#come on don't let him get away with keeping all that to himself it's not healthy

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 8 masterlist

-

Another day passes. Sleep and wake again. Take the long hand on the clock and spin it back around, the same day starting over again. 

Coffee and breakfast in the galley on your own this time. It’s too early for anyone else to join you. Movement in needle-point inching, creeping through the hallways under the glare of the fluorescent lights. Everything feels too hollow and too bright. 

When morning briefing comes, you stand by the wall closest to the door and mask your anxiety as best as you can. 

Gaz is already in the cockpit when you arrive, chatting on the other side of the room with Alex, their conversation too low for you to eavesdrop on. He sits with an ankle crossed casually over his knee in a figure four and his hands resting on his upper thighs. One of the guys must have lent him a shirt because he wears one of their standard issue heathered grey long sleeved shirts, the fleecy material stretching a bit tight across his shoulders. 

The commander claps his hands together, tearing your attention away from Gaz’s shoulders.

“Okay, we’ve got a lot to get through today, so listen up.”

More of the same that you force yourself to pay attention to even though your mind keeps threatening to drift off. You didn’t sleep especially well the night before, tossing and turning over something that you can’t wrap your head around. You’re suffering for it now though, eyes burning from lack of sleep. 

“We’ve also got some good news, finally,” Graves says. ��Cruise control is operational again, thanks to Gaz.” 

A smattering of applause and you can only stare. You clap along with the others, the gesture more instinctual than celebratory. 

Gaz’s smile is bashful, a classic, ah, anyone could’ve done it. But anyone didn’t and his faux modesty grates on your nerves. 

Amidst Graves’ usual rundown of the day’s tasks and schedule, you notice something. Or rather, the absence of something. 

With a fresh layer of petroleum jelly still clogging your nostrils, you can’t smell anything in the room. For the first time since Gaz boarded the ship, you stay rooted in your body, not swept away by the sense memory of another time and another place. If your mind drifts, it’s only because of what you’ve been ruminating on these past couple of days. 

You observe and take note. 

Then the briefing comes to a close, the crew dismissed for the day. You only stand up after Hadir and Nikolai take leave, still staring across the room from the corner of your eye.  Despite being dismissed, Gaz doesn’t leave his seat beside Alex, still deep in conversation. He doesn’t so much as glance your way as you step from the cockpit. 

You don’t know why that stings. 

Nausea hits you out in the hall. You stumble down the stairs leading up to the cockpit before you have to steady yourself with a hand against the wall and breathe until it subsides. Less than two days later and he’s already ingratiated himself to the commander. Graves isn’t a complicated man; he wears his favouritism like a badge of honour, happy to let his underlings fight for his approval. 

You don’t know why it bothers you, but it does. Deeply. In the months since you first met Graves, you’ve hardly graduated from lukewarm pleasantries, and yet somehow within less than forty-eight hours, Gaz has earned the commander’s praise and respect. It doesn’t make sense.

The door to the cockpit abruptly slides open and a figure breezes past you, quick legs taking them halfway down the corridor before your brain even registers who it is.

“Farah?” you call out, making her stop in her tracks.

Already at the end of the hall, she turns at the sound of your voice and waits for you to catch up with her, poised like a sickle-footed dancer. She holds a tablet in front of her, the edge resting against her sternum. Dark eyes follow you all the way. 

“Can we talk?” you ask when you’re close enough to speak at a clandestine volume. 

Her eyebrows pull together. “What’s that on your face?”

“What? Oh, it’s nothing—it’s just Vaseline. Can I ask you something?”

“About what?” 

“First just—” Quiet suddenly, head twisting around to stare down the long corridor behind you. There’s no one there. Farah seems mildly unnerved when you turn your focus back on her, but when is she not these days? Maybe you are fraying at the edges. “I’ll walk with you, okay?”

Instead of responding to that, she spins on her heel and keeps walking. You take her silence as permission to follow her down the hallway towards the cargo hold. You keep silent until you’ve descended below the orlop deck, the sheer distance from the cockpit making you lower your hackles. 

Finally, it feels safe enough to speak. “What’d you think of him?”

“Gaz?” she clarifies, and the question immediately irritates you because who else would you be referring to? Who else emerged from nowhere? 

