove pouts, rolling his eyes at your reaction to his internal freak out.

After sitting in silence, Cove was the one to speak up.

"So, I won."

You gasped. "Yeah, no, I obviously won."

Cove scoffs, throwing you a smug look. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Retry; winner picks where our next date is."

Snatching the pocky at the speed of lightning, you place a biscuit in your mouth. "YOU'RE SO ON!"

My tip jar! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[cherryo]

Bumblebee trying to romance you

I LOVE BUMBLEBEE SOOOOOO MUCH <33333 i would take care of him so welllllll, he's my favorite, he's so full of life and personality! even in gen 1 hes such a cutie patootie!!

Pairings: Bayverse! and TFO! Bumblebee x Human! and Autobot!reader (respectively)

Pronouns: gn

Word count: I don't count for hcs

warnings: none, not proof-read

Bayverse:

-oh lord, he does everything in his power to impress you

-at first he tried the cool, nonchalant act. overheard you talking to someone else about how nonchalant guys are silly and wont get girls. he switched his tactics up immediately!

-everything from catapulting enemies away from you to shadow boxing (which gets giggle out of you so he considers that a win)

-gets you a literal bush instead of flowers, he thought it was interchangeable, you kept the bush in your garden

- bless his little soul, at first he changes his alt-form every time you mention or see a car you like

-  No regard for what he likes, he changed into a pink porsche once, Ratchet and Hound wouldn't stop making fun of him for a week. He stays in his camaro form now.

- takes you on drives all the time, he’ll purposely take the more dangerous roads and turns fast so you have to grip onto him

- he’s a little bastard

- Optimus has to drag him away from you in the garage bay, doesnt quite work out, once bumblebee is free he just comes right back to talk to you

-he thinks wrestling the other bots in the garage will impress you, he wins a lot but still gets his ass handed to him sometimes. he pouts for hours till you tell him how good he looked while fighting

-keeps an out to see if you watch him when he trains with Optimus or Hound, if he sees you staring, he'll go twice as hard. Optimus gets onto him because he'll strain himself just to impress you

-he does take you out on this one drive that during the sunset and it was absolutely gorgeous

- i think he would take Courting you very seriously (being raise by optimus prime meant there was no “talking” stage, you either court them or not)

-he’s afraid to mess up, thinks by having to talk with his radio will drive you away

- LOVES LOVES LOVES when you hold his face or just have your hands casually on him!!! please just rest your hand against his leg or hand, whichever one you can grab lol

- his love language is def touch, he cant get enough!! Loves when yall are laying together and you lay on his chest close to his spark

- loves how small your hands are compared to his servos, he loves how small you are compared to him entirely

- although he loves being bigger, loves being in his alt form so he’s somewhat your size

-he’s such a respectful autobot, when he’s driving he’ll open his doors for you to get in/out

- plays songs that he can relate to at the time, he plays love songs a lot, at first you didn’t realize what he was doing but you slowly understood

-gets Optimus to help him set up a proper date area so he can ask you out, it might not be proportional to you, like at all but it sure is the sweetest thing ever!!!

TFO

- so id like to think you’re a miner or a friend of Orion and D-16 that somehow got roped into their stupid adventures and got kicked down the levels by Darkwing with them.

-you were on edge seeing an Autobot so far down, intimidating at first, then he spoke and all the intimidation left your body

-honestly you thought it was cute, D-16 pushed B-127 onto you at any chance after noticing you could handle his,,,,,personality

- his first view of you was love at first sight!!! He immediately knew he had to talk to you!!!

-wouldnt stop talking to you about his nickname that he totally didnt give himself, at first you looked at Elita for help and she just shook her head, leaving you to deal with this extroverted bot alone

- slowly eased into being able to handle his ramblings, he kept mentioning his friends back at sublevel, you didnt know what to say (he kept reassuring you he knew that they werent real to look sane, you werent buying it)

-did think he was talking too much but he was worried if he stopped talking you wouldn’t be interested in him (you thought his consistent rambling was cute rather than annoying)

-pulled you with him when yall were on the train, he was so fast for a bot who barely had space to walk

-watched your back the whole time you guys were around Sentinals bots and the high guard

-was excited you were working under Orio- Optimus Prime with him, took his lunch breaks with you

-comes up with ‘Awsome’ nicknames for you that loosely follow “BADASSATRON,” he says it in that voice every time too

-quality time is def his top love language, after being alone for so long just being next to another bot makes him so happy. He likes physical touch too, makes the thought of you more real to him, it reminds him he’s finally out 

- any time he sees you or you acknowledge him, his little antennas pop up. He doesnt notice it but you do, its adorable

- i would say he would be way too nervous to ask you out but he’d blurt out randomly that he liked you a lot (it was obvious)

- would be sweet and take you somewhere nice, away from work and home, just a nice spot and he’d probably kiss you before asking you to date him (you leaned in and would’ve said yes anyways)

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 27

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

Jake and Daisy meet Jimmy Buffett...kinda...

hello! i am not dead and i did not abandon this story - here is the final chapter that y'all have been so patiently waiting for.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

“Shhh,” I giggled, shushing Jake with a finger to his lips. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.” Jake narrowed his eyes at me, a smirk playing on his lips, as he cranked up the volume on the little karaoke machine Bradley had bought him as a moving-out present. 

“I am not going to wake the neighbors,” He huffed, “And even if I did, they would be blessed with getting to hear my singing.” I couldn’t help but laugh as Jake launched into a purposefully bad rendition of Poker Face by Lady Gaga. Our new house was filled with boxes that needed unpacking but we had taken a break for dinner and things had devolved into chaos from there.

“I don’t know if that’s a blessing, cowboy.” Jake rolled his eyes at me, turning off the machine.

“You don’t like my singing, Wildflower?” He climbed on top of me where I was on the sofa, pushing me down against the cushion beneath him. Jake began kissing my jaw and down my neck,

“I love your singing but I think maybe you should stick to country music,” I hummed contentedly as he kissed and nipped at my neck, knowing he was leaving little marks behind. “Fits your voice better.” 

“You know what would fit me best?” Jake’s voice was soft and husky, sending shivers down my spine. “You. As my wife.” 

I could not wait to marry Jake. If I didn’t love his family so much, I would have suggested eloping the day he came back from deployment. But Pops had promised to walk me down the aisle and I wasn’t missing out on that. 

“You know,” Jake continued sucking hickeys into the sensitive skin of my neck. “There’s a 24/7 wedding chapel by the beach,” His fingers slipped beneath my shirt, quieting the sound of my common sense.

“Are you trying to get murdered by your sisters and mama, cowboy?” I panted softly, his touch sending electricity through me. If Helen and Caroline found out we had gotten married without them there, they would string him up by his toes or something, hell, Harvey wouldn’t be much happier with me either.

“It’ll be top secret,” He hummed happily when he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra, squeezing my breasts as he continued to kiss my neck. “Just me, you, and whatever strangers we can grab off the street as witnesses.” I blamed all the touching for making this sound like a good idea. “And then after Mav and Penny get married, we’ll throw a big wedding and put on a show for everyone.” 

“Are you suggesting lying to our friends and family, cowboy?” I was trying, trying, to keep a level head about this but it was really hard to do when he was all over me like that. “Are you that impatient?” 

“To have you as my wife?” Jake pulled back, smiling down at me, and if I hadn't already melted into a pile of goo beneath him, I would’ve melted right there. “Hell yeah.” 

I reached up, cupping his face with both hands, rubbing my thumbs over his clean shaven cheeks. It was mind boggling to me that when I had first met Jake that I had pegged him as being a flirt, a good flirt, but a flirt nonetheless that was just interested in me as a way to pass the time. But now, just over a year later, we were engaged, madly - “grossly” according to Natasha - in love, living together, and planning for forever. 

Maybe Jake’s sisters were right, I should write a romance novel.

“C’mon, Wildflower,” Jake started to pepper kisses across my face as I held his face. “Marry me tonight, I don’t want to go another minute without being able to call you my wife, even if it’s just in private for now.” There was a whiny, desperate tinge to his normally confident and smooth tone that was like a Wile E Coyote stick of dynamite to any arguments I had left in me about not eloping.

“Let me go put on my good pajama pants.”

X

Daisy looked absolutely adorable, her hair was in a messy bun and she had dug out a pair of matching heart-patterned pajamas for us to wear - which she had bought before my deployment for us to wear for Valentine’s day. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and my hair was a mess from a makeout session in the parking lot but the moment was absolutely perfect. 

The officiant was dressed like Jimmy Buffett and there was an instrumental version of Margaritaville playing over the speakers. 

“Daisy, do you take Jake to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you love, honor, and cherish him through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever life may throw at you both, until death do you part?” The officiant asked Daisy and she scrunched her nose, like she was thinking about it and I wanted to reach out and give her a playful swat on the butt.

“I do.” Daisy smiled and damn I thought that my heart was going to burst. I thought about going from her not believing I could ever be interested in her, to the FBI showing up while I was in my boxers to give her the second worst news of her life, the deployment, pop’s cancer coming back, the deployment. We had already been through a lot and I couldn’t wait to spend every moment for the rest of our lives together. 

“Jake, do you-”

“I do.” I didn’t mean to cut him off, I really didn’t, but I was just too excited to be patient. “Sorry,” I chuckled, cheeks getting warm.

“That’s okay, son,” The officiant and Daisy were both laughing along with me. “Alright, he does, she does, let’s get to the rings. Try not to drop them with those shaking hands.” I had to stop myself from glaring at fake Jimmy Buffett as Daisy giggled.

“Yeah, cowboy, don’t drop the rings.” 

“I take it back, I don’t want to get married,” I teased as I pulled out her engagement ring and her dad’s wedding ring, which Daisy had had stored away in her jewelry box.

“Shut up,” Daisy laughed, taking her dad’s ring. “Hold up your hand fo- other hand,” I was such a mess for that girl. Daisy held my hand up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of my hand before sliding the silver band onto my ring finger.

I barely heard a single other thing that Fake Jimmy Buffett said until he pronounced us husband and wife. Before the next words even left his mouth I dipped Daisy like it was the high school prom and kissed her, cradling the back of her head with one hand, my other holding her waist firmly to support her. 

Kissing Daisy never got old, fireworks exploding in my chest when her lips touched mine. She had slathered her lips in cherry chapstick on the drive over and I could taste it, which made me smile into the kiss. Daisy chuckled softly as I brought her upright.

“You know, I’m thinking we need to listen to a little Jimmy Buffett on the way home,” I teased quietly, leaning down to nuzzle my nose against hers.

“Really? Because I was thinking we should listen to Big and Rich.” Daisy’s eyes got a mischievous glint to them that made me curious. “You know, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy?” She teased and I had to fight the urge to scoop her up and carry her to the truck right that second. 

“You’re killin’ me, Wildflower,” I squeezed her hip before giving my attention to the officiant when he cleared his throat.

“If you kids are done being cute and in-love, we’ve got paperwork to fill out.” Right. The magical part of getting married, filling out paperwork. 

