#based on a little thing i wrote in one night

[cruel-seduction]

Beyond Fears 

Summary - With the biggest exam of your life coming up, stress is eating you alive—but Mattheo refuses to let it win. He’ll do whatever it takes to pull you out of your own head, even if it means causing a little chaos. But when the truth behind your fear comes out, he’s ready to remind you of one thing—no matter what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

Content Warning - Suggestive theme and Curse words. 

Glimpse - “And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

a/n - Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws. And also I wrote this based of on a scene from my fav show. Cause I needed to do crying reader over valid reason and this seem like best. And she does portrays that she is strong. but Mattheo is Mattheo bro.

Requested by @jarjarbinks-har-har

Mattheo could feel the tension rolling off you from a mile away—thick, restless, electric. Anxiety coiled around your frame like an iron grip, tightening with every breath you took. The upcoming exam loomed over you like a storm cloud, its weight pressing down on you with an unbearable force. If you passed, you’d be the youngest woman in history to earn a seat at one of the most prestigious higher education institutions for witches and wizards. The pressure was suffocating, an invisible noose tightening around your throat.

You weren’t the only one feeling it. Mattheo was tense too, but not because of the exam. No, he was wound up because of you—because your stress became his stress, your suffering bled into him like an open wound. He’d tried everything to ease your nerves. He took you to your favorite coffee shop, bought you anything you wanted, even tried distracting you with jokes and stolen kisses—but nothing worked. You were drowning in books, lost in your relentless pursuit of perfection, and no amount of comfort could pull you out.

Eighteen hours. That’s how long you had gone without sleep. Maybe more. You were running purely on caffeine and raw determination, your veins practically humming with exhaustion. Dark circles didn’t just shadow your eyes—they owned your face, carved into your skin like permanent bruises. At night, you sang old traditional songs in a hollow, eerie voice, studying by torchlight like some deranged scholar possessed by ancient magic. Your roommates had given up on you, groaning in frustration as your muttered revisions carried into the early hours. Even when Mattheo convinced you to crash in his dorm, you never truly rested. You just laid there beside him, whispering formulas, theories, and incantations under your breath, your fingers tracing invisible notes on his skin. It was getting out of hand.

Mattheo watched you now, his jaw clenched as he took in the sight before him—you, hunched over a book in the Great Hall, a cup of coffee gripped in one trembling hand, barely picking at your food with the other. Students all around were suffering through exam stress, but Mattheo didn’t give a damn about any of them. You were the only one who mattered. And watching you unravel like this was killing him.

Sitting beside him, Theodore Nott let out a low whistle. “Mate, what the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered, following Mattheo’s gaze.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That stupid exam is next week. She’s pushing herself too hard. If she doesn’t pass, she won’t be able to retake it for another four years. That would completely screw up her entire life plan.” His voice was tight, frustration laced beneath the concern.

Theodore huffed a laugh, lips curling in amusement. “Please, it can’t be that serious. No one plans their life around one exam.” Mattheo’s eyes darkened as he turned toward his friend. “It’s her wallpaper.” Theodore’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair. “The life plan. It hangs over her bed.” Theodore’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of realization, his amusement fading into something more thoughtful.

Mattheo knew this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t just sit back and watch you self-destruct. No, he had to do something.

And he knew exactly what to do.

Later that day, Mattheo found you exactly where he expected—in the library, buried under an avalanche of books, your fingers gripping a quill like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Without a word, he sank into the chair beside you, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface.

You didn’t even glance up, just exhaled a frustrated sigh before whispering, “Don’t waste my time. Just say what you wanna say.”

Mattheo smirked, leaning back in his chair with that signature arrogance, the kind that both infuriated and charmed you in equal measure. “Babe, don’t worry. You’re gonna crush it. You could take this exam with one eye closed and still beat half these idiots. And most importantly—” he paused, his voice softening slightly, “—even if you don’t, it’s fine. You got this.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” you scoffed. “You’re only saying this because you love me. Love has made you dumber.”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. If anything, love has made me smarter. See, I haven’t picked a single fight this whole month.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a ghost of a proud smile appearing. “Yes, I am very proud of you for that. But if you don’t get the hell out in ten seconds, I will personally break your nose.”

Mattheo grinned like he’d been waiting for exactly that response. In a single, swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet before you could protest.

“What the hell, Mattheo?!” You struggled against his grip, your chair scraping noisily against the floor as he dragged you out of the library. Heads turned. You scowled. “Stop! I swear to Merlin, if this is another one of your—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down, only coming to a halt when he shoved open the door to an abandoned classroom and pulled you inside.

You shot him a glare as you yanked your arm free. “This better be good, Riddle, or I’m hexing your balls into oblivion.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against a desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Since you’re so stressed, I figured—why not give you a test?”

Your eyes darkened, your irritation sharpening into a glare. “Are you serious? You dragged me here for a fake test? These things are useless, Mattheo. They don’t have the same pressure, the same distractions. It’s all too damn quiet and perfect, like the walls themselves are whispering the answers.”

Mattheo tilted his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He clapped his hands together once, and suddenly, the door swung open.

In walked Abby and Scully from Ravenclaw, each lugging twenty-five bags of chips. As they sat down, they immediately started munching—loudly. Crunching, smacking, licking their fingers like they were trying to break a world record for obnoxious eating.

Your eye twitched.

But that wasn’t all. Right behind them, a group of students filed in—loud ones. The kind who couldn’t stay quiet if their lives depended on it. They bickered, they whispered, they tapped their quills against the desks, they fidgeted like caffeinated squirrels.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Better prepare yourself, Y/L/N. This is your battlefield.” Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And I know you wanna rip my clothes off right now, but you’re gonna have to wait and ace this test first.”

You stepped closer, so close that he sucked in a breath, his smirk faltering just slightly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, just for him.

“I am so fucking turned on by you right now.” You smirked. “Give me five minutes to destroy this test. Then? You.”

Mattheo’s mouth fell open slightly, like he’d just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

You winked, snatching up the test from his hands, and took your seat, utterly unbothered by the chaos around you.

Mattheo, still standing there, watching you with something dark and heated in his gaze, let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I think I just made studying sexy.”

Mattheo sat outside on the Quidditch field, staring up at the darkening sky, the cool breeze doing nothing to temper the frustration simmering in his chest. His fingers fidgeted with a stray blade of grass as he replayed the events of the day over and over in his head. He was about to go find you himself when he noticed Abby and Scully trudging toward him, looking particularly sheepish.

“We’re out of chips,” they said in perfect unison.

Mattheo blinked. Then scowled. “What the hell? I gave you fifty packets. And I told you to stay in that damn room.”

Scully shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “About that�� Y/N kinda… vanished.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped. His jaw clenched. “Vanished?” His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes—oh, his eyes had darkened into something deadly.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, she just—poof. One second she was there, the next, gone. No idea where.”

Mattheo shot to his feet, his entire body thrumming with tension. “I asked you to do one thing,” he snapped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “One fucking thing—and you couldn’t even do that?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Move aside.”

It was almost nightfall, and Mattheo, along with his friends, had been searching for you for over an hour. You were nowhere to be found. His mind churned with possibilities—were you upset? Were you hiding? Had something happened? And then, like a punch to the gut, it hit him.

Today’s date.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, exhaling as realization settled over him. “I know where she is,” he muttered. “Go back to the dorms—I got this.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed toward the Potions classroom.

And there you were.

Curled up in a ball, tucked into the shadows, your arms wrapped around your knees as if holding yourself together. The dim candlelight flickered against your face, casting soft, golden hues over your tear-streaked cheeks. His chest tightened at the sight.

Mattheo said nothing as he stepped inside. He didn’t need to. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor beside you, his presence warm and steady.

You glanced up, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did you find me?”

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—were soft as they met yours. “15th of March.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, and despite yourself, a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Of course.”

Mattheo’s lips curled into one of those rare smiles—the kind he didn’t give just anyone. “A year ago, today, we had detention together.” His tone turned teasing. “You spent the whole night pretending to be annoyed while secretly staring at me like I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, and by the end of it, you were completely infatuated with me.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Mattheo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You flirted with me for fifteen seconds, and I became obsessed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds more accurate.”

A comfortable silence settled between you both.

And then, softly, Mattheo asked, “Babe, can you tell me the real reason why you’re scared?”

You hesitated for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“I didn’t even know why I was so tense before,” you admitted. “But when I was in that classroom, giving that practice test… I realized.” Your throat tightened. “Passing this test means going away from you. And I—I don’t know how to handle that.”

Mattheo stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“All these days, I’ve been drowning myself in books, trying to avoid thinking about it. But in that classroom, it hit me.” Your voice cracked. “Everything between us is so good right now. But what if leaving ruins that? What if we can’t make long distance work? What if me being gone changes everything?” A tear slid down your cheek, soaking into Mattheo’s shirt. “And what if—” your voice broke entirely, and you inhaled shakily, “—what if you realize that you deserve better? What if you find someone else, someone closer? Someone who isn’t a whole country away?”

Mattheo was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head and lifted his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks between his palms. He wiped your tears away gently, then—because he was still Mattheo—he wiped his hands off on your shirt, making you let out a watery laugh.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Babe, listen to me—no, actually, shut up and listen, because I know that pretty little overthinking brain of yours is already running marathons.” His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his touch featherlight. His gaze—intense, unwavering, filled with nothing but love—held you in place, made you feel every word before he even said them.

“Darling, if you don’t go—if you give up your dream for me—I swear I will throw myself into the nearest trash can and live there forever because that’s exactly where I belong if I let you do that.” His voice was steady, firm, convincing. “Baby, I want you to go. I need you to go. Not because I want to be away from you—hell no, I’m already dreading the distance—but because you’ve been dreaming about this since you were a kid, and the only thing worse than missing you would be watching you resent me for holding you back.”

You sniffled, lips trembling.

“And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“So go. Conquer. Be brilliant.” He swallowed thickly. “And when you come back, I’ll be right here, still stupidly in love with you, probably crying into your hoodie and talking to your pictures like a lunatic.” He gave you a small, wry smile. “But I’ll be yours. Always.”

Your lips trembled. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

And then, with no warning, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the breath from both your lungs.

Mattheo exhaled into your mouth, his arms winding around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, just maybe—he never would.

[kyoshitargaryen]

experiences shifting to Hogwarts

I've shifted multiple times — rarely to my scripted DRs, but I've shifted dozens of times to realities similar to them or within the potterverse. here's some of my experiences! a lot of them vary since a majority of the time, I'm not shifting to scripted places. @elegantcath; @butterycroissant; @etheriaaly

hopefully this all makes sense bc I wrote this on no sleep lol

background

I'm a slytherin, so this is very much based around my experience in that house along with the perceptions regarding it. it definitely does impact my relationships with people and the professors. my DRs are also University DRs. remember, I most often shift to random realities and not to places I scripted, so there can be some variation in how things work.

about hogwarts

the first week of lessons of first year are quality-of-life lessons. think warming charms, the summoning charm, locking and unlocking (especially important for the students who share dorms), reparo, stuff you would need on a daily basis or for basic survival.

I scripted that we use Floo Flames within Hogwarts to get to different floors and corridors and our common rooms efficiently. you basically just have to put your hand in and name a corridor you wish to go to, and you floo there instantly. the best part? no mess! since you're just putting your hand in, it's easily brushed off. no soot or floo powder sticking on you all day. problem? you still have to walk to Hogsmeade, unless you're physically disabled. if you are, you get to floo through Headmaster Dumbledore's office — but you have to be escorted with your head of house.

the uniforms and robes are spelled to be extremely long-lasting. they don't fray or degrade where regular clothing might. they're also magically tailored, so they grow or shrink based on your size. there's no need to replace them, but many opt to as a show of wealth.

I scripted that I have my own dorm room since I'm autistic and need alone time. some students can pay a higher tuition to be alone or pay a lower one to share a dorm. there are also accomodations for disabled students.

there are hampers in the dorm rooms! I'm not sure if there's one per bed in the shared rooms, but there's definitely one in my solo room. they're spelled to be "bottomless" so you can shove all of your clothes, your sheets, your comforter in without problem. at midnight every night whatever's in there is sent to be washed by house elves and delivered back in the morning. I think there might be an option for "housekeeping" where the house elves change your sheets, but I prefer to keep others out of my room as much as possible lol so they just put my sheets on top of my trunk and my clothes in my wardrobe.

I've shifted to multiple realities where they have different dorm and common room configurations. in my DR, it's simply long corridors of dorms connected to the larger common room. the hive configuration: there's a main common room, which acts as the heart of the House. it's very large and spacious, with plenty of ways to entertain oneself. it's almost like a large ballroom. then there are smaller common rooms that are connected to dorms, laid out like honeycombs. there were 5 individual dorms connected to the smaller common room, where there was a kitchen and shared bathroom. this was the "living room" of the hive for the people whose dorms were attached to it. it's kinda like there were little houses within a larger house. the winding configuration: like how the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers go up, this configuration for Slytherins winds down. it's like a spiral staircase of rooms. the maze configuration: I hated this one with my whole soul. if I ever shift there again I will be shifting back immediately. I won't bother exploring. I don't think it can get worse than this. the maze configuration is some awful mix between the maze in the triwizard tournament and the moving staircases. it's awful and so easy to get lost. it's interesting in that there are false walls so if you accidentally make a wrong turn, you can find your way back, but you're probably not going to figure out the floorplan of that until you're in your 7th year. I think it's a way to enclose a large amount of rooms within a small space. I'm not sure if the different floorplans of the maze correspond to different years, but I....there's no words for it. the only benefit of it was there was a large spa-like room if you could find the heart of it. it was like the prefect's bathroom but better. almost like a hot spring.

there's two ways that the dorm rooms change by year that I've encountered; a longer explanation; the first years are always closest to the common room. as you reach different years in your education, your dorm room will move down (or slide down if it's the winding configuration, or move out if you're in the hive configuration) to make room for the first years. there's no structural change to your room or even the area surrounding it. it looks no different than it did before, there's just a new number of doors you have to pass before you reach yours. there's only been a couple of times where there was an elevator for the dorm rooms, with each year on a different level, but generally it seems it's just a walking game. simple explanation; the dorms spread out from the common room like dendrites do a nerve (or the fingers do a palm), so the students in a house are spread evenly through the "fingers", so the walk isn't that long. the first way the years are separated are through flooring. there's a staircase where the different landings correspond to different years. the second way I've seen is they simply move down in a line, meaning a longer walk.

I'm like 90% sure there's an amplification spell cast on the podium where Dumbledore gives his speech and the frog choir performs.

the benches in the great hall have warming charms on them in the winter. I'm not sure if this is a natural feature of Hogwarts or if someone who came before me charmed the bench. they are still definitely uncomfortable.

the robes are not insulated; instead, we use warming charms! I love putting warming charms on ear muffs.

hogsmeade and the hogwarts express

I've only managed to get to Hogsmeade once. it was a completely accidental shift to a reality where I hadn't even considered shifting to at that time — Hogwarts Legacy. Sebastian, Ominus, and myself were sitting in a corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. the most I can share from that experience was that Sebastian sprayed whipped cream on my butterbeer, so I guess you're meant to put it on by yourself? I'd order it without whipped cream anyway so I'm not sure if it would come with or if you're meant to put it on yourself.

the glass in the hogwarts express frosts over when someone is getting dressed. people don't usually go to a bathroom to change, they just change in the compartment. people of different sexes usually wait out in the hallway. tbh this is what I always pictured when reading the books so this may be subconsciously scripted.

the hogwarts express magically accommodates the people on board. there's always just enough compartments and just enough train carts for everyone — though it won't go out of its way to make a new compartment just so you don't have to share.

general wizarding world facts

each wizarding school has a magical tome that lists out the students who are able to enroll at the school. there are multiple different ways to qualify for enrollment; location-based, where you're within the country or countries the school represents; legacy-based, where one of your ancestors within a certain number of generations attended the university or if you're a descendant of someone notable like Merlin or a Founder; sponsor-based, where someone of recognition has recommended your enrollment to the school

places where there's a lot of muggle-traffic like King's Cross have limited repello muggletum cast within a certain range of places of high wizarding-traffic, like the entrance to Platform 9¾. since it's so limited, it doesn't keep muggles from walking near the area, it instead forces their attention away from it. this is how there are wizarding entrances in muggle places while still maintaining the statute of secrecy. as soon as the entrance is within eyeshot, something happens or something catches the attention of the muggle. it's basically just a blindspot.

I scripted that there are multiple schools throughout the wizarding world to make up for the lack of foresight in canon, but interestingly, there's the same amount of "main" universities like Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts, but there are smaller ones that I would relate to community colleges in America. this could be subconscious scripting based on my college experiences in this reality though.

the bathrooms are always charmed to be clean, at least in Hogwarts. there's still a need for maintenance, but there shouldn't be any terrible smells or grime.

I scripted that the fashion in the wizarding world are more aligned with Game of Thrones and general medieval wardrobe. I just really adore the look and tbh I like it more than just plain robes. there are a lot of what I assume are preservation spells on the clothing, so many are passed down through generations for special events. they're not nearly as strong as whatever preservation spells are put on school uniforms, but that's probably to keep low-income families in mind re: schooling where it wouldn't really be thought of in fashion since that's where the rich flaunt themselves.

this is really niche and I'm not sure if it applies to every reality, but if you put the tip of the broom to your mouth and blow, special features can appear. sometimes there are hidden foot pedals or even handlebars!

there are different forms of magic based on culture and ethnicity. indigenous magic is very different to the magic you'd see in Harry Potter. e.g. runic magic. the magic in Harry Potter is kinda the "standard" set globally. this is probably because of colonization. I view it as being like a common tongue for the wizarding world.

spell experiences

using the duplication spell wandlessly feels so cool. it's kinda like you're pulling the edges of whatever you're multiplying in two different directions, and a second item magically forms in the middle! kinda like pulling something out of a mirror.

lumos solaris is a variant of lumos solem. if solem is the beam of light, then solaris is the star itself. it's completely heatless so there's no danger other than possibly blinding yourself. you can "throw" the star up into the sky and it'll shine down as though it were daytime. I dunno if it's a canon spell or one just in my realities.

aguamenti can go wrong very quickly. try to think of the pressure you're trying to conjure when you cast it.

accio is not instantaneous. you can feel like a fool sometimes while you wait for whatever you're summoning makes its way to you.

lumos has different levels to it depending on what you ask for, and I'm not talking about maxima. if you think of the amount of light you're meaning to conjure, it can be as soft as a reading light or candle.

scourgify and tergeo are going to be your best friends. they are the clumsy's greatest tool. they're both cleaning spells, but you can use scourgify more generally and tergeo to collect or remove. so if you spill something expensive like ink, you can use tergeo to collect the spill and deposit it back to the inkwell or pen. you have to be careful though, because if you're not intentional about wanting it to return to where it was spilled from, you can accidentally vanish it entirely.

sonorus sometimes sounds like talking over a loudspeaker lol. it can be kinda difficult for me to keep my train of thought when using it because the difference is so drastic.

a lot of parents use arresto momentum. like more than you realize. instead of "parent reflexes" where you catch the kid, you spell them into safety. I've had to use it entirely too many times (I trust my cat's ability to land on her feet far less than she does).

incarcerous doesn't have a definite way of binding something or someone. I can't tell if it adapts based on the caster's intention or if it depends on the environment. I have seen people use it to make macrame pot hanger. there are probably better spells for artistic things like that? but in a pinch, I suppose...

you can control the size of the object you're casting diminuendo on. I like to use it on stuff I'm not supposed to have lol or I don't want people to see. I had to cast it on my journal quite a few times.

I can personally do spells without incantations, just intention. I'm not sure if this is common? but it's something I can do. I didn't even bother looking up the incantation for the warming charm, I did it as soon as I shifted because ITS FUCKING COLD IN SCOTLAND and I don't handle the cold well

[daylightisviolent]

oh mt GOD

OH MY GOD

Oh!!! my!!! GODDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

IM

IM

IM!!!!!!!!!

