#but I just wanted to get this out there before the day is over

[gojosprettyprincess]

˖ ࣪⭑ BEING NEEDY AND WAKING TOJI AT NIGHT <3

Tw - slight somno in the beginning, kinda mean toji. Not proofread as always.

It’s what, 1 in the morning? And he’s suddenly jolted awake, panting. His broad chest is glistening with sweat and his eyes are all blurry and tired. He had to go to bed earlier than usual because he has to be up around 4 am to get a head start on his new mission in the morning.

But you’ve been abruptly woken up from a wet dream— needy, aching, and desperate for some relief that only Toji could grant you. Your fingers moved instinctively, teasing your clit and dipping them in your drooling hole, searching for that familiar wave of pleasure but it just wasn’t enough.

It didn’t feel nearly as good as when Toji’s cock is stretching you open and ruining you. But then you remembered he was lying right there beside you so why not???

He lets out a deep groan from the feeling of your cunt suddenly fluttering around him as you sink down on his length. Your warm, wet cunt squeezing him in a way that yanks him out of his half-asleep state. His brow furrows together, lips parting as he grunts, still surprised and dazed.

“The fuck…?” His voice is hoarse, thick with exhaustion but there’s no real bite to it— just confusion as his calloused hands instinctively find your hips, holding you firmly in place. His fingers twitch like he’s debating whether to stop you or help you.

“Toji”, you whine softly, slowly rolling your hips. Your hands rest on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your fingertips. “Need you so bad”.

He sighs, head lolling back against the pillow. “You gotta be kiddin’ me”, he mutters, voice still laced with sleep. He’s so fucking tired. He should be scolding you and flipping you over, making you wait till morning like a bratty slut like you deserve. But the way your tight little cunt clenches around him, sucking him in deeper, quickly made his body betray him. His fat cock twitches inside you, growing fully hard and stiff despite his obvious exhaustion.

“Fucking horny slut”, he grunts, rubbing a rough palm down his face before roughly gripping your hip. His other hand slides up your plushy thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Can’t even let me sleep in peace, huh?”.

You swiftly shake your head, biting your lips and bracing your hands against his big chest as you rock against him, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.

“M’sorry, I tried” you admit breathlessly, cheeks flushed. “But my fingers weren’t enough”.

Toji exhales sharply through his nose. You’re gonna fucking kill him one day, he swears. He slides a hand up your back, forcefully pressing you down against his muscular chest, making you gasp as your nipples graze against his warm skin frictionally.

“Greedy fucking thing” he murmurs, lips brushing against your temple. “You wanna get fucked that bad huh? How bout you do the work then”.

His hands leave your hips as he leans back, resting his arms behind his head like he’s getting comfortable. A smirk tugs at his lips despite the sleepiness in his eyes.

“Go on, baby. Ride me since you’re so fucking eager.”

You wanted to protest, whine like a baby, and tell him he’s being too mean but yet you're rolling your hips on top of him— bouncing slowly at first, dragging his thick cock in and out of your soaked pussy, savoring the delicious stretch that’s he’s creating.

He lowly hisses, sharp jaw clenching as he watches you use him for your own pleasure as if he’s a fucking human dildo. Your little whimpers had his veiny cock pulsing inside you because of how cute you sound.

But soon, your desperation takes over. You grind down harder and faster. Your pathetic moans growing louder as you shamelessly chase your high. Toji watches through hooded eyes, groaning low in his throat.

“Tch. Look at you,” he rasps, gripping your waist when you start to tremble and your thrusts get sloppy. “So fucking dumb and desperate. Can’t even wait till morning for some fucking cock”.

You let out a choked moan as he suddenly thrusts up into your hole, meeting your sloppy movements. The force knocks the air from your lungs, your fingers involuntarily digging into his pecs.

“Toji—!”

He grins lazily, voice thick with amusement and lust. “Shit, if you’re gonna fucking wake me up dead at night like this, might as well make it worth it for myself, right?”.

And that’s all it takes, his exhaustion is suddenly forgotten as he grabs the fat of your ass, fucking up into you with fast, deep strokes that have you seeing stars.

Your moans grow louder, pitchy, and more desperate as Toji's thrusts overpower yours. The punishing abuse of his mean cock bullying your hole has tears welling up in your eyes from how intense it is. He’s dragging his shaft along your compressed walls in a way that has you trembling.

Your fingers claw at his chest. Legs shaking as you struggle to try to keep up.

“You wanted this so fucking badly, yeah?” he taunts. “Fucking yourself on my cock like some needy little whore while I’m sleeping— now look at you”.

You whimper, trying to move your hips faster but his grip tightens on your waist, holding you still. A low whine leaves your lips, frustration bubbling up when you realize he’s stopped letting you move altogether.

“Tojiii” you mewl, trying to push against his firm hold.

“What?” he mockingly drawls, smirking up at you menacingly, eyes heavy-lidded. “Something wrong?”.

You huff in frustration, glaring down at him with annoyance. “Let me move,” you demand, squirming in his tight grasp.

Toji purposely clicks his tongue, eyes darkening as his smirk widens. “Oh, so now you think you’re the fucking one in charge here, huh? Do I need to remind you of your place? Slut”.

Before you can even respond, he’s manhandling you onto your back in one swift motion, knocking the breath from your lungs. A gasp rips from your throat as he presses you into the mattress, slotting himself between your trembling legs. His heavy cock is still buried deep inside you, and the new angle has you crying out.

“You woke me up”, he irritatedly mutters, pressing his full weight down on you, completely trapping you beneath him. “Dragged me outta a damn good sleep cause you can’t stop fucking thinking about dick.” His tone is low, almost scolding as his lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

His big hand wraps around your throat— not squeezing, just resting there. Seems to be his reminder of who’s in control. His other hand grips your thigh, hiking it up higher around his waist before he pulls his hips back and rudely slams into you in a harsh motion.

A choked sob leaves your lips as he sets a brutal pace, fucking into you with deep, deliberate thrusts. His cock stretches you open, hitting that spot inside you that has your toes curling against his huge back.

“Toji— fuck, s’too much”.

“Oh, so now it’s too much?” he scoffs, his grip on your throat tightening just slightly, enough to have your head spinning. “That’s funny, ‘cause a minute ago you couldn’t get enough. So needy and desperate to have your pussy stuffed and fucked like some horny bitch in heat. What happened, baby?”.

You’re barely able to answer, your mind going hazy from the way he’s cruelly pounding into you. From the way his lengthy cock drags and throbs along your sensitive walls, making you a pathetic mess beneath him.

“You wanna act like a spoiled little brat?” he growls, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Fine. But you don’t get to tap out on me now.”

He reaches between you, long fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles that make you jolt and quiver beneath him. Your body’s already overwhelmed, teetering on the edge and oh he knows it.

“That’s it”, he mutters, watching your face contort in pleasure. “Cum for me, baby. Cum on my cock like the fucking slut you are”.

His words pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tenses as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls squeezing his cock in rhythmic little pulses. You sob his name, gripping his beefy arms, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure flows through you.

Toji groans at the warm feeling, his brutal thrusts growing sloppier as he quickly chases his own release. He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, loudly panting. “Fuck— gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna make sure you remember who this pretty fucking pussy belongs to”.

With one last deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he spills everything inside you. His warm seed completely flooding your overstimulated walls. He stays there for a moment, catching his breath before he finally pulls out, watching the way his milky cum slowly drips out from your swollen, used cunt.

You’re completely gone, body trembling, eyes hazy and filled with lust. Toji chuckles at your fucked out state, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. He always takes pleasure seeing you like this, knowing that he’s the reason why.

“Next time”, he murmurs, brushing his fingers through your messy hair to move them away from your face, “wake your old man up at a decent hour, yeah?”.

But even as he says that he’s already pulling you close, letting you bury your warm face in his chest. His rough hand rubbing slow circles on your back as you both drift off once again because despite all his old man grumbling, you both know he’d definitely let you do it again.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[hungharrington]

show-time

request: i cannot stop thinking about asking steve if he ever got himself off to you before you got together. he’d be so blushy and sheepish about it but man it’d be fun to watch him squirm 🤤

2.1k words, established relationship, masturbation (steve), gn!reader, MDNI this entire blog is 18+

It’s a universally awkward experience to have a sex-scene come on in a movie. Unless one’s watching it alone, of course.

You are not. Cuddled in behind you, cushioning you against his chest, Steve lounges, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Sure, in terms of awkwardness-rankings, watching this with your boyfriend who you also have sex with isn’t as bad as, like, watching with parents.

But still. You kinda can’t tell if you should be watching or averting your eyes — and you don’t want to peek over your shoulder to figure out what Steve’s doing.

The man in the film grunts, his hand in his pants jerking furiously, his eyes fixed on a polaroid of the film’s love interest.

You squint—surely this is stretching the truth a bit?

Yeah, yeah, guys jerk off, you know that - this isn’t your first day on earth.

You just didn’t think it would be like, romantic style. People in movies kiss in the rain and run through airports, so they’re hardly known for being grounded in reality.

The man in the film groans lewdly and you feel Steve shift slightly behind you, his fingers looped around your middle twitching.

Did he-? When you-? You suppose you’ve never really thought about it.

You’re asking before you can second guess yourself.

“Did you do this?”

Steve’s attention switches idly from the screen to you as you crane your neck to look back at him. His brows pinch together.

“Did I do what?” He asks, doting brown eyes searching your face.

You fluster a bit. This is certainly moving you up through the awkwardness rankings. But now it’s in your head —now you’ve said it — you can’t turn back.

The thought of it blazes hotly through your mind.

Steve, all those months ago, still just crushing on you, but never quite making a move. He’d told you, whispered his secret, when you’d finally gotten the nerve to ask him to be your boyfriend officially, that he’d been sweet on you far longer than you knew.

But the image of it is what has you interested. You imagine Steve, his fist stuffed into his tight jeans, working himself over and biting his fist to hide his moans, at the mere thought of you.

You’d had plenty of long, late night conversations on the phone before officially getting together.

The thought of if he’d ever touched himself while you talked, none the wiser on the other end, wanders into your mind — and your stomach clenches hotly at the thought.

Clearing your throat, you tip your head towards the screen.

“Like, before we got together?”

It takes Steve another glance at the screen to realise what you’re asking. A simmering, pink colour crawls up his neck and in a moment, you go from feeling awkward to feeling downright devious.

Steve clears his throat, his eyes darting rapidly back and forth from the screen to your face. “Uh, I- I mean, why do you ask?”

A coy smile curls at your mouth. “I wanna know how accurate it is.”

Steve stares down at you, the pink now creeping up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. God, he looks delectable like this.

Is this how he looked when he did it too? Blushy and embarrassed to commit such a filthy act thinking of someone that wasn’t his? A hot buzz drizzles through your core, fringed with endearment.

Steve licks his lips nervously. His hands on your stomach stiffen and then relax. The film plays on in the background. His expression shifts towards something sheepish.

“It’s — I, uh, well, yes.” He stammers. “It’s accurate, yes.”

“How many times?”

Steve’s eyes narrow, but his face gets redder. “What is this, an interrogation now?”

You giggle, drinking in his evidently embarrassed state. The confirmation of him doing it solidifies the perfect image of him in your mind, your own film-scene imagining Steve in the same position as the character on screen. In real life, Steve moves his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt.

“I’m just… enjoying the idea of it.” You muse.

“Uh huh,” Steve says, tongue jammed into the side of his cheek. “Not just—” He fumbles for his words. “Just enjoying seeing me, I don’t know, like—”

His words trail off and his head tips back with a groan, exposing the delicious expanse of his throat. It begs you for kisses and love bites. He moves both hands up to cover his face.

You wait til he pulls them away to nod. “Absolutely, baby. Watching you squirm is far more interesting than this film.”

In the background, the man on screen gives a pornographic shout as he finishes in his pants. Steve manages to turn redder, even if he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

“But I’m just,” You huff and pout. “Put out, I guess. You did all that for me and I didn’t even get to see it.”

At the exact same time, you watch as Steve’s pupils dilate, blowing out in obvious lust, and something pressed against your back thickens up.

Steve, to his credit, only makes one strained noise which he immediately smothers with a cough. You feel his hips twitch beneath you and make a quick decision, confidence built on the sweltering heat of Steve’s face.

You push forward and up, then quickly turn, slotting your knees across either side of Steve’s thighs, perching atop them nicely.

You’re not outright in his lap—there’s room between the two of you for what you hope will happen.

It takes Steve another long moment to catch your drift.

“Wait, you want-?” He inhales sharply. You can see the twitch of his cock through his loose sweatpants. “To see?”

“To watch,” You clarify, smiling almost mischievously. “Yeah.”

Then just to check, “Is that okay?”

Steve’s breath shudders out of him but he’s nodding before the question is completely out of your mouth.

“H-Here?” He checks. You nod, resting your hands atop your thighs to show you don’t plan on using them. Steve’s hungry eyes scan you up and down, the tent in his pants pitching up in arousal.

“Just show me how you did it,” You murmur, words on the side of sultry. Your own excitement, that faint thrum of pleasure, has already started to pool low in your gut.

“Yeah, but I normally don’t have an audience for it,” Steve mumbles, his left-hand reaching for the drawstrings of his sweats.

They come undone with a simple tug. Steve stretches the elastic out a bit and then slips his hand in.

You know the moment his large hand settles around his cock from the flutter of his lashes, the soft groan that curls out his throat, rough and sweet all at once.

This… This is new. You usually don’t get such a focused look at Steve’s pleasure, at the little shifts in his expression, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to pay proper attention. Getting this much detail sends a delicious throb between your thighs. You hardly want to blink.

Steve’s hand moves slow to begin with, slow, gentle strokes to get himself properly warmed up.

After a moment, he draws his hand back and some part of you worries he’s too weirded out now. But he only brings it up, to his mouth, and you realise what he’s doing.

Quickly stealing his hand, Steve’s eyes widen as you let spit drop from your lips and pool in his palm. Another soft, jagged noise drags from his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” He murmurs, more to himself. “This is not what it’s like when it’s just me, this is, like, ten fucking times hotter.”

His hand sneaks back into his sweatpants but this time when he grips his cock, the reaction this time is immediate.

Steve moans, louder this time, his eyes crushing closed and his hand starts moving faster. With the help of your spit, it doesn’t take long before you can hear it, the slick sounds of him fucking his cock desperately.