“Yes.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes drifting back down to the tablet in her hands, taking her attention away from you again. Her fingers flit across the screen as she types up a quick message, not missing a single stride as you continue down the narrow, vent-lined hall towards the main cargo hold door.  

“Farah?” you prompt. 

Her eyes flick towards you again. “He’s…helpful,” she finally answers. “Nikolai walked me through how he fixed the autonomous navigation yesterday. It was an oversight on my part to not think of fixing the GPS receiver before, but it’ll be beneficial to have someone else around to catch those slip ups.”

You frown. “I thought you and Nikolai had already tried fixing the GPS receiver.”

She stops in her tracks so abruptly that you nearly trip over your feet as you skid to a halt as well, then stares at you for a beat. Her brow furrows. You’ve never seen Farah look lost before, but she comes as close as you’ve ever seen. Faintly foggy-eyed, lips unconsciously slipping into a frown. 

“Farah?” you prod again.

That snaps her out of it. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No. It was an oversight.”

You open your mouth to argue, certain that you recalled Nikolai mentioning it before, but decide to just let it go. Not worth arguing about. “Okay, fine, it doesn’t matter—look, I just…I know things have been…weird lately. I’ve been weird, but…” You swallow, nerves making your stomach turn. “I just think…that something feels…weird about all of this. And you can tell me if you think I’m crazy, but I thought…the other day you seemed…—it just seemed like maybe we might be on the same page.”

“About Gaz, you mean?”

You just nod. 

She levels you with a sidelong look, Mona Lisa without a smile. Inscrutable woman. She looks at you like she’s trying to communicate or understand something or study you or impart something on you, but you don’t know what. Or maybe she just means to look until you do the work for her; until your mouth opens wide and you pour your heart out—

She breaks your stare, looking away. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

That surprises you; you somehow expected more resistance. Maybe you expected her to call you crazy. “You will?”

“I trust my own judgment more than anyone else’s. And—” Farah bites her tongue at the last second, holding back whatever comment she’d been about to make. Curiosity nearly makes you question her further, but she finds her words before you do. “…It’s better to be cautious and diligent, even if it amounts to nothing.”

The relief of not being dismissed out of hand nearly bowls you over. “Yes. Yes, thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”

She powers down her device, turning her body to face you fully. “That’s all you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah. Yes—that’s it.”

“Alright.” 

The dismissal is clear in her voice. She doesn’t even have to say it for you to get the request to leave. Even though it comes as no surprise, it still stings. 

You only make it a handful of strides down the hall before her voice stops you again. 

“And, doctor?”

You pause, looking over your shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’m doing this as a favour. So don’t get anyone else involved with this unless we absolutely need to,” Farah advises. “Okay?”

“Okay. I won’t.”

And then she disappears into the cargo hold without a glance back, the doors sliding shut behind her. 

At half two, there’s a knock on the medbay door and you pause in the middle of your sentence, stylus poised in midair.

It only occurs to you why someone might interrupt your research time when they knock again and a tinny, familiar voice calls out from the other side of the door, “Doctor?”

Your stomach clenches. You put the stylus down and rise to your feet. 

He’s there when you press the button to open the door, all smiles and fulsome charm, cloying like overripe fruit. Pungent and on the brink of spoiling, perfuming the air with a sickly sweet aroma, saying in a different language, this is your last chance, so take it while it’s still here. It won’t be long until this is all gone. 

But you step to the side and let him in because you promised him you would.

“I’m not too early, am I?” Gaz asks, giving you an out, and you almost take it. 

It’s tempting just to say yes and send him on his way, no follow up appointment scheduled. Maybe you’ll always be too busy to see him. Why invite him into your sanctuary after all, the only place on the ship meant just for you?

But you’ve hardly kept him out, a little voice in your head reminds you. Hasn’t he been here before? 

Again, that lingering suspicion. No evidence to back you up and yet your gut is firm in its conviction. You think of walking into the medbay the day before and stopping in your tracks, overcome by the sense that someone had been there just before you arrived. 

“Nope,” you reply with a tight smile. “Come in.”

The room feels a lot more cramped with another person in it. Particularly a man of his stature. Though you’ve treated other men before, some even more formidable than Gaz, he has a certain enigmatic quality to him that seems to take up a room. 