AJSHAJHAJWHWBWJWBWHWVSHWVWV

AJABJAHAJWBWJSUSHWHW?????????

JAABJSHWJWHEHEYEGE!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAH AAAH AAHHHH AAHHHH!!!!!!!

OH MY GOD THIS IS THE MOST PERFECR FANART I CPULD HAVE EVER ASKED FOR OHBMY GOD ARW YOU SEEING THIS????? ARE YOU??? SEEING THIS???????

Holy fucking shit thank you so much??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 This is AMAZING???? I love this SO SO much???? Holy fucking shit I'm so honoured that you took the time to draw something SO perfect and SO perfectly on par with what I had in mind while writing it! Wow! Ahhh!!!! Thank you <3333333333333333 i owe you my life from now on please know that please keep doing whay you're doing i LOVE your work and as a fandom we're SO lucky to have you!!!! <33333

My brain has been absolutely consumed by paulkins and I stumbled upon this fanfic by @daylightisviolent that was a WINGFIC and oh god I LOVE WINGFICS anyways here’s a lil drawing

Let’s pretend I know how to draw children. And furniture. And wings.

A lil bonus below the cut!

Paul wears glasses when tired because I said so.

[weaponizedmoth]

The teeth I broke are in my mouth.

detail:

[retiredteabag]

winter weight (nanami ver)

Synopsis: nanami has gained some weight this winter, it seems you don't mind.

based on this fanfic I wrote for Toji which was based on this fanart! thank you @lil-sis for requesting more nanami :,)

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had known Nanami Kento for years before you were romantically involved. He had never made an inappropriate comment, always treated you with the utmost respect, and was all-around, the truest form of a gentleman.

For a time, you locked away your feelings for the kind man, sure he could never see you in that way, but little did you know, the man in question hid from your gaze, not because he did not want to see you, but in fear that you would see him. See him for what he was: a man, obsessed.

You had been with Ken for nine months now and he was everything you could want and more. He was communicative, thoughtful, and romantic. He looked at you in a way nobody had before. Likewise, for you, those nine months passed with comfortable ease.

This was your first winter together, and with the changing of the seasons you learned day by day that the man you knew was your life partner. The both of you were homebodies in a sense, however, with the chilly air and light snowfall this week, you were even more keen on a night in together.

You raced around the house, lighting candles, simmering mulling spices on the stove, and laying out blankets for the two of you. The house felt even cozier knowing that Ken was coming to join you.

He had spent the afternoon with his parents and was coming over after having dinner, he told you to eat without him and you had just finished cleaning your plate when you received a text,

"I am on my way now, sweetheart, is there anything you would like from the store?"

Ken was like this, domestic in the way that made you want to bounce around the room. You thought for a moment before deciding you would probably need more eggs. Earlier this week the two of you had planned a movie night, the next morning you were both hoping to bake cookies together while playing board games or taking turns reading to one another.

You informed him of the need for eggs and he told you he would be just a few more minutes. During that time you scrolled through the choices of movies, picking a few for the two of you to choose from.

Despite being together longer than the gestational period for a baby human, you still received butterflies in your stomach at the thought of his arrival. Knowing he was nearly home, you bounded to the kitchen and faced the door, the room smelled delicious, the only thing missing was his presence, and perhaps another layer of clothing.

Even so, you could hear his footsteps approach and knew that the two of you would share a blanket and body heat in no time.

When the man finally opened the door he was smiling shyly, a red dusting across his face from the cold. He wore a long winter coat, and in his arms were a bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift.

You rushed to greet him, taking the day bag from his arm,

"Oh! Ken, they're beautiful!" You stood on tiptoe as he bent his knee and you kissed his cold cheek. "Goodness, you're freezing! Come in please!"

"Hello, my love." He smiled more broadly now, wrapping his free arm around you, "This if from my parents, but they told me not to let you open it until the holidays."

A warmth ran through you, the Nanami's were all too kind. Kento set the flowers on the counter and stepped toward the coat rack by the door to retire his shoes and jacket.

In the motion it took for him to pull the sleeves off his broad shoulders, you took him in. Leaning on the kitchen counter you allowed yourself to stare at him. His dress shirt was tight on his arms, and his suit pants clung to his thighs. You took a step toward him again.

"I almost don't want you to change, you look so handsome in your work clothes."

"Well, I've certainly put on some weight. These pants hardly fit now." he looks increasingly uncomfortable, not to be in your presence but to show that he was dressed in such a tailored fashion.

"Ken, my dear, you look incredible." You contain the desire to squeeze his thigh by walking to the bedroom and bringing out a pair of sweats and a cotton shirt.

"Although you are a delight to see this way, I'll let you get comfortable." You smile and pinch his bicep.

"Thank you, dear, I don't believe I've ever been so heavy. It's all the good restaurants you introduce me to, perhaps I should get back into the gym." He had grabbed the soft clothes you picked for him and walked into the bedroom to change.

"You're the one bringing me to all those good restaurants so you can't just blame me." You smile from outside the door.

"I'm just grateful you're with me" He laughs, pulling the shirt over his head.

"Ugh!" You exclaim, "Of course, Ken, don't say something so ridiculous." He laughs but you are still caught on what he said earlier. "And don't start going to the gym, you look great, very chewable."

He pops out from behind the door and looks down at you, amused. "I'm not sure how to feel about that descriptor, but if you still like me with extra weight, then I suppose I can remain comfortable."

"Still like you?" You gasp offended, "Ken, I grow more attracted to you every day, I don't care how tight your clothes are, in fact, it's a good look."

He gives you a mischievous face, "Go sit on the couch, pick a movie, stop trying to seduce me."

You laugh, incredulous, "I'm not trying anything, I'm only speaking the truth." You shrug, bounding to the couch and crawling beneath the blanket. Ken brings two mugs of cider before joining you.

That night you lay on his chest, watching a cheesy romance, the both of you laughing at the silly main character. You tilt your head up, to watch his face, your eyes catching the beginning of a few grey hairs dispersed in his blonde hair. You gently run your hand through his undercut.

In that moment, in his arms, as comfortable as you've ever been, you are sure, he is the man you will grow old with.

[writingsbychlo]

WITHDRAWAL | theodore nott

summary; theo decides to quit smoking, but doesn't realise that his decision would affect his girlfriend, too.

word count; 3007

notes; just a cute, fluffy little piece based on something that I was tagged in about 2 months ago! unfortunately, I cannot find the original post or tagger, but if it's you, please let me know!!

If there was one thing about Theodore Nott that couldn't be denied, it was that he loved with everything he had. 

He loved his friends; he was loyal to a fault and he’d never let them down. He loved his family, he wrote over fifteen letters a week to all his aunties and cousins, and still held onto his mother’s recipe book, even to this day. 

And he loved, adored, his girlfriend with everything that he had. He’d do anything for her, crawl across hot coals if she asked, give up his magic and his money and his legacy, just to make her happy. She’d never asked as such of him, still blushed when he pulled out his wallet when they shopped and smiled brighter than the sun when he gave her a handmade card or something he’d cooked. So, to his eyes, it didn’t seem all that much when he decided to give up smoking for her. 

She hadn't asked him to, never even pulled a face when he smoked. But Theo was damn sick of trying to blow the smoke away from her when she joined him at the astronomy tower, cuddled up to his chest, because he didn’t want that poison near her. He hated watching her shiver on the colder nights, he hated waking her in the middle of the night when he got up to satiate that itch, and he hated thinking of a future where he left her too soon, running short on time, because he ruined himself.

He chucked his last box into the fireplace one impulsive morning, and thought he might go cold turkey. He’d been so moody by lunchtime that he’d almost bitten Enzo’s head off over the way he pronounced ‘tomato’. That afternoon, he’d ditched his classes and trudged through the snow to the floo connection at the Hog’s Head, and picked up enough nicotine patches from a muggle supply store to knock out a fully grown Hippogriff.

He’d torn the packaging off of one in the grimy restroom at the back of the store and slapped it onto his bicep, and almost collapsed from the relief it gave him. It wasn’t nearly as effective as picking up a packet from the newsagent’s stand he’d passed would’ve been, but as soon as his fingers had twitched to pick up a box, your face had flashed through his mind. Your face, smiling at him, your face that morning telling him how proud you were of him when he’d shared his goals in hopes of support, and it was enough to deter him from the purchase.

You were his strength, once again, as you’d always been. 

And truly, you were so proud of Theo. Changing his patches for him every evening, in time with that first one. Reading up on the muggle solutions, and making sure you were fully versed on how to help him. Keeping him busy seemed to help, when he got bored, his eyes started flicking towards the door, and the slight irritability he’d been able to keep a lid on pretty well would begin to flare up. For the most part, he’d been staying at your dorm, in an active attempt to keep away from Mattheo, who wasn’t quite ready to give up his comfortable vice just yet. 

Unfortunately, as the days went on, while Theo seemed to be handling it just fine, you were struggling. The irritability grew, even Draco’s breathing was making you want to snap pencils in half in the library, or throw Enzo off the astronomy tower if he scraped his fork on his plate one more time. You were ravenous, and nauseous, all at the same time. You wanted to eat everything but could hardly hold it down. You were dizzy, and fatigued, and your grades were going to start slipping if this continued, because it had been almost a week since you’d been able to concentrate on any thought longer than a minute, never mind a whole class. 

And now, you were lying in bed, rubbing at your eyes angrily but unable to sleep as you stared at the ceiling. Theo, for once, was sleeping soundly beside you. Since giving up smoking, his sleep patterns had been getting better, while yours were getting worse by the night. Almost a week, and you’d barely gotten nine hours of sleep put together. 

When you shuffled again, pressing yourself a little closer to Theo as you rolled onto your side, he began to surface. The arm over your midriff tightened, pulling you in until your hips were bracketed against his, and he chuckled sleepily into your neck. Burying himself in, he pressed a kiss there, and another, and another. The rough pounding of your heart settled as you clasped Theo’s hand in your own, holding them to your chest as he littered your shoulder with kisses. 

At your sigh, he rolled you over, propping himself up on his elbow and yawning. Shaking his hand free from your own, he stroked the back of a finger along your cheek, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. As his hand settled on the side of your neck instead, yours slipped up to cup his jaw, and you melted into the tender love he offered you in the darkest hours. 

“What’s wrong, tesoro? Why are you awake?”

“Why are you awake?” you rebuffed, fingers lifting to comb through his hair, to push it back out of his eyes as he blinked himself a little more awake.

He shrugged, “This is about the time I’d normally go for a smoke.” He murmured, and your eyes flickered to the clock. 

You knew well enough the schedule Theo used to keep while smoking. Your timetable had slowly synched to it over the time you’d been dating. He’d wake up during the night, at some point around two, and disappear for a smoke. He’d take twenty minutes, or thirty if he bumped into Mattheo, and then he’d come back to bed. 

You didn’t mind the disturbance. Not when he’d come back slightly chilled from the night air and snuggle in close to you, wrapping himself around you.

“Actually, this is the time you’d normally come back from having a smoke, and give me my midnight kisses.”

“Is that why my girl is so restless tonight? Because I owe her some kisses?” He teased, leaning down until your noses were bumping, and you could taste the mint on his breath. Normally, he tasted like smoke, not toothpaste, and the shock of his warm lips instead of cold ones made you hum. 

The languid kisses melted the time away, his hand sliding up your shirt, sitting on your ribs and squeezing softly as he lowered himself down, covering your body with his own. Theo had always been your comfort, and your happy place. Being in his arms made you feel safe, and his kisses made you feel relaxed. As he licked his way into your mouth lazily, you anticipated the hazy blur of relaxation that usually followed when he kissed you. 

But, like usual recently, it never came. Instead, when he finally pulled back, and pecked the tip of your nose, he found you frowning, instead of smiling up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” You huffed, frustrated at yourself, at your confusion and the growing irrational irritation. “It’s not the same.”

“What’s not the same, bella?”

“Your… your kisses.” Your words trailed to a whisper, knowing he wouldn't understand, and the hurt that flickered across his face made your heartbreak. 

“They’re not?”

“No. I don’t know why.” His lips curled further at the sides, and the look on his face made you want to cry. It made you hate yourself, aggressively, and if you could tear out your own heart and give it to him just to see him smile again, you would. Just another thing you’d been suffering with lately, an overwhelm of your emotions, worse than any mood swing you got when you were on your period. “It’s not you, Teddy, it’s me. You’re still my happy place, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“You’re not a problem, bella. But we should figure it out. I don’t want to… kiss you wrong, and see that look on your face. What’s different, tell me what’s changed?” His sweet words made tears prickle at your eyes, and you sniffed sadly as you looked at him. 

“I love you so much, Theo.”

“I know, tesoro. I love you too.” His thumb smoothed over your cheek, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know!” Your snap made his eyes widen. “You’re just… different. You don’t kiss the same way, you used to get all needy when you came back from a smoke, but you don’t anymore, and you taste different! You taste like mint right now, and it just doesn’t make me feel the same way afterwards.”

Your words were jumbled and hurried, rushed out as you smoked them and his brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what you meant. Second ticked by into silent minutes as Theo’s wonderful mind ticked and whirred, thinking the problem through, and playing with the information. Then, before you could say anything else, something clicked. You could see it in his eyes, when the gears stopped turning and the thoughts stopped flowing because he’d found the answer. 

Pulling away from you, he sat up, kicking back the covers and letting in the cold air, before moving across the room and shuffling through his gym kit left in the corner. Pulling out a nicotine packet from the box inside, he shook it out, using his teeth to tear open the packet as he made his way back to the bed. Sitting yourself up, you propped yourself in the pillows as he peeled off the plastic backing, and tried to unstick his fingers from it, holding it by the corners. 

“You’ve only had your patch on for nine hours, Teddy, it’s not time to change yet.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head and settling in beside you on the bed, legs folded underneath himself. “This isn’t for me, bella. Take off your shirt.” 

Slipping your arm out of your shirt, you pushed it to the side, watching as Theo brushed cotton fibres off of your shoulder, before sealing the patch onto your skin. He made sure it was properly sealed down, flattening it to your skin, before feeding your arm back through the sleeve of your shirt. He smoothed the top back down your torso, pressing a cheeky kiss to your breast over your heart as he did, and sitting back on his legs to wait. 

“Give it a second, then tell me how you feel.” He whispered, the moment feeling entirely too fragile as his hand took yours, fingers linked together. He kissed along your knuckles, his eyes locked on your face, waiting. And the moment you felt it hit, you knew he saw it too. 

It was like a cool, soothing balm over a raw, aggravated wound. It felt like running cold water on a new burn or healing a painful graze with a quick Episky. “Oh, Merlin…”

“I know, tell me about it.” He mumbled, the smile on his face at victoriously solving the problem melting away as realisation set in. “Cazzo, bella, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have a nicotine addiction, and it’s my fault. All that time you spent with me at the tower, and the smoke on me, and kissing you as soon as I finished smoking. All your moodiness these last few days—”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, baby. It all makes sense.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and squeezed your hand tighter in the other. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I quit because I didn’t want this to happen to you, I didn’t want my problems to poison you, but it’s too late.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, Teddy.” You demand again, pulling him in, and his mouth collides with yours as he makes a subtle groan of surprise and pleasure. 

His hand gripped the headboard behind you, the other skimming down your side. As you leaned back into the pillows, you took him with you, his body falling over your own, slotting between your thighs as our hearts thudded together where his chest pressed to yours. Your hands slid over his shoulders, skimming down his back, and he moaned again as your fingernails scraped across his lower back as you tugged at his shirt. 

He sat up, letting you pull it off of him, before his arms were back, caging you in on either side as he fell back down against you. Pulling one of your legs up to sit on his hip, he dragged himself away from your mouth, trailing wet kisses down your jaw, to the pulse point on your neck and back up. 

“Merde, bella. What’s gotten into you? Not that I’m complaining.”

“You’re perfect, Theo.” You smiled, leaning up to steal more kisses from his lips that he was happy to reciprocate, “You’re perfect, your kisses are perfect. I knew it was me, not you. I was the problem.”

“A problem I gave you,” He groaned, his hips rolling against your own as you giggled breathlessly. 

“Yeah, whatever. Now we’re quitting together. That’s the promise we made, we do everything together, right?”

“Damn right, tesoro.” He growled, teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw, as he began to make his way down your body. Your fingers were loose in his hair, settling back in the pillows, eyes slipping closed as he kissed along the insides of your thighs, teasingly. Finally, your body could relax, no longer tense and buzzing, but the foggy comfort of the night made your muscles ease into the bed, your body feeling heavy, and you sighed in bliss. 

Theo mumbled something, and you let your legs fall a little further apart, but your grip on consciousness was falling further and further away as the nicotine coursed through your body, finally letting you ease into sleep you’d missed for days.

“Bella,” Theo said, his voice sharper, and you stirred, working hard to force your eyes open, but they’d only made it halfway. His hair was ruffled, eyes wide and lips swollen, but his smirk melted away from his face into a tender smile as he looked down at you. 

“Sorry, what’d you say, baby?” The words slurred out of you, and he chuckled. His fingers unhooked from the sides of your shorts, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead. “M’sorry, I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”

“S’okay, bella. Never apologise. C’mere, let’s just cuddle.”

Tucking your body into his, you shuffled your hips back into him, and he threw his leg over yours as he held you tight to his body. “You’re hard.”

“It’ll go down, don’t worry.” He snickered, kissing the back of your head. “S’your fault anyway.”

“Sorry…” You whispered, again, sleepily. “I’ll make it up t’you t’morrow.”

“Go to sleep, amore.”

But you’d already drifted off.

It was just as you were closing your History of Magic book, that Theo announced his presence in the common room as he walked in alongside Mattheo. They were loud, and raucous, and thankfully, you were less inclined to bite their heads off for it today. 

In fact, alongside Enzo, you’d been able to catch up on all of the History homework you’d been missing out on for the last week or so, getting you back on track for at least one of your subjects. 

“Patch change time, bella!” Theo announced, making his way over to you as he untucked his shirt and began to undo the buttons down the front. Tugging the tie out of the way, he crashed down ungracefully onto the couch beside you, Mattheo nudging Draco to move up so he could sit down too. 

This had become a regular part of your routine now, and you pushed the edges of his half-unbuttoned shirt aside to reveal the patch sitting on the middle of his left pectoral. Picking at one corner, you peeled it away gently, careful not to tug on his skin as you did, and Theo watched on adoringly in silence as you took care of him. Unwrapping a new patch, you brushed off the spot, before sticking a new patch onto him and smoothing down the bandage. 

He patted it himself, before doing a couple of the buttons on his shirt back up for modesty, as though he hadn't already given half of the common room a show, before he leaned in to peck your lips. His fingers fell to the buttons of your shirt, and he began to undo them slowly. “Your turn.”

He undid just enough to reveal your shoulder, without letting anyone else catch a glimpse of anything underneath, and as he leaned down to begin peeling away the old patch, you caught Enzo’s confused expression. 

“Why are you wearing a patch?” He asked, and Theo laughed to himself quietly as he changed your old one out. 

“Because loverboy here got me addicted too, through kisses and secondary smoke.”

The others burst out laughing, unfettered by your glaring as they made kissy sounds and crude remarks, while Theo buttoned your shirt back up. Your glare turned to him as you caught sight of his smile, and he shrugged, a lopsided smile on his lips. “What can I say, bella? I’m just that good.”

“Oh, shut it,” You smacked his chest, and he took your hand, tugging you forward to cuddle you into his chest as he kissed your temple. 

“I happen to think it’s adorable that as a by-product of how you got addicted, that means you were addicted to me.”

“Mhmm.” Your eyes rolled, and he squeezed you even tighter. 

“You had me addicted to you without any substances at all, bella. Just you.”

“Alright,” You scoff, “Stop sweet-talking me.”

“Never.”