His head tips back against the couch and a piece of hair flops over, into his eyes.

You reach out and brush it to the side and Steve’s eyes crease open at the same time a whine threads through his moans.

“Fuck,” He grunts. He sinks in teeth into his bottom lip, his eyes desperately roaming your face. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.”

“That what you thought bout?”

You’re impressed with yourself for the cool, calm demeanour you’re portraying. Steve nods, the motion a little wild, his hand still making those lewd, wet noises.

“Uh huh,” His voice shakes a little. “Just, fuck, dunno, like, your face and-uh-what y-you’d sound like.”

Your eyes glitter with interest, ego raring at the devotion your boyfriend is spilling out.

“What I’d sound like?”

“Y-Yeah,” Steve stammers, his breathing heavy. “Like, doing this.”

Now that’s a picture; Steve jerking off to the thought of you, hot and bothered with your hand between your thighs. You give a breathy gasp without meaning to.

Steve hears it, groaning louder as he quickens his pace. You sort of want to reach forward and ruck up his shirt, so you can see the glorious clench of his stomach as he rolls his hips up into his warm hand.

“Can I see more?” You ask tentatively. “Please?”

This time, it’s more like a whimper that creeps out of Steve’s throat.

“Oh my god,” Steve mumbles through a stilted moan. “Jesus Christ. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

He swallows heavily, his free hand reaching down to push at his waistband. You help, lifting up to help tug the fabric out of the way.

Obstructions removed, your mouth salivates. Steve’s cock is pretty — and it looks that much more enticing when it’s worked up, pink and the tip of it leaking all over his hand.

Steve’s a fucking vision. His head still lolled back, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His throat, dotted with moles, crawling with pinkness. His big, veiny hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it steadily.

You think about how much you’d like the lick the trail of hair on his tummy, down, down, down.

“You seem close,” You say and it earns you a reedy whimper in response. “Is it- does it normally happen this fast?”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve whispers back. His eyes are closed and after a moment, you realise he’s trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly, even as his hand doesn’t slow. “I—ngh— n-normally don’t have such good, ah, material. My imagination is— is not this good.”

You’re equal parts flattered and flustered, heat twinging in your gut.

“Can— can I?” Steve whimpers out suddenly.

The question nearly throws you. You almost say Can you what? when the meaning of it douses you in fire.

He’s asking permission.

Oh, that does something to you.

“Yeah, Stevie,” You say, voice lilting closer to a coo. “I wanna see it, please.”

Something shifts in his motions, changing gear as Steve’s hand suddenly starts moving in smaller, tighter strokes, just over the head of his cock. His head tucks forward, his eyes scrunched closed, and he’s whimpers out, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It only takes a few seconds, the whine in Steve’s voice pitching higher and higher, until something gives.

His hips take over, something desperate and primal shoving them up, his thrusts rapid and frantic. His hand doesn’t stop moving, not even as his cock starts to leak out ropes of cum, shooting out enough to cover the back of his knuckles. It joins your spit to rub slick against his cock.

He keens pitifully. For one long minute, you listen to Steve’s breathy whines get softer and softer, watch his desperate thrusts abate til an overstimulated shiver wracks through his body. Then, and only then, does he collapse back, sinking into the couch.

He’s a bit ruined, truthfully.

And you’ve soaked through your panties.

“You’re welcome,” You croak, throat dry. His hair is back in his eyes and lean forward, tenderly brushing it out of the way. You leave your hand there, cupping the side of his face, and Steve leans into it, still panting.

“What?” He asks.

“You were thanking me,” You point out cheekily.

Steve’s face plunges back to that scarlet colour you’re beginning to adore most ardently. He turns his face further to hide away in the palm of your hands.

“Shut up,” He mumbles.

“So you don’t wanna do that again?” You tease.

Steve pulls back and eyes you. “Now, hang on, I didn’t say that…”

[fairyhaos]

❖ kiss your heart // xu minghao

minghao x f!reader, 1.1k+ words

tags: established relationship, both xmh + yn are RICH rich, fluff, kissing, marriage/proposal talks, minghao is literally so in love omfg

warnings: pet names (angel, sweetheart)

notes: literally me rambling about rich + devoted minghao with absolutely no direction planned and i think it's super obvious HELPP but it does not matter !! ur honor i luv these 2 theyre so sassy smitten and it devastates me

“you’re actually the worst person i’ve ever met.”

you glare at your boyfriend as he gets out of the driver’s seat, walks around the front of the parked car and opens your door for you. he’s still smiling that faintly smug smile that’s been on his stupidly handsome face ever since you left the restaurant, and you hate it.

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.” 

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten. 

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery

[iimplicitt]

hiii 🤠 anon here

how do you feel about writing for mafia lando where he’s married to the reader who’s not his choice it’s basically an arrangement and his family hates her and she’s having a really hard time in his house and Lando doesn’t notice and he’s cold and one day her family causes her to have a panic attack and he sees her in his room all small and scared and then he helps her and makes her a feel better and etc something about a heated confession and people being put in their place. if you do write this thank you :)

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY | LN4

pairings: mafia! lando x arranged marriage reader

an/warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions of abusive parents, angst, panic attacks, fluff, hea

wc: 5.2k

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the sleek back car roll up in the long drive way from his office. Windows tinted but he could make out the faint outline of a person as they moved around before Oscar got out of the car to open the door for its passenger.

His new wife.

The words tasted sour on his tongue as he drank some of his whiskey, not caring that it was nine in the morning. He needed a pick-me-up for the day that was ahead.

Gleaming hair caught in the sunlight, a delicate hand with a blinding diamond hesitantly taking Oscar’s as red bottom Louis’ met the pavement.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched you, mere curiosity to see how you acted when he wasn’t around. When the wedding happened it was short and extravagant. All the glitz and glamour expected of such a pair. A politician's daughter and a booming business man whose money usually came tinted red. A shame that most of the world didn’t know your fathers money was just as dirty as his.

It was an alliance in London’s eyes. A step towards peace.

He hadn’t even seen you until the white lace veil was lifted.

You were pretty but that wasn’t enough to suddenly sway his mind into liking the whole arrangement. He didn’t have much choice. Having coppers on a payroll was a deal too good to pass up, so he agreed. Shook hands. It hadn’t mattered much, not in the long run. Lando was always busy. Always working. If a marriage hadn’t been forced upon him, he didn’t think he would’ve ever had a ring on his finger.

He watched silently as you waited for Oscar to grab your bags. Your eyes flickering around the property, taking in the well kept gardens and security cameras mounted every few yards. A fortress.

His eyes took in the dress you wore, expensive silk draped over skin. Flowing like liquid in the subtle summer breeze. He took note of how your hand kept flexing, the one with a ring. His ring.

The one he had slid on your finger a week ago as he whispered, “I do.” Your own voice low as you muttered the vow, eyes not meeting his.

He could barely remember what the kiss had been like. It was quick, soft. Obligatory. Both of you seemed relieved it was over with, arms linked with one another as you left the cathedral. White flower petals falling into hair as they were tossed into the sky.

Lando set his tumbler down and backed away from the window, trying to take a calming breath before walking downstairs. He needed to make this livable. An ecosystem. Staying out of each other's way, respecting boundaries. Telling where and what was off bounds. If you needed help, ask Oscar. If you wanted someone to talk to, also ask Oscar. Leave him be, because he was busy.

You seemed reasonable enough in the few minutes of shared company. You knew this was a business transaction. It wasn’t something to get hopes up on. Lando knew you were smart enough not to be a burden so hopefully it would feel like nothing had changed. Just an extra person in the household. Another echoing voice.

He could hear the sharp click of your heels as you entered the front foyer, the soft sound of your voice as you spoke in hushed tones. Your whole presence seemed cautious. Like you were treading in a minefield.

As he stepped down the stairs and into the light, your eyes met. The air shifting. Tense. Dangerous. Your painted lips pressed into a line as you waited for instruction. Ever obedient. Compliance being woven into you as a child.

He had met your father on more than one occasion and he knew he wasn’t a kind man.

But the problems of your past were yours.

Lando sighed lightly through his nose, head tilting and hands in pockets as he let himself look at you for another moment before dismissing Oscar.

The foyer was still. The only thing he could hear was the faint hum of electricity and birds outside. Watching you as you watched him.

“Nice drive?” He asked, not quite sure on the formalities of the situation.

You laughed slightly, the sound coming out in a short exhale as you looked away from him. “It was fine.”

He hummed, not seeing a point in furthering the conversation and he gestured for you to follow him.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The summer had gone by in a repetition of droning days and lonely dinners. The only thing keeping you company were the few books you packed, although you had already read through them all. An endless cycle of talking to the walls and sitting near your window, feeling like a modern day Rapunzel.

It’s not necessarily like you weren’t allowed to go anywhere, but it still felt off limits. Frowned upon. A burden if you were seen walking the halls.

His family didn’t like you very much. Which you both understood yet couldn’t come to terms with. They had to have known this wasn’t any more of your choice than it was his. And why shovel the blame onto someone’s child? It wasn’t your fault your father was corrupted and played a better hand.

Pressing your forehead against the cool glass, you watched as the world went by. The silent hum of air conditioning was the only thing to droll out your thoughts and lately it hadn’t been working. The room felt suffocating but there was no one to turn to. Even voicing your thoughts out loud to yourself seemed like some boundary was being crossed. Maybe even to yourself. That you were starting to get too comfortable.

Oscar seemed nice enough. Timid. Not sure how to approach you or if he even should. He brought your meals to your door like clock work. Part of you felt bad but the thought of eating in the dining room seemed like suicide. You had tried the first night, assuming that was just part of the routine. To have dinner with your…husband.

But Lando was nowhere to be found, leaving you at a large oak table alone and shoveling food around. Appetite non-existent. Oscar had told you he usually took dinner in his office. That most of the other members of the household ate out.

His words hit you dully as you stared at the polished wood, not quite believing this was going to be the rest of your life. Then again, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want Lando to make an effort? Did you even want to be around him? You didn’t know much, just that he was a bad man. But aren’t they all? Apparently that’s all the world thought you were fit for. Violent men with money in their eyes.

No, you didn’t want to know him.

But god, loneliness caught up to everyone.

The hours ticked by and you sat there, tracing lines into the skin of your thighs with your nail. Over and over again till skin prickled and red lines appeared. The itch and sting foreign, numb. As if you’d shot your heart with novacaine. Your eyes unblinking as you did the action, pure muscle memory. You didn’t have to think. You didn’t want to.

At least you never wanted to think about yourself. Your situation. The listless marriage you now found yourself trapped in.

But your mind would wander. What did he get up to? What did he even do? Was it really any different from the current political affairs the nation got up to? Would he one day change his mind and want more?

The thought made you shiver, eyes trailing to your locked door. He’d never tried to come in. Hell, he’d never even been to your room. In the weeks you’d been there you had probably only seen him a handful of times. Walking down the hall and his eyes would catch yours for a moment but nothing else. Looking through you like a ghost. Cold. Indifferent. Sometimes you’d hear him in the house. Talking to Oscar or on the phone. Always business. Always something you didn’t understand.

He couldn’t seem bothered at the thought of you being around. Didn’t seem interested. And that weird, fucked up little voice in the back of your mind whispered that Lando was keeping himself entertained just fine. That he found comfort in other women. Having affairs. You barely felt married. There weren't technically any commitments beyond regurgitated vows. So why did the thought still make your stomach churn?

Perhaps it was the feeling of being unwanted. A constant companion of doubt. Your family didn’t want you, pawned you off. Your husband didn’t want you. You would never get to experience love. You’d go through life longing for creature comforts—

You pressed your forehead harder into the glass. Wanting the thoughts to stop. You pushed so hard you hoped it’d break and you’d go hurtling towards the ground.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Six o’clock sharp.

Dinner.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt like you were going insane. The walls bending inward. The wallpaper swirling. The ceiling breathing.

Crazy.

Wandering the halls was reckless but you started to care less and less if Lando saw you. For the first time in months you wanted him to see you. Be reminded that you were there. Proof you were alive. You were here. Even when it never felt like it. You felt like a phantom who haunted the house, mostly only coming out at night when the rest of the world slept. Chasing the creaks of wood and following the patterns in the rug. Chasing something. Feeling wild. Deranged like a white rabbit who was late for tea.

His mother yelled at you. For something, you weren’t sure what. It seemed like no matter what you did you were wrong. Skin not fitting right over bones. Disassociating and staring at her. That only made her more mad and she slapped you. Not for the first time. Hard across the face. You hadn’t noticed till you heard the echo of it around the kitchen. Didn’t realise till some of the staff gasped, hands flying over mouths. Glowing wide eyes staring at you in shock.

You blinked again, subtle warmth creeping into your cheek. Hand slowly going up to hold your face. What had you done wrong? Why were you always wrong?

His mother scoffed. “You’re no good. You’re not even all the way there are you?” With a look of disgust she turned away, disappearing down the hall.

One of the cooks slowly approached you, as if you were some wounded animal. Holding out a pack of ice. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Your voice sounded distant. Distorted. Like it was coming from somewhere else. Taking the ice, you left. Letting it sit in your hand instead, the bitter coldness of it sending a dull shock up your arm.

You felt like crying. At least you thought about it. But nothing would fall out. Your eyes felt dry and heavy. Staring at nothingness as you walked with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This was your life. This was going to be your forever. Sucked into yet another man's orbit who didn’t give a shit about you. Because fuck what you want, right?

You turned into what you thought was your bedroom. You weren’t quite sure how you got there. It had been odd lately. Like moments of time blacked out. Arriving one place and not knowing how you got there. Tuning out to your depressing reality.

You were going to die alone. It wasn’t even your fault. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Fought your father and left as soon as you had turned of age. Why didn’t you try harder to fight back? Did some twisted part of you want this? The lack of effort. Things being handed to you. Maybe you thought you deserved it. After all, you'd been living off your fathers dirty money guilt free. Perhaps this was just your karma.

Longing for a life you’d never have.

You sucked in a sharp breath, tears finally beginning to prick at your eyes. The droplets stung so bad your vision went blurry.

You barely felt it as your knees hit the hard wooden floors. Didn’t register the scratching sound of your nails dragging against the planks, blindly trying to crawl your way out of the hell you were living. Feeling pathetic and ungrateful because you knew it could be worse. It could always be worse.