X

“What are you doing out of bed?” Jake mumbled sleepily, wrapping his arms around my waist. I jumped, spooked, so far in the zone that I hadn’t heard him coming up behind me. I had my laptop open in front of me, a bag of M&Ms on the side, and a half drank cup of coffee, showing that I had been up for a while and wasn’t planning on going back to bed. 

“Somebody new popped up in my head,” I yawned, still typing away as he started to press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to my neck. “Needed to write everything down.” 

“What are you writing?” Jake nibbled at my pulse point, making me hum contentedly. 

“A love story.”

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @memoriesat30  @kmc1989

[hourcat]

are u still thinking about pierre and charles' aborted attempt to touch each other again after they already shook hands once or are u normal

[monstersholygrail]

Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who has to be filling you at all times.

He tends to always run cold and your sweet fat cunt is so nice and warm. You can’t blame him for always wanting to burrow in and be close to you. Even when you’re not together he finds a way to be with you at all times.

Going as far as to unlatch a tentacle for you to act as a nice plug for your pretty pussy. He still has full control of it so at random times of the day he’ll wiggle around, nuzzle in deeper, and latch a suction onto that bundle of nerves inside you till you’re gushing your sweet juices all over for him to absorb.

Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who has to have every last bit of your cum and slick for himself.

On the days you do manage to go without being filled by him, your bf can’t stop thinking about how much you’re leaking throughout the day. Especially when he sends you all those dirty texts and pics by the hour, spamming your phone and making sure you’re so turned on it’s painful.

When you finally get home for the day you always head straight to the shower to cool off and that’s when your bf strikes. Stealing your panties straight out of the basket and burying his face in the soaked cloth. His cock jerks and he moans as the taste of your slick floods his mouth. He sucks at the fabric until they’re wet with only his spit. All your essence fully down his throat. But then he panics, realizing you’re in the shower alone and he quickly rushes into the bathroom to get some more of your yummy taste.

Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who can’t have you pleasuring yourself without him. How dare you deprive him of your cum?

He’s heard you during your countless talks about respecting boundaries and needing your alone time. But surely you don’t mean when you’re horny and in need of release. No one could take care of you better than he can. He hears your moans through the wall (because his ear is pressed up against it) and he knows you don’t feel as good with your toys than you do with him.

So he sees absolutely no problem with sneaking into your toy box and replacing all your dildos with varies sizes of his tentacles. With the room dark the next time you go to play with yourself, you don’t even notice the switch until your bf starts rubbing his length along that spot inside you that turns your world upside down. You shriek in both pleasure and surprise. You don’t even have the time to get angry at him because he’s fucking you dumb in an instant all without even being in the same room.

Pervy Clingy!Tentacle Monster bf who doesn’t think there’s anything that can’t be solved with sex.

You’re upset with him after all the stunts he’s been pulling lately. You’ve barely even talked to him let alone touched him and it’s practically torture. He needs to touch you, to feel your pleasure radiating off of you and knowing he’s the cause.

Not being able to stand it any longer (it’s been an afternoon) your bf snuggles up behind you, wrapping his tentacles tightly around your body and drawing you into his chest. Knowing how weak you are for him.

Like expected you melt in his embrace the longer he murmurs his apologies, even as his tentacles make their way to your hot dripping core. He knows you’re still upset with him, even as he plunges a few of his tentacles deep inside your perfect cunt, starting a pace so ruthless your body jerks with every snap of his tentacles.

He asks you after each orgasm he forces from your fucked out body if you’ve forgiven him yet. If you say no or just can’t answer he’ll take it as a no and fuck you again. Bringing you to release over and over until you can’t remember why you were ever even mad to begin with.

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 when a younger recruit has a very obvious crush on you (not dating yet)

Oh, anon. I had fun with this one. Simply because it's a "we aren't dating yet so why are you jealous" scenario just waiting to happen. That's where my mind went with this. The boys have zero claim on you but they are possessive and territorial as fuck. omg. Do you hear that? It's me standing outside screaming because I need to get a fucking grip. Anyway! Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (gn!reader except on Simon's)

Content & Warnings (MDNI): hidden feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, intimidation, crushes, suggestive themes, swearing

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John is the superior here. He's the one in charge.

Yet he feels completely out of control.

This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening. He has spent months—months gently putting himself before you. Jealousy and possession are strange to him. They don’t come easy. And yet here they are, eating him from the inside out, chewing away at his resolve.

Anger and irritation are starting to seep in.

A new recruit with an obvious crush shouldn't make him this irate. There isn't any competition, but John can't help himself. All he sees is this wanker making eyes at you, speaking softly and with such tenderness that it's driving John up the fucking wall.

Which is insane. Stupid. You do not belong to him. The two of you are not dating—not anything—but somehow that doesn't matter.

His feet are moving before he even realizes it. The recruit turns in John's direction and instantly pales.

Good. Fucking good.

You turn too, brow furrowed.

"Captain?" asks the recruit, straightening his spine.

John shoves himself between, staring the recruit down, all venom. "You're wanted elsewhere."

"Y—yes. Sir."

The recruit salutes and takes off, the primal jealousy purring softly with contentment.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is going to grind his teeth into dust if he doesn’t unclench his jaw.

What the fuck is this bloke doing over on this side of the complex anyway? He’s a goddamn new recruit. Freshly arrived and still green.

Do you even realize he’s flirting? Kyle can tell just be the way he stands far too close, or the subtle way he touches your arm. His smile is stupidly large. The man is completely struck by you. You appear completely oblivious, having a conversation with him like there’s nothing amiss.

Nope. Kyle is pissed. Furious. Which is fucking ridiculous. The two of you are not a couple, even though Kyle wishes otherwise.

“You look right scunnered.” Soap appears at Kyle’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“That,” he growls.

Soap frowns, following Kyle’s line of sight. Soap’s frown turns to a knowing smirk. He turns it on Kyle with a mischievous glint. “Want Ghost to scare the shit out of him?”

The rest of the team knows how Kyle feels about you even if they don’t comment on it.

“That would be great,” says Kyle flatly.

Soap lightly pats Kyle’s shoulder. Turning around, he cups his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lt!”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"I could rig an explosive. Put it under his bunk. That’d be fucking brilliant,” murmurs Johnny.

"We're looking to scare him. Not to maim everyone in his immediate radius,” replies Kyle.

"What about a firework? Poppers? Oh! A stink bomb?"

"That’s fucking childish, Johnny,” mutters Simon.

Johnny isn't jealous. Really, he's not.

He's just...protective. That's what he tells himself anyway.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon observe you from across the communal gym. A new recruit from the latest batch is hanging on the ropes of the boxing ring. His stance is casual, skin glistening with sweat as he gives you his best smile while he chats you up.

The lad is putting it on thick, and Johnny is having none of it.

You are not Johnny’s spouse. You are not dating. You are not his…anything.

But that hardly matters.

Because Johnny has stolen plenty of kisses from you. He’s put his hands on your body. He’s been far too close for the comfort of a coworker or friend. In that, there is a claim. Johnny can draw the line somewhere.

He is so close to making you his.

No one is getting in his way. Not even a charming new recruit.

Simon "Ghost" Riley (Female Reader)

"Don't do it, Simon. It's not worth it."

Johnny's words don't satiate the anger. Rage is boiling beneath Simon's skin. It is white hot—fierce. All of this emotion and yet Simon has no claim over you.

It still hurts. Still aches.

The two of you are not together—not dating. But it's Simon's name you scream with pleasure, and that counts for fucking something.

His fists clench, muscles coiled with wrought tension. Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders and shoves him back down in his seat. If Simon weren’t ready to flay his newest target alive, Johnny wouldn’t be so bold.

"Remove. Your. Hands," growls Simon, slowly.

Kyle grimaces, his gaze darting between Simon and Johnny. He looks ready to jump in if Johnny needs him.

"I'm doing this for you, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, even as his hands keep the pressure.

"She's mine."

"We know,” reply Johnny and Kyle in unison.

One of the new recruits is putting on his best performance, following you around like a lovesick puppy. Johnny is right. Simon can't go over there and knock the man to the ground, no matter how much he wants to.

"Take a deep breath, Lt."

"I'm trying."

[all4yoi]

𝓣he 𝓓addy 𝓓iaries

!? . . ★ 𝓜ood 𝓢wings — wherein they realize just how real pregnancy mood swings are and how they try (and fail) to survive them.

➹ enhypen hyungline x fem!reader ✦ cw: fluff fluff fluff super fluff !! some crying (ofc), pregnancy, and that's it?? just fluff really, lmk if i missed something. not proofread

➹ taglist 2: open! SEND AN ASK — SERIES MASTERLIST

LEE HEESEUNG

Heeseung has heard about the eventual mood swings you'd go through, specifically now that you're pregnant. "Take her easy." his mom has said to him hundreds of times. No matter how many times he has seen you cry over the littlest and silliest things, he couldn't get used to seeing you cry.

Just like now.

"Baby? What happened?" Heeseung asked upon seeing his pregnant wife sniffling quietly on the couch. He sat down next to you, placing his hand instinctively on your lower back and rubbing.

Your glassy eyes looked up at him and he could hear his heart cracking. "They got it wrong." your voice cracked as you whined, gesturing towards the box of chicken nuggets on the coffee table. Heeseung frowned, opening the meal and looking at you with worry and confusion.

"What's wrong baby? Did they give the wrong sauce? Should I go get-"

"They gave me twenty-one instead of twenty!"

Heeseung blinked.

Wait.. shouldn't.. that be a good thing? Nevertheless, he nodded solemnly as if it had offended him too, wrapping his arms around you. "That's okay, baby. I'll eat the extra one." and before you could say anything, his hand reached towards the box and put the lone nugget in his mouth.

Big mistake.

Heeseung flinched when you suddenly slapped his shoulder, glaring at him. He raised his arms in confusion, his eyes wide like a bambi's.

"That was for me! The twenty nuggets were for the baby!"

Yeah, Heeseung could get used to this. Maybe. — more under the cut!

PARK JONGSEONG

You were only ten weeks pregnant and yet your moods were all over the place, and ever since then, your husband has been walking on egg shells.

A single misplaced glass on the kitchen cabinets can either trigger a meltdown or a full-on crying session. Jay had even stopped making eggs for breakfast after you once yelled at him for "stinking up the whole kitchen," only to burst into tears seconds later because you felt bad for snapping at him.

Despite all that, he still found you charming. He'd coddle you, calm you down, and kiss you breathless just to bring your mood back up.

But there were times where he let his guard down, just like now.

"Baby, can you please fetch me some water.." you whispered sweetly into his ear, pleading politely and softly. Jay didn't answer but merely sat up from his position on the bed with a grunt.

A grunt.

But you didn't hear a grunt. You heard a groan and a heavy sigh. A sigh that only an annoyed man would do.

"Are you mad? Why are you mad?" you furrowed your brows. "I just asked for water from the fridge, you should be thankful I'm not asking for fresh spring water that you'd have to get from a waterfall."

To say that Jay was taken aback was an understatement.

"Baby, what are you talking about? I'm not mad." he said gently with a frown, looking at you in confusion. His confusion deepened when you slapped his hand away when he tried to touch you.