[thecoochiefairy]

xxx. suguru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, roleplay, non-consensual consent, rough sex/rough play, dominant suguru, black woman, vaginal penetration, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, choking, knife play, oral [f] [m], praising, size kink, overstimulation, degrading, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, doggy style, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩�� .ᐟ this may not be everyone’s tea. for sure one of the hottest things i wrote in my book of eroticas. enjoy, cause i did. dedicated to my mocha, @st4rbwrry ,she asked me to do this for her once.

nasty links, ya nasty— bounce. take it like a good girl. ooh, you’re so good for me.

SCARY MOVIES WEREN’T YOUR THING. They were simply a morbid curiosity, especially in your household. Your father was an extremely Christian man, anything seemingly too creepy or Halloween affiliated was the work of the devil. A god-fearing man, yes—But nothing was more terrifying than your boyfriend. 

Suguru Getou. It was like a hushed name within the night, calling him three times like CandyMan, even a cross wouldn’t keep him away from you. You were a Christian woman as well, but not as harshly as your father. You had your own questions, moralities, beliefs. You didn’t judge anyone based on their views—you never judged him. 

Meeting him within the bookstore as you went to pick up a pink Bible, your cheeks went warm as you accidentally dropped the book in your hand on the way out—he then noticed the second one you clutched to your chest, never noticing it was a deeply egregious erotica. His tattooed hand gripped the object off of the ground, veiny and large as he handed it back to you. You were a beauty to him. 

Freckles along your cheeks, button nose and slender eyes with bohemian goddess braids, flyaways sticking to your round face. He caught sight of the golden cross that sat in between your breasts, the dark inked skull tattooed along your neck giving him whiplash. When you bent down to reach for the book, he caught back dermals just above the yoga pants you wear, long sleeve top clinging to your frame. Your voice was sweet, the blush of your cheeks delineated innocence, even if the sight of you didn’t.  You were pure to him. 

At least…he thought you were. 

You were sitting along your bed, the sheer white canopy atop of it paired with champagne lights hung all around the ceiling. Your background played SCREAM, one of your favorite horror movies that Suguru had introduced you to, as you were a little afraid to watch them by yourself—but he was busy tonight, and you figured you’d face your fears. 

Your glasses hung on the tip of your nose as you were more hyper-focused in your book, the sexual endeavors of the characters making your thighs rub together a bit, a highlighter in between your plump lips as you wanted to remember all the best parts. Your attention was pulled away as you heard rustling coming from your open window along the second floor of the house, enjoying the cool air of the night. You frown, lowering your book. You listen. 

Nothing comes in return, so you go back to your book. The rustle happens again. You narrow your eyes, standing from the bed as you go towards your window in preparation to just close it. That’s when a knock comes on your door, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. You were always jumpy.

You go towards the door, tightening the robe you wear, pushing your glasses upon your nose as you open it. It’s your father. 

Giving him a warm smile, you greet, “Hi, Daddy. All packed up for your trip?”

“Yup. All packed up and ready to go, sweetie. Did you remember everything?”

A gentle yet stern tone comes from him. One you were used to hearing by now. The tall, strong yet slender man gave a soft smile before speaking once more.

“You’ all right? You seem a bit startled.”

You sigh, “Been watching scary movies again—it’s only the first ten minutes where the girl gets a weird phone call. I thought I could handle watching it alone—unfortunately, I’m a wuss. Are you heading out to the airport now?”

Your father let out a soft chuckle.The first ten minutes always got to you somehow. To his dismay, this was why you had Suguru at your side to comfort you when you needed it. But he wasn’t here tonight.

“I’m about to head out now. I was hoping I would be able to see you one more time before I get on the plane.”

“You’re such a big teddy bear,” you poke fun, “I’ll walk you to the door,” you offer, pushing on your bunny slippers as you follow behind him downstairs. You lived in a big house, taking ages to get anywhere whether it was a bedroom or bathroom.

The man rolled his eyes though he couldn’t help a soft smile, amused from the way you teased him. He loved you, all too much. 

Once you both get downstairs, you go to the front door where your father picks up his bags and checks to see if he had everything. He spoke again, a frown appearing once more.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in the house by yourself? I know you’re not always fond of being alone at night.”

“I think I’ll survive,” you give him a warm smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sigh, “I love you, okay? Be safe.”

He wraps his strong arms around your frame, hugging you close to his form as he kisses your forehead. He loved you more than words could describe. You were his little girl, after all.

“I love you too. I’ll call you once I get to the hotel, alright?”

You give him a final wave as he makes it out to his taxi, blowing a kiss as the vehicle pulls off. You were relieved to get some alone time, and now you could fully dive into your book. You search the pantry as you grab for your sour gummy bears, plopping one into your mouth as you make your way back upstairs. You could hear the sound of screams, knowing the movie was still faintly playing on your TV. But as you enter your bedroom, you notice something. 

Your window was…closed?

You frown. You were certain that you had left the window open, but yet, it was closed. You shake your head, telling yourself that it was nothing and you’d forgotten to close it. 

You release a breath as you mutter, “Girl. Don’t be scaring yourself now.”

With that, you decide to cut off the movie, turning on some soothing music to calm your nerves. You return to your bed soon after, setting your gummy bears down beside you. You’re back to reading—but you can’t shake the raised awareness in the back of your mind.

As you continue to read, you can hear the house's landline going off downstairs. You sigh, pausing your music. You’re quickly making your way downstairs before the call hangs up, pulling the phone to your ear as you speak, “Hello?”

You expected it to be your father, telling you that he had left something behind, or maybe a friend of yours. It would’ve been normal for either. However, you were only greeted with silence for a moment.

But then, you soon hear the sound of a deep voice, an…unfamiliar tone.

“Hello, ❤︎.”

You blink at the voice knowing your name, placing your hand along the table as you speak, “Um—hi. Who is this?”

The voice was deep and alluring. But that didn’t make his familiarity any less uncomfortable. It’s a tone you’ve never heard. It sent chills down your spine.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Let’s keep that a secret for now.”

“Well if it’s a secret, then we don’t need to be talking,” you say, quickly hanging up the phone. 

You frown, wondering if you should call your father. Or Suguru. You didn’t want to worry him as he was on the way to the airport, and his flight would be soon. On top of that, your boyfriend was at work. You decide on grabbing a bottle of water, going to make your way back upstairs—

But that’s when the phone rings again.

Your breathing picks up a little. No, you shouldn’t answer it. You hope it’s a simple prank. Your mind goes back to the movie earlier. You should just ignore the call, or maybe you’re just scaring yourself over something so simple. 

You take the phone back into your hand, answering as you say, “Hello?” More impatient this time. 

Once again, the same deep voice is heard on the other line, though the tone had a hint of annoyance. You could practically feel a sinister smile through the phone.

“Why so impatient now, sweetheart?”

His tone was taunting, almost as if they were making fun of you. It was starting to get under your skin.

“Because you’re playing on my phone. Who is this?” You question again, eyes warily looking around your kitchen. You then make your way over to your front door, unlocking and relocking it for your own security.

There’s a soft, airy chuckle that comes before the voice replies, his tone still playful. Like this was some sort of game to him.

“You’re awfully stubborn, aren’t you? Do you always have this much trouble listening?”

The line goes silent for a moment, though you can still hear faint breaths. Chills run over your body again. You could feel eyes on you. Like someone was watching you at this very moment.

You grip the phone tighter in your hand. You then say, “Suguru, I know this is you. Quit fucking with me because I told you what I was watching earlier. It’s not funny.”

“It’s unfortunate for you that I’m not your boyfriend.” 

It’s like all the small hairs on your body prick up. Your heart begins to stammer in your chest, your eyes blinking. You feel like you’re in a dream.

“…What?”

The tone is no longer playful, instead becoming more…disturbing. But, there’s also a hint of amusement. Like they’re enjoying this. Enjoying you getting frightened.

“I said— I’m not your boyfriend.”

A pause, your heart beating faster. All of this felt so… wrong. Then, the voice continues—

“Though, I wish I was. You look good as fuck in that robe.”

That sentence was chilling. Your entire body went cold, and you felt frozen in your spot. You joked about watching this type of situation in the media. What you would do, how you’d never be as stupid as the character in this scenario. But here you were, unable to move, your heart pounding in your chest.

The voice on the other line chuckles again, his walk heavy as you can hear his steps. Though, he can’t help but become intrigued that he had struck such a nerve in you. You were such a…fascinating little thing. He knew you were shaking.

“Now tell me, ❤︎. Did locking your door make you feel safe?”

You didn’t know if anymore fear could strike through your veins, but you felt paralyzed.

 You try to keep yourself calm as you lie, “My boyfriends gonna be here soon. So I suggest you get the fuck off of my property before he kills you.”

“I don’t like being lied to.” 

The line goes silent again, but your heart still pounds in your chest. Where could he be at this very moment?

“My next suggestion would be that if you’re gonna lock your door…at least check if your window was actually closed.”

From your eyesight, you can see your bedroom. But you can only see the light coming from it, and your heart stops. You don’t have time to be afraid. You just needed to leave.

You slowly back your way towards your front door, continuously watching the outline of your bedroom, as if you were just waiting to see a figure pop out. As soon as your hand reaches the lock, you slowly turn it, reaching for the handle. 

The sound of your window within your room slams shut.

You yank the front door open, going to make a desperate run for the neighbors—

But that’s when a figure is already in front of the door, and as you trip back, you freeze.

A GhostFace mask appears in your sight, the person wearing it tall, broad. The dark shirt clinging to his olive complexion, tattoos scathing along his large arms, holding a chrome Bowie knife. 

Your scream pierces through the door frame as your instincts make you step back, thinking quickly as you take off back into your house.

Letting out a chuckle at your attempt to escape, he steps into the doorway, slamming the door closed as you try to run off. His footsteps were loud and heavy, like he was taking his sweet time, knowing that you were only tiring yourself further.

You eventually find yourself ducking into the next hallway, finding yourself in your father’s cigar room. You find the closet within it, rushing inside as you close the door, holding it towards yourself. Tears want to brim your eyes as your entire body vibrates from the fear, and you clutch your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from crying, hearing as his footsteps become closer.

Your breathing goes ragged and labored, your chest tightening as you try your best to muffle the sound of your hyperventilating. You then hear the footsteps get closer and closer. That’s when they stop right outside of the closet.

At this moment, you stop breathing. You close your eyes, awaiting for the next few moments. Nothing.

Instead, you hear the footsteps begin to echo away, up until you don’t hear them at all. You wait for a moment, wishing you had a phone to call someone. Anyone. But you couldn’t stay in this closet forever.

This was your opportunity to escape. You give it a couple more seconds as you gently push the door open, sliding yourself through the small opening to not cause any noise. You peek down the hallway, seeing nothing again. Yet you hear the sound of footsteps from above, meaning he was checking to see if you’d hidden yourself upstairs. 

You bolt down the hallway and back towards your front door, going to throw it open as you see that large, veiny palm raise over your head, slamming the door shut. Your scream rips from your throat, ducking under the figure, trapped as their hand clasps along your throat, thumb along your jaw.

 All you can see is that mask, your eyes wide as they lock down to the blade coming at your throat, lightly connecting to the skin of it.

He was much bigger than you, broad with a toned muscular body. He could easily have you in a death grip if he wanted. You could feel his hot breath coming from under the mask, staring down at you.

“Please don’t hurt me…” you’re desperate, unable to know what else to say at this moment.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, though he can’t help a soft laugh as he’s just realized something. And it makes him…furious. But he keeps his cool, tightening his grip on you ever so slightly.

Leaning down, he brings his covered face so close to your ear that it makes your skin tingle. He speaks in a low tone. It’s almost a growl.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t lie…” you say, “…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your eyes roam back and forth, hand pressed along his stomach. It’s hard.

His frame is solid, all muscle and toned. He doesn’t buy your excuse for a second. But he continues to take you in. Your face, your body. Your scent. It’s a mixture of amber and vanilla. He could feel how you trembled in his grip, though a part of him wished he was gripping by your chin, making you look him in the eye. But he was enjoying this. The fear on your face.

“You told me your boyfriend was coming.”

Shit, you did say that. 

You can’t come up with a quick enough excuse. You say, “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.”

He has a grip on your wrist, dragging you up the stairs as you try to pull away, yet the knife in his other hand keeps you from fighting more than you wanted to. He slams the door of your bedroom, your fearful frame stepping back as you’re trapped inside with him, glancing back over to your window.

At this moment, he has you trapped alone in your bedroom with no one to help you. Yet, you could see his eyes studying you through the mask. Taking in every slight movement of your body. Every shake, every shiver. He was enjoying the sight of you being afraid. It was thrilling.

It felt stupid to plead your case. But you didn’t know what to do. Your brain runs amuck, and you can’t stop yourself as you stupidly say—

“Please don’t hurt me,” you repeat, “I’ll do…I’ll do anything.”

He can’t help the wicked smirk that appears across his features under the mask as he tilts his head, taking a single step closer to you. Like a predator closing in on its prey. The way his eyes remained on you was entrancing. 

“Anything?” 

He repeats, his voice deep.

You clutch the material of your robe, nodding your head in response, your heart in your throat. 

It’s like you’re trying to play detective, eyeing his tattoos, his muscular arms, trying to find a familiarity in his body. Nothing. His onyx shirt clings to him, which almost curves inwards from how fit he was. His ring clad fingers, veins traveling beneath as he clutched his weapon within his hand. A rush of…something else ran within your body. 

What was wrong with you? 

Yet, your fuzzy brain is pulled out of the clouds as you hear his low tone tell you to, “Take off your robe.” 

You blink for a moment. You then give a soft nod, beginning to untie your robe, draping it off your shoulders, dropping it down along the floor. The air in the room hits your skin, the pale pink babydoll slip you wore, your brown nipples showing through the thin fabric. The sheer material glides down to the thong you wear, barely covering your ass, the small bow within the back attached to the lingerie. 

Your body is revealed to him, his eyes gazing over your figure. Yet, he remains still. Though, you can see the rise and fall of his chest become slightly quicker. He just didn’t move, his expression almost unreadable behind the hard, white mask. Silence, all apart from the hammering of the heart that was stuck in your throat.

You can then hear him say, “On your knees. Crawl.” 

And so, you listen. Your palms lead the way, your legs slightly dragging against the carpet as you make your way over to him, slender eyes feline, coaxing. You don’t know why you have the urge to give him a show, but you pause when you’re directly in front of him, politely sitting on the balls of your feet, knees pointed to the floor. 

He towers over you, his large frame making you look so… tiny. Yet, he can’t help but become impressed at the way you had obeyed his request. His dark eyes don’t remove themselves from you for a single moment. Like he’s studying every movement you make.

He was being far gentler than what you expect. He tilts your head by the point of his knife, forcing you to look up at him as he looks down at you through that damn mask.

“You listen good as fuck, pretty.” 

Your eyes blink at him, palms itching along your lap. He then takes his other hand as he runs it through your hair, lightly, as if you were delicate to the touch. Your body tenses as he then gets a grip on your hair, clutching the braids in between his fingers, tugging your head back to fully look at him. 

And he likes it. He likes how you look right now. Your head pulled back, looking up at him. It’s like you were at his mercy. Like you were completely and utterly at his whim. Just how he wanted you.

“Open your mouth for me.”

Another slow flutter of your lashes surpass, and you part your Cupid’s bow lips, sticking your tongue out in the process. 

A sinful grin makes its way across his face, even if you can’t tell. 

He moves the knife's blade to your chin, tipping your jaw a little more up to see you better. His voice is still low as he tells you, “Wider.”

You open your mouth even more, breath hitching as you do so. Your eyes can only search the terrifying white expression, but when you glance down, his body…terrifying wasn’t the exact word you’d use. 

He’s enjoying the way you’re submitting to him. It’s like something within him had woken up. You can see the rise and fall of his chest again, his breathing having picked up slightly. Like it was arousing him. 

“All that fuckin’ mouth you had over the phone. Where’s that shit at now?” 

You lightly dig your teeth into your lip, the tone of his voice through this mask. It’s doing something to you. You’re crazy. But this entire situation is.

Your voice is soft, your own words passing through your mouth before you could think about them.  

“Put something in it, then.”

His fingers come along the side of your jaw, his thumb running over your lip, sliding against your tongue. 

“You’ want it in your mouth?”

You nod your head, eyes glimmering beneath the lights of your room. 

“Suck some fuckin’ dick, then.”

You’re already unbuckling his belt, reaching under his boxers as you pull his length from beneath the compressing fabric. It springs out as it’s already hard, pink tip glistening from the pre-cum, slapping along his belly button in freedom. 

The veins along it make it look terrifying, heavy in your palms as you lean forward, taking in the scent of rum spice and cedar wood against his smooth skin. The olive tone of his complexion is covered by ink, even in the most intimate areas. You drag your tongue along his tip, raising your eyes up, lash extensions flickering like dark butterflies.

You can hear the grunt that comes from his mouth, tugging at your hair as you fully wrap your lips along his tip, swirling your tongue around, enveloping the clean taste of his flesh. You adjust yourself along your knees, arching yourself closer to him, moving your head slowly back and forth, allowing your mouth to collect more inches each time you take him deeper. His tip begins to caress against the roof of your mouth each time you move.

The warm walls of your cheeks hollow his dick, entrapping the heaviness of it as you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut as you wrap your small fingers along the base of him, rotating your palm around. Pulling his tip out of your mouth you then drop spit along the veiny flesh, beginning to revolve your hand around, almond brown vision flickering back up to the mask, your other hand running under his shirt, feeling the way his muscles flex within his abdomen.

His hand grips tighter in your hair, pulling you closer to him as you stroke faster. He lets out a low groan, hips bucking slightly, grinding his dick between your lips and hand. You can feel his pulse beating against your fingertips, throbbing with every pass through. He pulls your head back, smearing saliva across your jaw before shoving his tip back into your mouth, sliding all the way to the back of your throat. Your head nuzzles side to side, allowing it to shuffle even deeper, the walls of your throat flexing as you gag.

 You hear his deep voice lowly drop, ”Fuuck...”

You pull your mouth back, cheeks warm on the outside, freckled and lightly hueing a red tint as you softly ask, “Does it feel good?” Slapping his dick along your tongue, kissing the tip in an almost polite way.

“Feels good as fuck,” He grunts, grabbing your chin firmly and tilting your head back, exposing your neck to him. "You’re so fuckin’ sexy. Pull your tit’s out. Go down until you’re rubbing your pussy, I know this shit’ is making you wet.”

He was right, it was. Each time his tip slammed against the back of your throat, your inner thighs became warm as you rubbed them together. You yank down the material of your babydoll slip, exposing your brown nipples, using one hand to lightly rub at the hardening skin, using the other to hold his dick in your hand, dragging your mouth back around the shaft of it. He twitches in your mouth as you start to suckle, slurping heavily, saliva spurting in between the space of your lips each time his balls slam along your jaw. He keeps a grip on your onyx hair tighter—you’re nasty with it, guiding your head up and down erotically.

You then slide your hands down your stomach and thigh, coming around to meet with the inner part of it, brushing your fingers against your clit that throbs along your thong. It almost makes you flinch.

He watches you with lust-filled eyes, the ghost mask seeming to leer as you touch yourself. He feels as you tense up, “Be a big fuckin’ girl and make yourself feel good.” 

He guides your head faster, thrusting into your mouth with increasing force. His balls begin to slap loudly against your chin, precum leaking from the tip to coat your tongue.

“Call me baby,” you protest as you find the space to pull away, immediately going back to keeping your mouth full. You almost break, your voice feeble as you talk, “Want your fingers. Wanna squirt on them…” you can’t stop whining to him, moving your head back and forth, faster to meet the mean pace he gives.

“I know you fuckin’ heard what I said. Sink your fingers in,” he grunts to you, feeling the whimper around his dick, your fingers listening as you drag them down, nudging them at your opening. You can hear how wet you are, but your own aren’t enough. You need more. 