A sob left your throat, bubbling up and out like acid.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The door flew open to his office and he was about to yell at whoever had the audacity when he turned, paused. The look on Oscar’s face wasn’t one commonly seen.

“What?”

“There’s a problem.”

Lando sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s your mother and your wife.”

Lando reared back slightly at the word. It wasn’t thrown around often. Hell, he hardly saw you. And when he did, when he’d catch you wandering around well past three in the morning something was just…off. He didn't know how to approach you. Or if he even should. You’d seemed equally disinterested by his company. Staring at him sometimes like he was an apparition that wasn’t meant to be there.

He wouldn’t blame you if you hated his guts. Lando knew most women would prefer a love filled marriage compared to whatever the hell they had.

“What about them?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his papers again. Not seeing why—

“The staff said there was an altercation in the kitchen.”

Pausing, his eyes flicked up. Brow raising.

Oscar sighed, “your wife is in your room.”

That got him up. What the hell were you doing in there? And why? It wasn’t like he kept important documents in there, he knew better than that but he still didn’t trust you much. You were your fathers daughter. Maybe this was all some ploy to get into his personal things, find weaknesses, cracks.

His feet moved briskly down the hall, his polished shoes clicking dully on the ornate rugs and painted eyes followed him as he went. Lando didn’t pause as he saw his door, didn’t pause as he turned the handle.

“What do—“

Lando halted to a stop as his eyes found you. Feeling as if the earth had been yanked out from beneath him when he heard you try to smother the sound of your crying with a hand. Curled up in the space between his bed and the nightstand. Looking so small as you trembled.

Your eyes didn’t meet his. He wasn’t even sure if you heard him come in. Your breathing was too fast, too ragged. Short bursts of oxygen, your lungs not being able to keep up.

He shut the door softly behind him and quietly made his way over to you, lowering himself to his knees. Debating if he should touch you or not. You hadn’t touched in months. Not since the wedding.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and you flinched. Head shooting up and staring at him. He’d never seen you look so frightened and you tried to push yourself back harder into the wall. Shaking your head as if he’d caught you doing something wrong.

He immediately caught the red outline of a hand on your cheek. His jaw clenched. An odd, unbearably awful sensation churned in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting you. Knowing it was his mother only made the fire burn hotter. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like you were close. But the rage was itching up his spine like a spider.

“You’re okay,” he said again. His voice was rough, but a whisper. He reached out to you, slowly. Hands gently taking hold of you as he pulled your shaking frame into his, feeling the way your lungs struggled to catch up. Your muscles coiled in tension as he touched you. He hated it.

“You’re alright, darling.” He soothed your hair back, feeling your nails bite into his skin as you twisted the fabric of his shirt. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to make sense of it all. Of why he was here.

He knew it had to be confusing. That his sudden reassurance was off putting and regret was starting to inch its way up his throat. The spindly legs tickling and desperate. He should’ve handled this whole thing better. It was selfish. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Holding your head beneath his chin as you tried to calm down. “I’m here, if you need me to be.”

You didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go from there. This was new territory for him. Second guessing wasn’t usually in Lando’s playbook but you were something new entirely.

He began to lean away but your grip tightened on his shirt, your head pressing further into the crook of his neck.

Sighing, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, holding you in his lap as he leaned against his bed. Giving you time. Gently running circles into the nape of your neck. His grandmother always did that for him, it always seemed to help calm him down. Lando waited patiently, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. Smiling to himself a bit despite everything because it was the same one he used.

Slowly your harsh breathing began to subside but your body still trembled from the aftershocks.

His fingers still ran lightly over your skin, his voice a low hum and he could feel the vibration of his own rib cage with your weight against him. “I’ve had panic attacks too, you know?”

You didn’t do anything for a moment, and then, like the first break of daylight, you slightly shifted your head and your voice was a whisper. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Something had shifted. Maybe others wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. That next morning there was a knock on your bedroom door. Eight o’clock sharp. You hadn’t slept much, your eyes still raw and body restless from the previous evening. The feeling of his light, delicate touch on you was on replay in the back of your mind. You hadn’t been held in what felt like years.

You hadn’t expected such kindness from him.

Padding over to the door, you rubbed at your eyes, trying to look alive before opening it. “Morning, Oscar–” you blinked at the form of Lando standing in the hall. Wearing a casual linen shirt and dress pants, jacket draped over one arm and he looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?” He asked.

You felt dumb as you continued to stare at him. Not expecting to see him so soon. Not thinking he’d even want to see you after yesterday’s mess. “What?”

He sighed lightly through his nose. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Why?”

There was a slight crease forming between his brows. “Do you not want to?”

You blinked again before reality finally caught up to you. “No, no. That’s fine. Just… let me get dressed.” You eyed him as you shut the door. He was acting weird.

It was nice.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted over the sound of a power drill. Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Lando looked at her for only a moment. Still cross with her after the kitchen incident a couple of weeks ago. He had yelled at her after he managed to get you into bed. Yelled at his whole family. The staff, for not telling him.

“She is the lady of the household and my wife. You do not touch her, you do not say a fucking word to her unless it’s praise.” He looked directly at his mother. “Understood?”

“I’m building a reading nook.” He finally said, standing back to look at his progress so far. He took you to the fabric store yesterday but you were beyond indecisive and he wasn’t sure the new couch went with the interior of his office.

He had been trying to go out more, just small places. When he found out you hadn’t left the house since you arrived he was confused and furious with Oscar. His friend and right hand had merely raised his hands in surrender, muttering how you had never wanted to go anywhere.

“Whatever for? Since when do you read for pleasure?” His mother asked, mostly teasing. Trying to weave her way back into his good graces. He doubted that would ever happen. He was on the verge of throwing her out but you managed to talk him out of it.

“It’s not for me.” Lando left it at that. Watching how his mother’s shoulders fell at the realisation and she turned away.

He smiled slightly to himself as he set up the couch, pushing it under the window so you could get good light and a nice view of the gardens. Plus, he could watch you more easily from his desk when he worked.

You looked pretty when you were reading.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

For the first time in months you were bored, and not in a bad way. Lando made sure there was always something for you to do when he wasn’t around. Part of you felt bad, following him around like a kicked puppy. But any time you’d start to back off, give him some space, it was like his hand blindly found yours, not even looking up from his work, tugging you back.

Muttering a quiet, “stay.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies that began fluttering in your stomach, chasing after whatever this was. You didn’t know why you felt stubborn over it. He was your husband after all, butterflies are supposed to be a good thing.

You took up cooking as a hobby, mostly different kinds of fresh pasta. Trying to keep your hands steady as Lando would walk behind you, fingers lightly dragging along the small over your back. Leaning over your shoulder, lips nearly brushing your neck as he quietly spoke, “that looks lovely.”

He always spoke so softly to you. His touch always delicate.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando fixed his cuff links as he stood in the foyer, making sure his suit was wrinkle free in the large mirror. There was a big Christmas gala that night in London. A whole cluster of politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, etc. He didn’t have much of a role to play besides being seen, given his bookies did most of the under the table work.

When he’d asked you to go with him, you hesitated. He knew seeing your father was something you’d like to avoid. Over time you slowly opened up to him about how strained the relationship was.

He had lifted a hand to your cheek, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheekbones, watching in satisfaction as your pupils expanded at his touch. “I won't let him near you,” he whispered. Watching as you debated before eventually nodding, leaning slightly into his touch.

When he heard the sound of heels clicking sharply against marble flooring his eyes flicked up, watching you approach in the mirror. Looking like heaven in high heels. Your black dress fit you perfectly, the white fur shawl was draped lazily over your shoulders.

Lando felt his mouth go dry as he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as you approached. The sweet smell of your perfume swirling around him, making him feel hazy.

God, if you knew what you did to him.

It seemed like every night now that he dreamt of kissing you, doing a whole list of unruly things. Despite the ring on his hand and yours it still felt off limits. Not feeling sure of what you actually wanted.

“Ready?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

He blinked at you, still in a daze. “What?”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh and he felt his stomach pool.

“The gala. Yes, right.” He cleared his throat, not thinking twice as he took your hand. “Let’s go.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt all the eyes on you as he took you around the dance floor. The whispers. Lando Norris’ wife who he liked to keep hidden away. Apparently most people hadn’t even known he was married. They thought you were just a new date till they saw the blinding diamond on your finger and his matching gold one.

You felt stiff. Too perceived.

But he lightly took hold of your chin between his fingers, making you look at him.

“It’s just you and me, love.”

Love. You felt equally reassured and nauseous.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando was using every excuse he could to touch you. Hand splaying on the small of your back where your dress dipped low. Fingers lightly brushing the back of your neck as he talked to the other guests. Hand on your thigh beneath the table. When he’d first done it you jumped slightly and his heart skipped a beat when you looked at him, eyes low, before turning away again and taking a sip of your wine.

He couldn’t help it as his lips pulled back slightly when he began to rub circles with his thumb, feeling the muscles of your leg tighten. But you leaned toward him, an invitation. He felt more drunk off of you than any wine he had been drinking.

He’d only see glimpses of your father. Lingering to the side of the ballroom walls. Whispering in corners with other greedy men. His eyes always on you, though.

Lando didn’t like it. Then again he never liked anything enough for that to be a fair test. But he knew never to ignore his intuition, so he took your hand in his and tugged you along until you were outside, the cold December air twirling around them.

You shivered as you waited for the valet to pull his McLaren around, blushing a bit when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wind, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked to think he made you flustered.

The engine purred as he drove away, feeling your eyes on him as city lights flicked back.

“Why’d we leave early?” You finally asked.

His grip adjusted on the steering heel, looking in the rearview mirror, always vigilant. He hadn’t realised till now that going public made you a target. Made him vulnerable.

“Just wanted to,” is all he offered. Not wanting to scare you. He knew you already had a difficult time adjusting to his world. Then again he shouldn’t cut you any credit. Growing up with your father couldn’t have been any easier.

You hummed, not believing him. Your eyes finally pulled away to stare out the window. Letting him relax. It was strange, having somebody for the first time see him. The thought was equally relieving and terrifying.

When they pulled up to the house the car fell quiet, a heavy silence falling over like a blanket. He wanted to say more to you, but what? This was all new territory and the thought of messing up this bridge he’d built—

“Lando.”

He turned, looking at you as moonlight painted your skin through the window.

You reached forward, hand taking his, “I know you’ll keep me safe.” Another pause and you played with his wedding ring. “I trust you.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

A loud thud woke you up, your heart beating erratically as your door handle began to move. Thankful that you had locked it but fear was still crawling up your spine. You were just about to reach for your phone to call someone for help when a ragged voice poured out from the other side, weakly saying your name. The sound of a body slumping to the floor.

Lando.

You quickly tore off the sheets, stumbling a bit in the dark and you yanked your door open. A hand flying up to your mouth as you took in the state of him. Bruised and slick with blood, one arm wrapped around his rib cage, his breath rattling.

His eyes cracked open, gleaming in the low lamp light of the hall. His lips pulling back in a bloodied grin.

“Hello, darling.”

“Oh my god,” you did your best to get him up, almost falling under his weight as you maneuvered him to your bathroom. “What happened?”

Your heart lurched as Lando coughed, turning his head to spit out some blood into the bin and he sat himself up on the sink. Wincing as he did so. Not answering you.

“Lando,” you said quietly, afraid that even loud noises would hurt him and you gently took hold of his face in your hands. Not caring blood and dirt would get on them. Gently running your thumbs along his cheek bones.

He seemed to melt into you, letting his head fall forward and rest against yours as you brushed the damp curls back. Seeing him like this was a new kind of pain you never wanted to experience again.

“Who did this to you?” Although your voice was gentle, there was a layer of conviction under it that even surprised you.

He sighed, a wheeze coming up from the back of his throat and his hands came up to hold onto your wrists. You didn’t miss his cracked and bleeding knuckles.

“I have a duty of care,” he muttered.

Your father. You felt like throwing up.

Gently pulling his head forward, you held him to you. Letting his heartbeat bring some life back into you. He was okay. He was here. He came back to you. Everything would be fine.

Slowly, Lando’s arms wrapped around you, holding you as tight as he could.

“I’m going to kill him,” you mumbled into his hair and he laughed, not caring that it hurt.

He leaned his head back slightly, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. His hand that had snaked up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly. Hesitant. Then all at once.

Mouths colliding, a kiss that felt like a tuning fork struck against a star.

His fingers twined in your hair and you tried to be gentle with him. As much as you could. But the feeling of finally was making you feel weightless. Reckless. Desperate as he held you tighter.

You felt high as he whispered the words my wife between kisses.

“So much for a marriage of convenience,” you managed after you pulled away. You didn’t want to, but he needed your help.

He smiled again, those dimples you loved so much deepening in his cheeks. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I think this will be a marriage of inconvenience.”

And he kissed you again.

taglist: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @c8lap1nto @ashbone

[lymtw]

Movie Night

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Friday night is unofficially movie night for you and Toji. You always go back and forth on what you should do and options are tossed out, like a nice dinner or trying food from someplace new or going to a view and sitting in the trunk of his car with blankets and some snacks. Most of the time, all of those options are thrown out the window and you just end up sitting in your bed or his bed and watching movies together. It doesn't matter what you do, it's always good, and the sleep overs make it even better.

A knock on your door signals Toji's arrival. Though you haven't had any caffeine since the coffee you treated yourself to earlier in the afternoon, you feel jittery. You grab the surprise you have for him and walk over to answer the door. As soon as you pull the door open, there he is, looking handsome as always, even when he's donning a simple t-shirt and some sweatpants. He gives you that smirk of his—the one that makes your chest feel all warm and fuzzy, and wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. He has a bag in his hand, filled with the snacks he promised to bring.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Did you even miss me?" He teases, loving the way you gently nod as he speaks, like you're ready to prove that you did in fact miss him.

"Hi, Toji," you say, a smile spreading on your lips when you become overly aware of his focus on you. "I missed you. Come in." You move aside and let him into your cozy home, a place he's all too familiar with. He steps out of his slides and leaves them behind next to a pair of your shoes, his gaze never leaving you as he waits for you to lock the door after you shut it.

"What's that, doll?" Toji asks, when you approach him with full hands. There's a soft smile on your lips and your eyes shine like the stars that speckle the sky, as you extend the neatly folded pair of pajamas towards him. You have the most precious look on your face, as if you're showing him one of your most prized possessions—something you're proud of.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I still have the receipt. I just thought it would be nice to wear matching pj's."