You shook your head and turned your back towards him. "You are. Don't hide it. You sighed."

He raised his brows in amusement but didn't let it show in his tone. "What?"

You turned your head at him, lips pouting and eyes narrowed. "You sighed, Jay. I heard it." you whined in annoyance.

He hadn't. But he wasn't about to argue with a hormonal woman carrying his child.

Instead, Jay pursed his lips before planting a soft kiss on your temple while his hands stroked your hair. "Okay, I'm sorry baby. It's not gonna happen again, okay? I'm so terribly sorry-"

"So you admit you were mad!"

He really wasn't, but if it meant seeing you smile at him again, he'd apologize a hundred more times.

SIM JAEYUN

Despite being only ten weeks pregnant, Jake had been treating you like your due date was just around the corner. He'd help you up the stairs, one of his hands would always be on your back when you'd sit up, and he didn't let you do any chores even though there weren't any physical changes in your body yet.

After long talks with each other and both families, you'd decided to keep the baby, especially after getting nothing but love and support. It felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest when your mom simply hugged you through tears and when Jake's mom embraced you just as tightly, apologizing for her son with a laugh.

Jake was over the moon. He's always wanted a family and to build it with you? He could die a happy man.

He was enjoying himself too much, even through your mood swings.

Jake watched you spread butter on a toast with heart eyes, utterly lovestruck. His attention averted to his phone when it vibrated, notifying him of the food you asked for being delivered.

Really, he only took three minutes max to get the food from the front door before walking back to the kitchen to see you kneeling and sobbing on the floor with a fallen toast beside you.

"Lovely, what happened?" he asked with a smile, kneeling down beside you to wipe your tears with his thumb. You hiccuped a few times before you spoke.

"That was the perfect slice, Jake! It was golden on the edges, it was for our baby," your hand cradled your still-flat stomach. "Now it's dirty and... unhealthy."

Jake widened his eyes, his jaw dropping. "The baby's toast?!" he gasped. "That's no good!" he exclaimed, gathering you in his arms and helping you up.

Jake knew that telling you it wasn't a big deal and that it was fine because it didn't fall on the buttered side was inevitable. He could tell you. Instead, he let you cry to your hearts content while he held you, his lips pecking your temple at every hiccup.

"Shh, look at the brighter side," he murmured as he pulled away gently, just a tiny bit to look at your red, swollen eyes. "Your requested chicken tenders just arrived, fresh and hot." Jake smiled when you paused mid-sniffle, your eyes flicking towards the paper bag on the counter.

"...Yay," you mumbled, before curling back into his embrace and kissing his neck.

"I love you, Jakey."

"I love you too, baby."

He'll clean the floor later.

PARK SUNGHOON

After two whole years of yearning for a baby and now finally having it, Sunghoon was sure that he was prepared for the long journey ahead. That included the morning sickness, your cravings, and your mood swings.

Or so he thought.

"Im hungry." you suddenly said from beside him on the couch, pouting while rubbing your still-flat stomach. Sunghoon hummed, pausing the movie and turning to you with a gentle look.

"Yeah? What would you like this time, baby?" he asked, waiting for you patiently as you looked towards the ceiling as if it had the answer to his question.

"Um.. I don't know." you mumbled, ashamed as tears started to form on your tear ducts. Sunghoon sat up straight, both hands cradling your face as he cooes at you softly. "Shh, don't cry. We'll figure it out together. Let's go to the kitchen."

He helped you up, pressing a sweet and warm kiss on your cheek as you both walked towards the kitchen hand-in-hand. He helped you sit down on a stool before walking across the counter and looked at you with a determined look.

"Okay baby. Bring it on. I'll do anything."

You giggled, watching your husband in awe and began thinking.

Ten minutes passed. Your smile had faded, now replaced with frustration as your lower lip was caught between your teeth. Sunghoon stayed patiently, one hand holding yours  and giving it gentle squeezes

"I want.." you hesitated. "Something sweet. No, maybe salty? Or crunchy- Ugh! I don't know, baby." you rambled, voice cracking in guilt and frustration.

Sunghoon merely nodded. "It's okay, I got you baby."

Those were his last words before he disappeared from in front of you and into the walk-in pantry. Minutes later he came out with a tray filled with chips, sliced pickles, strawberries and a spoonful of peanut butter.

You looked at it in disbelief. "This isn't what I wanted, Hoon!"

Sunghoon paused mid-step. "..Okay. Um.. do you know what you do want now?"

He shouldn't have talked and just came up with something more appetizing because now you're full-on crying. Sunghoon panicked and rushed towards you to pull you in a warm hug and murmured apologies profusely against your hair.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll come up with something new. I'll fix it baby, shh."

Sunghoon thought he was prepared, turns out he wasn't. He just needed more creativity (and yummy) ideas in the kitchen.

taglist 1! bold can't be tagged — @stawberri @saphiranishimurashan @strxwbloody @heesexual74 @jooniesbears-blog @ayablogsblog @teddybeartaetae @gandaengene @snowprincehoon @e-r-i-15 @ijustwannareadstuff20 @maveysoup @hhyvsstuff @tobiosbbyghorl @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia @lostwonderwall @starlit-rin @luciathcv @kkamismom12 @1-hypegirl @50-husbands @talesofthegreatest @kristynaaah @izahere @aeri-shi @shawnyle @riribelle @storeyz @17ericas

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

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[aureatelys]

not the desperate type

pairing: aaron hotchner/neighbor!reader genre: smut!! w.c. 5.7k a/n: ty to @minswriting for not only enabling me, but also being so supportive, ily <3

summary: The apartment across from Hotch's has been empty for as long as he can remember. And then you move in, and you always seem to forget to close your blinds.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, perv!hotch so kinda creepy, voyeurism/exhibitionism, m & f masturbation, sex toys, hotch pov, jack mention

read below or on ao3 here <3

It was a warm spring day when Hotch glanced out his bedroom window and spotted you in the apartment across from his.

You’ve clearly just moved in, as you were struggling with a large cardboard box in your arms and had sweat dripping down the side of your face that he could see even from here.

He didn’t pay you any mind, instead just closing the blinds so he could catch up on some well-deserved sleep after a week-long case.

The next day, when he comes home close to midnight and Jack was already asleep, he had forgotten about you completely. When he closed his bedroom door to get ready for bed and noticed your light was on from the window, he felt a ripple of surprise.

The apartment across from his has been empty for as long as he’s lived there, which was why he always left the blinds partially open because he knew there was a slim chance of someone peering in. He’s gotten used to opening his bedroom window and seeing nothing but the brick wall of the neighboring apartment complex and plastic shutters.

He makes a mental note to make sure he shuts his blinds before he leaves for work every day, and when he approaches his window to do just that, he frowns.

You have your bedroom strangely laid out, which Hotch only notices because your bed was placed right in the middle of the room facing the window, thus in his direct eyeline. He wonders why you chose to do that and how impractical it was, but then he notices you.

You’re lounging on your bed with your laptop splayed out on your lap, the blue screen illuminating your features. You’re pretty, at least 20 years younger than him, and you’re wearing pajama shorts that were riding up your thighs, disappearing in between your legs from where Hotch was standing, and a thin tank top. He wonders whether his optometrist was lying about him needing glasses because he could clearly see your nipples poking through the fabric, pebbling from your air-conditioned room.

Something unfamiliar stirs in the pit of Hotch’s stomach, causing him to clench his jaw, nearly grinding his teeth into nothing at the fierce intensity of it. His gaze doesn’t stray from your figure, memorizing the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a delicate touch and the way your smile transforms your face into something softer, more innocent.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until he hears a ding from his phone, most likely Garcia miserably informing him of a new case via text laden with colorful emojis and frowny faces. When he reaches over to pick up his suit jacket that he had just tossed haphazardly onto a dresser, he ignores the uncomfortable tightening of his slacks, his half-hard dick pressing against the zipper.

He spares another glance out his window and through yours and is rattled with disappointment when your blinds are closed, only allowing shreds of your golden bedroom lamp to cut through the darkness of the alley.

Hotch frowns, frustration curling up his spine, before he reaches over to finally close his own blinds and head back to the office.

He can’t stop thinking about the peak of your cleavage he caught or the huff of a laugh he could almost imagine the entire flight to Kansas.

-

The first time he actually meets you, face to face, was less than a five-minute interaction.

Not only was it pouring rain, thus increasing his commute time to the office by at least 20 minutes, but his coffee machine broke on him this morning, dying with a pathetic spluttering noise. He wasn’t going to have time to stop somewhere so he’s going to have to put up with the shitty office coffee and he ran out of clean socks because he hadn’t had the chance to do laundry yet.

So, he’s annoyed—frustration blooming hot in his chest and causing him to grind his molars, a horrible habit he’s been trying to quit.

When he steps out of his apartment complex to head around the building to the garage, he sees you.

You’re standing under the awning in front of your building. You’re dressed professionally in a pencil skirt and a white blouse, hair and makeup impeccably done. You’re chewing on your lip, glancing up at the street and down at your phone intermittently. He assumes you’re about to head out to your job or, most likely, a job interview since you’ve just only moved here, and you’re waiting for your ride.

His legs move of his own accord, drawn in by the soft drape of your hair across your shoulder and ignoring the nagging text from Rossi, until he’s standing a respectable 3 feet away from you.

“Do you need a ride?”

You jump, startled, and when you meet his gaze, Hotch can detect the faint swirl of recognition.

From this distance, he can smell the light and sweet notes of your perfume. He can see the swell of your breasts under your blouse, even a peak of a modest nude bra that has him clenching his fist around his umbrella. The pencil skirt clings to you, showcasing your curves and the long line of your legs. There’s a stay droplet of rain on your collarbone that you haven’t noticed yet and Hotch quickly tucks away the urge to swipe it away for you.

“Oh,” you blink at him, eyes wide. “No thank you, I’m just waiting for my Lyft.”

Hotch nods, about to turn away with the memory of that water droplet traveling between the valley of your breasts, when you surprise him.

“You live in the other building, right? Window facing mine with a cute little boy with blonde hair?”

The mention of Jack should raise alarms for him, yet instead, he’s only a little curious, mostly just pleased that he’s able to continue talking to you and learn more about you. Who cares if he was a little late?

“Yes, that’s my son, Jack. You can’t hear him yelling all the way from your apartment, can you?”

You laugh, a light tinkling noise, and it does nothing to quell the sudden burst of affection and want in Hotch’s chest. Your eyes crinkle, one of your hands lifting to cover your mouth, and he resists the urge to frown at not being able to see the full radiant display of your smile. “No, no, I’ve just seen him running around during the day when your blinds are open.”

A subtle thrill runs up Hotch’s spine at that, realizing that you’ve been able to peer into his room and into his home the same way that he has been doing to you. He wonders whether you’ve been checking out your window throughout the day, hoping to get a glimpse of him like he does before he leaves for the day or comes back home.

He gets a better chance at seeing you once he gets home, the earlier the better. Half of the time, your blinds are closed, and Hotch has to go to bed with disappointment sunken deep into his bones.