Your other hand is still locked around him, keeping your mouth steady as he has one hand on the back of your head, the other on your jaw, pulling it open wider as he fucks your face. 

“That’s fuckin’ good, baby. Listening good as fuck.”

You become frustrated as you pull back, pouting to him, “I can’t make myself cum…” 

You spit against his tip, now focusing in as it seems to be sensitive. You protect your teeth with your lips, sucking inward as you bob your head up and down, using your throat as you muffle out hums to add to his stimulation, talented in pleasuring him. 

He groans deeply, feeling your tongue continuously swirling around the tip, sending jolts straight to his entire body. 

“Fuck,” he aggressively grunts, “Ooh, shit. Baby. Keep doing that," he growls, his hips jerking slightly as he loses control for a second, pushing deeper into your mouth. "Gonna fill that pretty ass throat up."

That’s when you become more defiant—The pressure in between your legs is almost painful. You need him. You pull yourself back, placing yourself along the bed, spreading your knees apart, arching your back as you press your stomach against the sheets. Your face is tilted backwards to watch him, taking your hands as you spread yourself apart.

“Fill up my pussy, baby,” you whine, pitiful, but you didn’t care.

His eyes darkened with lust as he saw you spread yourself open for him, your juices dripping onto the sheets below. You’re grinding your clit against the pink comforter, making it a darker shade as it becomes drenched. He stalks towards the bed, fully ripping off his clothes in haste, dragging you fully to the end of the bed as his palms locked around your ankles. 

"Shit, look at that pretty ass pussy," he mutters, his gaze fixated on your glistening folds, “You want my cum, huh? Beg for it."

His words are demanding, but there's an underlying tone of pleasure and desire. He's eager to claim you.

But you’re even more eager.

 You grip his arm, pulling him down to where his back is along the sheets, climbing atop of him. You don’t forget to lock your mouth around his tip for a moment, dropping your lips down to reach his abdomen, saliva dragging out of your mouth, dribbling along your chin as you pull back, seeing as his abs tighten, giggling as that makes him give you a harsh spank to your ass. 

Your knees are on each side of him, already wrapping your fingers around his tip, guiding it as you rub it along your clit. 

You whimper, “Wanna slide down on your dick, baby. Tell me I can…”

“Go ‘head. Drop down, slowly.” 

You do as you're told, placing your hand along his stomach as you lean forward, sinking yourself down, his tip plunging in between your tight folds. He was like a monster, attempting to rip you in half. Your eyes lightly roll, your hips spazzing at the feeling. A baby gasp parts from your mouth as he roughly spanks you again, coaxing you to keep going. You sink yourself down farther, the heaviness of your ass sticking against his abdomen, his tip already kissing your cervix, it makes your face contort in an aching pleasure, so fucking horny as you already begin bouncing on him, your pussy squelching as you whimper from the slight pain.

It was like a soreness from a workout, a burn from a meal you couldn’t wait to cool down, you whine messily as you drive yourself wild, clapping your ass down against his thighs.

His eyes follow every movement of your hips, drinking in the sight of your ass slapping against his thighs. The lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the room, mingling with your desperate moans of pleasure. He grips your hips tightly, fingers digging around into the soft flesh of your ass as he begins dragging you to meet your own downward motions.

"Yeah? You’ gonna keep fucking me like that? Like you needed this fuckin’ dick?”

You’re looking back as the skin of your ass shaking in his palms, sobbing already, eyes rolling back as you pout heavily, nodding your head as it falls back, whimpering out messily, “Yes, baby. Been wanting to bounce on your dick just like this…” 

You hiccup, your soft cry echoing along the walls, louder than your skin slapping against his, “So fuckin’ needy for you…”

His thumbs dig deeper into the supple cheeks of your skin, spreading them apart slightly as he watches himself disappear into you over and over.

"Pussy hungry as fuck, sucking my shit in…” He growls low in his throat, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine. 

"Keep going, needy ass fuckin’ girl—fuck,” he lowly moans, head falling back against the bed, mask tilting upwards. His hands move to grip your waist, helping pull you down onto him with force, his thick shaft stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation borders on painful, but the pleasure far outweighs it, making you pathetically cry out in ecstasy.

With a guttural groan, he thrusts up into you hard, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden depth. He holds you there, still and deep, letting you adjust to the overwhelming fullness before starting to move once more. His hand is on your shoulder, slamming you back down, sounds erotically implausible. 

"You love this, don't you?" He growls, voice strained with pleasure. "Love being stuffed full of my dick,” His hands slide up your sides, fingers splaying across your ribs as he begins to piston in and out of you with relentless intensity.

He’s like a demon climbing out of hell for the first time. You keep up with him though, keeping your eyes locked on his as you groan, “Love it so fuckin’ much. Gonna’ cum in my tight pussy, baby?” You can hear the grunt he makes from that question, planting your feet along the bed as you raise your hips, dropping them down, “Hit my spot, baby. Wanna squirt all in your mouth soon.”

His grunts deepen into animalistic growls, the force of his thrusts growing harder, faster, more erratic. Sweat drips down from under his mask, tattooed muscles flexing beneath his skin. 

“Nasty ass fuckin’ mouth. I hear you, baby. ‘Gonna' drench me," he rasps, one hand moving between your bodies to rub at your clit in time with his strokes. 

His other hand grips your hip, using it as leverage to slam you down onto him, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with unrelenting precision. The wet squelching of your juices and the slap of skin on skin fills the air, punctuated by your high-pitched moans and his guttural sounds. He's close, you can tell, his movements becoming almost violent in their desperation.

“Fuck me from the back,” you beg, “Come fuck me, baby. That’s how I wanna cum,” you beg him, swirling your hips in circles, dragging your nails along his skin.

He flips you over onto your stomach without hesitation, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his masked gaze. One hand remains gripping your hip while the other moves around to grasp your throat, applying gentle pressure.

"You’ better be fuckin’ me back," he smacks his lips, “Keep asking for shit. Spoiled as fuck.”

With a sharp tug, he rubs his tip in between your folds, the sensitivity making you hiss a bit. But he does the opposite of what you expect, raising you up slightly to press your back against his chest, material of the mask pressed up against your face, almost to where you can feel his lips against your skin. 

You reach your hand behind yourself, holding him as he sinks himself in. You feel every inch as it goes in, sinking so deep it inflames your walls, your eyes rolling back as you gasp, “Oh, shit,” as you unexpectedly squirt, the fluid gushing out so harshly that it nearly pushes his dick out. Your thighs tremble as you shudder out in broken whines, his hand gripping tighter along your throat, hearing the arrogant chuckle in your ear.

He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle against your ear, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine even as your inner walls clench around him. His grip on your throat tightens fractionally, a subtle reminder of his dominance.

"Look at you, squirting like a fuckin’ faucet.”

You shriek as he spanks you, “So fuckin’ responsive for me. Love milking this pussy, baby. Goood fuckin’ girl,” he riles you up, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside,  slamming back in, driving deep once more, making you squirt out again.

Your hands scrabble for purchase on the sheets, reaching behind helplessly as you try to halt his hips, feeling as he yanks your hand behind your back. You plead, “W—wait, baby. Wait. Wait. Ooh, shi—oh—fuck. Fuck. Fuuuck…”

Your whine is so pretty, your body relaxing as if you’ve given up at this point, back to pouting as you can’t. Stop. Squirting. 

Tears well in your eyes, you’re crying at this point, your hips tensing, a soreness beginning to produce from your body pushing out so much energy. You’re moaning weakly as he coos behind you, “Yeah, baby. That’s good. Open up your pussy," his voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've got you."

With a sudden, brutal thrust, he buries himself inside you, grinding against your cervix. Your scream is muffled by his palm over your mouth as he holds you still, impaling you on his dick.

“Told you to fuck me back, your ass don’t fuckin’ listen,” he grunts, his hips beginning to piston in and out at a bullying pace. "Fuck, your pussy is perfect."

This is what you asked for. This is what you wanted—now you were paying for it. You’re sobbing in patterns, broken and repetitive, trapped as you can only whimper, “Please cum, baby. Cum in me. Fuckin’ fill me up, baby,” but this is your only way of escaping this depraved act.

He laughs cruelly, the sound echoing through the room as he continues to pound into you relentlessly. "You want my cum? Then fucking earn it, slutty ass fuckin’ girl. My slutty ass baby.” 

His grip on your throat tightens, cutting off your air supply as he fucks you even harder, each thrust jarring your entire body. The pressure builds in your core, your orgasm just out of reach.

With the last bit of strength you have, you apologize, “So sorry, baby. Didn’t listen. Lemme’ be your good girl,” as you begin to throw your ass back, slamming it along his abdomen, it’s nearly too slippery to have the skin stick together. You’ve coated him with your arousal, you have nothing left to give him, “Cum for me, baby. Cum inside me, need your cum, pretty boy…”

At your pitiful plea, he releases your throat, gripping your hips instead as he pounds into you mercilessly. His breathing grows ragged, muscles straining as he chases his release, his helpless moans are sexy, even a light whimper slipping out— it was rare for him to have. 

"Fuckin’ hell..." he grits out between clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. "I’m about to bust, baby. Where you’ want it?”

“In me,” you whimper desperately, “Don’t be mean.”

The bastard. He chuckles, “Shut that shit up. I know.” 

With one final, intense thrust, his dick pulses as he unleashes a torrent of cum deep inside you. He pulls himself out to replace his dick with his fingers, rubbing chaotically in between your opening and your clit, knowing how you’d react to that. Your entire body spazzes as you shout, groaning into a scream as you gush out more cum, causing him to rip the mask off, burying his face in between your legs, lapping up the final orgasm that completely drains you. You’re crying and shaking, nearly dropping forward along the bed as he’s there to catch you. 

The familiar coconut scent of his dark hair rubs up against your cheek as he turns your face to kiss him, sloppily sinking his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself.

“That was good, baby,” Suguru grunts, both of you breathing heavily against one another, desire and passion filling the air. 

“We need to watch scary shit more often,” he holds your throat, talking within your ear, the breathless giggle only being your response for a moment. 

“Yeah, we do.”

[purinfelix]

Franco Colapinto, where his girlfriend gets jealous of his interviews, so she does everything to make him jealous in return.

a taste of his own medicine ⋆.ೃ࿔*･- franco colapinto

summary: you've had enough of your boyfriend's shameless flirting during interviews, and hatch a plan to get back at him for it w/c : 1.3k

a/n: AAAA this is such a cute idea anon - i wrote a good chunk of this a while ago but only just finished the last bit today, thank u for the req and i hope u enjoy !! <333

You wondered if your boyfriend could feel the stone-cold glare you were giving the back of his head from your spot in the VIP lounge - though if he could, he surely wasn't doing anything about it.

Initially, there hadn't been any problems with keeping your relationship secret - in fact, it had been your idea for a number of reasons. You just didn't consider yourself ready to be swarmed and scrutinised by the media or have the title of 'F1 wag' bestowed upon you. It didn't feel right, if anything it felt like a disservice to boil down your relationship with Franco to something so sensationalized. Keeping it private seemed the best decision, at least for the time being. But now, the longer you watched your boyfriend shamelessly flirt with anyone who crossed his path, the more you grew to regret this decision.

You weren't by any means a jealous person by nature, but something about the fact that no one but you had any problem with this situation - and only because they didn't know about your relationship - irritated you. If only you could figure out a way to make Franco feel the same way you were. Just at that moment, as if by fate, you spotted a young-looking boy in a race suit walking casually past the lounge. His carefree walk, curly brown hair and boyish smile - bingo.

"Hey there," you called out, hopping up from the chair you were sitting in and walking over to the boy.

"Oh, hello," he replied, seemingly taken aback by being addressed by you.

"Sorry, it's just that I'm a little new to all of this and," you look him up and down, "you look like you know what you're doing, do you think you could show me around?"

He laughs shyly, hand rubbing the back of his nape. "Well, I mean, alright then, I'm Ollie by the way."

"Lovely to meet you, Ollie." You offer a girly giggle which you try your best not to cringe at as you follow the boy, who begins to walk around the nearest garage.

He begins to explain things, the process of getting ready to drive, the roles of different team members and the physics of the car itself - all of which you could care less about, but you nod earnestly regardless. Along the way, you even offer any mechanic or engineer who seems your age a friendly smile, and even a wink if they're particularly good-looking.

It's just your luck too that all of this is happening just close enough to the media hubs where your boyfriend has been stuck all afternoon. You try your best not to look too often over at him, not wanting to give away the true intentions of this mini tour you're scored for yourself. He doesn't seem to share the same sentiment though, based off of how many times you've caught him stealing glances at you, his eye following watchfully as you laugh and tease your impromptu tour guide.

"And so every element of car design has the purpose of making it as fast as possible, either through aerodynamics or by making everything lightweight," he continues to explain excitedly, and even though you're starting to feel dizzy from all the nodding you give him a quick one.

"Oh, wow!" You say, and before you know it you've landed yourself in the perfect position - within both earshot and line of vision of your boyfriend who seems to be wrapping up one of his last interviews for the night. Now, for the cherry on top.

You watch as Franco finishes saying his goodbyes to the last of the media crew, his eyes now searching the paddock for you. Knowing that he's looking at you, you throw your head back in laughter at nothing in particular and bring a hand up to graze Ollie's upper arm. Though you have his back to him you know your boyfriend well enough that when you feel a hand on your own shoulder mere seconds later, you aren't too shocked.

"Oh, hello Franco," you hum, feigning innocence. "Ollie here was just showing me around and keeping me company, isn't he the sweetest?"

"Very sweet." He grins through gritted teeth, though his strengthening grip on your shoulder says otherwise.

"No problem, oh but hey I forgot to show you just one more th-"

"Thanks, kid, but my girlfriend and I have got to get going."

Trying not to make it too obvious on your face how pleased you were that your plan had worked, you thanked Ollie once more before you felt Franco's grip sliding down your arm and intertwining his fingers with yours. Desperately, he dragged you off and away from your tour guide - who had a slightly confused expression painted on his face as he watched the two of you disappear into the Williams garage. You were amazed by how quickly your boyfriend was walking as he pulled you into his driver's room, shutting the door behind you quickly.

"What was that?" he huffed immediately, not giving you a second to say anything. You only smiled in response, watching his normally calm expression morph into one of frustrated confusion.

"I told you, Ollie was showing me around, you were busy with your interviews anyways," you decide to keep up the act of innocence, though you can tell he's not buying it.

"Bullshit, what sort of showing around involves touching him."

"I didn't think you were watching, those reporters seemed to keep you pretty occupied," you say in a sing-songy tone, throwing yourself down on the couch in his room. You wait for him to respond - something equally sarcastic or quippy, but when you turn to look at him you see him staring at the wall in front of him, eyes furrowed in confusion. Slowly, the cogs in his mind seem to start working as his expression slowly changes into one of realisation.

"You were jealous," he breathes out, turning to you with eyes wide and brows raised.

"Oh pfft- I wouldn't say jealous, bored now that might be more accurate but-" You're interrupted by him taking a seat on the couch next to you, face now painted with a smug look.

"You didn't like that I was talking to so many reporters, did you?" His teasing tone is enough to make your heart race a little, though you try your best to keep calm.

"I'm pretty sure you were doing a little more than talking babe, you were flirting!"

He looks at you with a slightly offended expression, "flirting?" It's almost as if he's just realising what he was doing.

"Uhm, duh."

"Did it really look like that?" His brows curve up into a pleading expression, "I didn't mean to, I swear!" You let out a soft chuckle watching his apologetic expression.

"It's fine baby, just try to be a little less friendly next time - I think your PR team would appreciate it anyway." He nods, scooting a little closer so that he can lay his head on your shoulder. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again.

"You were jealous," he hums, almost as if he's talking to himself.

"Wh- so were you! Poor Ollie is probably terrified of you now!"

"Whatever, he's a big boy, he'll live," he sighs, reaching for your hand and intertwining it in his "Plus, don't act like you're any better using that kid to get back at me."

"Hey, I had to do something before you walked out of that media room with a second girlfriend," you crossed your arms in annoyance, refusing to even look at him.

"You're cute when you're jealous," he laughs, before turning to peck at your jawline. Before you can stop you're melting into his touch, bringing a hand up to brush his curly hair away from his face. It might be a weak apology to some, but to you - to be here with him, in the privacy of his driver's room, away from Ollie, the reporters, and the rest of the world - it's more than enough.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[maxv331]

✮ What happened to hello | Lando Norris ✮

Summary: Quick little drabbled based on all the speculation of Lando getting a bad haircut because he wore his hat so much at the Mexican GP

word count: 848

a/n: I haven't wrote in a long time so I'm pretty rusty, go easy on me! I also wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to wrap up the ending, so yeah, sorry for that!

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“Take the hat off Lando” You playfully demand with a squint of your eyes as soon as Lando’s face appears on your laptop screen. 

You’re currently on day 14 of being apart since Lando left for the triple-header and it’s eating you both alive. You haven’t been apart for longer than seven days at a time, in almost a year. Everyone around you, even the fans, call you two codependent, but really, you were just in love and wanted to spend as much time together as possible. 

Between the time zone differences and you both working so much, you’ve found it difficult to spend much time together. You’ve found comfort in being able to keep up with Lando from all of the fan and official F1 content posted online. 

You’ve gotten a giggle out of all the speculation surrounding Lando’s hair. It started on the first media day in Mexico, when it appeared Lando had gotten a haircut, but his hat stayed on the entire day. 

The next day was when the rumors actually started, Lando hadn’t taken his hat off again and every fan you came across was freaking out and cracking jokes that Lando got a bad haircut and was embarrassed about it. 

Initially, aside from enjoying all the posts, you hadn’t given it much thought, assuming Lando was mostly wearing the hat because of the heat; but then you realized Lando hadn’t sent you any photos without the hat on, and the handful of late night facetimes you had, he was already in bed with his hoodie up and it was mostly dark. 

Whenever you and Lando are apart, you always made sure to keep each other still included in the day to day parts of your lives; you were always sending photos, videos and voice notes until you could facetime or be with each other again. 

Lando hadn’t changed your familiar routine, he just never had hair showing, which was a little odd, but nothing concerning. You admittingly missed the post shower selfies or the sweaty, messy haired, tired post race selfies. 

You’re instantly met with a giggle from Lando “What happened to hello baby.” Lando’s sat in his drivers room, he’d got a couple hours break between practice and qualifying and wanted to make the most of your shared free time to squeeze in a quick facetime with you.

“Hello baby” You grinned cheekily. “I’ve missed you so much, did you get a bad haircut?” You giggled 

Lando raised an eyebrow as another giggle slipped past his lips. “Did I get a bad haircut?” 

You nodded quickly “You haven’t taken your hat off the entire time you’ve been in Mexico, so show me”

“And how would you know that, hmm?” Lando asked with a smirk. Lando was initially confused, but now all he wanted was to play into the fun he was having. 

A bright rosy blush crept up your cheeks as you briefly glanced away from Lando on the screen. Lando’s now grinning mischievously, enjoying getting to tease you. “Do I need to talk to Osc or have you been creeping on me?” 

Before you even get a chance to answer, Lando starts giggling again and shaking his head. You pout and cross your arms. “A bad haircut is the only explanation for the hat and not getting my selfies”

“Your selfies?” Lando questions, once again raising an eyebrow. He knows exactly what selfies you’re talking about, but one thing about Lando Norris is that he loves to tease his girlfriend.

“I want my post race selfies back Lando” 

Lando smiles widely, taking a moment to take in all of your soft sweet features. Lando hadn’t intentionally been keeping anything from you, the few days he had been in Mexico had been busier than usual and it slipped his mind. “I’m sorry my love, I promise you’ll get one after quali”

“I better” You murmur, arms still crossed against your chest. You did miss the selfies, but you weren’t actually annoyed with him, in fact any feelings that even remotely resembled annoyance or hurt from the past few days all stem from a place of missing Lando. 