You're not asking for much. Toji knows this. This is nothing—you're not asking him for anything. All he can think as he takes in the adorable look on your face, is that it would be an absolutely disgusting, heinous crime, to deny you of something so simple, something that would make you so damn happy. He can't bring himself to destroy you like that. In doing that, he would be chipping his own heart.

"What are you talking about? Let me see them," he says, laying his hands out for you to place the clothes on. You carefully place them in his hands and watch as he unfolds the articles. You don't know what he's thinking as he inspects the shirt, but the hum he lets out is nerve wracking. The shirt's design is minimalistic. It's a black t-shirt with three little stars on the left side of the chest and a small crescent moon on the back, a few inches beneath the collar, and then the bottoms are in the same plaid style as yours, just dark green instead of red.

"Is this why you asked for my clothing sizes a couple days ago?" He asks, pulling down his pants out of nowhere. You can't even try to hold back your laugh as you look away after getting a glimpse of his boxers, the sound just slips out. "What are you laughing at? Nothing you haven't seen before," he says, grinning amusedly at your giggles.

He unfolds the comfy pair of pants and slides them on. Immediately after, his shirt comes off, and it's as if he wants you to notice—to ogle him—because he takes his sweet time getting the new shirt on. He catches your eyes trailing down his torso, and then, he hears it, the flustered giggle that tumbles off your lips, the sweet sound he was waiting on. He smirks as he puts the new shirt on, and once again waits for your reaction. The shirt is a thicker material and fits perfectly, so do the pants. You're now matching, just like you wanted.

"How do I look?" Toji asks, doing a simple hands in his pockets pose.

"Handsome and comfy," you respond, warmth reaching your face as you take in the sight.

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks as he picks up his previous outfit and drops it on the arm of your couch. He hears your affirmative hum and catches your little nod as he steps towards you.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" He asks, a sly little smirk curling his lips. His hands rest on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "I've been waiting hours and hours," he murmurs, green eyes absorbing the pretty smile that begins to form on your lips. "I want my reward."

You know that it won't be just a quick kiss with Toji, but still, you stand on your tippy toes and tilt your head upwards, waiting for Toji to meet you. He leans down, holding eye contact with you, as his lips come closer and closer. Once his nose is right next to yours and you feel his lips ghosting yours, he stops. He just loves the way you can't hide your fluster and how whenever you can't take it anymore, you resort to something you should have some sort of award for, by now—giggling.

"You're precious, ma," he says, his voice low. Dark eyes scan and re-memorize, for the nth time, every inch of your joyful expression, before finally he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between you and him.

His hands grip the back of your shirt as he feeds off your soft lips. Kiss after kiss, each one gentle and patient, demonstrating how much he truly longed for you. You feel butterflies in your stomach when you focus on the warmth of his body pressed against you and the way his lips chase yours for another kiss when you think he's finally going to pull away. His hands dip beneath your shirt to feel the bare, soft, and warm skin of your back. The simple touch is enough to spread goosebumps all over you.

The final kiss is long. Your lips lock, but Toji stops there, not going with the usual synchronized flow of the previous kisses, and when you don't expect it, he lets out deep hum and releases your lips with a more audible smack. He gives you a dumb grin in response to the stars that returned to your eyes.

"Do the thing, baby," he says, rubbing your back while he waits for you to snap out of your minor daze. He stays in the same slightly leaned position and waits for the softness of your lips to meet his skin. You press a kiss onto the smooth scar on the corner of his lips for an equal amount of time as the long kiss you shared before and smile softly when you pull away, your feet flat on the ground, again.

His hands come out of your shirt and he grins at how bashful you've become, despite the amount of times you've done this. You wouldn't immediately know what "do the thing" means, if you weren't so accustomed to doing it.

"Got your favorites," he says, nodding towards the bag he set down on your couch. "Did you keep up with your end of the deal?" He jokes, expecting a proud nod from you, because you've never let him down.

"Lemon-lime or Cool Blue Gatorade, right?" You ask, walking towards the kitchen.

"That's right, doll," he confirms, following behind you.

After the wine incident, he chooses to stay sober with you. It's not that he doesn't want to experience drinking with you and see you be more laid back and playful, it's the fact that he knows that that version of you is altered by alcohol. Sober you isn't that way, and while he loves every version of you, your natural way of being is his favorite.

He could spend hours flustering and teasing you, watching the way you coil in on yourself when he stares at you for too long. Feeling the way your body melts against his when he holds you is one of his favorite things. He likes being able to coax you into voicing your thoughts, wants, and needs. Maybe you're a little more honest about deeper matters when you're inebriated, but Toji is smart enough to know that it's practically involuntary. It's like your secrets are being spilled without your permission and while he's glad to know these things in the moment, he would rather hear them from you when you aren't drunk.

"I got you both. I didn't know which you liked more, so I just got both of them," you say, grabbing them off one of the shelves in your fridge. You turn and hand the cold drinks to Toji before going back to grab the one you got for yourself. You step back and shut the fridge door, smiling at him when he just stares at you.

"What?" You question.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Just silently observes you standing in your small kitchen, in comfy, baggy pajamas that match his own. You're shifting on your feet, under his gaze, waiting for a response, but the response that he has in mind is a little too much for the lightness of the night. Something about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, something about coming home to you every day, something about putting a shiny rock on your finger. Something big, because his feelings for you are big.

"Nothing, ma," he says, tucking both juice bottles between his forearm and his side, so that he can rest his hand on the back of your neck as you walk back out to the living room. You grab the bag of snacks off the couch and head to your bedroom together.

You set the bag of snacks on the bed and sit down on your side. Toji has a designated side on your bed, which is, of course, the other side.

"Light on or off?" Toji asks, shutting the door.

"Off?" You say, with a questioning tone, leaving room for him to object. Shortly after, the room goes dark. Only your TV, which sits idly on its home screen, creates light that illuminates the walls. Toji walks around your bed and settles into his side.

"What are we watching, this time?" He asks, reaching for the pack of sour gummy bears.

"It's your turn to choose," you say, offering the remote to him. "Last time we watched a bunch of Disney movies. I don't know if you wanna do that again," you say, smiling sheepishly.

"You doubt your taste in things too much, ma. Those Toy Story movies were pretty good. Show me another one of your favorites."

"Alright," you say, in compliance. You go to the Disney+ application and search for another favorite. Nothing too sing song-y, because you feel like you're on thin ice already in playing these animated movies for him. You got away with Jessie singing "When She Loved Me" in Toy Story 2, because even he thought the poor cowgirl got a rough deal when she was abandoned.

"Ratatouille?" He reads. "What's that about?"

"We're about to watch it," you say, briefly turning over and smiling.

He hums as he looks over the caption beneath the title that explains the synopsis of the movie.

"The rat's gonna cook? This should be interesting."

Lo and behold, he's hooked. Neither of you has made a peep and you're both mindlessly snacking on candy and chips, sipping on Gatorade, while watching the crazy things in this rat's life unfold. Him and his brother survived being struck by lightning and being shot at by an old lady with a shotgun. That part seemed to amuse Toji plenty.

Towards the end of the movie, Toji turns to you with sour sugar unknowingly speckled on his lips from the candy he's been feasting on, and leans in to press kisses to your temple and cheek.

"Watch," you say, smiling at the softness that meets your skin.

"I'm watching," he murmurs, continuing on with his sticky kisses.

"Look, they're stealing food from the kitchen," you explain, shocked despite already knowing what's going to happen.

"Mm," Toji hums, seemingly interested, but continuing on with his affectionate, sugary pecks.

"Look, you're gonna miss it," you say, giggling as you gently push his face away. It completely backfires on you, because he just grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand down to continue on with his kisses.

"Come here," he says, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you so that you're sitting right beside him, your thigh touching his and your shoulder pressed into his side. With a few more pecks to your cheek and a couple to the top of your head, he faces forward and continues watching the movie.

"Damn, they got shut down?" He says, in disbelief.

"Mhm," you hum in response, unable to answer verbally due to the chips in your mouth.

"Oh shit, they're back," Toji says, taking in the remainder of the movie. "And Remy cooks without controlling Spaghetti?"

"Linguini," you correct, with a laugh. "But yeah. Linguini's a waiter, now, and Remy's a chef."

The artistic end credits begin to appear and you turn to look at Toji.

"So... what did you think?" You ask.

"That had more action than The Terminator," he jokes. "The old lady with the shotgun was trying take out Remy and his brother and then she tried to hit the entire colony of rats with gas."

You giggle as he goes in depth of what he remembers, as if to prove to you that he was watching.

"I liked that one too," he says, with a smirk. "Would definitely watch it, again."

"Good," you chirp, internally proud that you were able to show him something good. "Your turn," you say, offering him the remote.

"You go again," he says, grabbing another sour gummy to dodge the remote.

"Toji," you mumble. "You should choose something you like. I wouldn't mind watching something new, too."

In truth, Toji doesn't want to watch explosive, gore infested, action movies when he's with you. It's the only genre he's thoroughly explored apart from some comedy, so he leaves you to do the choosing of the movies and shows you watch together. It's a great way for him to give new things a chance, because even though it seems like he's always the one showing you how and loosening the tight grip you have on the shell that obscures you, he's constantly learning from you, as well.

"How 'bout this, baby... If you choose the next one, i'll choose the next three," he offers, squeezing the plush of your thigh.

"You promise?" You say, eyes darting from where his enormous hand rests on your leg, to his face.

"'Course. I don't lie to you," he says.

"Okay, then," you say, moving onto a different platform to find another movie.

"While I wait..." he mumbles, a soft smile curling on his lips. His hand moves from your thigh to your waist as he wraps his arm around you. He goes back to kissing the side of your face, soft, wet little smooches planted along your cheek and your jaw.

"Gorgeous girl," he hums, his voice a soft breath against your skin. "I'm dying to kiss those pretty lips."

Your lips curl as you continue skimming through the section of recommended movies. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing over the features of your face.

"Just a quick one and then i'll stop bugging you," he requests. "Please? You're teasing me without even trying."

"But I'm not even doing anything," you argue, with a small laugh.

"That's what i'm saying," he says, in agreement. "You're not even trying. You're just pretty like that. Makes me wanna kiss you 'til you can't breathe."

"What? You said a quick one, just a few seconds ago," you remind, your smile widening at the way he changed his mind about wanting the minimum of your affection.

"Yeah, but you know how greedy I am about you, mama. I want more and more of you, all the time." His gaze flits between your coy smile and the softness that lingers in your eyes. You haven't paused your skimming of the movies, but he knows you're staring at the screen, mindlessly, feeling his attention. "You want me to beg?"

"No," you instantly respond. It's the one thing you never allow him to do. He's too good to you, for you to make him beg. "You don't have to do that."

"So, kiss me, sweetheart," he says, shifting positions so that he's lying down on his side. He pats the pillow that cushions your lower back, signaling for you to lie down. Like the obedient thing you are for him, you click play on the random movie you landed on and set the remote aside, before lying down on your side, facing Toji.

"What movie did you decide on?" He asks, dragging his knuckles tenderly over your cheek.

"I didn't look at the name," you answer, softly.

"We can skip the intro, right?" He murmurs, smirking when he feels the warmth that reaches your face beneath his palm. His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek, back and forth as he keeps up with your gaze, even when it derails from his due to the tension in the moment.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice low, almost a whisper. His leg goes between your legs, just sitting there to achieve more physical contact with you. It doesn't go further than the desire to be innocently caught up in you and feel you pressed against him.

The first kisses—if they can even be called that—are tentative and teasing. Lips merely ghosting each other, barely grasping contact. It's enough to have your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. You hear a warm, rumbled chuckle coming from Toji.

"Closer," Toji hums, his hand splaying on your back and pushing you forward into him.

Finally, your lips connect. The feeling is warm, like you're being held, securely, without any intention of being released. The sound of the movie in the background is a mere whir, unheard through the imaginary force field created around you and Toji. It's just you and him, close as can be, living like nothing else matters as long as you have this love. Through gentle caresses, one unsteady heartbeat and an even unsteadier one, things are good.

Toji swears he will never feel this content and at peace anywhere else. You have a way of making him feel like he is everything. The way your eyes twinkle when you see him, the way you bare your soul to him every time you smile—it's love. It's pure, unadulterated love. He's your friend, your lover, your confidant, and he will never settle for being anything less than those things.

With one more brush of your lips, you both put the kissing on hold and lay there, just a little bit breathless. His hand rests on your lower back, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I love you so fucking much, doll. You know that?" He murmurs, his attention bouncing between your lips that won't stop calling for him to kiss them and the warmth in your eyes. "Fridays aren't just another day, anymore. Same for every day I get to see you or even just talk to you on the phone if we can't be together." A soft sigh escapes his nose, followed by a very brief pause. "You just know how to make things better, and I wish you would believe it because you feel that way too, not just because i'm telling you."

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"No. I don't want that, baby. Tell me something else."

"I love you, Toji," you say, ensuring that you speak clearly so that he gets the important words you need him to hear. "I like being around you. You'll never know just how safe you make me feel, but I do want you to know that it goes past the physical aspect."

He smiles, the expression soft, not telling of the giddiness that just spread throughout his body. A soft hum, followed by a somewhat frustrated sounding groan, precedes you being pulled into his tight embrace. You can't help the giggles that eventually evolve into laughter that just spills from you when he bombards your face with kisses. His lips press against your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips before he actually leaves a rapid barrage of pecks on your lips. Deep chuckles slip through his affectionate assault when you plant your hand on his chest, weakly pushing at him through the joyous sound of your laugh.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your entire body shaking through your nonstop laughter. Despite it being nighttime, Toji feels like he's kissing and cuddling with the sun. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much.

With one final, elongated kiss to your forehead, he relents and lets you catch your breath. Soft giggles continue to flow past your lips as you work on composing yourself.

"You drive me crazy, doll," he says, grinning at how your chest still slightly heaves. He could do this every night with you, in a shared bed, that is in your shared bedroom, in your shared home.

"Alright, let's see what this movie's about," he mutters, flipping onto his back. "Come here." By now, the two words are a staple to Toji's conversations with you, because he always wants you attached to him. He outstretches his arm, and waits for you to scooch over and lay your head on his chest. Once you settle in, his arm wraps around you, tightly.