Hotch huffs a laugh, secretly glad that he hasn’t been caught yet. “I’m sorry if he’s distracting. I should probably close the blinds before I leave anyway.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind.” You smile, soft and warm and definitely not something Hotch necessarily believes he deserves. All the stress and hurriedness from this morning melts away, leaving him with a distinctive feeling of possessiveness in his chest.

Before Hotch can even formulate a response, one that did not expose the way his thoughts fixate on you nearly every waking second, a car pulls up to the curb.

You give him another smile, smaller and nearly regretful, but he doesn’t miss the slow onceover you give him or the spark of intrigue in your gaze. “That’s my ride. See you around.”

Heat runs through Hotch’s body at that, something wild clawing its way up his throat that he had been trying to suppress for years. He clenches his fist where he’s still holding his umbrella over himself, as if foolishly hopeful that you were going to take him up on his offer to drive you to wherever you needed to go, maybe even taking the long way since you were likely new to the city just so your perfume could take it’s time to seep into the upholstery.

He hasn’t been with another woman in months, but he likes to think he knows when another woman was flirting with him, even someone as young and ambitious as you.

He watches the way your skirt rides up your thigh when you climb into the car, the polite smile you give to the driver, and the little wave you give Hotch before you shut the door.

There was something fascinating about you, piquing his interest in a way that had him itching for the day to be over, just so he could get a glimpse of you through his window before bed.

-

The next few weeks pass slowly. At least, when it comes to you.

There had been back-to-back cases, all local and blending together where Hotch wasn’t even sure when he had slept. It had felt like he was coming home to his bed, closing his eyes for three seconds, and then back on his feet and back at the office. He had to deal with the local cops being horribly ignorant, the unsub being frustratingly smarter than expected, and the precinct coffee being decidedly lukewarm.

The only reprieve he had was coming home late, exhaustion grinding down on his bones, and catching you across the way through his window.

Sometimes your blinds would already be drawn, golden light filtering through the slats, and raw disappointment would make him frown and keep him from falling asleep right away. He’d wonder if you were getting ready for bed or if you had fallen asleep with the TV on, hair splayed out on your pillow and the strap of your tank top slipping down your shoulders.

Most of the time, when he does catch you, you’re on your bed, similar to the very first time he had saw you. Laptop placed in your lap or off to the side, you’d be fiddling on your phone and not paying attention to whatever was on the screen. Sometimes, you’d be sitting at your desk, placed by your bed, so Hotch was able to see the way you swung your legs from your pink desk chair and the furrow in your brow as you chewed on a pencil while pouring over a notebook. Maybe you were in school? Or this was something related to your job, or even something you did for fun?

Hotch thinks he would be able to watch you all day and not get bored; drinking in the way you’d pick at your nails and the methodical way you applied your chapstick nearly every hour. You liked to wear baggy clothes in the comfort of your apartment, several sizes too large and muted in color. You liked to have a cup of tea before bed and you always left the mug until the morning, too comfortable to get out of bed.

Tonight, however, you were decidedly not home.

Hotch furrows his brow, checking his watch again as if he didn’t check it merely two minutes ago. It was late, past midnight, and you still weren’t home yet.

He tries not to let it bother him—you were a grown woman with a career and it was a Friday night. Maybe you were still at work, doing something that he still hasn’t quite put a finger on yet, or maybe out with friends at a dingy bar downtown.

Maybe you were out on a date.

That intrusive thought, barreling towards the forefront of his mind before he even realizes it, has annoyance and molten jealousy flaring in his chest. It’s unreasonable, he knows it’s unreasonable, because he barely knows you. He’s lived across from you for several months now and you’ve only exchanged a handful of words.

He somehow has been able to run into you at least twice a week while he’s heading out in the morning. You’re always standing out in front of your building, waiting for your ride, and the way your smile lights up your face whenever you catch him out the door has Hotch nearly begging for you to let him drive you to work every time.

He never had the chance to talk to you besides a quick “Good morning,” to which you always cheerily responded with “Hope you have a good day!” and a little wave.

He barely knows you, but the possibility that you were on a date with someone else was almost unbearable.

Your date wouldn’t know that you liked to fold yourself up in your desk chair to get comfortable, or that you always made sure to pat what looked like a childhood stuffed bear on your nightstand before turning off your lamp, or even that you liked to lay in bed for 15 minutes after getting home from work to do nothing besides stare at the ceiling.

Hotch attempts to continue his nightly routine, hoping the annoying weight of his jealousy would eventually dissipate before he went to bed.

He’s debating staying up a bit later to catch up on some paperwork, the adrenaline and the coffee he had earlier this evening still thrumming through his veins, when your bedroom light comes on.

Eyes immediately drawn through his blinds and into the familiar gold light of your bedroom, that jealousy flares hot again when he notices you kicking off your heels, wearing a short dress that seemed to hug every soft curve of your body.

So you were on a date.

Not a very good date, Hotch assumes, by the way you toss your heels aside a little harder than necessary or the way your bare shoulders are tense, barely relaxing as you heave out a sigh that he can almost hear from here.

Hotch pauses from where he was about to grab his stack of files he threw on his bed, frozen on the spot as he watches you mutter to yourself. You’re rolling your eyes, throwing your hands up and shaking your head, starting to take out your earrings.

Your hair is carefully done and makeup absolutely pristine, visible even from Hotch’s place at his window. Hotch can tell you’re annoyed that it’s all gone to waste as you pull your hair up, fidgeting in your tight dress.

And then you’re shimmying out of it, exposing a delicate lavender bra and matching panties. They’re lacey, hugging your hips and the slopes of your breasts, nearly sheer and at risk of exposing the peak of your nipples. The sudden exposure of your thighs and your stomach has Hotch reeling, breath hitching and reaching out to grasp at the edge of the windowsill as he’s hit with an onslaught of all-consuming desire while all the blood in his head travels south.

You bend over to pick your dress up from the floor and throw it in the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room. His gaze is immediately drawn to your ass, suddenly imagining having you bent over while he grabs at your hips to pull you on and off his cock, and his slacks tighten impossibly more.

Hotch, realizing that he may be staring for too long and too obviously, tears his gaze away from your window to fixate on the pile of papers on his bed. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is deafening as he tries to count backwards from 100 or imagine the details of the crime scene from the other day—anything in an effort to drive away the image of your tits spilling out of your bra that’s somehow already been seared into his brain.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut to ignore the alluring glow of your light spilling into his bedroom, pinching at the bridge of his nose, before his breathing has steadied, his pants significantly more comfortable than before.

He swallows, throat dry, and hopes that working through his case notes for the next two hours and examining crime scene photos will bury the sinful thoughts he has of you.

When he peeks out of the corner of his eye out his window before stepping out of his bedroom, he notices your blinds have been drawn and the light was off. Hotch ignores the flare of exhilaration at not getting caught once again.

There’s no harm in looking, right?

-

The next time he catches you, he’s not so lucky.

Another draining case and another night of Hotch coming home late into the evening, it was too late to pick Jack up from Jessica’s house.

There was a pounding headache digging behind his eyes, causing him to clench his jaw harder with each step he took as he unlocks his front door. His stomach growled, mouth feeling spectacularly dry, and Hotch wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with his clothes still on, if it meant that he could get two more minutes of sleep.

The visceral image of you in that matching lingerie set that you so cleverly hid underneath your dress and the soft expanse of your thighs has been imprinted behind his eyelids for weeks. The swell of your tits encased in your lacey bra and the curve of your throat just begging to be marked had been haunting him nearly every second.

He had tried so hard to resist when his thoughts wandered to you while he showered or before falling asleep, cock swelling just at the thought of you peering up at him from his bed.

It only took one day for him to give in—wrapping a reluctant hand around his throbbing cock and fucking into his fist until he came embarrassingly fast with a choked groan, watching the way his come swirled down the drain while something akin to shame snaked its way into his brain.

What you don’t know won’t hurt you.

He hadn’t had the chance to see you since then, not even outside the front of your building in the mornings. Hotch tried not to let it affect his day, his routine that he didn’t even realize he had been thrown off, but he found himself imagining your soft smile and sweet perfume to tide him over until he came home.

He’s sliding off his suit jacket to throw over his dresser and glances out his window, now as much of an instinct as breathing.

He heaves a sigh of relief, the stress headache prodding into his temple gradually simmering away, when he notices you already tucked into bed, book in hand. The golden glow from your lamp illuminates your features and Hotch is able to discern the sleepy droop of your eyes and the stifled yawn from this distance.

He doesn’t recognize the cover and can’t read the title despite it being blazed in bold letters; however, he assumes that it wasn’t very riveting based on the way you’ve been stuck on the same page for the past two minutes. Hotch could tell that you were about to fall asleep in the next ten minutes, and the possibility of seeing you asleep, unguarded so he could watch you without risk of being caught, has something warm settling in his chest.

He briefly turns away to lock his gun and badge in the closet safe, and when he glances out his window into yours, the sight before him has all the air rushing out of his lungs in an instant.

You’ve tossed your novel aside, placed haphazardly on your nightstand, and you’ve thrown the covers back, baring your entire body to him while your hand gropes at your breast through your tank top, the other fidgeting with the waistband of your panties, having had forgone shorts this late into the night.

From where Hotch was standing, he had a clear view of the way your blush pink panties melded to your pussy, a wet spot already forming in the center. Your head was thrown back, lips parted as you let out a noise, and Hotch swears he could almost hear the breathy moan you make if he strains his ears hard enough.

He should look away—he needs to look away. You don’t know he’s watching you pinch your nipple, letting it harden through the fabric underneath your fumbling fingers, while his slacks grow inexplicably tighter and his breath stutters.

But you’re just so pretty—eyelashes fluttering as you move to your other breast to continue the same motions, brows furrowed as you try to chase that pleasure undoubtedly thrumming up your spine.

Hotch lets out a shaky exhale, clenching his fists at his sides in an effort to keep himself from giving in and wrapping a hand around himself, despite the fact that watching you touch yourself was a wet dream come true.

Were you reading a dirty novel and got too worked up? Or were you watching something on your phone earlier and needed some overdue relief?

He watches your chest dip and rise, breath growing heavier, as both of your hands trace light patterns down your sides before hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs, tossing them randomly on the floor.

He suddenly imagines what he would do to you if he was there—leaving marks on your neck until you were whimpering or laving and playing with your nipples until you begged him for more. He imagines pocketing your panties for later, forgetting about them until he reaches into his pocket while at the office and still detecting your slick on the fabric, and having to bite his bottom lip in the bathroom stall as he brought himself off with your panties wrapped around his aching cock.

You don’t even bother taking your top off, instead sliding the straps off your shoulders and tugging them down until your breasts were freed, fabric pooling around your abdomen.

And now you’re completely bare for Hotch to see—nipples tugged into stiff peaks, stomach tensing underneath your hand as you trail down to squeeze at the flesh of your thigh, seemingly avoiding the easy temptation of your glistening cunt.

“Fuck…” he mutters, heaving a frustrated sigh as he reluctantly palms his erection through his slacks. He groans at the instant relief, hoping that it would tide him over until later tonight, when you’re done touching yourself so he can take care of himself in the shower.