Your eyes subconsciously track the sway of his hips as he walks over to the exam table and takes a seat in the middle of it, waiting patiently for you to join him.

“What first, doctor?” Gaz asks, hands clasped in front of him. 

Hesitant, you smooth your hands down your lab coat and move towards him. “Um. Just—just sit for a second and I’ll grab my things.”

His stare is a physical weight on your back, but you have to keep it turned to him while you gather all the requisite equipment. 

“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time. Were you busy?” 

“…No,” you answer, shaking your head. “I wasn’t. I’m—well, honestly I’m probably the least busy person on the ship. Half the time I’m just twiddling my thumbs in here.”

You say it blithely, almost a joke, but when you turn back to Gaz, you find him staring at you with sympathetic eyes, as if sensing a deeper undercurrent to your words. “You wouldn’t be here if that were true.” 

The sudden shift to earnestness makes you feel almost awkward, embarrassed. You distract yourself by ripping apart the velcro sleeve of the blood pressure monitor. “Can you hold your arm out, please?”

He does, letting you wrap the sleeve around his arm, his bicep bulging around it. 

You conduct the litany of routine tests in silence, careful to avoid eye contact or conversation. The silence feels too delicate to break.

The evaluation consists of a series of standard tests that you’ve performed countless times before: measuring his height and weight, taking his vital signs—blood pressure, heart rate, temperature—which all come back normal, listening to his organs—which all sound, to your ear, perfectly fine—and a visual and physical examination. 

You’re not exactly sure what you expect to find. Hypotension from dehydration; decreased skin turgor; weak and thready peripheral pulses. Anything at all that might indicate the fact that he just spent the last few days stranded without food or water. Anything to indicate starvation or dehydration or lack of oxygen. 

But with each successive test, you find yourself less and less sure that he experienced any hardship at all. Everything looks fine. 

Even with the examination table lowered as much as possible, he’s still a bit too tall for you to properly perform your evaluation, necessitating that you pull up a stool at one point. It forces you to get far too close for comfort, only a hair's breadth from being pressed up against Gaz’s side when you hold the otoscope up to his ear, peering into the canal. Acutely aware of the heat emanating off his body and your nipples beading under your shirt.

He’s quiet too, for the most part. Breathes heavier when you touch your hands to his skin, but you chalk it up to reflex. Ignore the way your hands tremble and your sex aches from his presence alone. 

His lips part in a crooked grin when you switch to palpating his lymph nodes. The exhaled laugh makes your hands twitch against his neck. “Sorry—that tickled.”

“It’s fine.” Ignoring the way your face heats up, you feel around the nodes again, digging your fingers in enough to be sure that all seems well. Still nothing jumps out at you.

It’s a hundred times worse when you have him lie down on the table so you can feel around his abdomen, checking for anything abnormal. You shake a bit when the muscle doesn’t give under your questing fingers, rock hard. Beneath the shapeless spacesuit that he always used to wear his bulk was mostly hidden, but you feel it now, the solid muscle of his core undeniable. 

Enough. It doesn’t become you to objectify your patient, but there’s not much you can do besides ignore it and hope the impulse goes away on its own. 

When it finally comes time for his blood test, you step down from the stool and leave his side to go fetch a fresh needle and syringe, a couple vials, and adhesives for after. His eyes never leave your back. 

You tie off his arm and study the crease of his arm until you see a vein, cleaning the spot while keeping your gloved thumb pressed against the skin. 

“Okay, deep breath if you need to,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t flinch or wince when the needle presses in, lips not even twitching. Calm always in spite of the situation at hand. 

It’s oddly intimate, standing so close to him with your fingers resting against the inside of his arm while you fill vial after vial with his blood. Lulled by the sound of his breath, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Almost a dreamlike space. You find yourself avoiding his eyes again, lest they distract you. 

When you’ve drawn enough for your tests, you extract and discard the needle and syringe, bandaging the prick. Your hands linger on his arm, finger still tracing over the delicate skin of his cubital fossa. 

“Anything wrong with me, doctor?” Gaz asks teasingly.  

Surprisingly, no—at least, nothing you’ve been able to detect so far. That leaves you with far more questions than you originally had. He’s the picture of health as far as you can tell from your cursory exam, though his blood tests will reveal more. 