As you both try to catch up on what is going on in the movie, you realize none of it is making sense. You think it might be futile to try and understand what is happening when it may have been explained during the intro, but neither you nor Toji mind it, and just continue watching through the confusion, because the intro to this movie was never going to be as good as the moment you shared during it.

[madthetruemad]

WHEN YOU REALIZE HOW STRONG HE IS, or when you're just playing around and you see that he can hold you down quite easily...

cw ; a dabble of angst (if you squint) w/ comfort, and maybe a tiny bit suggestive

mydei x reader (implied fem!reader)

MYDEI doesn't always indulge with roughhousing with you. However, today was just one of those days where your playful demeanor finally rubbed off on him.

You were laughing as you lightly pushed at him and tried to knock him down to the couch, but he had other plans when he pushed you down instead.

Your back was flush with the cushions of the couch before you could even blink, and his hands were holding your shoulders down easily. You struggled a bit, try to push up, or even wriggle your way out. But Mydei was strong.

The sudden realization of not being able to push him off of you hit you like a slap to the face.

And when you stopped laughing and giggling, that's when Mydei pulled back. A frown etched across his features as he looked down you... that expression... why were you making that face?

Trying to act like nothing happened, you smiled again, "you're," you laughed awkwardly, sheepishly as you sat up with him, "you're really strong!"

He frowned at you, he could already guess what made you react like that.

"Stop that."

"H- huh, stop what?"

"That fake expression, stop making it. I made you uncomfortable just now, it was obvious."

You dropped the smile as he had asked, "no... it's my fault for thinking of something stupid. I didn't mean to bring the whole mood down...," your voice trailed off and he decided to delve deeper. He didn't want this to happen again. Seeing you smile, a real smile, was far better.

"What was it that you were... thinking about?"

"I guess.. I just realized how strong you were. Like, I couldn't push you off or anything! And you weren't even being serious!"

He raised an eyebrow, "you are worried you won't be able to fight me off?"

You shook your head almost instantly, "no, no! I'm not- I'm not trying to say that at all! Ugh, it's so hard to explain-"

"I'm sorry."

His apology through you off guard sending you into a panic, "you- you don't need to apologize! My mind is just being stupid!"

"And yet when we were messing around, you still feel as if you need to be able to push me off at any given moment if things got bad."

You pressed your lips together and he continued.

"I want you to know that you are safe... with me. And that with even a single word said by you, you can get me to get off of you."

"Mydei..."

"So, until the day comes that you feel safe with me. I guess I'll just have to try harder to prove myself to you. Even with foolish acts like this."

"Like what?"

You tilted your head to the side but just as you asked that you let out a loud squeal as you grabbed onto his shoulders as he flipped you both over.

Now he was the one laying against the couch as you were above him straddling his waist.

"No matter the position we're in, you're always in control."

You felt your face grow hot at the implication, but you were happy nonetheless. You were safe. You are safe with Mydei.

[theemporium]

i think the “i’m gonna sleep at my place tonight” prank would work on luke. you’ve moved into him and jacks apartment and not only is luke pouty and sleepy and confused. jack is lost bc he’s like “you live here?” would you be willing to make a blurb about this please?

tweaked it a little but thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You hadn’t even done the prank for the sake of recording it, you were mostly just curious at what the reaction would have been after seeing a few videos earlier that day.

The three of you had a routine, one that you had developed wordlessly since you began dating Luke almost a year ago. On the days that you would be sleeping over, the three of you would watch some random movie or series in the living room together after dinner. You and Luke would take the bigger couch with him sprawled over you like a weighted blanket. Jack would take the smaller couch, sometimes paying attention and sometimes scrolling through his phone where he would turn to show you both something he found funny. 

It had become more of a norm the last few weeks since you had been crashing at their apartment for the foreseeable future after your place became inhabitable. 

It was domestic and comforting and predictable. 

So really, the prank was out of pure curiosity on what two hockey players—known for having their superstitions and routines, despite what they said—would do when that predictability was shattered.

“Alright,” you started once Luke was almost half-asleep with his head on your chest and Jack was immersed in whoever he was texting. “I should get going.” 

Luke let out a groan, nuzzling himself closer to you (as if that was possible). “We going to bed?” 

“No,” you said, trying to keep the grin off your face as you combed your fingers through his curls, watching the way he sighed as his eyes fluttered shut again. “I think I’m gonna sleep at my place tonight.” 

That seemed to catch Jack’s attention as he finally looked up from his phone, frowning at you. “What?” 

“I said I’m gonna sleep at my place tonight,” you repeated, moving yourself out from underneath Luke who groaned unhappily. 

Luke’s annoyance slowly morphed into confusion as he watched you start to grab your things. “Wait, what? What do you mean you’re sleeping at your place?” 

“Just need some space,” you said with a casual shrug, looking up to see both brothers staring at you with baffled expressions. “You know, have a me night.” 

Luke’s crestfallen expression almost made you break. He still looked half-asleep, not fully processing whatever conversation you were having. “You don’t want to sleep beside me tonight?” 

You flashed your boyfriend a sheepish smile. 

“Forget that,” Jack scoffed, sitting up a bit straighter. “You live here now? Why wouldn’t you be sleeping here?”

You shrugged. 

Jack blinked. “Did you hit your head and forget that your apartment is currently submerged in, like, three feet of water?” 

Luke blinked a few times like he was starting to wake up a little. “How is that more desirable than my bed?” 

But Jack took one look at the way you were pressing your lips together to hold back your laughter before he let out a groan, slumping back into his seat with a huff. “Ha ha, funny joke.”

“Like you haven’t done shittier pranks,” you snorted. 

However, Luke still looked baffled as he reached out for you, fingers gripping the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing to pull you closer. “Babe, what do you mean you wanna sleep at your place?” 

Your expression softened as you took in the sleepy, hooded eyes and messy curls, cooing as you tugged your boyfriend to stand up. “Nothing, baby, m’staying the night here. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” 

Luke flashed you a sleepy smile, nodding before he let out a yawn. 

.

[madewithsilk]

dealer!ellie with bimbo!reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that’s usually so sweet to you, treating you like a delicate princess who can't do anything by herself. She'll practically mansplain things to you, and when your head can't fathom anything, she'll simply chuckle and do it for you. That's how she likes it, keeping you dumb and dependent most of the time.

"What's wrong, ma', can't roll it right?" She chuckles, watching you struggle and try to roll a joint for her. She places her hands right over you, guiding yet watching you still miserably fail. "Jus' don' worry about it, lean back, 'kay?" Your little dumb nods fuel her even more.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that likes keeping you high and floaty constantly to make you easier to deal with. There's very few times she'd prefer you at full force. Whether it be on a weekend that you're constantly nagging her or a day you're acting up and she wants you to be apologetic, she'll coerce you into finishing a whole joint by yourself.

“Yeah, mama? Feeling all nice n’ airy?” She whispers, kissing down your neck. Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and staring at Ellie. All that leaves your lips is mumbles and a nod. "Y-yea," Ellie simply chuckles, "Yeah, baby? Jus’ spread your legs a little wider for me?” Having you high and unaware is such easy access.

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that fucks you even more senseless than you already are. Strip you without any heads up, ram her strap into you, and give you a persistent pace to deal with. Or maybe she'll bend you over the counter when you're making something for her, eating you out from the back. It's slightly humiliating to be just a fuck toy for free use, but you're too dumb to even process that.

“Only good for taking my dick, huh, ma’?” She whispers, her fingers curling into your g-spot over and over again nonstop. You babble, manicured fingernails digging into her bicep, jaw going slack, little "uhn, ngh, fuckkk,"s leave your lips. Her words are always condescending with a bit of praise mixed in, she notices how much tighter you get when her insults are disguised as sweet words. "Fuckin' dumb on my cock, no wonder I love you so much,"

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie that knows you're usually so fucking good for her, listening to her every word mindlessly with doe-eyes and a willing gaze because Ellie was just so sweet so how could you not behave! It always takes her by surprise when you don't behave, and she has to teach your little brain it's not nice to be bad. Maybe she's a little stern with her punishments, but she just wants to get it through your head! When you're both at a party, Ellie is far too busy dealing to give you any attention, and all you're doing is being bored by her side.

You huff a few times, grind against her thigh a few more, and after getting shut down each time with either a stern gaze or a "Be patient, baby. Don't make me repeat myself, 'kay?" while she doesn't even acknowledge your presence, counting her money, you finally get enough of it. You stand and walk away, ass swaying with the little miniskirt you wore, finding one of Ellie's closest friends, Abby.

Abby was attractive, that much was undeniable. But she wasn't the same as Ellie to you, yet you knew if you pretended, Ellie would still be ticked off. Your arms wrapped around Abby's neck, and Ellie's eyes darted over with a mean, mean stare. You finally got her attention, yet it wasn't the good type.

She dragged you out of there without any hesitation, hand-fisted in your hair, and a silent car drive till you both got home. It ended with you bent over her lap, squirming, crying, as she slapped your ass over and over again. “Embarrassing the fuck out of me at a party? Seriously, babe?” Your sobs and babbles were loud, spit drooling down your chin. "I'm sorry— said I was sorry!" You envisioned a different type of discipline, perhaps fucking you into the mattress, but this? Definitely not. "Too fuckin' bad, should've thought about this before you went to be a whore with Abby."

.ᐟ.ᐟ dealer!ellie who's possessive but in a bragging, show-off way. She'll pick out your outfits for you, bralette-like tops with miniskirts that expose your entire ass. She likes having people stare at what they'll never get.

She takes you to every dinner with her friends, right beside her in a booth, only speaking when spoken to with your tits out. Ellie will even play with your clit under the table for being so good to her. "Arm candy over there, Williams?" One of them will say, and you won't even think twice about the objectifying nature of the statement, merely happy you're seen as Ellie's.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Reader yelling at Quinn infront of the boys because he didn't give her a goodbye kiss and them making fun of him (all in good fun)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Bye, baby, I'll see you after the game," Quinn smiles at you as he says goodbye and you're already leaning your head back, lips pursed waiting for your usual goodbye kiss when he just...walks away...you blink for a minute, taken aback before your brows furrow and you cross your arms, eyes tracking him as he turns his back to you. Following him as he moves towards Garland and some of the other guys.

You let out a purposefully loud cough low in your throat in an attempt to get Quinn's attention, but he's already in an animated conversation with Conor, laughing at something Conor has said. He doesn't turn your way, doesn't even appear to have heard you. It only makes your frown grow, a pout starting to develop because there was no way you were leaving without your goodbye kiss. It simply wasn't happening.

You try one more time to get his attention politely because you are nothing if not polite in your efforts to get the goodbye kiss that you are entitled to. You were raised correctly after all. Moving a few steps closer before you cough again, louder this time, some of the other Canucks looking in your direction but not the one you want. Kiefer and Tyler both starting to grin at the pout on your lips, the fold of your arms, your clear displeasure with your boyfriend, both knowing they were about to witness a highlight of their day.

You take a deep breath in, collecting enough air so that you're next words come out as a shout, loud enough that there is no possibly way Quinn won't hear you.

"Quinitin Jerome Hughes!"

He stops, freezes, turning slowly towards you with wide eyes. He looks as if he's done something terrible, unsure why you're yelling his full government name at him when he just say goodbye to you. The rest of his team watch on with various emotions ranging from their own wide eyed fear of you to amusement, holding back a laugh. Kiefer in particular is biting his lips hard, resisting the urge with everything in him.

"Baby?" If he sounds mildly terrified that's because he is, unsure of what he's done to deserve his full name being called.

"Don't baby me! Aren't you forgetting something?" You give Quinn an expectant look because of course he'll know what he forgot, right? There's no way he'd possibly forget now.

He blinks at you slowly, once, twice before answering unsure and confused, "I love you?"

"My goodbye kiss, Quintin!" You scoff at him, arms dropping to your sides heavily at his apparent disregard for your most important of goodbye rituals.

"Shit, sorry, baby..." He's scrambling over to you despite the laughs behind him as the team watch their captain practically trip over his own feet to get to you.

Still, your upset is all but forgotten when his hands cup your cheeks, melting into his touch as he leans forward to kiss you. It's not as brief as your usual goodbye kiss, like he knows he has to make it up to you, like he knows a quick peck won't be sufficient.

You ignore the wolf whistles, the shouts, the laughs as he kisses you, smiling into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Because this is a goodbye kiss. Lingering, longing, firmly and insistent, the sort of kiss that leaves you a little breathless when Quinn finally pulls back, forehead pressed to your own.

"Forgive me, baby?"

"You're forgiven."

[mageofmadness]

CALEB + YOUR UNDERWEAR

(1.5k) ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎˚୨୧ nsfw [18+] includes: panty sniffing (truther), dirty talk, breeding kink, fem!reader, jerking off in the bathroom while home alone to mc's panties loser caleb we love you i am your #1 fan. mentions of crying during sex, just wet and messy and dirty, filthy fantasies. lots of pet names.

caleb who had innocent enough intentions to begin with.

sure, he’s aware of what you look like and what others think of you. the way others look at you. you’re smart. capable. small enough to wrap his arms around and squeeze if he wants to, as well as top of your division. the prettiest lips that get swollen and red when you bite them, and always quick with a comeback, and sharp on your feet.

caleb knows you better than he knows anyone. he also knows the way the boys at work look at you, and he is very familiar with the way the thought has been making his blood boil hotter and hotter with each passing day.

caleb who is folding laundry one night.

you’re working late and he’s trying to help where he can. dinner is already made and waiting in the kitchen, the dishes clean. he’s watching a show to pass the time and make the menial task of folding appealing. caleb makes it through two piles before he does a double take at what is in his hands.

he's folded your underwear probably thousands of times, yet right now, looking down at the red scrap of lace in his hand, caleb can't help but lick his lips. turning them over, holding them up. imagining the way they must hug your hips and the way they would round over the swell of your ass. the way they’d cling after being soaked through, hot to the touch, and how you might whimper or cry out if he were to pull them tight over your cunt. the way your pussy might twitch and drool if he were to spank you at the same time.

a thousand horrible thoughts cross his mind. not so innocent thoughts he's only allowed to think of when alone. when you're working late, away, and not at risk of peaking around the corner to catch him staring off into space, wondering what your cunt tastes like. what it would look like covered in his come. if you'd be loud for him, or if you'd blush like you only need to be broken in and whimper into the sheets until he does break you. until you’re putty in his hands and care.

caleb who can’t help himself but offer to do laundry again the following week.

a quick shout as you leave for work, “is your laundry together? i’m gonna do a load!” caleb finds your hamper later that day. unloading it into the washer, he’d recognize that color lace in death now, and certainly his dreams.