The front of his slacks is already damp, precum leaking from his head and seeping through the fabric, and the rough glide against the tip of his cock has his chest feeling hollowed out as he imagines your hand. You’d be on your knees, peering up at him underneath those long eyelashes, mouth parted and begging to taste him.

Hotch watches intently as your fingers leave the apex of your thighs where you were raking your nails down your skin to finally your aching pussy. You’re wet, incredibly so, and your lips part around a soft moan as you spread your own slick around, making sure to avoid your puffy clit.

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly watering, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a pussy as pretty as yours, begging to be kissed and worshipped the way it deserves.

He could give you that—sucking on your clit and tonguing at your entrance until your fingers card through his hair to tug him closer, grinding against his face and nose until you squeeze your thighs around his head and come over and over with a strangled cry. He thinks he could be content living between your thighs, letting you use him whenever you wanted.

He knows you’d taste delicious, heavenly, just by admiring the shine of your fingers as you dip into your entrance and start rubbing slow and tight circles around your clit. Your hips cant up then, no doubt sensitive from your brief teasing, while your free hand comes up to squeeze your breast.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on the familiar ecstasy that only your own fingers could elicit, and Hotch feels a little less guilty when he hesitantly undoes his belt and unbuttons his slacks to slide a warm hand to wrap around his aching cock, balls heavy at the lack of relief. He lets out a throaty groan, heart racing, as he starts up a lazy rhythm up and down his cock, the leaking head continuing to rub against the damp fabric of his boxers.

He has to squeeze the base, arousal thrumming hot and rampant at the base of his spine, when your fingers increase their pace against your swollen clit and you writhe against your sheets. He suddenly feels as if he’s there in the room with you—able to discern the light sheen of sweat that’s started to form over your supple skin and the continuous slick leaking out of your entrance.

When you trail your fingers down to gather your wetness and push a finger inside, Hotch swears he can almost hear your sudden gasp, as if surprised. He leans his forehead against the wall, the coolness doing nothing to subdue the fire burning underneath his skin, the heat of his heavy cock in his own hand.

It would be nearly impossible, unbearable, to stop watching you now as you pump your index finger in and out of your pussy. Hotch makes a strangled noise as he hurriedly frees his cock from the confines of his slacks, letting the fabric hang crudely around his waist, as the cool air provides a miniscule amount of relief to the head of his cock. He starts a steady pace now, no longer restrained due to his pants, jerking his cock as he imagines splitting you open himself, watching your pretty pussy swallowing up his fingers.

He can almost feel the softness of your skin as he would grasp your hip as you attempt to thrust down to meet his fingers, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you begged for his fat cock.

I have to make sure you’re ready for it, sweetheart. How else is it going to fit in this tight little pussy?

Suddenly, you’re pulling your finger out, and Hotch nearly comes from the sight of the pearly white trail of your slick still connected to your folds. He’s tightening his grip around the base of his cock, toes nearly curling into the carpet, as he watches with bated breath as you sit up slightly to twist your body to reach for something in the drawer of your nightstand.

He drinks in the curve of your ass, the dip of your spine, and grunts when he notices the pool of your own arousal having had dripped down onto your bedsheets.

When you’ve resituated yourself on your back, Hotch nearly passes out at the sight of a bright purple dildo— slender, easily 8 inches, and curved inwards with a separate add-on to press against your clit.

A rabbit toy, Hotch faintly discerns, nearly dizzy at the fact that he’s lucky and pathetic enough to watch you get yourself off with it.  

He’s fallen off the deep end, completely consumed by you, he realizes, as he watches you drag the head of the dildo between the seam of your pussy, spreading your slick around and onto the silicone. You must be impatient, needy, because you then notch the head against your weeping entrance and begin to press the dildo in.

Your hips still, thighs tensing as you get used to the stretch, but you throw your head back so beautifully, mouth falling open on a broken moan. Hotch’s heated gaze fixates between your thighs, where he can see the way your pussy opens up for the toy, can almost feel the way your walls would flutter around his own aching cock.

You push the toy all the way in and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your mouth forming a stuttered curse while your free hand slides up to grab at your breast, running your fingers along your pebbled nipple.

You pause for a moment, chest rising and falling as the toy bottoms out in you, the clit stimulator flush against you, and Hotch wonders if this is how you would act if he was fucking your tight cunt instead. Would you squirm just as much as you are now, hips fidgeting from how restless and needy you were? Or would you prefer if his rough hands pressed you into the mattress, making you lay there and take it?

When you start moving the toy out of you to push it back in, finally fucking yourself with it, Hotch finds his own hand has moved of their own accord, starting a pace similar to yours.

Precum leaks steadily over his cock and Hotch uses his palm to spread the wetness down, making the glide of his hand smoother and filling him with the desire to close his eyes and savor it.

But he can’t—not when you were laying in your messy bed, the glow of your lamp softening your features in a heady haze.

His gaze follows the movement of the toy as your thrusts increase in speed, making sure you were fucking yourself all the way to the hilt before out again. Your slick was spread all over the toy, the soft inner skin of your thighs, your fingers, and Hotch licks his lips as he imagines the lewd squelching sounds of his cock fucking his hand filling his ears was your pussy instead.

You’d be so fucking wet for him as he splits you open, fucking you deep and hard just like he knows you need to be fucked. He can almost imagine the breathy whines and the strangled groans you’d be making, your nails raking down his biceps as he held you down by your hips or pressed your knees into your chest.

And then your grip on the toy wavers as your fingers fumble around the handle before finding and pressing a button on the side. It must have been the vibration setting because your eyes roll back, spine nearly arching up as you increase the intensity with every click.

He watches your mouth open and close, possibly shouting out expletives, as you push the toy deeper so the vibration of the toy hits your clit dead on.

His hand is a blur on his shaft, squeezing at the head, breath coming out in stutters. He grunts, sensing the pressure building in his abdomen threatening to burst, and its a near Herculean effort to slow himself down and not come at the thought of how tightly your pussy would squeeze around him from the overwhelming stimulation of a vibrator.

Hotch curses out loud, nearly growling in his throat, as he watches your mouth falling open on a ragged moan, brows furrowing. He can tell you were close—thighs shaking, your hips switching between canting up to meet the faltering rhythm of the toy’s thrusts and stilling so it presses against your clit.

He starts up his own relentless pace, stroking his hard cock and squeezing on the upstroke at the same time you grinded the toy into yourself, desperately imagining how you’d soak him until you were dripping all over his thighs and onto the sheets.

When you finally come, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so beautiful. He stares as if in a trance, as your face scrunches up in pleasure, pretty mouth opening on a silent scream as your entire body stills besides the desperate stuttered rolls of your hips against the toy, the clitoral stimulator pressed so hard against you he wonders if it hurts.

When you come down from your orgasm, still panting into the air, something unfamiliar curls in Hotch’s chest, nestling itself in with the heat of his arousal, when you weakly smile to yourself. Your eyes are still shut, as if relishing in the syrupy weakness of your bones, and you giggle breathlessly.

Hotch lets out a shuddering breath, resting his forehead against the wall, and begins tugging at his rock-hard cock frantically, the nearly continuous stream of precum aiding him. The filthy sounds of him fucking his fist and his loud breathing fills the room, the pressure in his stomach threatening to snap. He lets his eyes drift close, now content knowing he wasn’t going to miss another second of your show.

He imagines staring down at you while your pussy swallowed his cock, the way your tits would bounce with each deep thrust, the way your eyes would be glossed over, so fucked out from his fat cock that you’d be whining unabashedly. He imagines you begging for him to come inside of you with that sweet, honeyed voice of yours, mewling about how you need him to fill you up and feel it drip out of your needy cunt.

The pressure finally fractures and he’s coming with a deep groan, thighs tensing, while hot spurts of his release coat his hand as he slows down his fist. He doesn’t stop, not when this was possibly the best orgasm he’s ever had, and the full-body twitch when his thumb catches on the sensitive slit of his cock has his knees weak.

He tries to catch his breath, his pulse gradually slowing in his ears. Exhilaration and guilt swirls together at the pit of his stomach, quickly replacing the heated arousal that’s made a near permanent residence. He was content watching you every once in a while, able to brush it off as being a curious neighbor, but now he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to meet your gaze again without remembering the way your hips stuttered as you came.

It was a one time thing. He won’t ever watch you like that again.

When he finally opens his eyes, back aching from how long he’s been standing by the window and his hand sticky with his release, he instinctually glances out the window.

You’re not on your bed, most likely having gone to your bathroom to clean up and leaving behind a stain on your bedsheets. What catches his eye is the scrap of notebook paper taped onto the window, words written large enough for him to read, as well as the unmistakable ten digits of your phone number.

If you want to join me next time ;)

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna @ssa-writerminds 

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lonely + touch starved mc when they first make their relationship with the boys official? like they're scared to ask for more but desperately need it, since they've been missing it for so long

love your writing btw, thank you for posting it!!! no pressure if this request isn't your thing! :))

sylus

- even before your relationship became official, you and sylus have always been somewhat touchy. hands bumping against each other, fingers ever so slightly grazing, and bodies casually brushing up upon close proximity — it's always been there. his touch, no matter how simple, makes you feel so warm and so special. you haven't felt so wanted, in such a long time, maybe ever. the way he makes you feel is one of a kind, and you can't help but crave for more.

- you decided to be subtle and nonchalant about it, thinking sylus was going to tease you if you ask directly. the 'accidental' touches linger for a little too long, and the amount of times you'd playfully and casually hold him had increased. but maybe you didn't do a good job at keeping it low key.

- sylus pays attention to you more than you think. it didn't take long for him to catch your longing gazes to his lips before looking away, and the way you fiddle with your hands after accidentally touching his.

- "if you want something from me, don't hesistate to claim it. i'm all yours, sweetie." he told you after once again noticing your not-so-subtle-gazes at him. "i'd be happy to give you whatever you ask for. anything at all." that's just what sylus does. he's always encouraging you to be unafraid and boldly go after what you want. do what you want to do without shame.

- and so, with his encouragement, you dared yourself to kiss him. and from the second he kissed back with even more passion, you realized that you have nothing to worry about at all. he wants you just as much as you want him.

- with every day you spend together, you become more and more comfortable in asking for physical affection. just as he said, you don't even really need to ask him — just do it. so, eventually, you've come to a point where, if you want kisses, you just kiss him and he will return with a million times more than you could ever ask for.

caleb

- he's basically a puppy. and puppies are naturally affectionate. even before you were official, physical affection has always been one of his main love languages. headpats, pokes, picking you up, grabbing your waist, ruffling your head, giving you massages, putting an arm around your shoulders, using you as a headrest.... he simply cannot keep his hands off you.

- once you became an official couple, however, while you're grateful that his usual handsiness didn't go away, you started to want more physical affection that are a little more intimate. but you wonder, how could you bring it up without sounding greedy or demanding or awkward? knowing him, he'd tease you and you'd rather not have that right now.