“Nothing so far. I’ll let you know when your bloodwork’s ready though,” you let him know with a brittle smile. 

His gaze drops to your neck, half-lidded eyes watching the way your throat bobs when you swallow reflexively, suddenly nervous. Avoidant disposition; you’ve always pulled away from things that have tried to pull you in. You don’t know why that thought comes to you now. 

“What’ve you got there, love?” Gaz asks in a low, purring voice, staring at you intently, and suddenly it’s like a bubble has formed around the two of you. The outside world melts away, fades into the background. A faint hum fills the space between you. 

“What?” you reply, a bit doltish, breath catching in your throat when his eyes narrow and he leans in. 

“That…right there…” he murmurs, leaning in closer to you, a hand coming up to rest against the side of your face. “Under your nose.”

Body rooted to the spot, you don’t do anything when he drags his thumb under your nostril, wiping away the mess of petroleum jelly jammed under your nose. There’s nothing you can do but let him clean it off, your arms dangling by your sides like lead weights, each pass of his thumb wiping away more and more. 

“There, that should do,” he hums, wiping the excess off on his shirt, leaving a dark, oily stain behind. Dark eyes flick up to meet yours again.  

You can’t think of anything to say; your mouth goes dry instead. He lets another low chuckle out, eyes crinkling at the corners. As if your distress were written across your face. 

It’s like he can see right through you sometimes. 

“I—” you choke out. “T-thank you.”

“It was a good try, but…something like that isn’t going to help.” It’s said like a fact, not a warning. “I’m already up here.”

Two fingers tap your forehead, lingering there for a second. You tremble under his touch. 

And then, in the back of your mind, something moves. Something of you and not of you. It’s there and then gone, so fleeting that you barely notice it. But you do. 

Ice all the way down to your core. There’s a fear in your heart slowly leaking out, clotting in your veins. Aware that maybe he isn’t just speaking facetiously, that even now you can feel something slithering around in the back of your head and maybe it isn’t just your anxiety speaking to you. 

“What do you mean?” you whisper. 

His smile splits into something wider than his face. Your fingers are numb against the inside of his arm. “You still trust anything just because it’s right in front of you?” 

Nimble fingers brush yours aside to peel off the bandage you just applied, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. 

Your breathing goes haggard. You can’t answer him. Any coherent thought has been ripped from the soft tissue of your mind, replaced by a cold, churning fear. 

Gaz lifts himself off the table quite gracefully, righting his shirt when he’s back on his feet. The fluorescent lights make everything seem so flat. Even he seems flat, towering over you like a monolith, an obelisk from deep space. Reality sloughs off him when he stands at full height, like he can’t help but shed it. 

You stare down at the plaster crumpled up on the exam table. No trace of blood on the soft middle pad. 

Right before leaving, he looks at you from over his shoulder. “Let me know when you have my results, doctor.”

All you can do is nod, and then he’s gone.

[monzabee]

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.  

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k 

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media. 

But this time, it’s different – he's alone. 

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own. 

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace. 

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life. 

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment. 

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.  

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t. 

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point. 

He clears his throat. 

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”  

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects. 

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” 

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word. 

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?” 

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.” 

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.” 

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?” 

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down. 

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?” 

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut. 

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?” 

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?” 

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?” 

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.” 

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.  

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed. 

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth. 

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.” 

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.” 

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–” 

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?” 

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?” 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.” 

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before. 

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–” 

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–” 

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?” 

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation. 

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.” 

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—” 

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–” 

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?” 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.  

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.  

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be. 

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.” 

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.” 

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you. 

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.” 

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him. 

And Lewis knows it. 

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind. 

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender. 

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”  

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe. 

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel. 

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended. 

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent. 

“Act like this changes everything.” 

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?” 

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words. 

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.” 

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.” 

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears. 

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters. 

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.” 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. 

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.” 

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.” 

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?” 

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it. 

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.” 

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist. 

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.” 

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you. 

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.” 

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.” 

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. 

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.” 

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”  

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.” 

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.” 

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”  

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.” 

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?” 

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.” 

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.  

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. 

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.” 

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning. 

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. 

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body. 

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?” 

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. 

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.” 

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?” 

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.” 

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.  

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation. 

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.” 

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.  

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes. 