He lets the basket drop and pockets them, quickly starting the load and making sure the front door is bolted.

caleb who locks himself in the bathroom.

guilt making his hands shaky as he undoes his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough to get a hand around his cock. heating up and jumping in his hand as he imagines you coming home early, maybe you forgot something, or decided to save on lunch today. leaning over the sink, he can’t help but avoid his eyes as he looks down.

imagining your waist under him, your body bent in half and split open. a mess of bruises and bites on your thighs. a mess running between your legs, heavy with the weight of his cock inside of you. he’d make you look in the mirror, make you watch as he took you for the first time.

“can’t believe you’ve been saving all of this for me.”

“you know who you belong to, don't you? you were just scared. it’s okay, baby. shh. you’re doing so good, letting me open you up like this. that's it, relax for me."

"fuck, you're perfect. so perfect, sweet girl. i've got you, don't worry, m'not gonna hurt you, princess."

he would make you watch as your cheeks flush, as you began to shake from the ache of needing more. you're loud when you're mad. passionate. he loves it, and caleb wonders what it would take for you to cry, to break down and beg him for what only he can give you. for you to give in. you're so stubborn sometimes, but he sees the way you look at him. he knows you're his as he is yours.

caleb whimpers at his own touch. squeezing the base of his cock the way he imagines your tight cunt would when you’d squirm and try to get away, too overhwlemned and begging to come.

"You were being so good for me just a second ago, what happened? what's that, sweetheart? it's big? i know, fuck."

"you can take it, though. see? oh, you want a kiss, too? so greedy, I've spoiled you too much."

whining like always when something’s a bit too tough, caleb knows he’s a lot to take, he's not small. you are though, compared him, and the thought, while his cock is leaking all over your underwear is his hand, is driving him mad. his knuckles are white against the edge of the sink and his hips ache.

caleb fights until he can’t anymore, until the desire consumes him. spitting and letting it fall over the top of his cock, the messy glide of his bare hand is almost enough to sink fully into his fantasy. he brings your underwear to his nose, pressing the ruined lace against his face, his hips stuttering at the lingering taste. smell. his tongue is rough against the fabric, shoving it in his mouth.

caleb who comes and comes hard and fast. biting down on the fabric when he does, feeling it between his teeth and the taste of you on his tongue. letting himself really imagine for the first time what it would be like to fuck you. to have the trust to take care of you, to take you apart and remake you. it's all he's ever wanted, some days he swears he breathes to serve you and you alone.

“—being so good for me, fuck. you sound so sweet, sweetheart.”

“opening up and so wet, and you’re loud baby. you sound like a slut. only for my cock though, right? huh?”

the way caleb would do anything to get to come inside of you. something primal and outdated about the need to claim you, to be your one and only. to know the secret of how bad you want it and just how good you can take it. can give it.

"that's it baby, fuck back on it. shit, I wish you could see this. sweetheart, you're a mess. hear that? nod, baby. that's it. yeah, you want it harder? you're my messy girl?"

you'd nod, trying to speak but too fucked out to find the words. agreeing to anything as long as caleb doesn't stop the slamming of his hips against your ass, red and swollen from the way he can't stop grabbing it. spreading you open and watching where his cock disappears into your abused and swollen cunt.

“you wanna know why? why i'm gonna let you act like such a slut? because this pussy belongs to me. is that okay with you, baby? can this be just for me?”

"i'll treat her so good. kiss her every night, tell her how much I love her. how she's my favorite pussy, fuck. and you're my favorite girl, you know that?"

your whiny, needy cries every time he tries to pull out make him growl and he can’t help but fuck you harder. faster. far too gone to try and make this last longer, caleb is unsteady as he loses his mind and gets lost in the wet heat around his cock. his words soon turn pleading as he comes.

"please sweetheart, hng. ah—hah, fuck. need'a come, i-i need to come princess, please let me fill you up. please, baby."

"you want it? ah, fuck. i know you do, you wouldn't be making such a mess if you didn't."

"there you go, take it. fucking take it, sweetheart. all for you, you did so good. fuck. baby, so, so good f'me. i know, you're sensitive. it hurts? you want me to stop? no? i'm just making sure none of it's going to waste," caleb says as he slowly rocks his hips into you, listening to your ragged breathing try to even. feeling the way his come leaks back out, spilling down the sides of his cock. reaching a finger down, he moans as he runs a finger through the mess, pushing some of his come back in along side his softening cock.

"you begged me to fill you up and you know I give you everything you ask for, baby. be good, i just want to play with you for a little bit longer."

[pedge-page]

does joel take care of wifeys bush for her while she’s pregnant? I have a feeling he would appreciate hers very much

18+ ONLY

You would absolutely insist on having it shaved, and you'd shave it yourself as much as possible while pregnant. But when you get to that point that you can't see or reach over your belly, you call upon your doting, obedient, loyal husband who would do anything you ask of hi-

"No."

You blink at him. With a razor blade in one hand and shaving cream in the other, you're naked as your soon-to-be-baby will be on the day of her birth.

"What."

He shrugs. "Said no."

"But... its..."

"It's beautiful."

You scoff. "C'mon Joel." Holding out the razor and cream, you smile with pleading eyes.

He only shakes his head again. "I'm not doing it. I wanna enjoy the bush."

"The what?"

He chuckles. "Heard me." He paces forward, your belly bumping his as you are forced to step backwards. "I said--" he reaches behind you to knead your ass-- "I want--" You find yourself pinned in front of the sink-- "the bush."

"I dont-- what does that even mean?"

But he's already kissing down your belly button.

"Leg," he commands.

You give him a sideways look from above, barely seeing his lidded eyes over the swell of your tummy.

You whimper but lift your thigh, enabling him to hook it over his shoulder. His hand finds its way to cup against your lower back so the countertop doesn't uncomfortably cut into your spine.

"Joel..." you whine. "Its just....so..." you cover your face with your hands, though you can't even see his expression down there in the great beyond anyway.

"S'magical," he replies, nose nuzzling your newly grown hair. "Ooo baby. It's like my beard rubbed off on ya down here."

"How is THAT sexy?"

"You like my beard don't you?"

Fair point. "But not on me. Not down there."

He chuckles, inhaling your scent with a kiss to your pelvis.

"Let's get explorin," he grumbles with a sly smile, before spreading you expertly apart with his fingers. His lips attached to your clit, and he starts sucking with such precision, youre not sure what "exploring" hes talking about. The man has chartered every millimeter of area down there. Playing you like a piccolo, Joel eats you out and nudges your g spot until you're crying and grasping the sink behind you.

Once you've cum three times on his tongue, you're exhausted. "J-joel," you plea.

"Mmm?" He pulls away, showcasing his soaking mustache and lopsided drunk grin. "S-wrong, Momma?" He rubs along your belly with his slick hand, soothing your twiching body.

You feel dizzy, unable to argue with him. "M'not...asking you... take care... of-of... it...'gain."

He giggles into your belly. "Honey," he tuts. "Wasn't gonna ask your permission. I'm gonna enjoy this for as many nights as I can get it. Now how about I take ya to bed so we can continue preserving these forests?"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[bi-writes]

dark matter | ghost x f!reader

INSTALLMENT TWO — TIME ROT COLLECTION

type: one-shot, part of anthology series, can be read standalone (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, mature language and content, mature sexual language and content, mw3 spoilers, death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dubcon, size kink, manhandling, breeding kink, cumplay, unprotected piv (18+)

You don't know how long it's been. Maybe days, or maybe it's been weeks, you aren't sure, but it's hard to move when there is nothing that waits for you.

All that's left is a box that sits on your kitchen table. It has his name scribbled across the top, and when you opened it up, just seeing the photos of him tucked into the sides was enough to nearly make you sick. You haven't opened it again since. You haven't touched it. When you touch the cardboard, it burns, it stings.

You don't know what you're supposed to do when the love of your life doesn't come home. You don't know what you're supposed to do when there's bills on the table, when half of the bed is empty, when everything that was supposed to happen died along with him.

You used to sit on this very couch and talk about everything you would do and everything you wanted. You used to lay there, your head in his lap, looking up into those baby blues and tell him about what a good husband he would make, how it was going to be so hot watching him fixing the leaky sink and hanging up the new shelves you bought, being the house husband he was always meant to be.

Someone that pretty deserved to be at home all day, baking bread and fixing a vintage car.

He promised you so much. He promised you love. He promised you laughter. He promised you a lifetime of something more.

But there never really was anything more. He never married you. He never proposed. He just fucked you full before every deployment, whispering into your hair as you drooled about how, "I'll see ye when I get back, bonnie, 'n I'll tell ye how much I luv ye."

But he didn't come back. So you really aren't sure now how much he loved you.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing a brush over your cheeks. The makeup helps, but you look dead, and your eyes are dull.

You don't want to go to work, but you can't pay your bills, and Johnny wasn't your husband, so the box in your kitchen stands as a loving gesture from his mother, and that is all he left behind. And when you went to the service and asked for something, for anything, they said it was out of their hands.

You are entitled to no compensation—because on paper, you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one. And though his mother kissed you shakily, with tears in her eyes, you couldn't bear to ask her for anything, because she hurts, too, and you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one.

So you work; you work, and you don't stop, and you sleep only a few hours before you get up and do it all over again, and even after a long day, you count the pennies in your purse, and it isn't enough. You let yourself get comfortable, you allowed yourself to succumb to a man, a man you loved, and what did it get you?

Fuck all. You have fuck all, and you let a man do it to you.

Fate and destiny are a cruel reality. Unforgiving—they don't care about the choices you make because they happen anyways, and it's hard to be angry when this is how it was always going to be. It doesn't make you hate any less, and it doesn't make the dust collecting on the box any less thick.

When you do gain the courage to touch it again, you have a week left to find a new flat. You don't know where you will go, but you're packing, and you rip the top of the box off as harshly as a band-aid. Your eyes focus on the knick-knacks that Johnny must've kept. A few different sized sketchbooks, the nubs of worn and used graphite and charcoal pencils, a crystal and beaded rosary that his mother gifted him when he first enlisted. You pick up the crinkled and well-loved papers that are stacked at the bottom, and your eyes blur with fresh tears at the ripped out sketches that sit in your hands.

It's you, in different angles. Asleep, staring out at something, smiling at him. He captures your face beautifully, and you can see where he's smudged the shading with a thick finger to cast shadows and light over you. He sketches in exquisite detail—he always has, but he has always had a certain style, a certain eye, that made lead look like real life. 

It’s odd to see what you looked like through his eyes. Bright. Lovely. Soft. He draws with a breath of fresh air, and you can see where his finger has rubbed away all the harsh lines. When you see a few places where the graphite on his thumb has stamped his fingerprint onto the paper, you feel your throat close up. You want to feel those fingers on your face. You want him to brush the hair out of your eyes and look down at you. You want to feel that hand tracing your jawline, your nose, the lid of your eye—you want to feel the warmth that he always radiated, and you want to breathe in the scent of him until you forget the smell of anything else.

You pick up a loved and bound book, with thinner pages that you know can't be a sketchbook. You unwind the leather string on the front, flipping it open, and you swallow thickly when you realize what this is.

A journal. You never knew he kept one.

The first few pages are dated from when he first enlisted, a few years before he met you. He writes just as eloquently as he draws, and you settle into the couch behind you as you read about his enthusiasm joining, the purpose he finally has, the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he thinks about all the things he will be able to do as he rises through the ranks. You let your fingers skim over the words, feeling how his pen has pierced the paper, and you try to imagine him—fresh shaven with less muscle, life in his eyes as he thought about serving his country. You smile a little, but it hurts after a few moments.

You flip a little further, your eyes skimming over times he cursed out his commanding officer, punched a private for sneaking into the women's barracks, the love he has for a detonator that began when he soldered his first pins. His personality shines, and it's like you can hear him talking to you all over again, and when he begins to talk about a love he doesn't know how to handle, you smile to yourself, because you think he's talking about you.

But when you look again, the dates are wrong. You hadn't met him yet, not at this point, and your smile fades when you realize he's talking about someone else.

He never says their name. He writes at length about them, someone who has captured his eye, someone he says he can't have. Someone unattainable, unavailable, and then there is his own reservations. You don't realize until his entries from a few months later that he's talking about a man.

never felt this way before. not about anyone. rosary i always look at is fucking mocking me, i think. i can hear mum, somewhere, telling me to find a good catholic bonnie, but this is real. i know it is, but i don't know what to do about it. not like anyone i've ever met. can't explain the bond. but i look at him, and i think he looks at me, and i just know. i know. it can't be just in my head, can it? i'm not mad. i'm not. but what am i supposed to do?

You flip the pages frantically. There's sketches of hands on one page, hands that hold a handgun, that squeeze a trigger. They're tame sketches, but you feel a little sick because you feel like you're looking at a part of his life that you're not supposed to be looking at. The intimacy of these sketches—just hands, and you feel like they should be censored to your eyes.

The sketches and the words, they morph as time goes on. Sketches of closed eyes. Of blonde lashes. A harsh brow, a scar cutting across a thin lip. There is no softness in these sketches. Johnny draws with an abrasive pencil. It cuts the shapes, jagged edges akin to glass.

i can't tell anyone. i want to tell the whole world. won't let me. want to scream it from the fucking roof that i love you, but you're such a stubborn bastard. so fucking stubborn.

The sketches suddenly become warped. Angry, spiked, and you can see the emotion from how hard he presses the pencil into the page. More hands, and you can’t help but notice how he draws them simply functioning. Hand over wrist. Holding a utensil. Picking nails. These hands tell a story, and you can see the bumps and bruises and the wounds that litter the surface of them—these hands are anything but delicate. They have wrought. They have dug until their fingernails bled. They have been stuck through barbwire, maimed to the point of texture and roughness and the blurring of scar tissue.

don't fucking believe you. it isn't just me.

You're blind for a few moments from the intensity of your tears. You wipe them furiously, you need to know more, you need to know. The dates skip, and you pause on the day that you met.

so bonnie. so beautiful.