- so you start giving him more longing touches but nothing further. they're like invitations for him to make a move: 'if you want more, then do something' kind of touches. you'd rest your hand on his hands, chest, back, arms and shoulders, hoping that you have some effect on him that will make him want to touch you in return.

- as smart as he is, caleb doesn't catch on right away and fails to fall for your traps, and so eventually you lose patience. "hurry up and kiss me already, dummy" and only then did it click to him that you want more. that you are comfortable to take your relationship a step further in regards to physical affection.

- in truth, he was taking it slow around the time your relationship began because he doesn't want to overwhelm you. he's been in love with you for so long, he'd shoved all his feelings in a box, thinking he'd never be able to act on them. he was afraid of opening that box and overwhelming you with his feelings, so he thought he'd wait for you to get comfortable with his touches as your lover.

- and now that he knows you've been waiting for him, caleb is relieved. at last, he doesn't have to hold back. "if you don't mind, i'd like to be a little more greedy now."

zayne

- your relationship started off slow in general because you're both still testing the waters and learning how to act around each other as a couple. you'd start off with holding hands in private, giving kisses on the cheek, and eventually, kisses on the lips. zayne was quite reserved at the beginning, and so there wasn't as much intimacy as most couples would have at the starting stage.

- although you don't mind the slow pace, you secretly longed for more of his touches that are so gentle and warm, like a sweet embrace. his kisses, despite being brief, are always so passionate and they make you want to melt. his cuddles are even better than your most comfortable blanket. you want to be in his arms forever. but of course, you don't want to seem desperate or scare him away by coming off too strong, so you say nothing.

- little did you know, zayne is just as nervous and touched-starved as you. he wants to feel you and he wants to be held by you, and he wished he was more experienced just so he could be more confident that his actions won't be foolish and wrong. because it's you, he wants to get everything perfect.

- for some time, you two stuck with minimal intimacy. however, both of you have also become impatient rather fast, feeling as if you want more and more of each other every day. you'd wish that those goodnight kisses lasted just a little longer. you'd wished that you'd cuddled more while watching movies. you'd wished that you're next to each other as you fall asleep after talking about how your days went.

- with time, you two have gotten out of your comfort zones together and soon enough, neither of you would get nervous about wanting a kiss, and sleeping next to each other wasn't so terrifying anymore. it's all about timing and getting comfortable with each other. eventually, both of you grew confident with physical affection and intimacy, up to a point where you won't be any need to ask. if you want kisses, you just do it. after all, you're his, and he's yours.

rafayel

- rafayel is so pretty he makes you nervous sometimes. in the beginning of the relationship, you'd find yourself in disbelief that that man is your lover, and that he is in love with you, out of everyone in the deepspace. every time he holds your hand, gives you a kiss, and hugs you, you feel like you're not worthy of such warmth.

- and yet still, you need more. more kisses, more hand holding, more cuddling, even just sitting closely together. you just love that tingling, comfortable, warm feeling that he shelters you with. he makes you feel so loved and appreciated. you feel greedy and clingy at the thought of demanding more of his affection, so you kept it all inside and just took what he gave you.

-but rafayel is someone that made you comfortable so easily. he's often playful and lively, and he tends to move around, a lot. there's a lot of playful touches involved — him locking his arms around yours, holding your shoulders, bumping your hands, and various other little casual physical contact, which greatly helped with intimacy.

- eventually, your nervousness went away and you learned to take initiative, knowing that rafayel will never mind all the physical affection as long as it's with you.

- although, if anything, rafayel might just be a little more touch-starved than you, because he'd been waiting for you for so, so long, and every time you hold him, he's met with a sense of belonging — like everything is going to be okay, and that this life is good, after all. and so, don't be afraid to approach him first because he will always welcome and appreciate your touch, and he will absolutely return it all by a tenfold.

xavier

- he'd be the one to take initiative. you won't even have to ask for more because he wants you even more than you could possibly want him. he can be greedy when it comes to you. even in the beginning, he'd find excuses to be around you and touch you, so you won't ever feel lonely.

- but of course, there comes the times when you're feeling needy for more of him. with xavier, the best thing to do is to be direct and upfront, no matter how scary it seems. you found that the best time is when he's sleepy. he is so cuddly. all you need to do is lie down next to him and he'll gradually get closer and closer into cuddling with you until eventually you're spooning. he'd usually make the first move and ask, "is this okay?" or sometimes he'd just do it and read your expressions. if you like it, he'll do it more. if you don't, he'll stop right away.

- if you want to make the first move, he's always been open and inviting with you. he'll always make sure you're comfortable. he's very approachable, so it doesn't take long for you to become confident with what you want from him.

- but mostly, xavier will always want to give than take more, so you won't ever have to worry. with him, you'll always know that you are loved.

[blackeyen2kisses]

pathetic bf!seunghyun (headcannons)

summary: bf!seunghyun who is incredibly down bad for his girlfriend.

an: hello! this is my first fic on this account, im so excited to share it with you. i hope you enjoy <3 (ALSO, please ignore any spelling/grammar errors i didn’t proofread.)

bf!seunghyun who: didn’t care for love/relationships until he met you.

bf!seunghyun who: swears carless whisper by george micheal played in his head when he laid eyes on you for the first time.

bf!seunghyun who: likes to spend his down time making you playlists and/or writing you songs/raps. he likes to communicate through music.

bf!seunghyun who: calls you sweet girl and thinks it fits perfectly. you are his sweet girl. he thinks youre the sweetest, most angelic being hes ever met.

bf!seunghyun who: will agree to just about anything for your sake (“yeah i dont know, i just dont really feel like going out today” he mummered to jiyong, burying himself further into the fluffy cloud that was his bed, dead set on spending his night curled in bed. until you walked into the room. “seunghyun, lets go out tonight, i need to get out of this house.” seunghyun shot out of bed, unraveling himself from the covers and intertwined your hands, “yeah, sweet girl, lets go.” suddenly alive and full of energy. unaware of jiyong snickering behind him.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely believes he cant go more than an hour without having his hands on you in someway. wether that be his hand in yours, his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers curled in your hair, or his fingers inside, yes inside the waist of your jeans, resting against the warmth of your skin.

bf!seunghyun who: when you two sleep has to either be little spoon or lay on top of you (while you scratch his back.)

bf!seunghyun who: is only comfortable with you touching him

bf!seunghyun who: literally calls/texts you every chance he gets. in between recordings, while in the bath, while getting his hair done. he’ll text you every thought that crosses his mind. (itll be three in the morning and youll get a text from him like, “i just realized, nothing is ON fire. fire is on THINGS.”)

bf!seunghyun who: does things for you he knows you can do yourself, such as, brushing and drying your hair after a shower, carrying you from place to place in your shared apartment, brushing your teeth, grabbing things that are just out of reach, tieing your shoes, no matter how much you insist you’re perfectly cable. he cant help it; youre his angel.

bf!seunghyun who: genuinely tears up when you get mad at him (you immediately feel horrible and give in.)

bf!seunghyun who: loves to lay his head in your lap while you run your fingers through his hair (he falls asleep immediately.)

bf!seunghyun who: hangs onto every word you say. he’ll remember something you vaguely told him months later. (“hey, sweet girl, i got you one of those sun…sunny…sonny..angels…whatever you call them,” he said when he came home from the store, placing the sonny angel box on your lap, then, planting gentle kisses onto the corners of your lips, your nose, your temple, your eyelids. you smile, wondering how the hell he knew you wanted one. you giggle, placing your hand on his cheek and rubbing your thumb across his soft skin as he leans into your touch, “how’d you know i wanted one?” he looked at you as though the answer was obvious, “you mentioned it when you saw a tiktok video in..may” may was 8 months ago?)

bf!seunghyun who: apologizes by getting on his knees, putting his head in your lap, and kissing your hands profusely. muttering over and over how sorry he is and how he’ll do better.

bf!seunghyun who: follows you around everywhere like a little cat. always hovering over your shoulder. if you guys are sitting on the couch and you get up to get a glass of water, trust, he’ll get up and go with you with a content smile on his face. he has attachment issues.

bf!seunghyun who: when your making out and you pull away, looks at you, breathing all hard, like he physically needs more.

bf!seunghyun who: when he has to travel for work will send you a poem a day. (“hey, sweet girl, you will never be unloved by me. you are too well tangled in my soul; hello, my sweet girl, my heart is so full of you i can hardly call it my own. love you always.”)

bf!seunghyun who: is completely obsessed with you.

[inkskinned]

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

[alchemistc]

"Hey, so, if you could tell your roommate to stop sending me incomprehensible Millennial memes every time I ask him a question, I'd appreciate it," Ravi says, and Buck stares at the prongs of his fork to prevent himself from jamming them into Ravi's hand just long enough for Ravi to notice the way the table has gone silent. There's no way they didn't notice the emphasis, right?

"I'll, uh... make a note," Buck says, and dives back in to his spaghetti. It's been a long day. He's reheated his lunch-dinner three times already. And now he sort of desperately wants the klaxons to go because...

Because it's weird that he never told them where he was living now.

Weird that they never asked.

"You have a roommate?"

Buck is 34 years old. Buck broke his own lease to help a friend only to be ceremoniously kicked out just months later, no notice, more interaction with Chris than Eddie as he furiously repacked boxes and stuffed them in his Jeep like a madman. Buck has terrible credit and a desire to set down roots that no one seems to give a shit about, except -

Roommates lasted for a month and a half at best. If he doesn't count the lingering glances, or the lingering touches, or the lingering feelings that blew up in their faces the harder they tried to tamp them down.

Ravi just thinks it's funny to keep calling them roommates.

("Like the Vine, you know?"

"Doesn't know a single 3OH3 song but he knows Vine," Tommy had said, three and a half beers deep and kicking at Ravi's leg from his lounger on the patio of their backyard.

"Oh, my cousin sends me TikTok compilations of them."

"I don't understand half the words you two are saying," Buck had chimed in, and gotten Tommy's lazy half-smile, a hand curled around his ear, and Ravi's "If you guys are gonna do more of that I'm calling an Uber.")

"Not exactly," Buck says, and tries to send Ravi a death glare. Ravi's too busy staring at the ceiling with his chair tipped back like he's daring Buck to kick his foot out enough to catch on a leg.

They're all surprised by the news, like they've done a damn thing to find out anything about his life in the months since they shut down any attempt he'd made to reach out.

He's glad he's found a way to let himself be mad at them for that.

He's glad his entire life no longer hinges on making sure they know every intimate detail of that life.

Still. The longer they stare at him, waiting for more, the more he realizes this was...maybe an oversight.

Probably should have told them before he and Tommy stuck a For Sale sign on his bedframe at the curb and been rewarded for their manipulation when someone stole the thing within like, three hours. They'd been too lazy to take it to the dump. Too lazy to sell it on Marketplace. Too caught up in the bubble of 'stay as long as you need' turning into 'do you want to be on the mortgage I need to know by Friday'.

Ravi's slept in the guest room more than Buck ever stayed at Tommy's, before.

He's made friends with Goose, too, which Buck thinks is a little unfair because Tommy's half blind cat still sticks her tail in the air to walk away any time Buck enters a room.