Lando knows you better than you know yourself, so he knows that if he doesn’t do something in the next few minutes, the call is going to take a sharp turn from playful and fun to somber and probably leave at least one of you in tears. Neither you or Lando were one to shy away from your emotions, but if Lando could hold off on it, until he could guarantee you his undivided love and attention, that's what he’s going to do. 

Lando winks at you, before taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. “Is that better my love?”

A small gasp passes your lips, before you break out into the widest smile that Lando had seen in weeks. “Lando!” You squeal happily. “You look so handsome, why have you been hiding your hair?”

“I haven’t been hiding my hair, you doughnut,” Lando laughed. “It’s hot and I like my hat”

[burningembers91]

Not Who I Want to Be - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Thanos is tired of life, until he meets you.

A/N: I am determined to make this man likeable. Redemption story arc incoming!

Warnings: Mentions of abusive father, mentions of drug and alcohol dependency. 18+ only!

Thanos couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent 24 hours sober. He’d either been drunk, high, or both for as long as he could remember. When he was a teenager, it was a way to escape his abusive father, but the pills and drinks eventually became a crutch, one he couldn’t function without.

He still had no idea how he’d become so famous, how his music had managed to become such a hit with so many people. There were songs he didn’t even remember writing, days that were completely lost in a haze of booze and drugs. But somehow, people loved him. He was under no illusion that people loved him for who he was – he knew he was a prick. No, people loved him for his fame, his money, and his seemingly unlimited supply of narcotics.

It didn’t matter to Thanos though; he relished the attention, basked in the flirtatious attention he received from women whose names he never bothered to learn. His friends were nothing more than people desperate for fame, clinging to him in the hope he’d make them as big a name as he was.

People seemed to love his outlandish character. Every time he did something insane, his fans would go crazy for him. So, Thanos slowly became more unhinged, forgetting the little boy he’d once been, the one who’d had big dreams. He spent each night with a different woman, attending every party in Seoul. His penthouse apartment was a constant hive of activity, the people he’d picked up along the way using it as a base to get high.

He didn’t even enjoy music anymore, the words he wrote meant nothing to him. His fans constantly demanded more of him, so he worked like a dog to give them exactly what they wanted. Nothing he wrote made sense; it had no meaning, no context behind the raps. His songs were as empty as his soul; but people were eating up his words like they were gospel.

It was a usual Saturday night ritual for him to attend a club in Seoul. To make an appearance to the crowd, before getting blackout drunk. Tonight, he found himself in the throng of a sweaty crowd, so high off the pills he’d taken before coming out that he was barely clinging to existence. The usual scroungers were there, taking as many free drinks from him as they could get, posing for photos that would instantly be uploaded to Instagram for a few minutes of fame. Girls were clinging to his shirt, their slurred words ricocheting off his ears, melting into the thump thump thump of the base from the speakers to his right. He was dizzy, dehydrated and so, so fucking done with this crowd. He needed to get away, needed to breathe some fresh, sweat-free air.

Pushing himself away from his followers, he stumbled up the steps to the rooftop. It was raining, the wind pushing the droplets sideways into his face. If it was cold, his body didn’t feel the chill. It had been a long time since Thanos had felt anything. The roof was empty, expect for a figure to his left. You were stood huddled under a thin canopy, your arms crossed over your chest. You sipped periodically from a glass, shivering every now and again against the stormy night.

You were the most beautiful thing Thanos had ever seen. You seemed to light up the entire space, despite the wind and rain. Your outfit clung to your figure, accentuating your curves and leaving him breathless. You spotted him staring and offered a small smile. Half walking, half stumbling, Thanos made his way over to you. One good thing about the booze and the drugs, it gave him confidence; and he’d need a bucketful to speak to you.

“Hey girl,” he said, instantly transforming into his overly-macho, too confident persona. “You know who I am?” “No,” you simply said, taking in his tall, lean figure and bright purple hair. “Should I?” “I’m fucking Thanos, baby!” He cried, the wind drowning out his voice, making him seem as small as he felt. “Right… Sorry, doesn’t ring any bells,” you shrugged, downing the last of your drink. “Where would I recognise you from?” “My music,” he told you proudly, spreading arms so you could take him all in. This wasn’t the usual reaction he got. People usually knew he was before he’d even introduced himself, but you, you were just looking blankly back at him. “I’m award winning, senorita!” “Sure,” you smiled, “I’ll uh… I’ll take your word for it.” A clap of thunder stopped your next words, the two of you looking towards to the storm-laden skies. “We should get inside,” you said, “wouldn’t want the famous Thanos to be struck by lightning.”

Following you inside, he couldn’t help but eye your figure as you walked down the stairs. You were nothing like anyone he’d ever seen. Your indifference and unfamiliarity with him were refreshing. You weren’t scrambling to get an autograph or clinging to him in the hopes he’d buy you a drink or take you home for the night. “You here with friends?” He didn’t want the conversation to end, he didn’t want you to leave. He’d probably never see you again if you left now. “Yeah,” you nodded, “it’s my colleagues’ birthday. She really loves this place. You?” Thanos looked around, his eyes scanning the crowd for the people he knew were anything but his friends. “Yeah, baby! It’s Saturday night! It’s party night!” If he wasn’t so off his face, he’d be cringing at the way he was speaking. This wasn’t him; he knew it wasn’t. But he didn’t know how to be any other way. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your evening,” you smiled. He could tell you thought he was a joke; he knew you saw straight through his bullshit. “Wait!” He called after you. “Can I get your number”? You turned and shook your head. “Sorry, Thanos,” you smiled, “I don’t give my number to Marvel villains.” He laughed; not only were you beautiful, you were funny too. “What about your Instagram then?” You thought for a few moments, and finally agreed. Typing your account name into the search bar, you pressed the follow button. “Hey, your accounts private!” Thanos remarked, seeing the request pending written across the screen. “Yeah, it’s to stop all the weirdos from following me. You never know, I might accept. Have a goodnight, Thanos!” And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

He awoke the next morning, his head pounding and his mouth dry. Some random girl lay next to him in bed, a bottle of vodka tipped on his side and dripping the last of its contents all over his custom-made tile floor. His memory of last night was hazy; he didn’t remember leaving the club or getting home. He didn’t remember going to bed with a stranger, but he remembered you. He remembered the way the strobe lights reflected in your eyes, the way you refused to put up with his shit. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his apps until he found Instagram. Clicking on your profile, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you’d accept his follow request.

A message popped up on his notification banner from you. His hands shaking from nerves and withdrawal, he clicked on it. Hey Thanos, it read, I hope you didn’t get blown away in the storm last night. He laughed, harder than he had done in months. Finally, he was excited about his day. He couldn’t wait to reply, couldn’t wait to see where this new conversation could lead him. He jumped out of bed, heading for the shower with his phone clutched in his hand. For the first time in a long time, Thanos was looking forward to the day ahead.

[reidmania]

use somebody | spencer reid

part two

summary; spencer doesn’t believe someone like you could ever like someone like him, but he would do anything for a chance.

warnings; fem!reader, reader is described as being really really kind, bau!worker reader, fluff (slight angst bc spencer doubts himself) reader is a bundle of joy idk, spencer is absolutely disgustingly in love with reader. reader has a dog ( a golden retriever ) reader IS A BOOK LOVER, reader is shorter than spencer., no love confession but like there basically is. maybe a part two coming idk!

an; this is based off use somebody by kings of leon bc that song just AHHHH

‘I've been roamin' around, always lookin' down at all I see, painted faces fill the places I can't reach. You know that I could use somebody, you know that I could use somebody, someone like you and all you know and how you speak, countless lovers under cover of the street, you know that I could use somebody, you know that I could use somebody. Someone like you, off in the night, while you live it up, I'm off to sleep, wagin' wars to shape the poet and the beat. I hope it's gonna make you notice, I hope it's gonna make you notice someone like me’

If there was a single light in a room, it would be your smile. Spencer had decided that the minute you introduced yourself to him on your first day, your wide smile was the first thing he noticed, then your kind voice — ever since Spencer Reid’s heart had your name written all over it and you had no idea.

You had been talking to Emily, your hands flinging around the more excited you got about whatever it was you were talking about, you were still smiling when Spencer approached with furrowed eyebrows after Emily had noticed him in the doorway and called him over to introduce himself to the team newest member.

You had introduced yourself with probably the widest, and sweetest grin he had ever seen. He almost forgot about the amount of germs spread through hand shaking when you offered him yours. He was pretty sure he felt the most embarrassment and disappointment when he didn’t forget — and turned down your handshake with his name and a silly ramble about what your name means historically.

He didn’t miss the way your smile never dampened — not even after his rejection of your offered hand, not during his embarrassingly long ramble, not as you listened intriguingly and then told him how cool it was that he just knew that off the top of his head.

That was a year, forty three days, 16 hours and 27 minutes ago — not that Spencer was counting. But he definitely was.

Your kindness won his heart from that moment. Your smile became his moral support during a particularly tough case. It seemed all the less tense when you would meet his eyes from across the room and offer him the sweetest smile. Your small gifts you left around for each member of the team became what he looked forward to and the end of every week — each more thoughtful than the last.

Spencer had kept the collection of small gifts you had given him on the shelf of his bedroom. Each one was specific to him. If someone on the team had mentioned wanting something or something they liked — at the end of the week it would be sitting on their desk with a little pink sticky note and a small ‘I hope you like it!’ in your hand writing.

He noticed that a lot of the time your gifts for him reference whatever he had rambled about the most that week, because he never explicitly told you he wanted anything or liked something because he knew you would go out of your way to get him it — you however found a way anyways.

Doctor who figurines, books, dvd’s. one week you had noticed him fidgeting more than normal and on the friday evening you had left a small collection of different fidget toys for him, with the same pink sticky note that wrote, ‘Picking at your skin is bad!! it can lead to infections and sometimes if you do it too much you could end up needing surgery. (I dont know if thats true, doctor google wasn’t helpful!) I hope these help’

He hadn’t picked at his skin since, if he was fidgeting it was with one of the small metal fidgets you had gifted him.

“Good morning!” You chirped — suddenly the room seemed brighter as you walked into the bullpen, your bag was slung over your shoulders as you made your way towards your desk. You turned your head to offer Spencer a sweet smile.

He returned it, lifting his hand to wiggle his fingers in a gentle waving. A habit he had picked up from you. You never just waved like everyone else did, instead you just held up your hand and wiggled your fingers. When you were asked about it you had smiled and shrugged and said it seemed like your fingers were dancing.

Spencer was pretty sure it was the sweetest reasoning for something he had even heard, but maybe that was just the fact it was coming from you.

“Did you like the dvd I gave you on Friday? The documentary one — if you have even watched it yet! I thought it was interesting!!” You said as you placed your bag on your desk. He thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest at the way your hair fell over your face when your head dropped down to look at your desk.

He shuffled slightly at his desk to sit up a little bit straighter. “I watched it.” He stated. Any dvd you gave him he watched the night he had got it. This one particularly — he had known all of the information that was in it, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying it any less — because you liked it enough to recommend it to him.

“I thought it was interesting.” He nodded, you lifted your head and smiled and he started to wonder at what point that sweet smile would stop having an effect on him. He partly hoped it never would. “I watched another one yesterday. I think you’d like it.” He said, not mentioning the fact he had paid extra attention to all of it, making sure it included something you were interested in, just so he could recommend it to you then talk to you about it the next day.

You grinned, leaning against your desk as you looked at him. He was thankful your desk was so close to his. That you were so close to him. Close enough to have a conversation without having to talk across the room, close enough that he could lean over and help with whatever you needed if you asked.

“The documentaries you watch might be a little above my expertise. I think I’ll just be confused the entire time” You giggled out, tilting your head slightly to the side. He shook his head instantly, eyes following the hair that fell the way your head tilted, down your shoulder.

“You’re smart, you’d understand.” He said.

You smiled and raised your eyebrow slightly, “I’m not smart like you’re smart, Spence.” You shook your head, just as he had a few minutes ago.

He shrugged, “Not many people are” It came out cockier than he intended, he was about to apologise for how it sounded before he heard you let out a gutty laugh. A real laugh. “If- If you’d like.. We uh- We could watch it together and I could explain to you whatever you don’t understand” He added, then he realised he had basically just invited you to hang out with him. Just you and him, in an unprofessional setting. Now his mind was fuelled by the fear of rejection.

That fear dimmed when your smile widened. “Really? That would be great! I’d love that.” You had said.

Spencers mind went to almost a million different places in that moment. He thought about curling up with you on his couch, the documentary playing on his tv as you focused intently on whatever information was being said, he would admire you, he would ache to pull you closer and kiss your smiling lips.

Then he remembered how kind you were. The memory was both a blessing and a curse because then he remembered that your acceptance was probably an acceptance from your kind heart and want to spend time with your friend, opposed to wanting to spend time with him.

You smiled at him sweetly again before you were rushing off to greet JJ and tell her about something silly or maybe talk about whatever the two of you did on the weekend. He knew you often went out with the girls of the team on weekends.

Those nights he would lay in bed and wonder what you were doing, what you were wearing, how your hair was done, if you were laughing at a strangers jokes — you probably were. He knew that because you laughed at everyone’s jokes.

if all the joy in the world was wrapped up into a bundle and forced upon a person — that person was you. Spencer didn’t know if he had ever seen you not smiling and honestly his heart ached for the day he would have to.

“Hey Spence?” His head turned instantly towards the sound of your voice, he looked around to see you on your tiptoes trying to reach a file from a top shelf. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. You didn’t need to say anything else before he was standing and walking over towards you.

He reached up, fingertips skimming along the files, “Which one do you need?” He asked gently, his eyes dipping away from the files to meet yours as you returned flat on your feet, a grateful smile on your lips, staring up at him.

“Um” You paused, eyebrows furrowing before a laugh left your lips, “The.. second one- I think” You paused before nodding.

He smiled “You think?” reaching up to pull out the second file nonetheless. He heard you sigh dramatically — he didn’t need to look at you to know you were smiling still, probably pushing hair behind your ear.

“Yes, I think.” You stated. He pulled out the file, handing it to you. You took it gently, flicking through it for a moment, your eyes dancing along the words on the page before nodding.

You scrunched up your nose a little when you looked back up at him. “— I thought right! Thank you Spence. You’re amazing and great and awesome” You rambled, flooding him with praise. He felt his cheeks warm at your never ending compliments despite how often you gave them. You constantly reminded him how amazing you thought he was — when he was doing the most minimal things.

He wanted to take it as a sign that maybe you felt the same way he did but then you’d flood someone else with the same praise and that flame of hope would dwindle down just as fast as it came alight.

“You’re welcome” He settled on as his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, your cheeks were a warm shade of pink and he wondered if that had anything to do with him rather than the fact the room was just a little bit warmer than normal.

You grinned and turned away. He followed as you walked back towards the desks. He sat down at his desk, swivelling his chair to face your desk. “I was thinking — if you wanted, this weekend we could watch that documentary at mine, my dog gets a bit excited around new people but he could stay outside if it makes you more comfortable— Oh and theres a new take away shop near my house if you wanted to get dinner” You rambled about your plan’s absentmindedly as you looked over the case.

Spencer felt his heart pull for a number of reasons, one because he didn’t even know you had a dog. He couldn’t help but wonder if everyone else did and this was just a piece of information he had missed out on. Secondly, at the fact you were serious about watching the documentary with him. You actually wanted to.

He had partly assumed you had just agreed because you were kind and didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and it would just be plans you two never really followed through with. He should’ve known better — because it was you.

“You don’t have plans with the girls?” He asked, eyebrows pinched together because he could clearly remember this morning hearing you and Emily talk about where you guys would go this weekend.

You let out a gentle laugh, shaking your head. “Im making plans with you actually. I go out with them every weekend, I’m sure they will survive without me for one.” You smiled sweetly at him, and his heart felt like it was being clenched by someones tight hand.

He tried to hide the fact his cheeks had turned an ugly shade of pink, and that his eyes had blinked away from your captivating gaze for a moment. “That- Yeah- Yeah. That would, thats fine. Your dog is fine. We can get dinner.” He stammered out, because apparently your kindness took away his ability to think straight. Although he knew that already.

“Great!” You smiled. Suddenly Spencer hoped this week would go fast. He turned his gaze back to yours as a question weighed on his tongue, a wonder.

“What type of dog do you have?” He asked, his tone laced with curiosity as he watched you reorganise your desk. How you were smiling while doing something so mundane had his stomach filling with an ache of longing.

You raised your eyes back to his, a gasp of excitement leaving your lips at the opportunity to talk about your dog. “A golden retriever!!” You said, before going into a ramble about your dog.

He grinned as he listened to every word. He couldn’t help but think, a golden retriever. That was so fitting.

What Spencer wasn’t expecting at the end of the week, was a book sitting on his desk. The book wasn’t the surprising part. It was the pink sticky note and what it had written on it that sparked his curiosity.

‘I read this last week and I know romance novels aren’t usually your style but I thought of you. Its annotated. The key is on the back. Have the greatest night <3’

You had already left for the night after dropping everyone’s weekly small gift off around their desks and waving goodbye. Spencer knew you left a little earlier than anyone else to get the bus. You knew how to drive, you had a car. When he had asked you why you got the bus everyday you had told him you just enjoyed people watching.

He constantly worried about what may happen with the dangers of public transport and with how kind you were — well you would be an easy target. How could he tell you that he worried about you when you gave him the sweetest reasoning in the world? How could he tell you he worried without pouring his heart out to you.

Spencer went home that night and in bed he read the book you had gifted him — you were right, romance novels weren’t necessarily his favourite but it didn’t stop him from reading it with just as much interest because it was you that recommended it.

His eyes danced along the key on the back for your annotation. Pink was things you found sweet, green was moments you found interesting, yellow was things that moments that made you sad. — that one made Spencer’s lips pull into a tug because how dare anything make someone so sweet so sad?

But what really caught his interest was the blue. ‘things i want you to know’ It made him wonder what things in this book could possibly be something you wanted him to know.

When reading, he came across many colours and lines highlighted, most in pink and green, a few in yellow, but there was only one part highlighted in blue, it was lines in a conversation in the middle of a particularly mushy love confession between the two characters of the book.

‘You smile a lot.’ was highlighted in blue,

and then, “When you’re around, its hard not to’

Spencer didn’t know what it meant — thats not true. He knew what it meant, he knew what you were saying but he didn’t know what it meant about how you felt about him. His mind swirled with the possibility that you might feel something for him.

How it was possible that someone like you, could ever feel anything for someone like him had his mind in a frenzy.

That didn’t matter when Spencer finished the book and added it to the collection of items you had gifted him, he kept the sticky note and placed it back on the book. He looked over the collection — each gift partnered with the sticky note you had written when gifting them.

Spencer Reid loved you, and if he played any part in making you smile — That was enough for him.

[earlysunshines]

love at your door

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you wake up on the couch to find out that it’s actually not your couch and oh my god why is your hot neighbor sitting across from you watching tv???

warnings: sana is a FLIRT ; reader is a loser ; sana is a losersexual ; pacing is iffy but it’s bc i wanted it to be short ; alcohol ; anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread so prob spelling errors idk i wrote most on my phone

a/n: based off the time i got drunk and fell asleep in the wrong room… anyways my love for sana will NEVER DIE guess who’s BACK.

you wake up with a groan, face smushed against a cushion that's definitely not yours, and the first thing that hits you—aside from the dull pounding in your head—is the faint sound of a tv playing in the background. 

slowly, you crack your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. you finally realize you’re not in your room, and the couch you're sprawled out on… also not yours.

you sit up too quickly and regret it immediately, head spinning, the room around you momentarily blurred. but then it sharpens, and your heart nearly stops when you spot her. sana, your neighbor—your gorgeous, gorgeous neighbor that you’ve been eyeing since you moved in—sitting across from you on her armchair, completely unbothered with her legs tucked underneath her, eyes fixed on the tv but clearly aware you’re awake now. 

she’s holding a ceramic mug in one hand, and for some reason, that little detail makes everything so much worse.

because—how did you end up here?

you glance down at yourself and, of course, you’re still in your luigi costume from last night. the tight green tank top clings to you under the denim overalls (one strap purposely loose and falling off your shoulder because you’re desperate for attention in these trying times) which you had decided to wear in some ill-fated attempt to look “hot” while still committing to the theme. you had succeeded, at least you think, judging from the compliments you vaguely remember through the drunken haze of the halloween party. but now, under sana’s gaze, you suddenly feel a lot less confident about it.