Softer sketches. The delicate lashes that are your own, the gentle curve of your pouty lips. You recognize yourself, but only barely, because he draws you like you are out of focus. He draws you as if you are too far away, just out of reach.

she's everything i've ever wanted. so why can't i let it go?

Your bottom lip trembles when sketches of a butterfly overlap skulls. The motifs never disappear, not completely, and it's only obvious what his true feelings are when you smooth a finger down the sketch of a butterfly escaping its cocoon that hangs from the mouth of a discarded skull head.

haunt my fucking dreams. go away. go away. go away. the ring is right there, so why can't i give it to her?

You close it abruptly. It falls to the floor, the cover of it thudding as you cover your face with your hands. Was he thinking of someone else all this time? Every morning, every kiss, every time he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you—was all of this meant for someone else? Someone he wanted but couldn't have? Someone that just didn't love him back?

You scream. You toss the coffee table. You shatter the flowers that have died, you pick up the box of his things, and you throw it. You watch the papers fly, the books fall, you hear the rattle of his dead memories meet the floor of the home he left behind, and you scream at all of it just to stop, please, stop, stop, stop—

You're not even sure if it's really Johnny you're angry at. Maybe yourself, because you've never really been good enough to be loved by anyone. No one has ever loved you and you only—you've only ever been additional, on the condition of loving another, never enough to be the one and only, and maybe that's your real problem. Maybe the real problem is that you want to die because you always give everything you have, and no one has ever wanted it enough to give you the same.

Maybe you just want too much. Maybe your dreams are too big, maybe it's just that no one wants what you are handing over. Packaged pretty, all shiny and new, but if no one wants it, you shelve that kind of love, and that's where it rots.

Maybe this kind of love died with Johnny. Not the beginning of something, but the reality of it, and now all you can do is accept the things you cannot change and tame the heart inside of you that isn't good enough to be for anyone else.

When you pick up his things off the floor the next morning, you find a scribbled address on the back of a torn sketch. So, you do the kind thing, and you gather his things back into the box, close the lid on what never really was, and you carry it with you out the door.

The door is unmarked. The paint on it is peeling, but you know this must be the place because there's a pair of dark boots caked with mud sitting out by the bottom step. You raise your hand to knock, and you tap it with your knuckles timidly, adjusting your hold on the box in your arms.

A few minutes pass by, but no one answers. You knock again, louder and firmer this time, and it finally swings open. From the dark flat emerges a large man, sticking his head out from behind the chain latched and glaring down at you. You think he's about to close it on you, but then his eyes flicker down, and you know he must read the name scribbled in big letters on the box that you hold.

It’s enough to make him pause. It’s enough to make him stay, rooted to that spot, even if you can tell all he wants to do is sink back into whatever void he came out of.

"Hi," you whisper, and you have no control over how broken the word comes out. "I...I just thought you should have this."

Because he never really loved me. Not really. Not the way he loved you.

The door shuts, and you hear the chain unlatch, and then he opens it wider. He emerges in the doorway, taking up the entirety of the width of it, and he snarls down at you from behind the mask he wears.

He opens his mouth to spit something at you, but then you hold it out to him with shaky hands, and he can see the tears that are coming down your face. You can't control them, he can tell that much, and he reaches out to take the box from you. You look at his hands, and you recognize them immediately. Uncanny, the resemblance, and you recognize the scar that cuts across the knuckles on his left hand. You know if you push his mask down, you could trace with closed eyes the scar he must wear that starts at his nose and ends at his chin.

He doesn’t know it, but you know what he looks like. You know what he is. If he took off that mask, you would see a face you know, even if Johnny never drew the entirety of it at once. Always bits and pieces of him, but you’d know them if you saw them put altogether. You have the puzzle pieces of him in the back of your mind, and you know you could put them back together if you really tried.

He would not be able to do the same for you. The pieces of you are scattered, and you know they are lost, and that there is no getting them back. Johnny took them to grave; you would never ask for them back, anyways.

You don't ask who he is. He doesn't ask you who you are; but when your eyes meet, there is some kind of understanding. Some kind of knowing. You almost don't want to leave—you know he mustn't be kind, not from what you’ve read of him and the way he looks, but Johnny loved him, and you want to cling onto anything that still breathes that might connect you to him. You hate him, but you love him, and Johnny loved this thing, so maybe...maybe—

The door slams shut in your face, and you catch yourself with the step railing as you crumple to sit there, on his dirty step, crying into your hands. You don't know how long you sit there, but it is dark when you drag yourself home.

It is much too dark outside for you to see the shadow that you pick up along the way—and you’re too in your head to realize it never leaves.

When you come home from work, your knees are weak when you see the letter that’s taped to the front of your door.

EVICTION NOTICE.

They give you until the weekend, a courtesy they tell you they don’t normally give to anyone. You aren’t allowed to stay, even if you come up with the money, and you’re in tears as you pack up your flat. The last place you shared with Johnny, and it’ll be gone soon. You don’t know what you’ll do with your things. You don’t know where you will go.

Johnny never married you. You don’t have any family. You’ll have to stuff your car full of as much as it can hold, and you’ll need to toss the rest. You’ll have to—

The knock at your door startles you. You get up off the floor, where you were trying to stuff all your dishes into a small bag. You pull the curtain back on the window beside the door, and your eyes widen when you see a giant man standing at your door. He feels your eyes on him, and he turns his head towards the window, tilting his head to the side menacingly when he looks at you.

You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears on your cheeks. You open the door shakily, poking your head out.

“Hi,” you say. You wish your voice was steady, but it cracks. “Can…C-Can I help you?”

The mask he’s wearing today is different. There’s a skull mouth painted on it, and his hood is flipped up over his head. He seems taller with his boots on, and he takes up nearly the entire width of your doorway. He’s got so much bulk on him—if you reached across and touched him, you know your hand would hit nothing but a solid wall. No give, just pure muscle and fat. His eyes are still dark, and he still looks like the most unapproachable man in the entire world. He clicks his tongue under the mask, and you swallow when he snarls a bit.

He fishes something out of his jacket. You recognize it—Johnny’s journal. He holds it out to you, expectant, and you open the door wider to take it from him. You feel tears come all over again at the sight of it, and you hold the leather to your chest, hugging it. Johnny never married you, but he would’ve taken care of you right now. If he would’ve known you were here, about to live in your car, he would not have hesitated moving you in with him. Getting you into his bed. Shielding you from the world that was much too scary, much too unforgiving. Johnny would know what to do.

Johnny’s dead.

Just as you are about to close the door, a thick boot stops it. You flinch a bit, looking up, and then a big hand presses against your door and pushes it open until it hits the wall. The man cranes his neck to look around you, and he narrows his eyes at the heap of your belongings huddled in the living room of your flat.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I’m just…moving.”

You step aside when he moves. He ducks his head just slightly to get through, and you watch as he walks around, taking stock of what’s in front of him. He seems to find what he’s looking for when he sees the notice on your kitchen counter. He snatches it up and and turns it around to face you, and you just stand there, frozen.

“I told you. Moving.”

His house is soulless. White walls. Beige carpet. Grey tiles. There’s one couch, one coffee table, and one TV mounted to the wall. There’s only dishes in the kitchen enough for one person, and he only has one bedroom. It’s the same lifeless place in there, too. His mattress is on the floor, but he has the decency to put a mattress cover and sheet over it. There’s one nightstand, with just a few cables where he must charge his phone, and one lamp. There are no decorations. There is no other furniture. His house is functional, not valuable.

He puts your bag in the bedroom. That settles that.

You cry that first night. You sleep early, curling up under his one measly sheet, and you cry. You cry because you’re sad. You cry because you’re lonely. You cry because you feel like you owe this man now, this stranger who hasn’t told you his name, and you have no idea how you will pay him back. You cry because you miss Johnny, and he never even loved you.

You jump when the bedroom door opens. He walks in, kicking the door shut, and you watch as he strips himself of his jeans and hoodie, tossing them onto the floor. You sit up on your elbows, meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t take off his mask. Instead, he comes towards the bed, plopping down on the mattress next to you, and you pull the sheet up to your chin. You hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with him, but you’re also too afraid to complain.

“I can sleep…on the floor if—”

A big hand covers your mouth. You’re silenced, startled that he would touch you this way, and you start to cry again when he presses until you are laying on your back again, moving his hand back until it rests behind his head.

“Please—” You hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He hums at that. Satisfied. Pleased at your reaction. He could pluck your strings right now, and you’d play music. He falls asleep with that thought.

You try to give him money. He never takes it. You try to buy groceries. You find the notes you spent stuffed back into your wallet later. You try to pick up a broom to clean up, and he locks the supply closet after that. The only way you find out his name is when you find his dog tags in the bathroom drawer, because he still hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. That’s who Johnny really loved.

You don’t know why the sex started—you don’t know why you let him in, not exactly. Simon had been gone, one of his usual spurts of absence that he occasionally had, but he came home earlier than you expected. Simon likes to shower as soon as he comes home, but you are already in there, under the hot water, leaning against the tile as you empty your head of any thoughts. Simon doesn’t knock, and he pulls back the shower curtain even though he sees your silhouette. There are no words exchanged as he comes in, getting under the hot water, and there are no words exchanged when he takes off his mask for the very first time, and he hoists you up against the wall and fucks you into it.

You know this, too. Your hands trace his back, and you can feel every scar you know will be there, and you can taste the same things Johnny said you would taste when you lick over his jaw. Tobacco. Citrus. Animal.

It almost feels like cheating, but you’re too empty inside to be sad about it. It really feels like lying, even though Johnny’s too gone to hear your excuses. At the same time, it feels like getting something back. Not in its entirety, but something close, something that doesn’t feel the same, but feels so good anyways.

You cry again when you realize you like it better. You cry more when you realize that you’re starting to lose your dreams of Johnny in favor of Simon. You see in the dark instead of in blue. At first, you used to mumble Johnny’s name into the pillow. You used to bury your face into it, muffle the sounds as Simon fucked you from behind, two big hands pushing your ass apart as he pulled you back over and over onto his cock. Now your head is turned to the side, and you’re crying Simon’s name, and he’s fucking you harder, getting down onto his elbows, pressing you into the mattress and using your throat as leverage so he can arch your back and get your ass shaking with how firm he pushes his hips against you.

You’re so delicate, but he can’t be nice. He can’t be gentle. He needs to see teeth marks on your thighs and on your back. He needs to taste your blood and your cum and your spit. At first, he thinks he was doing it because he was lonely, too, but now he just wants to eat and eat and eat.

Eat Johnny’s pretty girl. Fuck Johnny’s pretty girl. Keep Johnny’s pretty girl, because how dare he keep this one a secret, and how dare he try and hide her from him? Johnny wrote a lot of things in that journal, but he didn’t talk about Simon’s insatiable appetite, and he didn’t talk about Simon’s rules. He blamed the entire world for his seemingly unrequited love, but the reality was that Johnny was selfish.

Johnny didn’t want to share. He wanted it all for himself, so it’s no wonder he died for it. When your world isn’t in balance, it compensates. Johnny ended up on the wrong side of the scale.

That’s the fucking truth.

Simon’s got you on your knees again. He likes you this way, ass up, face down, on display. On your back, he stacks enough under your back that you’re nearly upside down, pussy in his mouth as he bends you in half and eats it like that. Now, he’s squeezing your hips, pressing down between your shoulder blades, thick tongue inside of you as he teases your ass with his thumb. Johnny used to love that, but you’re such a jumpy girl.

He’s going to fix that.

Johnny is so predictable. Letting you run around, spoiled, never telling you the way it should be. Johnny made you think you were a pretty princess. He probably intertwined your fingers and fucked you in missionary like a good Catholic boy, but soft, delicate things like you don’t need to be reminded of what they are. They need to be so cockdrunk and dizzy that they don’t know anything else but this place right here, in his bed. Simon knows that’s what you really need—to not know the world outside of this bedroom.

Love is useless. Love can be lost. Love comes and goes, it’s subject to change. Time bends it, rusts it like iron, and Simon doesn’t need something else that will slip through his fingers, no. He needs something that is latched onto him forever. He needs to take one of your ribs and absorb it. He needs to taste you on his tongue and between his teeth always. He needs your blood to be his blood, and he needs your eyes to be his eyes.

Marriage is not finality. Love is not permanent. No—it isn’t enough. He couldn’t keep Johnny, and maybe he can’t keep you, but there is something he can give you that will keep you with him. Even if you left, you would stay somehow, some part of you, and he can see it in some distant place.

Once Simon sees something, it’s as good as true. It might as well be real. Simon is something himself of a manifestation, and he realizes now that maybe he never really saw Johnny because it was you hiding in what he couldn’t see.

Everything is in focus now. He knows what he has to do. Johnny was too stupid to see it—to preoccupied with how beautiful you are between the legs, too mindless when he was cock-deep inside of you to understand what he had in his hands. They don’t make things like you. One of a kind. Once in a lifetime. Something that will never be again if you let go, if you look away.

Simon knows all too much about what it means to leave a scar. He understands permanence. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s got you here, right here, underneath him, wet-faced and sobbing and clenching so tight around him. Your nails are fixtures in his back, holding him here, and he knows that you understand, too. If he asked you, you would think about the answer, but your body knows. It knows who Simon is and what he wants. He’s certain it does because even if he wanted to, your cunt has him tight, barely enough give for him to pull out and push right back in. It doesn’t want him to leave, and he’s glad for it.

You cry so sweet. Blubbers and gentle tears. You want this; it’s evident in the way you claw at him and pull him back in every time he pulls out just enough. When you pull just that hard, he drops onto his elbows, caging you in, and you sob into his mouth as he grinds his pelvis into yours. The wet smack of his thighs has stopped, but the pressure against your clit has you whining so nice. Fuck, you are beautiful, and you look so sad. From the first moment you showed up at his door, you were all big eyes and sadness. You drag around an air of heaviness that hasn’t left, and Simon is so sick of it—Johnny wasn’t man enough to eat you whole, won’t you just fucking let it go?