"Whoops," Ravi says like this was anything but intentional.

("Are you hiding the fact that you're in a happy relationship with a dude who loves you like, a weird amount for any particular reason?"

"It's not weird. It's a normal amount!"

"If I called him right now with a Buck related emergency how long until he had a bird in the air for you?"

"...he's at work right now so like, seven minutes tops.")

When the silence just keeps stretching, he barely manages to dodge the garlic bread Buck tosses at his face before the table erupts into chaos.

[trashytracktales]

Hiii, I’m not sure if your requests are open, but if they are, could you write something with Lando and Reader where they have been dating for just a few weeks, haven’t had sex yet. One day they’re working out together at Lando’s house in Monaco (the room with the mirror from the video I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris for 24 hours). Reader is doing squats with her back towards the mirror and Lando can’t help but stare at her ass and he gets hard / flustered so he stops from doing his exercise and reader asks him what’s wrong and before he answers she realises he’s horny so she teases him - this time on purpose- and then they fuck in that room on the floor

In the heat of it | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you for trusting me enough to bring this to life, it was... something 🥵

🌸 summary ──── They’ve been dating for a few weeks now, but the time was never right for them to get intimate. During a playful workout together, Lando gets caught staring, sparking a moment that leaves them both realizing just how deep their connection actually goes.

🌸 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🌸 rating ──── explicit

🌸 category ──── F/M

🌸 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, suggestive/flirty behavior.

🌸 word count ──── 3.6k

🌸 date ──── Nov. 12, 2024

IT DOESN’T TAKE long before Lando starts to regret his decision. It would have been much easier to invite his girlfriend to have lunch together. That would have saved him from a constant dry mouth and irregular heartbeat every time he feels her eyes accidentally landing on him.

The smooth floor and sophisticated equipment in his personal gym are softly bathed in the morning sun that seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Monaco’s streets are still peaceful at this hour, considering it’s the middle of the week, and the port is sparkling in the sunlight.

The room usually has a subtle scent of cedar and rubber, fresh and energized, but now it carries a sweet honey scent, borrowed from her presence.

They are already halfway through their warm-up. She’s pulling a resistance band around her thighs, stretching before they dive into the heavier part of their routine, her focus completely on the exercises he’s walked her through. But, of course, a huge part of her focuses on how Lando touches her, purposely, to guide her when her posture doesn’t match the exercise.

Even in simple gym shorts and a T-shirt, Lando somehow manages to look so effortlessly attractive, with his curly hair a little messy, face flushed just enough from their recent sets, and his labored breathing after putting in the effort. He’s all energy, fluid in his movements, though he’s clearly trying to keep his pace casual.

“Lookin’ strong,” he teases, flashing a grin as she adjusts her stance.

The girl shrugs, “I’m just that good at following instructions. Although, I think having one of the best trainers in the area helps, too.”

Lando lets a chuckle out, “I won’t go easy on you just because you kiss-ass. But it’s cute to see you trying.”

Even though they have only been dating for a few weeks, there is an undeniable spark between them two, especially in a setting where every glance and skin-to-skin contact feels amplified by the intensity of their exercises. Her sports outfit leaves no room for interpretations, hugging her curves and defining her lines, and Lando’s imagination is stimulated every time he turns his gaze towards her.

He’s now down on the floor, holding a plank, his core engaged and muscles taut as he fights to hold his body up and spine straight. She’s supposed to be timing him, but the second he shoots her a cheeky grin, she decides she can’t resist a bit of fun; in her defense, he started it. With a simple touch, the seconds freeze on the screen of his phone, then she places it on one of the boxes stored in the corner of the room.

“Hi there,” says the girl in a mellow tone once she sits down in front of him just inches apart, propping herself up on her elbows so her face is level with his.

Lando raises his eyebrows, trying not to laugh as his shoulders shake slightly from the effort of holding his body weight. “Don’t,” he warns her, breath coming in controlled puffs.

“I’m not doing anything,” she smiles innocently, kicking her feet in the air while inching a little closer until her nose almost brushes his.

He laughs at her bad acting, his arms starting to shake a bit more. “Outrageous is what you are.”

She pouts just as Lando dips his head down, managing to steal a playful kiss. Their lips meet briefly, soft and warm, before he pulls back up to maintain his form. It makes her sigh in frustration, the ghost of a kiss not nearly enough for her. If anything, it only leaves her wanting more.

Luckily, he doesn’t pull back when she cups his cheek in her palm, pressing her mouth on his once more, his giggles mixing with hers as he tries to keep his balance. Savoring the feel of his lips and the way Lando grunts softly into the kiss, she can feel that this one is more deeper and slower — much real — making her shiver. It seems as though everything else disappears, the feel of each other reminding them both why they decided to give the relationship a shot in the first place.

“And you are so fun to corrupt,” she admits, finally getting up to give Lando time to recover.

After a few sets, she finally moves on to squats, and Lando follows her positioning herself in front of the mirror. It wasn’t even supposed to be there, but he sometimes uses the gym as a storage room for random packages. This one, specifically, came in the mail a few weeks ago and he didn’t have time to hang it in the hallway, where he initially planned. So, he simply let it rest against the wall in his gym room, and it’s been there ever since, forgotten.

Giving the circumstances, he is seriously thinking of leaving it there for good.

Conveniently, Lando decides that now is the perfect time to start his Russian twists, so he bends over to collect a dumbbell off the floor, then sits down on the yoga mat. Right in front of her.

Unaware of the effect she’s having on him, he watches her go through each squat with his eyes trailing down on the reflection of her ass in the mirror, an intense warmth spreading over him as he tries to focus on his own exercise. It is quite innocent, he’s just respectfully looking, until it isn’t.

Until he feels it in his boxers.

Until he almost drops the dumbbell, which catches her attention.

Lando tries to ignore it, though, to nonchallantly brush it off, telling himself that it’s natural and that he’s just admiring her physical appearance. Anyone in his shoes would do it. However, his thoughts start to wander, images flashing uninvited as his heart rate quickens for reasons far beyond the exercise.

“Are you okay down there, hotshot? What are you fighting?” she asks curiously, raising her head just enough to catch the dazed look on Lando’s face.

Her voice pulls him back, his breath catching for a moment, “Yeah, never better.”

It’s his husky voice that gives it away. Right after, she notices a lingering gaze, and the soft pink creeping across his features as his eyes are fixed ahead. She stops, fixing her posture and straightening her back as she turns to catch his gaze in the mirror. She realizes exactly what’s going on in a matter of seconds, a little grin forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Am I too dictracting, Lando?” she purrs, her question — and the fact that he knows she caught him in act — not helping at all.

“No,” he lies, “But I think you’re killing it with those squats.”

“And if I turn around to finish my set, what then?” she whispers, a challenge glinting in her eyes as she brushes the tip of her tongue against her lower lip.

His breath is shallow the moment he decides to abandon his exercise. “Then you would be killing me,” he admits with no restraints. “So, by any means, proceed. Please.”

She glances over to see Lando lying flat on his back, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes, as if he’s in serious pain. His other hand is splayed over his stomach, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm. It’s still funny to see him like that, but then she notices the way his chest rises and falls a bit too fast, and her eyes drift lower, catching a glimpse of the growing bulge in his shorts, an unmistakable proof of what she’s actually doing to him.

Suddenly, all the amusement disappears from her face, being replaced by a warmth that wraps around her neck that’s slowly rising to her cheeks. Her heart is starting to race, small impulses between her thighs forcing her to close them together.

Swallowing hard, she crosses the small space to kneel beside him, gently pulling his arm away from his eyes. His lashes flicker open, meeting her gaze with a mix of embarrassment and desire. And so much lust.

“How can I help you?” asks Lando, his voice rougher than usual, trying to keep things light, though the hint of vulnerability shows in his eyes, and it’s not that hard to read.

She chuckles nervously, “The question is how can I help you?”

In response, Lando uses the same hand to wrap his fingers around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She feels his hand squeezing a little, the other one moving to her waist, hesitating before pulling her completely on top of him, without breaking the kiss. His tongue slips firmly into her mouth, just as it has done so many times before, but now it feels somehow different. Somehow, they both know that the kiss is meant to lead to something much more intense, because there’s nothing stopping them anymore.

In the intimacy of his apartment, without interruption, Lando lowers his hands to her waist, rubbing her against him. Slowly. Repeatedly. The pressure forces them to moan in unison, a brief taste of the pleasure they are about to share. His hands then drop lower, roaming over her thighs, then back down to her ass, cupping it in his large palms.

He breaks away just enough to murmur, his voice low and almost reverent, “That enough of an answer?”

“Positive,” she replies, feeling his breath hitch as she shifts on top of him, straddling his hips, her hands splaying over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

Her lips find his again, sweet and intoxicating, each kiss sending sparks to her core. The new position makes her feel him much more firmly between her legs, taking Lando by surprise when her hand lowers to cover his length, massaging him through the thin material of his shorts.

“Fucking hell,” his lips stutter against hers, while rocking his hips into her touch.

“Yeah…” she agrees, breathing hotly above him, “Did I do this to you?”

Before Lando gets a chance to even think of an answer, she slips her hand under the elastic band of his boxers, taking him in her hand, feeling him in his entirety; deliciously soft skin, warm and ready, and so painfully hard.

It makes her ache for him.

She pumps his cock in her hand a few times, enough for her to feel how he shifts under her. It takes her a lot of self-control to stop herself from taking him in her mouth the second she hears his sweet little panting, her thumb rubbing gently over his swollen tip.

The workout itself had left Lando’s muscles burning, but her touch it’s something else entirely, igniting a heat in him that burns deeper than anything he’s felt before. Five more minutes enjoying the same high and he can give up cardio completely. Guaranteed.

Slowly coming back to his senses, Lando realizes that he has free will, so he slips his hands under her sports bra, palming her hungrily until he feels her nipples hardening under his touch. He breaths heavily as he rolls them between his fingers, managing to make her respond with a soft meowl, her grip on his cock losening.

That’s his cue to take the lead, pulling her bra over her head in a quick move, and flipping their bodies over so that now he’s hovering above her, eyes filled with need while looking down at her.

“Hi there,” Lando copies her tone from earlier, feeling a little fraction of the power she had over him.

She wants to talk back so badly — one of her sarcastic little comments that she knows he loves — but all she can do is let out a pathetic whimper between her lips when his mouth finds home on her bare breast. At that, Lando feels a shiver running down his spine, looking up at how she closes her eyes in pleasure, arching her back more against his mouth.

“Driving me insane with your pretty ass, baby,” he says, breathing heavily, managing to cover her body in a thin layer of goosebumps, “And your pretty fucking nipples.”

“Lando…” she lets another cry slip out, opening her eyes to look at him.

The image that greets her makes her breath catch in her throat. The way he sucks on her nipple while playing with the other one, and the way he looks up at her through his eyelashes. It’s all too much. She ends up wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him down with her. Then she runs her hands down his back, tugging at the edge of his shirt, tossing the useless material carelessly to the floor before pulling him closer for another kiss.

Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, skin on skin — who says heaven isn’t real?