“jesus christ,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to piece together what happened. “what—”

“morning sleepy,” sana says, finally looking over at you, lips curling into a small, amused smile. “you came stumbling in after the party. i figured it was safer to let you crash here than send you back to your place like that.”

this has to be a nightmare.

her voice is casual, like this isn’t completely mortifying for you. like this isn’t the exact scenario your sleep-deprived, engineering-major brain has dreamed up in countless fleeting moments when you’ve caught glimpses of her in the hallways (well, you figured you’d be in a less embarassing scene) but now it’s real, and your heart is thudding painfully loud in your chest, and you can’t decide if you want to disappear or if you never want to leave.

(the first option might be the smartest)

you clear your throat, pushing down the urge to bury your face in your hands. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t—i didn’t mean to crash here like that. i must’ve been drunk out of my mind i— fuck, nayeon, that bitch… im sorry my friends they’re—“

“don’t worry about it,” she waves off your apology, taking a sip from her mug, her gaze briefly dipping down to your outfit before flicking back to your face. “i never knew luigi could look this good.” she adds, a smirk playing on her face that renders you weak.

you feel heat rise to your face instantly, and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the aftermath of all the alcohol you consumed last night. her words hang in the air, teasing, but there’s something else in her tone that sends a jolt through you. something that makes you suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you feel, the snug fit of the tank top and the way her eyes had lingered on your exposed skin just for a second.

“uh—” you start, but your voice comes out strained, so you clear your throat again, scrambling for a response. “thank you…?”

she grins at your awkwardness, a soft, almost mischievous smile that only adds to the rising tension in the room. “you’re welcome.”

you force a laugh, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin tingle. “right, well… thanks for, uh, taking care of me. and not letting me do something even more embarrassing.”

“more embarrassing than this?” sana raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. she gestures toward your outfit with a nod, and you can’t help but huff a laugh this time, the tension breaking just a little.

“point taken,” you mutter, swinging your legs off the couch to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to hit. sana’s on her feet in a second, steadying you with a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm.

“easy,” she murmurs, and you freeze, suddenly way too aware of how close she is. her hand lingers just a second too long, and when she finally lets go, you feel like you can breathe again—but it doesn’t stop your pulse from racing.

her eyes dart down to the base of your neck and the intensity of her gaze is amplified.

“quite a hickey, huh?”

“what?” you had to be drunk drunk. you can’t recall anything about kissing girls, you’re not the type to be like that when under the influence. “that’s— i can’t even remember.”

“had fun, didn’t you?” sana looks back into your eyes, making you shrink despite her smaller frame. you feel sorry, you want to apologize for something you can’t even remember—you have no clue why. she’s just your neighbor. she’s the neighbor down the hall that greeted you kindly when you had moved in to town. the same neighbor that you had to blink multiple times at before realizing she’s not a fairytale princess that’s creeped out of the books.

you glance at the door, needing an escape, even though a very large part of you doesn’t want to leave just yet. but standing in her living room in yesterday’s clothes with your head still buzzing is doing nothing for your nerves.

“i should, uh, probably go,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the door.

sana steps back, giving you space, but her expression shifts into something playful as she watches you. “right. but hey—if you ever need a place to crash again, my couch is always open.”

you blink, not sure if she’s joking or if there’s more to that offer. but before you can overthink it, you nod, mumbling a quick, “thanks, i’ll keep that in mind,” before heading for the door.

and just as you’re about to step out, sana calls after you, her voice teasing, warm. “hey, luigi.”

you pause, turning to look at her.

she leans casually against the doorframe, eyes glinting with that same playfulness, and she gives you a slow, once-over before her lips curve into a smirk. “seriously. never knew luigi could be this hot.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and all you can do is laugh, a nervous, breathless sound, before quickly slipping out the door, your mind buzzing as you head back to your place.

sana always caught your eye, but now… now you’re pretty sure you’re never going to stop thinking about her.

—

the whole day you’re quite literally losing your mind. as soon as you crash onto your bed when you get back home, you cringe at how much of an idiot you are, and at the fact that you accepted every single drink handed to you by nayeon.

and then the next day, you’re still replaying the entire morning in your head—how sana’s words lingered, the way her eyes had flickered over you with that teasing smile. it’s been driving you to distraction all day. you couldn’t focus during class, barely heard a word your professor said, and by the time your last lecture ends, you’ve come to a decision.

you’re going to do something about it.

(you’re undeniably an idiot, but everyone in your circle knows that anyway.)

so after class, you stop by the small flower shop near campus. it’s not something you’d typically do—flowers and chocolate, that’s so cliché, right? but somehow it feels like the right move. sana had caught you completely off guard yesterday, and maybe it’s time you do the same.

you have a small conversation with the florist, who recommends her favorite assortment of tulips. you don’t want to do too much, so you settle with yellow tulips, their petals delicate and bright. simple, but thoughtful (you hope).

next, you pick out a small box of chocolates, nothing fancy but enough to show you’ve put some real thought into this. because somehow, leaving things the way they were feels unfinished.

you can’t possibly just leave it like that, you can’t have the only real memory and meaningful interaction between you and sana consist of you flat out drunk and at a loss for words.

you’re already a loser as it is, and especially when sana is around—whether that’s when you two both end up at the mailbox together, with you losing the ability to speak when she simply smiles and compliments you; and also the simple greetings when you two arrive at around the same time on wednesday’s and thursdays (not that you take note of it—you definitely do). 

when you get home, you scribble out a short note on a small card:

hi sana,  

thanks for letting me crash on your couch yesterday. i’m really, really sorry. 

here’s a little something as a thank you. hope you like tulips.

and chocolate.

– luigi 

you read it over twice, fighting the nervous energy bubbling up inside you. it’s playful, casual, but maybe—hopefully—it’ll make her smile. you take the flowers, chocolates, and the note, placing everything neatly in a small brown paper bag before heading down the hall.

when you reach her doorstep, your heart is pounding. you place the bag gently on the ground, adjusting the flowers one last time so they look perfect. then, you take a deep breath and knock, firm but quick, before spinning on your heel and rushing back to your own place.

you barely make it through the door before the nerves fully hit. your heart races, and you lean back against the door, letting out a heavy breath. what if she doesn’t like it? what if it’s too much?

but before your thoughts spiral too far, you hear the faint sound of her door opening down the hall, followed by the quiet shuffle of her picking up the bag.

there’s silence for a bit before you hear the door close again, earning a sigh of relief.

if your friends were to find out literally everything that had happened in the span of less than forty-eight hours, they’d tease you until you had to move out again.

—

the next night, you’re at your desk, buried in the engineering assignment youve been given that same day. something about fluid dynamics, a dense problem set that has you scribbling equations and checking graphs on your laptop. it’s not exactly easy to focus—your mind keeps wandering back to sana, the flowers, the chocolates, and really just everything about her. every time you think about her, a small smile tugs at your lips, despite the headache that’s building from the workload.

then, out of nowhere, you hear a knock at the door.

you blink, glancing at the clock. you’re not expecting anyone, and for a second, you wonder if you imagined it. but when the knock repeats, you push your chair back, setting aside your notes. still a little distracted by the assignment, you take your time getting up, stretching briefly before finally heading to the door.

when you open it, there’s no one there. just silence, the hallway empty. but as you glance down, you spot something on the floor—a folded piece of paper. your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but grin as you bend down to pick it up, already knowing who it’s from.

you unfold the note, and sana’s handwriting greets you:

so, you’re kinda cute even in that luigi costume—i couldn’t stop thinking about you

(i think you’re cute in uniform and not) 

though i have to ask—what’s with the hickey? did luigi have a little too much fun?  ;)

anyway, i liked the flowers. i liked the chocolates too. 

but i think i like the person giving them more.

you should come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. i mean, you weren’t that shy the other night ;)  

– sana <3

your face heats up instantly as you read the hickey line, hand instinctively reaching to touch your neck. there’s no way, right? you don’t remember—

then it hits you. fuck. it wasn’t a hickey. nayeon had bullied you about how you ran into something that night at her party, some broom? wall? maybe momo elbowed you? or something. you’re not the type to just fuck random girls, not when you’re loyal to your neighbor that you utter maybe three sentences a week to if you’re lucky. but the thought of what had happened that night isn’t even important because now your mind’s racing, thinking about how sana’s teasing you. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you all giddy and nervous.

you reread the note, feeling that familiar nervous excitement grow. come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. your pulse picks up. there’s no way you’re saying no to that.

without bothering to change out of your hoodie and sweats, you grab your keys, locking the door behind you as you head down the hall. your heart’s still racing, and your mind’s swirling with a mix of nerves and anticipation as you stop in front of sana’s door.

when she opens it, she’s standing there with that same playful smirk—sultry, seductive, and somehow so cute at the same time. her eyes gleam like she already knows exactly what’s going through your mind. 

"took you long enough," she says, stepping aside to let you in, her voice warm, teasing. "for a second, i thought you’d be too shy to show up."

you huff a laugh, shaking your head as you walk inside, glancing around her apartment again. “i’m– i’m not.” it sounds unconvincing, but the woman in front of you thinks it’s adorable.

she quirks a brow, then smiles at that, closing the door behind you. "good to know." she says, handing you a small glass of wine and suddenly everything is a little bit too intimate. 

the two of you end up sitting on her couch, the tv still softly playing in the background like it had been the other morning. the conversation flows easily—there’s that natural comfort between you now, even with the teasing tension that lingers under the surface.

she talks about herself and you talk about yourself too, piquing both your interests. small talk grows into something bigger and you two enjoy the newfound information you’re both learning about each other. you’re breaking the ice, maybe easing into the cold waters in comparison to splashing into it.

“so, about that hickey,” she says, leaning back into the couch, her grin widening as she glances pointedly at your neck. her leg crosses over the other and she holds the glass in her hand near her lips, a small smirk tugging at one corner. “i’m just saying, it looks a little suspicious.”

you roll your eyes, your face heating up again. “it’s not a hickey. i swear.”

“uh-huh,” she teases, clearly not letting it go. “sure it’s not.”

“apparently i hit a broom or wall—something like that.” you shake your head, laughing lightly, but there’s an undeniable pull between you two. 

the way she looks at you, the way her smile lingers a little too long, and the way her knee brushes against yours every now and then—you have to hold yourself back from saying and doing a lot of things. it’s in the way her voice lowers when she speaks, soft and reeling.

you spend the next hour just talking, laughing, sharing random stories about classes, her teasing you about your engineering homework, and you teasing her back about her terrible taste in tv shows. every time she smiles or laughs, it feels like a small victory, something you want to keep chasing. and every time you speak her eyes are in deep contact with yours, spiking your heartrate without fail.

eventually, the conversation lulls, and there’s a moment of quiet where she looks at you, her eyes softening just slightly. “you know,” she murmurs, “i’m really glad you came over. this… was nice.”

“yeah,” you say, smiling back, your heart racing in your chest. “it was.”

“i always thought you were really cute,” she says before sipping on her white wine, “but i’m not a chaser.”

“is that right?”

“unless you count me responding to your apology, then yes.”

you laugh, setting the empty glass down. 

“well,” you begin, biting your lip. “i like to pursue.”

“quite forward isn’t it?”

“you invited me over for wine, it doesn’t get more forward than what you’ve brought to the table.”

“is that so?” sana hums, tilting her head. she bites the inside of her lip, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “i think it can get more forward.”

your breath hitches in the slightest and you can tell sana’s noticed when she lets out that signature chuckle. 

“well, i think it’s time to end the night. you were working on assignments prior, no?” you frown at the suggestion.

“i— yeah, you’re right.” 

there’s a knowing smile on her lips, but you ignore it and stand up with her as she walks you to her door. 

“i had a great time pretty girl,” she puts her hand on your forearm while saying it, her touch burning your skin. “hopefully we can be much more forward next time.”

you laugh. “i like the sound of that.”

“mhm, goodnight.” she says, grinning at you before meekly closing her door.

you purse your lips before walking down the hall and reaching your door. your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it and head in, feeling a sense of regret.

…

sana hears a knock at her door ten minutes later, turning off the sink and drying her hands before walking over to see what’s up. 

the moment the door opens and sana sees you standing there, the look on her face is priceless.

“what—” she starts, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused, but before she can finish, you step forward, your hand reaching out to grab her forearm gently. you pull her just a little closer, your heart pounding as you look at her.

“i want to be more forward,” you admit, voice low, the question hanging in the space between you.

for a second, she just stares at you, wide-eyed, before a soft laugh escapes her. she gets it now. “oh, we’re moving pretty fast, aren’t we?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “take me out to dinner.”

you grin, and she hesitates for a beat, but then she nods, and it’s enough—enough to send your pulse racing, enough for you to lean in. before you can close the distance, though, her hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the base of your neck, and you feel her shiver as she touches you.

“you say that like,” you pause, observing the surprise and allure in her features. “like you didn’t eye-fuck me the other night.”

her cheeks flush as her fingers linger on your skin, and you catch the way she bites her lip, trying to hide her own smile. you don’t wait any longer.

you lean in and meet her lips with yours, melting into it just as she does. 

it starts soft, just a gentle press of your lips against hers, but it quickly deepens as sana lets out a quiet, surprised sound that turns into something more—something she’s clearly enjoying a little too much. her hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and the way she kisses you back sends a thrill through you.

before you know it, she’s dragging you inside, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other guiding you back toward the couch. the door closes behind you, but you barely notice, too focused on the way her lips move against yours.

when you finally pull back for air, she’s breathless, grinning like she’s just won something. “you should’ve been this forward earlier,” she teases, her thumb brushing against the side of your neck.

“yeah?” you ask, a little breathless yourself, but you can’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” she murmurs, eyes flickering down to your lips before she leans in again, kissing you slower this time, savoring it. sana is a great kisser, the type of kisser that leaves you wanting more and more. after a moment, she pulls back, just enough to whisper, “maybe you should stay a little longer.”

you can’t help but laugh softly. “you sure you can handle that?”

“please,” she says, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous look. “you weren’t that shy the other night.”

“well i was drunk and—“

before you can even finish your response, she’s kissing you again, and this time, you’re more than happy to let her pull you even closer.

[afterglowsainz]

Lando Norris and 6!

something about him is made for somebody like me | lando norris

song; the boy is mine - ariana grande

a/n: anon let me tell you right now your mind is immaculate because i had a fic based on this exact song about lando but i didn’t ended up posting it howeverrrr i always had the idea to do something like this and you just made it possible so thank you 😽

part of the spotify wrapped special

You were never one for having many crushes. In fact, you could count on one hand the number of guys you’d liked, and you’d still have fingers left over. But Lando Norris? My God. You didn’t know what it was about him, but you were convinced you were destined to be together. He was made for you.

Of course, your feelings for Lando were your little secret. Outwardly, you had no intention of showing just how smitten you were. But back at your apartment at night, you’d consult your tarot cards, asking when the time would come for things to start falling into place. If your friends could see you, they would definitely be confused. Since when did you make such an effort for a guy? But they wouldn’t understand—Lando wasn’t just any guy.

Sometimes, it felt like your efforts paid off, like when Lando smiled at you in the paddock or greeted you casually.

“Hi, y/n,” he’d say, always with that mischievous grin that was so undeniably his.

He never skipped a greeting—not even on the days he had some model-of-the-month on his arm—but it never went further than that. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

It started innocently enough. You lit a candle for him and wrote letters, asking the universe to make him notice you the way you noticed him. Then, you began engaging him in casual conversations at the paddock before ignoring him for a couple of days, only to flash him a radiant smile as if nothing had happened. Not long after, Lando started bringing you fruit in the mornings to your workstation. You smiled to yourself—he’d never done that before.

One day, after a tough qualifying session that left him starting P11, you handed him a quartz crystal, saying it was for good luck. The next day, he won the race. Another time, you mentioned you’d light a candle for him, and he landed pole position. Lando started looking forward to your tokens or words of encouragement each weekend. And when you didn’t give him anything? Something always went wrong.

He began depending on you, convinced you were his good luck charm.

It wasn’t witchcraft, really. He was already a great driver—you just gave him a little boost of confidence, and he did the rest. But now, not a day went by when Lando didn’t scan the paddock for you as soon as he arrived. He began to miss you when you weren’t around. The endless stream of women in his Instagram DMs no longer mattered; the only woman who held his attention was you, and you always seemed preoccupied with everyone else but him.

It wasn’t just about luck anymore. Lando wanted to be around you all the time.

What was this feeling? And why did everything suddenly smell like vanilla and coconut?

Lando frowned when he finally spotted you, laughing with Oscar. Since when were you two friends? And why were you laughing so hard? There was no way the Australian was that funny, he thought. Jealousy coursed through his veins, and he had to restrain himself from dragging you to the most secluded corner of the paddock. Instead, he walked over to Oscar and casually informed him that Andrea was looking for him, leaving you and Lando alone.

“I was actually looking for you,” the Brit said, his expression serious.

You had to suppress a smile as you looked at him—furrowed brow, clenched fists, flushed cheeks. He was jealous. Another step in your plan was working perfectly.

“Well, you found me,” you replied innocently, flashing him a sweet smile.

Lando gave you a lopsided grin, studying you. You looked so soft and sweet—he wondered how you’d look in his bed. If only he knew.

“Nothing for good luck today?” he murmured. The air between you grew warmer, and you felt your cheeks flush under his intense, yearning gaze.

“I forgot to bring something,” you replied nonchalantly. “But I could draw some cards tonight if that would help you feel more confident.”

Lando shook his head, his eyes fixed on your lips.

“You and your witchy ways. They’re going to be the death of me,” he said, stepping closer until his face was just inches from yours.

“I’m not a witch,” you defended yourself, because you weren't. To your knowledge, at least.

The scent of vanilla and coconut flooded his senses, and he nearly groaned. Lately, he smelled it all the time. It took him a moment to realize it was just your perfume. Witch or not, Lando was utterly bewitched by you.

“Maybe something else?” he murmured, circling back to his earlier question. “Just a taste,” he said, his gaze dropping to your lips, and you knew exactly what he meant.

You hid your smile, realizing you now held all the cards.

“Let’s do something,” you began. “Get pole position, and then I’ll see you in my room.”

He actually whined.

“Give me something now—for luck,” he pleaded.

You shook your head.

“After what I’ll do, you’re going to become world champion.”

You winked at him and Lando smirked mischievously, while you concealed your darkest desires behind your sweetest smile. The boy was finally yours.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Heating pads

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: Your good time in Portimao being interrupted by your endo flare up again.

Warnings: endometriosis, cramps, love and care, infertility and baby talk

A/N: Wrote this last night and I poured into it some of my personal experience with endo, more this time. Surgery worked a little for me, it gave me a three months without cramps. Every body is different, every treatment works differently for us. But we’re in this together, endo sisters!

For @amberjazmyn 🧡

Don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

The weather at Portimao circuit wasn’t so pleasant as it was nearing the end of the year. F1 season was long gone and Max was able to finally avert his attention to his other hobbies (not gonna mention it’s still racing, but for his kinda own team).

Meeting with all the people around Verstappen.com Racing was a great one, especially with Thierry Vermeulen, because he was so funny, but humble at the same time.

You were always amazed how Max was so good at handling his many duties and hobbies at the same time. He was a great mentor, passing his legacy and wisdom and you watched how his temper calmed down a little through the years.