Maybe Simon did love him, too. Maybe he did love him back. No, he must’ve—that feeling in his chest still hasn’t left. Simon made a thousand excuses. A man like him, simply unloveable. A soldier like him, just too busy and too dedicated to have anything for himself outside of duty. A victim, what a rotten word, but that is what he is; no one can want him, not really. He saw it, in the back of his mind, peeling back layers of himself just for someone to make a face. After everything, after breaking his nails crawling out of an early grave, rejection just might be the thing that finally killed him. Not a bullet, but the sheer pain from the cut of giving a nasty piece of himself over and not even getting everything back.

Johnny was careless. Loving two things at once, pulled in opposite directions. Too distracted by what he couldn’t have that he forgot about how good he really had it—what a fucking dog. Greedy. Naïve. Fucking delusional. Johnny gave up this to chase something that could never be real. It was pathetic. It was stupid.

It was mine.

“Look at me.”

You do. Your eyes, hazy and wet, meet his, and your hands are shaking as you cup his face and sob because yes, yes, yes, please—I need it, it hurts s-so good.

It does hurt. It burns. It steals. It takes. It swallows, like a brush fire against dry land, licking and eating and tearing apart whatever it can reach. Your moans enrage it, and your cunt feeds it, whatever the thing is inside of his chest that is begging to come out.

This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is necessity—survival. Without him, you will come apart, and without you, Simon will starve. He used to take bites out of Johnny. Just enough to make the screaming inside of him quiet a little, just enough to be distracted; but he hasn’t eaten in months, and whatever you’re made of is too good to let go of.

This time, he’ll make it permanent. He’ll make it forever. Where you end, where he begins, where his hands have sunk into you, where his teeth are stuck; he’s going to fix himself to this place, and then he’s going to make himself forget how to leave.

You’re buzzing. You’re somewhere else. You feel like you’re floating above yourself, but at the same time, you’re right here. Simon’s so big; he told you he would be, but it’s another thing entirely to have this man inside of you and hitting your squishy cervix. He’s nasty about it, too—he likes putting a big hand on your stomach and pressing; he likes to feel himself inside of you and laugh at how you cry, and he likes the sound it makes when you’ve come, and your thighs are wet, and his skin smacks against yours with a toe-curling squelch.

“‘s mine,” he says, and you whine, and you nod. You don’t know if he’s asking you a question, but you figure he isn’t. Simon isn’t the kind to ask. He just takes what he wants. He always has. When you come back from the dead, consequences don’t apply to you any longer. You’ve cheated reality, and now you get to reap your rewards.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yes. Yes, Simon, whatever you want, Simon, anything for you, Simon, yes, yes, yes, yes—!

It will take time. As Simon puts his thumb to your clit to hear you sing, he thinks about how it won’t take much of it. You’re already so docile. You’re already in his bed, eating his food, crying with his cock inside of you and your thoughts filled with nothing but white noise and his name.

Simon won’t be like the man before him. Johnny drew you as a butterfly—something in need, but something that would eventually fly away. Fuck that. If there is a light in you, Simon will snuff it out. If he has to keep you from discovering your wings, he will just cut them off. If it’s the blood inside of you that keeps you warm, he will let it drain from the wounds left behind by his teeth because I will keep you warm, I will make it better, no one else, just me—

His index and middle finger in your mouth silence you. You choke on whatever you are saying in favor of sucking on his wet fingers, your eyes crossing a little as he bites down on your ear and pants there. It’s rare to hear him; Simon tends to swallow any noises he makes in favor of concentrating on hitting that same spot inside of you, but you can hear him now. It’s low and rumbly, so much so that you can feel his chest vibrating against yours. A groan—fuck, he sounds so good. To know your pussy feels so good, it’s making him falter is enough to have you just at the cusp of something white-hot and blinding.

You come when he comes. Simon’s other hand has an iron-grip on the side of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips as he comes hot and heavy inside of you. You shake underneath him, sucking hard on his fingers as he presses his pelvis to yours. You can feel it dripping between your thighs, and the heat of it makes you come, too, a sob coming out of you as you spit his fingers out in favor of closing your mouth over his.

He tastes like you. You suck on his tongue softly, lapping it up, and he uses his wet hand to hold your jaw at an angle so he can spit into your mouth and kiss you again. You grip his dog tags hard, tugging him back to you when he tries to look down at where he’s inside of you. He suffocates you when he lays over you, but you don’t care. You need him skin-to-skin. You need his mouth on yours, his cock still this deep, sharing breath and spit and heat. If you lose it, you’ll lose something else, something more, and you can’t lose it again.

His weight crushes you, and you don’t register the significance of one of his hands underneath you and between your shoulder blades. He feels for something that you can’t see, and he kisses you again when he’s satisfied with what he finds. The lack of something. The killing of it. The knowing that you’ve gotten what it is you’ve been searching for all this time.

He holds you like that always. He keeps your eyes on his when he comes inside of you—always wants to look at you when that first spurt of cum fills you entirely. He likes the way your lashes flutter when he brands you. He likes the way you lose the ability to speak. He likes the way your entire body goes rigid and pliant all at once, seizing up and then melting underneath him until it takes no effort to turn you over onto your stomach and do it all over again.

He notices the change before you do. The tender breasts, the warmth of your lower belly. You are wet always now, eager to be bent over wherever you are because the ache between your thighs is tenfold now.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long while, and you’re smiling, hips hiked up on the couch, your dress crumpled around your middle as his cum drips down the back of your thighs. Simon licks his lips as he sits back on his heels, thumbing over your puckering hole.

You lay underneath him in your cocoon. Death at your doorstep, and you let him right in. You draw it around you tight, tucked into this blanket of security and warmth and factitious love that you think will hold this time. Simon’s hand draws around your throat, but you easily fall into him. When he squeezes, crushing what you’ve built back up, you sigh with relief, letting yourself fall into his chest and stay there.

When you close your eyes, it feels like something familiar. Like a place you’ve been before. When you open them, it’s gone. Simon is there, staring at your curiously. Your shadow that never leaves. The thing that remains. Time passes, but you know this will stay, you know it won’t go away. When he bends you over again, his hand slides low, cupping your belly, and your mouth twitches—the ghost of another smile. You put your hand over his there and press, feeling the scars you know by memory alone.

You will give him new scars; and these ones will be only for you.

[rosegolden13]

Hardware store owner!John Price drabble <3

He’s on his smoke break in his office in the back, window open to let in the cool evening breeze and let out the stink of cigar. Store’s been slow today, but that’s no surprise for a random weekday.

Gaz and Soap are messing around out front, their voices carrying into his office from the cracked open door. No doubt they’re playing their makeshift version of floor hockey with a roll of duct tape as a puck and the yard sticks as sticks. Normally, he’d tell them off, but with no customers in, he let them have their fun. It would be closing time soon anyways.

The mechanical ring signalling the arrival of a customer is familiar enough that he tunes it out entirely. It isn’t until that sweet chirping filters through his door that he finds the need to immediately tap out his barely finished cigar, despite the fact that both Gaz and Soap are free to help you. Those muppets don’t know about the leaky sink you’ve been struggling with or the marigolds you’re desperate to help bloom. He needs to be there. It’s only reasonable.

His pace quickens a bit when he hears how your voice seems to be laced with anxiety, words spilling into one another. By the time he gets to the front, Soap has got his palms up, clearly trying to placate you like you’re a spooked horse. 

“Poison?! I-I don’t want to kill them!” You’re wringing your hands, stress palpable, as your bracelets clash against one another on your wrist. And this is what he’s been waiting for since you last came in, another chance to help his favorite girl.

Gaz is moving towards you as if to reach out a hand to place on your arm, but before he can, John’s heavy hand is on your shoulder, standing just behind you. “I’ve got this one, boys. Start cleaning up for me, will ya?”

Gaz and Soap exchange knowing smirks as they head off with a simple “sure thing, cap’n” and a “you got it, Price”. You’re looking up at him and he has to fight back the rush of pride that flows through him when he catches the relief in your expression. 

His thumb absently runs over the fabric of your flowy pink top, feeling your warmth through the thin fabric. “What’s the problem, doll? Never seen ya worked up like this.”

“John, oh, thank God. There’s mice in my attic- a whole family of them. I really wouldn’t mind, but there’s droppings everywhere. Animal control told me to call the exterminator. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had to- They’re only looking for a warm place to stay!” The words are a rush from your glossed lips, his hand rubbing over your shoulder the whole time and then squeezing gently once you’re done. 

God, you’re adorable. This passionate over the lives of a few woodland critters. He’s never flinched at bloodshed, but he’s not one for needless killing either, especially of anything as small and helpless as some mice.

His smile is patient as he looks down at you. “No exterminator necessary. I’ll handle ‘em for ya, lovie. Got a few humane traps I can set up for ya, free of charge. Wouldn’t want ya to get your finger trapped in ‘em.”

Your trust in him is all the payment he needs. Oh, and that sweet smile you give him as you babble happily about how he always knows just what to do. 

—

He follows you back to your place in his pick-up truck.

As you lead him inside, murmuring sheepishly about how it’s a bit of a mess inside, he’s focusing on how your smaller form squeezes in next to his in the tiny entryway, how you put your keys away with a gentle metal clatter, the movements unconscious because you’ve no doubt done them day after day. The intimacy of being in your space gets to his head, filling his mind with thoughts of placing his keys over yours on the little hook. 

You’re leading him upstairs to the attic soon enough. While he busies himself with setting up the traps, you sweep up mouse droppings. Settling into the work, a comfortable silence lingers over you both. John’s taking note of the christmas decorations, old books, and various bins you have stored up here, making a mental reminder to offer to come over if you ever need help getting the boxes down from here. He wouldn’t want you tripping down that rickety ladder leading up here. 

He’s setting down one of the last traps, placing it by a crack between the wall and floor that he wants to offer to fill for you, when you shriek, the sound loud enough to cover up the scurrying claws of the mouse that had just ran right by your sneakers. In an instant, your hands are digging into his hairy arm, clinging to him. 

It takes him a moment, looking between your hands and then your scared expression, before he’s springing into action. “Shh, darl’. It was jus’ a mouse. Can’t hurt ya. I won’t let it.”

He lets you hug his arm, using his free hand to gently rub your other shoulder. There’s a slight heat in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen, that small thrill of being alone in the dark, tucked close to another warm body. One touch from a pretty little thing and the seasoned captain is falling apart.

The moment is broken when you pull away with a sheepish smile. You’re apologizing again and again for getting spooked like that but John’s just watching you with a smile, sneaking glimpses at the crescent shaped divots your manicure left in his arm. He doesn’t want them to fade, mind wandering to how you could tear up his back with those claws.

Once the job is done, you say goodnight to him at the door, the yellow porch light casting a halo over his hair. He promises to come back once any of the traps are filled to bring the mice to a field so they don’t end up back in your attic again. 

And, no, doll, you don’t need to repay him but, how could he ever say no to a homecooked meal sometime?

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[gabseyoo]

BLANKETS — MIYA ATSUMU

content: msby!atsumu, established relationship, fluff, female reader. word count: 0,7k.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Atsumu asked, stepping into the room with only a towel slung low around his hips, his damp blonde hair clinging messily to his forehead. His skin still glistened with the remnants of steam, and he left wet footprints on the hardwood floor.

After a long, exhausting day, all he wanted was to crawl into bed, snuggle into his beautiful girlfriend’s arms, and drift off to sleep under the familiar blanket you shared.

But something was different tonight.

The first few steps of his nighttime routine went as usual—you were already in bed, reading a book and waiting for him—but the beloved gray blanket was neatly folded on his side of the bed, while a soft pink one covered your legs.

His eyes flickered to yours in confusion. “Why the question?” You asked, glancing up from your book. Then you noticed his stare and let out a quiet, “Oh.”

“You mad at me?” He pressed, his lower lip jutting out just a little, already preparing for the worst.

“I’m not mad.” You reassured him with a small smile. “It’s just an idea I had.” Before he could ask why, you continued, “Remember what we talked about? About, uh… your sleeping habits?”

Atsumu blinked. Oh. That talk.

Of course, he remembered. Two months ago. It had been two weeks after you moved in together, when love and domestic bliss were still new and shiny. You’d sweetly mentioned that his nighttime antics were, well, a little… chaotic. Sometimes throwing an arm over your face, sometimes draping a leg across you like an overly affectionate octopus. Which were completely fine for you, but the one thing you couldn’t deal with was that he was a shameless blanket thief.

He’d promised to work on it. But sleep-logic Atsumu and awake-logic Atsumu were two entirely different creatures.

So, you had tried everything. Tucking the blanket under you, securing it beneath the mattress—nothing worked. And so, you’d come up with a simple solution: separate blankets.

Atsumu, however, was clearly not a fan of this idea.

With a dramatic sigh, he shuffled to the closet, every step a performance of exaggerated woe. He tugged out a pair of boxers, his expression the embodiment of a heartbroken puppy.

“Baby…” You called to him, your voice gentle but laced with an I-know-you’re-about-to-be-dramatic tone.

“If you want to divorce me, just say so.” He mumbled, slipping on his boxers. His shoulders slumped, and he looked as if he might melt into a puddle right there on the floor.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “We’re not even married.”

“Exactly! That’s worse! You could just leave me. No legal ties, no paperwork, just gone—poof!” He flailed his arms for emphasis. “And then I’ll have to fight for the house in court while you take the dog that we don’t even have yet.”

“Atsumu.”

“And before I know it, you’ll find someone who sleeps like a corpse and doesn’t steal blankets, and you’ll never be cold again and—”

You shut your book, the sound soft but definitive. He stopped mid-ramble, watching as you set it on the nightstand and reached for his hand.

“Hey.”

He blinked at you, his expression still a perfect blend of pitiful and hopeful.

“You know it’s not about you being a problem, right?” You said, your thumb drawing lazy circles on his hand.

“...It’s not?” His lip wobbled just a bit, milking the moment for all it was worth.

You shook your head and gently pulled him closer. The distance between you dissolved, and with it, a little bit of his drama. “No, dummy. I just need sleep too.”

He exhaled, all his performative misery unraveling into a dramatic slump of relief. “Fine.” He muttered, dragging his feet as you coaxed him into bed. “But I don’t like it.”

You giggled and he immediately flopped down, half on top of you as usual, his weight pinning you to the mattress like a very clingy, very warm blanket of his own.

“What if we just get a bigger comforter?” He asked, muffled against your shoulder.

You hummed thoughtfully, fingers combing through his damp hair. “That might work.”

“We can go buy it tomorrow.”

“We can.” You agreed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “But until then, separate blankets.”