But if that’s heaven, then what can she name the feeling she gets the moment his hand slips into her gym shorts and his fingers brush against her soaked entrance? Because it feels way too fucking good, much better than she expected, and certainly much better than her own hand whenever she pictured his face while fingering herself.

Lando starts slowly, spreading her wetness around her pussy, then fucking his fingers in and out, while cautiously watching her facial expressions changing. It’s not taking him long before finding that sweet, sweet spot that makes her roll her hips into his hand, desperation painted all over her face.

“Lan…,” she starts panting, “That’s—yes, right there.”

He hums proudly, sealing his mouth to hers, while parting her thighs with his knee so he can spread her more in front of him. Feeling herself open to his touch, so easy and wet, he no longer feels self-conscious about the way she’s so quickly tunring him boneless under her gaze. He realizes that the feeling is mutual, and it makes him want her even more.

If that’s even possible.

The sound of his fingers repeatedly fucking into her is all that anchors her in the present moment, but the second Lando feels her squeezing around them, he stops so he can silently ask for her permission to take the last piece of her clothing off.

She nods in a rush, swallowing the lump in her throat in anticipation.

Every inch of her is now bathed in the soft, golden light streaming through the window. Warm shadows are cast along her curves, the light outlining each delicate contour of her body as though the sun itself is painting her in real time. The image is so powerful yet vulnerable as she stands there, her figure glimmering with an almost unearthly serene confidence. Lando is utterly captivated by how ethereal she looks, like a goddess come to life, the kind he never imagined he would be close enough to even touch, let alone enjoy. He feels like he’s witnessing something sacred, something so incredibly rare, and the awe he feels is mixed with gratitude that she’s here with him, letting him see her in a such perfect lighting.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Lando finally manages to say, hoping that he hasn’t started drooling all over her in the meantime. “All of you.”

“Your turn,” she says in a muffled voice, slightly bashful at the way he stares at her like he wants to devour her. Which is not far from the truth.

He agrees that it’s a fair request, realizing that the only thing separating them now are his own shorts. Without protesting — because that would be so fucking dumb considering how hard he is — Lando gets rid of them with the speed of a perfect qualifying lap.

Matching the same pace, Lando’s hands slide around her waist, his fingers pressing gently into her hips as he guides them both to the side so they can face the window. Or that’s what she thought. Confused at first, she’s frowning at him, then follows his gaze, lost in the direction of their reflection, understanding immediately what he really wants: a show. A show just for them, in which they can lose themselves together, without limits.

She sighs at the sight of their hot, naked bodies, the way he aligns himself with her, and how he’s finally pushing inside, enough to hear her whimper. She watches as he stands above her, his hands gliding slowly over her sides, up her arms, grounding her in his touch. The image of them together, framed in the soft glow of the room, feels surreal, so intimate and vulnerable in a way that’s completely new for both of them.

Lando pauses, pulling out at her little whimper, then pressing back in, but just the tip.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You’re so fucking wet it keeps slipping out,” adds Lando in a low tone, so turned on that it makes her clench around him.

To her frustration, the speed at which Lando pushes back inside might as well be negative, causing her to explode with how needy she becomes in the meantime. But just as she’s about to encourage him to sink further, he buries himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

“Lando,” she says as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, “You… feels so good, shit,” she takes a moment to breath into his skin, then she turns her head to catch their reflection once again.

Lando is already looking, and when they make eye contact through the mirror, he starts fucking her slowly and gently, as if he could break her.

“See how silly you look for thinking we won’t match?” he sounds so amazed by how easily she opens up for him, over and over again, with each steady thrust of his hips, “See that? Taking all of me so well, baby.”

“Mhm,” she cries out at the way his cock throbs against her walls, because she knows it’s way too slow, even for him.

It’s simply agonizing.

“So perfect around me,” he states, “Can’t believe I lasted that long. Should’ve fucked you from the first night.”

At this point, he’s just rambling, but the thought makes her stomach tie in a knot.

“You would’ve let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” she speaks, already drunk on the way he feels inside her, “I would have let you fuck me in the plane bathroom, on the way to Imola. And back in your driver’s room, when Oscar caught us kissing. And last week, outside the club. Fuck. I wanted you to fuck me there so bad.”

His mind goes blank with all the lost opportunities, causing him to gradually increase his pace, the sound of them connecting so obscene.

“Wh—” he almost chokes on words, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You… stressed about work. I didn’t want to be… distraction,” she tightens her legs around him, keeping him inside her, the words losing their meaning as Lando shifts his position, wrapping his arm around her thigh to open her up even more for him. “Oh. Yes, like that!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he swallows hard as he squeezes roughly at her thighs. “I’m so close.”

She knows that will leave marks on her skin, but nothing beats the pleasure of having Lando fucking himself so deep inside her, that her vision starts clouding.

All common sense went out the window the moment she stepped through his door, anyway.

She can feel his breath warm against her neck, hear the soft hitch in his breathing as he leans in, his lips brushing her shoulder, never breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. Lando’s hands are making their way to cup her ass, pulling out all the way, before fucking back in, all over again, until he finds the perfect rhythm between their bodies. He moans loudly, pressing his upper body on her, their scents blending together and sweat transferring from skin to skin. They move so in sync, completely attuned to each other, and the sight of their shared pleasure, reflected back at them, turns everything into fireworks, her mind completely empty. Except for how well she’s being fucked.

“Lan—Lando,” she’s so close to sobbing that she shuts her mouth at the sound of her voice, thinking it’s too pathetic to whine as she cums around him, her release dripping all over between their bodies.

The wet sound her pussy makes gives Lando way to fuck in deeper, taken by surprise that she finished without any warnings whatsoever. He grips her ass one more time before he stills inside her, his cock throbbing, and pulls out right before he starts leaking, resting his cock against her thigh, his entire length coated in her release. His cum drips from his tip to her inner thigh, making him groan while he fixes his gaze on the mirror at the image of them.

She buries her fingers in his curls after he finally collapses on top of her, their heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. With his head on her chest, he can feel her heart racing, gradually slowing down, and lets out a soft laugh as she shifts a little under him.

“We’re so fucking matching, baby. Let’s gooo!” exclaims Lando, exhaust evident in his voice.

She feels her cheeks warm, “I think you’re a little biased right now,” she jokes.

Lando shifts slightly so he can see her face, brushing a thumb tenderly along her side. He smiles softly, the usual spark in his eyes softened by something deeper, so gentle. “I’m just so happy for us.”

Her heart flutters, and she feels him sink even closer to her, threading his fingers through hers.

“And very sweaty,” she adds with a chuckle.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s you,” he teases, letting the moment pass slowly, then calling out her name in a serious voice.

“Mhm?” she hums while turning to look in the mirror, watching him getting comfortable on top of her.

“Where do we go from here?” asks Lando.

“Your bedroom, I hope. The floor is killing my back.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[amirasainz]

Little Alonso when she comes to the paddock and everything’s normal but Lando realized suddenly she’s warm and feels sick, it’ll be cute all the drivers making sure she’s okayy

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Sick days

The paddock buzzed with excitement as fans crowded the track, drivers rushed through their schedules, and the teams hustled to prepare for the Grand Prix. Among all this action, a small whirlwind of energy darted from garage to garage, spreading smiles wherever she went. Four-year-old Yn was having the time of her life, her bright giggles filling the air as she explored the paddock, holding her plushie tightly in one hand.

“Yn! Careful!” Fernando called after her as she dashed away from him yet again. He shook his head, unable to suppress a fond smile as she ducked behind a wall of mechanics.

“Is that her fifth lap around the paddock?” Carlos teased, stepping up beside Fernando.

“Fifth? More like tenth,” Fernando replied. “She has more energy than a full grid on softs.”

Nearby, Lando was leaning against his team’s garage wall, sipping water. He looked up just in time to see Yn sprint toward him, her little face lighting up when she spotted him.

“Lando!” she cried, throwing her arms wide.

“Whoa, hey there, Yn!” he said, crouching just in time to catch her. She collided into him with all her tiny strength, wrapping her arms around his neck.

But as soon as he hugged her, Lando felt something off. She was warmer than usual—too warm. Pulling back slightly, he looked at her pale, flushed face. Her breathing was still heavy, and her tiny frame trembled against him.

“Yn, are you okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. He pressed his hand against her forehead, his eyes widening at how hot her skin felt.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Carlos! Come here for a second.”

Carlos, who had been chatting with some engineers nearby, jogged over. “What’s up?”

“I think she’s sick,” Lando said, adjusting Yn in his arms so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Feel her forehead.”

Carlos leaned down, brushing Yn’s damp hair aside. His expression turned serious the moment his palm touched her skin.

“She’s definitely got a fever,” he confirmed. “Fernando’s going to lose it if he sees her like this.”

“She said she wanted to run,” Yn murmured softly, her voice weaker now. “I wanted to see everything.”

Lando’s heart clenched at how exhausted she sounded. “Alright, little troublemaker,” he said gently, “no more running for now. Let’s get you comfy.”

Together, Lando and Carlos carried her into Lando’s driver room, where the air-conditioning was a welcome relief. Lando grabbed a blanket from the corner and wrapped it around Yn, tucking her plushie securely in her arms. She leaned against him without protest, which only made him more worried.

Oscar peeked his head in. “What’s going on? Why does Yn look like she just did a triathlon?”

“She’s sick,” Carlos explained. “Fever, pale, tired. Typical ‘I’ve been running around all day’ symptoms.”

Oscar frowned. “Does she need a doctor?”

“Not yet,” Lando said, rocking Yn gently as her breathing began to even out. “But we need to keep her hydrated and resting. Can you grab some juice or water?”

“On it,” Carlos said, heading out.

“I’ll stay with her,” Oscar volunteered. He rummaged through his bag, pulling out a children’s book he always carried for his little niece. “Yn, do you want me to read to you?”

Yn’s eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a small nod. “Story?”

Oscar smiled, flipping to the first page. “It’s about a bear who goes on an adventure. Sound good?”

She nodded again, nestling closer to Lando, who tightened the blanket around her.

Carlos returned with a juice box and handed it to Lando. “Try to get her to drink a little.”

“Yn, can you take a sip for me?” Lando asked, holding the straw to her lips. She drank a few small sips before leaning back into him, her plushie hugged tightly to her chest.

Fernando finally walked in after finishing his media obligations, his sharp eyes immediately landing on Yn. His face softened with worry. “What happened?”

“She got sick from running around,” Lando explained. “We’ve got her resting now.”

Fernando crouched in front of them, brushing Yn’s hair gently. “Mi pequeña, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“I wanted to play,” she whispered.

Fernando sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve had your fun, but now it’s time to rest, okay?”

Yn nodded sleepily, her eyelids drooping. Fernando looked at the three drivers and gave them a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“She’s part of the paddock family,” Lando said, his voice soft as he adjusted the blanket around Yn again. “We’ve got her.”

As Oscar continued reading, Carlos passed Lando a pillow to support Yn’s head, and Fernando pulled up a chair to sit beside them. Yn might have overdone it today, but with her paddock uncles doting on her, she was already on the mend.