It wasn’t long ago when you moved to his apartment at Monaco, making your relationship more official after three years of being there and nowhere, between your job and his races. One day you decided enough is enough and you didn’t want to face your life alone anymore. That stirred some rumours through his fan base and also your parents weren’t able to hold back in their questions about you two starting a family. Truth was that you and Max weren’t exactly against having children, but the main problem was your endometriosis. Severe pain episodes, ending in ER may times, being neglected by doctors, saying it’s only in your head and that you need to sleep it off. You thought, for so many years, that you’re just insane, but after Max got through one of your endo flare ups with you, he got you through many doctor appointments, to the best specialists in the field, where you finally heard your diagnosis.

The surgery date was set after the new year’s, when Max would be still around to help you get back on your feet and mend your wounds with his love and care. But to that date your body just decided that you need to suffer.

You stood in the garage, watching how Max talked with the engineers and Thierry about some issues, his yapping always getting more and more interesting, when you felt a cramp in your lower back. It wasn’t unusual, you always had similar, and you brushed it off as some kind of back pain, most likely from standing for too long.

Watching Max racing at the empty track was always fun, he gave it his all, enjoying his time and it made you genuinely smile. But now you were pale, your forehead getting a little sweaty, same as your whole body. Feeling the need to sit down, you understood immediately, when the pain shot through your abdomen, pooling at your right side, that stretching burning sensation ghosting to your lower back. Trying to play it cool, you swallowed hard, smiling at everybody around.

About two hours later, Max was done with the testing, leaving the car to Thierry and he went to look through some performance reports, when he spotted you sitting at the bench, having that weird expression on your face like you were trying so hard to hide something, but failing miserably.

“Hey, love.. are you okay?”

His hand went to your cheek and you quickly shot him a look full of pain. He knew that look, seeing it more frequently in past weeks.

“Come here.” Without further words, he grabbed your hand and led you through the corridors to your car outside, where you had your things. Sitting you in the backseat, he quickly went to the trunk, rummaging through his bag, coming back after a while with some packages.

“Max, it’s okay, I can manage it.” You tried to protest but he dismissed you.

“Let me take care of you, I’m prepared.” Sitting beside you at the backseat, he opened both packages, shaking the contents a little with an approving hum. Heating pads. Your eyes went wide with surprise, but then your face softened, your eyes nearly welled with tears.

Warming his hands with the pads a little, he carefully lifted up your hoodie along with your top, to get to your bare abdomen, placing one pad under the waistband of your pants and the other at your lower back. You were always taken aback, how he remembered the location of your pains, where it hurts the most. After he was sure he placed pads securely, he pulled down your top and hoodie.

“Does it feel good?” Cupping your cheek, he had a concern written all over his face and you just nodded. With soft hum, he wrapped his hands around you, getting you closer to his chest, holding you tight against him, making sure you’re comfortable.

“Thank you, Maxie..” your sweet murmur made him smile, your hands hugging his warm and huge body like a teddy bear, the heating pads bringing you comfort you needed.

“Anything for you, my love.. I would go to the end of the world if it meant for you to be in less pain.” Max kissed your temple softly, letting out a soft sigh.

“You’ve done so much for me in this case, I don’t know how I deserved this.”

“You deserve the world, darling. And those pains.. I would do anything to take it on myself instead of you. I hate to see you contorted by it. Packing those heating pads it’s less than I can do for you, to make it easier.”

“You really changed my life, Max.”

“Oh, baby. You changed mine. A lot. I wasn’t this happy like I am beside you. I never forget that moment you smiled at me at that coffee shop in London, because you absolutely stole my breath.”

You chuckled softly, but the slight shot of pain made you wince a little.

“Can you please rub my back a little? It helps also..”

Max just nodded, sneaking his hand under your top, his warm hand rubbing the heat into your skin slowly and gently, making you relax more.

“You know, when we bought this car back then, I thought that it will be different action we’ll be doing on the backseat..” his voice was laced with teasing, trying to make you smile.

“Well.. I thought so too, but I can’t even imagine doing it right now.”

“No, love, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re in discomfort and never in the right mind I would try to make a move on you like this.”

Max liked being intimate with you, your chemistry being something undeniable when you two got to bed, but he respected you and your body. He would rather not have sex with you for weeks than to cause you pain.

“I know, I know, sorry. But we can try after I’m healed from surgery. And there can be a little miracle after. Like we talked many times before. Little Verstappen tapping around.”

It was true happy smile he saw on your face in a while. His heart skipped a beat at the idea of having a baby with you.

“Sure, whatever makes you happy, love. And whatever doesn’t cause you pain.”

His soft lips kissing your nose in the most lovely way was something only you could see. To the world he was that unbeatable lion on the track, dominating champion. But with you he was a caring, loving boyfriend, who would die for you in every way possible.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 

And god, how he would fuck her… 

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear." 

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?" 

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty. 

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 

Mein.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…" 

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?" 

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

[joelsdagger]

talking body || one shot

joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | ao3 | tlou is created by a zionist and tlou2 is based on the Israeli occupation on Palestine, this article expands on that info. pls visit these links to help.

pairing: joel miller x curvy f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

word count: 7.5k (dear god)

summary:  joel doesn’t hesitate to show you just how crazy he is about you. content warnings: jackson era, canon divergent, established relationship, unspecified age gap, (joel is late 50’s/pushing 60 & reader is whatever age you like her to be), fatphobic/misogynistic comments from a male oc, mentions of body insecurities, a little bit of jealousy (from reader), [internal] angst (feelings of guilt & shame), reader wears a form–fitting dress, joel gets handsy, body worship, pet names (sweetheart, darlin’, baby, pretty girl), brief vaginal fingering, biting, body marking, praise kink, sprinkle of degradation, 1 pussy slap, dirty talk (or as kat put it; joel miller and that FUCKING MOUTH), oral sex (f receiving), mild ass play, unprotected piv, rough sex, spanking, multiple orgasms, possessive!joel, pussy pronouns, creampie, fluff, joel just being such a sweetheart but also an absolute menace UGH, game!joel or show!joel, reader is curvy and can be interpreted as being mid/plus sized, but other than that no other physical descriptions of reader and no use of y/n.

a/n:  this is completely self indulgent and i love doing shit out of spite so naturally i wrote this cuz of all the shit i’ve been seeing these past few weeks. also, this is me pushing the agenda that game!joel is a hips guy and show!joel is an ass guy, so i mixed a little bit of both in here bc i can. to everyone with thick thighs, squishy bellies, big tits, hip dips, and every thing in between i see you, i love you (so does joel), and he would fuck your brains out, he told me himself :3  thank you to my loves @skrunkly-scrimblo & @phoeberidgers for being my second and third eyes & helping my indecisive ass with the visuals (and for always putting up with me) ily both sm <3 | dividers by @saradika-graphics

oh! masterlist is coming in a few days (i’m sorry, i’ve been putting it off)

Joel’s still sitting at the table with Tommy and Maria when Dina cuts into your path as you approach the bar, you were getting refills for your table. Dina drags you along behind her to the open space where a few other Jackson residents are dancing, she points out that you still haven’t delivered on your promise to dance with her. You playfully roll your eyes as she tugs you along, you don’t really mind, you’re the type to drink and dance the night away whenever you and Joel joined your fellow Jackson residents at The Tipsy Bison, letting out all the stress and worries that had built up from days prior and tonight was one of those nights, you endured a long, shitty, fucking week. 

One dance had turned into two which turned into three and very quickly you felt the overwhelming sense of heat from the lights and the alcohol running through your system warming up your body an ungodly amount. It didn’t help that the short, tight dress you were wearing was beginning to ride up your thighs and the thin fabric on your stomach clinging to your sticky skin as sweat started to pool in places you didn’t quite like. 

You take advantage of the song coming to an end and spin out of the dance before someone ropes you back in, tugging the hemline of your dress down while you make your way to the bar to finally order refills for your table.  As you wait for the bartender to come out from the back, you turn around to watch the rest of Jackson’s residents while they drink, dance, and laugh through the night, a smile tugs on your lips as you briefly spot Dina now dragging Ellie to the small open space. You continue glancing over the room, it was busier than usual though still expected, gatherings during the fall and winter months tended to occur more often, the cold weather gives people a reason to spend more time indoors, alcohol and loud music helps keep bodies warm and memories faded away. Nights like these are needed in Jackson. 

Your gaze eventually lands on your table, seeing a tall, beautiful, dark-haired woman standing in front of Joel, you know exactly who it is…Esther. You’re not surprised, she’s been after Joel for years, completely disregarding your relationship with him. You don’t blame her, Joel’s one hell of a man but you can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach when you see a smile on his face as he cracks a laugh at her joke, she playfully smacks his arm in return and you avert your eyes to scan the crowd once again. 

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, Joel’s a gentleman, always polite and charming, he plays along as to not embarrass her. 

 So why does it bother you? 

You feel stupid, again you can’t blame her, but then your eyes trail down her body, she’s got a few years on you but she doesn’t look it. From what you can tell, her body has remained the same since the day you met her. 

Yours, on the other hand, has slightly changed to a noticeable degree, as you settled into Jackson as well as your relationship with Joel. Your breasts spill over the cups of a few older bras, you have a softer tummy that protrudes out in form–fitting clothes like right now and your thighs and ass fill your jeans out a bit more. It’s a dull feeling now, not really paying it any mind anymore, you were more aware of it at first, but occasionally, moments like this remind you of the changes in your body. 

His body has deliciously changed with age; his hair now suitably silver, though the gray patches of hair spanning across his chest and down his belly don’t quite match the hair on his scalp.  When he lifts his arms just enough his soft belly peeks out, perfectly protruding just above the waistband of his jeans. He’s insecure about it, his age more apparent when you’re beside him, not that he’d ever really admit that to you, but you picked up on it pretty quickly when he started opting for loose fitting button downs and jeans, but he clearly still has an effect on women. 

With you it’s just….different. 

Feeling the heat of a stare on you and knowing who it’s from, you glance back at Joel, your gaze landing on his face again, you can see his face more clearly now, Esther’s still talking to him, yet his attention isn’t on her, his eyes are trained on you and you’re met with an expression of hunger on his face. His eyes steadily rake down your body, feasting on the tight material clinging to your sticky skin, they pause and for a fleeting moment he fixates on your exposed thighs, his eyes trail back up to your chest, and as he lifts up the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing to his mouth, you catch his tongue poke out to lick his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a long sip of his whiskey. 

The faint buzz from the alcohol emboldens you and you wink back at him. 

No longer giving those feelings a second thought you turn back around and try to wave down the bartender. 

“Another round, please.” 

“Sure thing, sweets.”

He turns away to grab your drinks, your ears perk up when you hear someone say your name, you turn your head towards the voice, noticing a few men sitting at the edge of the bar. You recognize one of them, a younger man, who happened to be your old patrol partner and your last fling.

Naturally, you eavesdrop on their conversation. Matt’s back is to you when you hear it. 

“She’s not in her prime, you should’ve seen her a few years ago,” he sneers.

His words pierce through you, you know exactly what he’s getting at, it stings even when you know it shouldn’t, it festers.

A man you’re not familiar with, probably the newbie, stands further away, he opens his mouth to speak but you can’t hear what he’s saying, the music is too loud and you have to fight the urge to look directly at him so you can read his lips, but he says something that earns a few snickers out of the men surrounding him. 

The shame coils and pulls taut in your stomach, twisting, pulling, scraping so tight it makes you dizzy and nauseous.

You don’t even realize your drinks had been placed on the bartop in front of you, Matt’s irritating voice cuts in and holds your attention, “Can’t believe a man like Joel is still with her. No real man can fuck women who look like that and enjoy it,” he says simply. 

The shame turns to rage and your blood boils, you feel your cheeks heating up as anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, the blinding rage looms over you and your feet move without thinking. You begin to step forward but for the second time that night your movements are interrupted, you hear her voice before she’s in front of you. 

“You ditched us to grab drinks and yet we never got them,” Maria teases.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” you look away from the group of men and back at Maria, flashing her a smile, a little forced.  

“Figured. Joel’s been eyeing you while you were dancing, I told him to join you but we both know he prefers admiring you,” she says, redrawing your attention by tilting her head into your line of sight.  

She beckons you with a jerk of her head, “C’mon, your man gets grumpy when you’re away,” she says with a comforting smile. As the two of you grab the whiskey filled glasses, she hooks her arm through yours and walks you back to the table. 

Joel pulls open your chair next to him, you sit down and silently hand him his whiskey, the anger fizzling out as soon as you’re beside him though the knot of shame still tight in the pit of your stomach. He senses something is off immediately, your behavior wildly different than twenty or so minutes before. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says as he watches you intently. 

“Mhm.”

You nod, shooting him a glance before averting your eyes back to a small group of residents dancing. 

Tommy turns his head to ask Maria about the new patrol schedules for the upcoming week, Joel sees it as a window of opportunity, a distraction, so he throws his arm around you and tucks you into his side, just enough for you to smell the whiskey on him, he settles his palm on your stomach, his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your belly through your tight dress, “You okay, darlin’?” he whispers, his whiskey–warm breath against your ear.

“Yup. Just tired,” you say dismissively, trying to keep your voice light, hoping it doesn’t sound as pinched as your throat feels. You press a chaste kiss to the flecks of silver on his temple, attempting to sooth his worries, while internally trying to convince yourself that you’re not giving those assholes too much power over their words, even though you have, it gnaws at you so much it makes your bones itch beneath your skin. 

He catches the deceit in your voice but he drops the subject, knowing not to pry in this moment, “Alright, we'll finish these and head home,” he kisses your forehead before he turns his attention back towards the conversation. 

—

Joel kept on his word, the two of you leaving the gathering once you knocked back the rest of your drinks. However, finishing off your drinks meant the two of you were in a tipsy state and Joel’s insatiable when he’s got alcohol buzzing in his system. As soon as he closes the bedroom door behind him, he instantly pins you up against the door and presses his lips to yours, his mouth swallowing yours while his hands run greedily all over your body, grabbing and squeezing every part of you.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he says while he nuzzles his head in the deep groove of your cleavage, he nips lightly before leaving open–mouthed kisses to the exposed skin, his big hands come up to cup your breasts, your nipples peaked and hard beneath the thin fabrics of your dress and your bra.

“Fuck–” your whimper is cut off when Joel drags his lips back up to connect with yours, you hum as you taste his flavour, all oak and masculine and campfire like with a hint of spice from the whiskey.  He moans as he licks his tongue into your mouth, one hand squeezes the weight of your breast while the other glides around to your back, pulling you closer. Joel always gets like this after a few drinks; it’s always heady, needy, sloppy like it is now. He kisses you with so much want and desire it makes your brain all foggy and your skin flare, forgetting the moment that threw off your mood.

That is until Joel’s hands make their way down your front, palming your tummy softly, one hand reaches under the hem of your short dress to cup your mound and the memory claws its way back to the surface, Matt’s words echo in your mind. 

You tear your lips away from his and plaster on a tight smile, knowing your eyes will give you away, you stare at the scar across his nose, “Not tonight, baby,” you whisper, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek and tucking a silver curl behind his ear. 

Though Joel Miller, as always, is on high alert, always studying the people around him, it’s all he’s ever known in his role of a protector. He learnt and memorized all your tells within weeks of knowing you, he doesn’t need to see your eyes to catch on, he senses the hint of sadness in the hushed tone of your voice, the same one he clocked earlier at The Tipsy Bison, he knows you’re holding back. 

“Alright, sweetheart, what’s on your mind?”

You brush past him, walking away and sitting on the bed, “Nothing, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you say a little too hurriedly, your voice too syrupy-sweet. That’s the third thing that’s tipped him off tonight. He follows you tentatively, sitting beside you placing his hands on your knees and guiding you to face him. 

He assesses your face and sighs, “We’re not gonna do that. You’ve been real quiet and distant most of the night. Darlin’, talk to me,” he hooks a finger underneath your chin and gently tilts your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. 

You shrug heavily, feeling stupid for letting their words sour your mood, but worse for thinking the same about yourself, when you should be grateful. Living, breathing, existing is a privilege, one that not everyone gets, something you and Joel are too familiar with, yet here you are letting dumb comments from even dumber men upset you. The same knot in your stomach from earlier pulls taut once again.

You rip your eyes away from Joel’s, not able to bring yourself to face the troubled look in his eyes. “It's just embarrassing, and I’m ashamed that I let things still get to me,” you admit defeatedly, your voice barely audible. 

“Baby,” he tugs gently on your chin again, “Look at me,” he murmured. 

You blink up at him, forcing yourself to look at him, tears pricking in your eyes when you see the worry line appearing in between his brows and the hues of concern in his eyes once again. He reaches up to gently cradle your face, the contact sends you over the edge and a tear cascades down your cheek, his calloused thumb swipes it away, the turmoil clear as day in his eyes, you hate that you’re the reason for the pained expression on his face. 

“Tell me,” he implored, his voice pinched as he spoke. 

You can feel the walls of your throat constricting and the rapid thump of your pulse right below your jaw as you swallow tightly. Just hearing the hurt in his voice should stop you, should make you drop the whole thing. You think about leaving Matt’s name out of it, just by mentioning that Matt was the one reaffirming your deep-seated insecurities will upset him alone, Joel’s hated the guy since the day he found out you fucked him but leaving his name out of it feels like you're protecting him. 

That coupled with the look of worry on his face, knowing his compulsive need to do right by you but he can’t if you don’t let him, coaxes you to tell him everything.  

Biting the bullet and bracing yourself for impact, you take a deep breath.  

“You know that guy, Matt, that I used to….” you trail off quietly, biting your lip.

His lips downturn into a soft frown and yet he doesn’t respond, just gives you a firm nod. 

You avoid his gaze, picking at the loose skin around your nail, Joel notices and grabs your hands in his. Your eyes stay transfixed on your lap, you sigh deeply, “He said, a man like you shouldn’t be with someone like me, said he doesn’t know how you can fuck me and enjoy it,” another tear spills down your cheek, recounting each of his words feels like hard punches to the gut.  “And then seeing Esther hitting on you again, even though everyone knows we’re together–I know I shouldn’t let it get to me but I can’t help how I feel sometimes,” your voice quavering as you ramble admittedly.

You peer up at him under watery lashes and for a second you can practically see him fighting the urge of storming out of the house and heading back to The Tipsy Bison to find the bastard, you can see it in the flash of anger that spreads across his features, in the twitch of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils as he takes in a sharp breath.   

Instead, he exhales, “Darlin’, there ain’t nothing wrong with you,” he dips his head down so his eyes meet yours, you shrug again. 

“Stop that. You’re perfect honey,” you can hear the sincerity in his voice as he runs his hand along your upper thighs, now exposed as your dress rolled up from your position on the bed.

“I get it darlin’, hell one good look in the mirror n’ I wonder how a pretty thing like yourself could want an old man like me,” he huffs a quiet chuckle. 

You shake your head immediately, “Joel–”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay if you need remindin’,” he interjects you, “I have no problem remindin’ you,” he asserts softly, his fingers still tracing up and down your thigh. 

You frown, “I know you don’t Joel, it’s just,” you sigh a shuddering breath, feeling that familiar pang of guilt in your chest, now regretting opening up to him. The heavy stones of guilt and shame weighing you down, threatening to swallow you whole. The last thing he needed was you burdening him with your insecurities, you know him, he’ll dwell on this for days to come, checking in when he feels you pulling away.

“Lemme show you, baby,” he says while softly grabbing your hands, prying them away from your middle. 

“No, Joel–” you began to protest. 

“Need to see my beautiful girl,” he encourages you gently, his hands roam down and pause right below the hem of your dress but he awaits your permission. 

You nod softly and lie back against the headboard, you watch his face as he carefully and slowly grabs at the skirt of your dress, shoving up the soft, red material over your waist, revealing your soft, pillowy silhouette.

He hovers over you as he takes his time palming the slopes of your curves, his big hands grab two handfuls of your breasts and squeezes them tightly, lifting the weight of them up and dropping his head down to nip at each breast, then letting them fall and marveling at the bounce of your tits. His hands find your hips, he’s sliding down the bed, just enough so his head is level with your middle, he dips his head down and presses his lips to the soft flesh, his teeth sink into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, you involuntarily let out a soft moan. 

He grips your hips more firmly, almost like you’ll disappear before him if he doesn’t, he moves his lips to your other hip and nips at your skin, “My sexy girl, fuckin’ can’t get enough of you,” he says lowly, his breath hot against your skin, you whimper softly as both of your hands find the nape of his neck. His mouth moves to the soft swell of your tummy and he nips at the supple skin right above your belly button, the coarse scruff tickles your skin and you can’t help the giggle it elicits from you. 

He pulls away and peers up at you, eyes dark and full of lust, his mouth hovers over yours, “You drive me crazy, you know that, baby?” He whispers fervently against your lips, his fingers squeezing the meat of your thighs.  

Your glassy eyes meet his as your hand comes up to cup his cheek, “I’m pretty crazy about you too, handsome,” you whisper, his cheeks flush pink at your words, still so bashful. He kisses the heel of your palm before patting the side of your thigh, “Turn around for me sweetheart, go on, all fours, need to see all of you,” he smirks, his eyes full of intensity as they drag down your body. 

You do as he asks and move to the middle of the bed, flipping onto your knees and walking your hands out in front of you, arching your back slightly and hiking your up ass in front of him, he moans at the sight. “Good girl,” he praises softly behind you and your pussy throbs, a familiar sticky heat pools in your panties at his words. You playfully take a glance back at him, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he sits up and moves to his knees behind you, his hands run up the backs of your thighs all the way up until they meet the globe of your ass and he whistles lowly. 

“Look at you, so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmurs, oggling the curve of your ass as his index finger sneaks under the lace trim of your panties, taking the material between his forefinger and his thumb and lightly skimming his fingers down the lace, “N’all for me.” 

His fingers roam down to your covered slit and you let out a soft gasp, which only spurs him on, he runs his fingers along the wet spot on your panties, smirking when he feels the wetness staining your panties, the tips of his fingers dip below your clothed slit,  “There's my girl. Always so fuckin’ wet for me, huh?” You hum softly in response. 

The tip of his middle finger pushes past your outer lips and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the whimper you let out. You’re already so wet, you’re always so wet and willing for him. It should embarrass you, how easy you are for him but it doesn't because it’s him and knowing how much he revels in this, in you makes that small pinch of embarrassment fade away instantly…every single time.  

You risk a look at him over your shoulder as he pulls his finger back out and in one swift movement he puts his finger between his lips, quickly sucking your arousal off his finger, like it’s a mindless, habitual thing for him, like he’s sneaking a taste of his meal before he digs into it. His hands reach for the waistband sitting on your hips, pulling the lacy fabric down, marveling at the dark fabric against your skin as he slowly drags the material down your thighs, his eyes catch the opaque wetness soaking the lace while he pulls them down and he moans shamelessly. 

Your eyes widen while you watch him bunch up the material and shove the lace in his back pocket and then his hand lands an affectionate smack to your ass, “Eyes forward, sweetheart.” You tear your eyes away as he brings a firm hand to the small of your back, pressing you down and deepening the arch to his liking, you instinctively drop to your forearms– so pliant and needy for him–he brings his mouth down and sinks his teeth into the lush of your ass in approval.  

His hands grab your inner thighs, spreading your legs, now he has full sight of your glistening core, two thick fingers stroke through your folds, “Look at that, she’s so pretty baby. She’s droolin’ down your pretty legs,” his voice low and deep. 

His words make your pussy throb, you can’t help the whine you let out, “Joel, please.” 

“Please what, pretty girl, use your words,” he commands, his fingers still languidly messaging through your puffy lips, smearing your arousal all over his fingers.   

“I need you, please do anything, please,” you mewl, not caring how pathetic you sound. 

But still, not enough for Joel. A loud wet smack fills the room as he lays a firm slap to your cunt, your body flinches forward, the edges of your vision blurs and your aching, swollen cunt tingles and clenches at the harsh, yet welcomed contact.

He tuts, “You want my cock that bad, baby, I wanna hear you say it.” 

Bastard. 

“Joel please, I want your cock. I want it,” you whine and writhe beneath his firm palm.

“Okay, alright, baby, s’all I wanted to hear,” he cooes, his slick-coated fingers now soothing your folds. “I just need to taste her first,” he shifts behind you, sliding down off the bed, his knees creaking as he kneels on the floor, he pulls you back towards the edge of the bed by your thighs. He tilts his head up just enough to dig his teeth into the meat of your upper thigh, just below the curve of your ass cheek and soothes the sting with a wet kiss. 

You shiver, you’re aching for him and his mouth is everywhere except for where you need him to be. 

Joel’s hands come up to grab the meat of your ass, spreading you open and gently pushing you forward for better access, he brings his mouth to hungrily kiss your inner thighs, tasting the sweet, sticky slick coating your skin and a pitiful moan slips from your lips. 

Joel seems to have heard it and that’s all it takes for his lips to make contact with your pussy, your breath hitches in your throat as he flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow swipe through your slicked folds, the first one always drawn out and meticulous and just for him. 

You push your hips back into his face causing the tip of his nose to nuzzle into your asshole, you feel him hum in approval at your entrance. Suddenly, nothing else matters; the thick fog of insecurity, the crippling shame and guilt sitting heavy in your chest; it all melts away as a fresh wave of sensation courses through you by the warmth of his mouth on your cunt. 

This was always his favorite part, seeking pleasure in you because it brings you pleasure, always doing what makes you feel good. To spread you open before him, having a perfect view of your alluring holes in front of him, just begging for him to devour away (and fill you up). He can spend hours on his knees between your legs and he has, slipping further and further elsewhere as he indulges in you, his lips relishing away at the altar in your hips.  

A pressure already begins to pull taut low in your belly, you’re squirming in his grasp but his hands move to firmly grip your outer thighs, keeping you open for him and pressed flush against his eager mouth. He doesn’t go easy on you like he usually does. He fucking laves at you, devouring and savouring you like he’d never get the chance again. The vibrations from occasional muffled moans and groans against your pussy make you chant his name over and over like a prayer, even though he’s the one on his knees.

You can feel him push his tongue into your hole, fucking you with it, then he moves to swirl the tip of his tongue tightly against your puffy clit, “Oh god, Joel, fuck,” you moan out, your eyes roll back into your head as the coil inside your belly wounds up so tight every muscle in your body tenses. You start grinding your hips back into his face, he groans in response and loosens his grip on your legs, letting you take what you need from him. 

He flattens his tongue against your clit before he closes his lips around it, suckling it into his mouth and moaning around it, the vibrations from his mouth makes the coil in your belly snap, and you cry out, using the sheets beneath you to stifle the noises slipping through your lips.

With his mouth still latched onto your throbbing cunt, he keeps going. 

“Fuck, Joel, I can’t–” it’s too much and you’re too weak, a trembling mess on the mattress, so you attempt to close your legs but the strong grip he has on your thighs doesn’t allow you to move, it only goads him further. 

He licks a thick, languid stripe through your heat all the way up until his tongue prods at the tight ring of muscle, again, your legs threaten to close but the firm grip of his hands keeps you wide open for him, he swirls his tongue in a tight circle around your puckered rim, “Joel–” your gasp is cut off by his white, hot mouth taking its place right back on your clit, not giving you any time to recover.

The tip of his tongue works small, tight circles on your clit around and around, only this time with more pressure than before and within minutes or seconds–you don’t really know at this point–you feel the pressure building in your belly and it’s growing stronger by every lick and suck from his mouth. His tongue flicks over your clit before he licks it into his mouth once more, closing his lips tightly, he gives it one last tight circle of his tongue and suckle to your clit and you break, your second orgasm crashes over you.

A choked moan escapes you, your legs quiver as they threaten to close while your hands fist the sheets beside your head, the grip he has on your thighs holds you open for him while you come all over his mouth and he laps you up, savoring, slurping, and swallowing down everything you give him. 

Milliseconds pass and he shifts behind you, lost in the haze of your orgasm, you can faintly hear the popping of his knees coupled with a grunt behind you as he stands up. He leans forward, kneading your ass in his palms before bending down to lay another bite on your other cheek, this time with more fervor, leaving a mark, your skin tingles.   

Joel positions himself right against your ass and places his hands on your hips again and squeezes, “I love all of ya, baby, but this right here,” he grips more firmly at the flesh on your hips again, “Fuck– these kill me,” he mumbles, almost entirely to himself. 

“Joel, please, I need you inside me,” you beg and shiver in his grasp. 

He stays quiet behind you, too enticed by the sight of your weeping pussy in front of him. You think you can hear the metallic clink of his belt as it drops to the floor and the buzz of the zipper of his jeans coming undone, the sounds make you clench around emptiness, Joel catches sight of it, a lustful groan slips out of him, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. You’re always so needy, so eager to be full of him and he’ll never get enough of it. 

He keeps one hand on your ass, the other wrapped around his cock as he swipes it once through your folds, wetting his dick with your arousal, earning a quiet whimper from you at the sudden contact. He draws his hips back slightly and finally notches the wide head of his cock into with your awaiting hole, groaning in unison as his tip stretches you open, “Christ, always so fuckin’ tight,” spitting through his teeth.

His other hand moves to your hip to hold you in place as he sinks into you with one languid, long thrust, sliding himself in as deep as he can, he feels his tip hit resistance and his breath hitches in his throat, he stills for a moment, enthralled at the sight of his cock nestled in at the very end of you, completely bottomed out in your dripping cunt, “Fuck–there you go, pussy’s suckin’ me right in, sweetheart. This perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he grits as the grip he has on your hips tightens, his fingertips digging into the soft tenderness of your hips. 

One of his hands sneaks its way to your front and he grabs your breast beneath the neckline of your dress, he kneads it and pinches your nipple between his calloused fingers, then he pulls the neckline down along with your bra, freeing your breasts from the constricting cups, he palms them roughly before leaving them to sway, all bare and heavy, “Look so goddamn perfect bent over for me like this, I wanted to fuck you in this slutty dress all night, fuckin’ couldn’t get it outta my head,” he pants heavily, his hand returns to grip your hip as he begins rocking his hips forward, “Drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby.” 

You curse lowly as you shift to deepen the arch in your back–you need to feel him closer–you straighten your arms out in front of you, your hands latch on to the edge of the mattress, your chest now pressed to your thighs and hiking your ass higher in the air for him, changing the angle as your body folds in on itself and earning a low groan from Joel, a sound that rumbles deep in his throat, “Sweet Jesus, that’s good, just like that baby, always so good f’me,” he’s babbling under his breath. The palm of his other hand finds the small of your back, “Tell me how it feels,” Joel grits, his voice thick and breathy as his thrusts pick up the pace.

“F–feels so good, Joel,” you sob, and it’s true, every time feels like the first time even after all these years; he had bent you over, pressed his large hand between your shoulder blades, kicked apart your legs with his knees and when his hand found the base of your neck, he pressed your face into the wooden floorboards and stretched you open, fucking you with ruthless abandon, using your body to get himself off, dulling the agonizing memories and unspeakable horrors that had forced his hand. His unforgiving pace, your face scraping along the hardwood floor, his brutal thrusts that kept your cunt sore for days on end, none of that mattered to you, in a way you were using him too, your insides just desperate and aching to be filled and all you could do was take it, your body completely succumbing to him and accepting his girth, ‘s like you were made for me, his breath hot and heavy as the words buzzed in the shell of your ear. 

His deep voice breaks through the loop of ecstasy, redrawing your attention to the moment, “Takin’ my cock so well, this pussy’s so fuckin’ good, she’s so good to me,” he grits, both of his hands now keeping a bruising grip on your hips as he drives your hips back to meet his, pulling you back onto his cock, the slapping of his hips against the plush of your ass echoes loudly in the room. You press your face into the sheets as your moans grow louder while he drives his cock in and out of you, “Those men…’f they had a woman like you…fuck–they don’t deserve that,”  Joel rambles gruffly in between his harsh, unrelenting thrusts, “We’ll show ‘em how a real man fucks his girl, I’ll fuckin’ show ‘em, I’ll show ‘em.” 

Oh god. Sparks ignite a fire that roils low in your belly, you’ll never get used to how talkative he is while he loses himself in you.

“Oh–fuck, Joel, don’t stop, don’t stop,” your words come out choked, the flow of air to your lungs suspended as he punches himself into you, your fingers dig into the mattress in attempt to anchor yourself.  

“I know, baby, I know, just take it,” he hisses through his teeth. “This tight pussy only made to take my cock, ain’t that right?” 

His words are swallowed up by the obscene squelches of your cunt as it grips his cock while he slams into you. When he doesn’t get a response from you he lands a firm slap to your ass, this time with more force, your skin tingles beneath his hand, “Yes, Joel—fuck—yes–yes,” you moan breathlessly, completely lost in a dizzying haze of pleasure. 

“‘S’right, she’s mine, all fuckin’ mine,” Joel snarls, his thrusts grow more aggressive, you fist the sheets beneath you–the possessiveness in his words, the firm grip on your hips pulling you back to fuck you onto his cock–slowly, you can feel the fire in your belly making its way to curl around the base of your spine.

He tightens his grip on your hips once again, you can feel his fingernails digging into your soft skin, you crane your neck to peer behind you, spotting the small indents beneath his fingertips forming on your hips, leaving more evidence of himself on your body. You know they’ll be there in the morning. A low, breathy moan slips between your lips at the thought. Your hooded eyes flicker up to his face, he looks wrecked; his gray curls cling to his forehead as a sheen of sweat covers his skin, his cheeks flushed a shade of cherry red that extends down to his neck and tanned chest, his pupils are blown out so wide they’re almost black, locked in on his length going in and out of your drippy cunt. His eyes flicker up to watch the ripple of your ass as he pummels his cock into you and it drives him over the edge. 

You didn’t think he could get more relentless, yet somehow he does. 

He releases the firm grip he has on your hips and slides his hands to your ass cheeks, he glides his hands over the curve of your ass and again, he brings one palm down in a harsh slap, you make a muffled sound against the sheets. His fingers span over the globe of your ass, palming your ass cheeks and grabbing them tightly, squeezing the tender flesh, he groans loudly as he pulls them apart further, splitting you open even more for him, fucking you deeper, all you can do is whimper into the mattress. 

“Goddamn, you’re perfect, so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasps, his chest heaves as ragged, throaty moans escape him. Unable to stop himself, he squeezes down on your ass cheeks with more vigor as he unravels and pounds into you relentlessly, his thrusts brutal against you and the tip of his cock now punching your cervix. 

You clench around him, a sign that you're close, and he reaches around your front, he presses his fingers into your very sensitive, very swollen clit and starts rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, bringing you to the edge of your release. 

The lick of heat sneaks its way up your spine, dispersing itself along your nerves, setting your skin on fire, “Shit, Joel, m’gonna come,” you gasp, your voice all cracked and your breath ragged, unable to breathe as your lungs search desperately for respite, a low static buzz begins to ring in your ears. 

Somewhere distant in the endless loop of euphoric haze you hear his voice, deep and rough, “Come for me, need to feel this slutty pussy come on my cock.” A high-pitched moan spills from your lips, your eyes slip closed as your walls flutter and gush around him, your clit sore and throbbing beneath his fingers, your body convulsing in aftershocks as your orgasm erupts and smothers you entirely.

“There you go, attagirl, my perfect girl, comin’ all over my cock,” he talks you through the trance of your pleasure. Your pussy clenches down around his length again, bringing him to his own release and he pants, “Baby, need you to turn over—shit, m’gonna–” 

In an attempt to bring yourself up on your shaky arms, you push your hips back into his, Joel hisses through his teeth in response. His hands fly to your hips, steadying himself–shitshitshit–he loses his rhythm as his own orgasm rips right through him, his thick cock pulsing and spasming inside your messy, used cunt, his frame shuddering behind you as he spills inside you. You reach an arm back behind you, grasping onto a hand that’s glued to your hip, his fingers intertwine with yours without hesitation, desperately grounding himself as he groans painfully, long and drawn out while he fucks the last of his seed into the deepest parts of you, filling you to the brim. 

His entire form gives out, falling forward over you, pressing his entire weight into yours, the two of you collapse onto the bed, he drops his forehead, damp with sweat, to your back as his body goes limp over you. He exhales heavily, his warm breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine, he presses a tender kiss to the nape of your neck while his hands find your hips again, quivering as he pulls his sensitive cock out of your wasted pussy with a loud grunt, earning a lewd, wet sound once he completely pulls his length out.  

Joel sits up and leans back, his hands grab your legs keeping you spread open for him, he gawks at the flutter and clench of your leaking hole as his white milky spend drools out of you and he groans, “Oh fuck me, that’s a pretty sight right there, my girl’s fucked all full o’me.” 

“Shut up,” you huff a quiet laugh and shut your legs, he lays a playful slap to your ass, eliciting a tiny squeal from you. Joel stands up and strides off to the bathroom while you crawl up the bed, laying your head against the pillows, the sound of running water in the background as your eyes slip closed, sinking into the blissful haze of the afterglow.

You feel his presence returning, he wraps his hands around your knees and pulls apart your legs, spreading you wide once more and he freezes, “Fuck,” you hear him groan above you. You open your eyes, hazy and hooded, to find him standing between your legs with nothing on but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants, no underwear, a wet rag in hand, mesmerized by the slow flow of his cum dribbling out of your hole.   

He’s completely forgotten what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. 

“Do you need me to do it,” you tease with a small smile, a devious glint in your eyes as you look up at him. 

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, “Keep bein’ smart with me n’ I’ll stuff that pretty mouth of yours,” he quips. 

You grin at him while he drags the damp cloth through your swollen sex. He taps the side of your arm lightly and you sit up, his hands grab at the material bunched around your waistline, as you lift your arms up in the air, he pulls the fabric over your head and your body shimmies its way out of it. His eyes never leave yours as his large hands reach around your back to unhook your bra, pulling the straps from your shoulders, leaving you bare as he scrunches up your clothes and the messy rag soaked in your combined releases and returns to the bathroom. You lie back down again and slip beneath the covers, the back of your head resting on one of his pillows.

Joel saunters back into the room, “Scoot,” he motions with his hand and you do, he slides in beside you and pulls the blankets up to cover your middle. As expected, he tugs you closer to him, tucking you into his side, you instantly hoist one of your legs over the top of his strong thighs, one of your hands rests over his chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart beneath your hand.

As the thick haze fades, your lips part, your voice barely above a whisper, “Thank you,” your fingers gliding over the patch of gray hair spanning across his chest, following the trail down the soft swell of his belly while his fingers softly trace down the slope of your side, fingertips following the curve of your body beneath the blankets. 

He presses his lips to the top of your head and he whispers, “I’ll fuck you like that every night f’it means showin’ you how fuckin’ perfect you are.” 

Your lips twitch, a hint of a smirk on your face as you press your face into his chest and hum, “Just admit you’re a dirty old man, will you?” 

Joel laughs lightly but doesn’t deny it, he peers down at you with nothing but adoration and a genuine smile, “Never said I wasn’t, baby, n’ don’t act like you don’t love it.”

‘I do, and I love you,” you bring your hand up to scratch his gray beard before tilting your head up to his and press an open mouthed kiss to his lips, tasting the flavor of your pussy on his tongue, you hum into his mouth, all dazed and content. 

“I love you, honey,” his other hand drags gently along the crown of your head, his thumb resting on your cheek, stroking it as he brushes his nose along your cheek. You can feel his lips turn up into a smile against your skin, “Maybe, I need to get ourselves some rings, that oughta keep ‘em away.”

You smack him lightly on his chest, “You think you’re real funny don’t you?” 

He laughs, loud and deep, his perfect soft, pudgy belly jiggling beneath your knee, his fingers grazing down your back, “M’just sayin’, s’an option.” 

You chuckle. “Whatever you say, Miller.” 

thanks for reading xx