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs. 

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.  

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”  

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-” 

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.” 

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.” 

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”  

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.” 

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe. 

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.  

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly. 

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core. 

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead. 

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.” 

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling. 

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless. 

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender. 

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.” 

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you. 

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.  

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”  

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness. 

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.” 

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading. 

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment. 

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.” 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride. 

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.” 

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. 

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest. 

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?” 

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.” 

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.” 

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.” 

[dollracha]

𐙚 i want it ⋆  h.js  x fem! reader

pairing: han jisung x inexperienced! reader genre: smut warnings: swearing ⋆ slight corruption kink ⋆ needy han ⋆ slight perv!han ⋆ sorta dubcon ⋆ reader is called “baby” (several times) & “my girl” (once) ⋆ non penetrative sex ⋆ munch jisung ⋆ dialogue heavy wc: 707 synopsis: you both promised to take it slow, but jisung struggles to keep his word, and you certainly don't mind. author's note: been thinking about this for days this is so incredibly self indulgent its not funny. this is not beta read. this is barely proofread. i'm just a whore.

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

“fuck, ‘m sorry, baby.” jisung whines into your neck as he ruts his cock against your wet panties. he’s got one hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. you’ve both soaked your panties, his precum and the wetness from your pussy make it almost uncomfortably sticky.

“god, ‘m so fuckin’... gross.” he rambles, pulling himself up to spit on his cock. he watches it slide off the side of his tip and down your ass. “making a mess of your poor pussy just to get myself off.”

“hannie…” your moan has him rolling his eyes back. you can’t remember how you ended up beneath him, just that you didn’t want it to stop yet. It wasn’t enough. and yet you were trying to find it in you to tell him to slow down, it’s what you wanted after all. to take it slow, wait until ‘the right time’ for your first time with jisung. that went out the window the moment he started feeling you up today.

“i know… said i'd keep my pretty girl all pure for a little longer.”

but jisung’s cock throbs at the sight of you all defiled. your hair is a mess from when he shoved you down on the bed and had his hands all up in it when he kissed you earlier. your makeup is smudged, mascara messy from the way tears well up in your eyes and spill when his cockhead rubs against your clit just right. your lipstick blurs around your lips from the sloppy kisses you shared. he begged you not to wear a bra this morning when you got dressed, it made your tits even easier for him to access. all he had to do was pull down your little tank top and they were all his. your skirt is pushed up, soft tummy peeking out. and your pussy, so wet for him already and he’s still one layer away. 

“look at you… so nasty f’me.”

“can i take off your panties? please, baby?” jisung stops rutting against your clothed pussy and gives a couple hard taps against your clit. “know it’s dirty, baby. but it’ll feel good, okay?”

all you want at this point is to feel good–screw everything else–so you nod and lift your hips so he can slide your panties off your legs.

You try to shut your legs but jisung is quicker. both of his hands keep your thighs open. “let me see that pretty pussy, don’t hide it from me.” he’s quick to spit on it again, and this time you can’t help the high pitched moan that escapes your lips. 

“did your exes ever spit on it, baby?”

you shake your head, hands coming to cover your flushed face. nobody’s ever touched you like jisung has. you’re not a virgin… you're just unexperienced. very unexperienced.

“like it?” he asks and you don’t respond. is it wrong to say you liked it? it’s gross, you think. it’s so so gross… but is it wrong?

warm saliva hits your pussy again, this time you can feel jisung’s breath on you. 

“do you like it when i spit on your pussy, baby?”

“... yes…” you respond, and finally pry your arms away from your face. jisung’s laying down on the bed, hands pressed against your thighs to keep them open. he can’t decide whether to look at your pussy or your eyes. he settles on your eyes. 

“fuck…” jisung whispers. his eyes fall back to your pussy with a smile. he licks his lips and lets his head fall against the blankets.

“ji?” you reach for his hand, and as soon as he feels your hand on his he’s grasping it, and raising his head up to kiss your knuckles. 

“i know you wanna take it slow… but please, please can i eat you out, baby? ‘s all i want.”

jisung agreed to take it slow, but he's got you half dressed and soaking your bed. maybe you should be mad, but god, the pleasure jisung was giving you was addicting. you weren’t afraid to give yourself away to him at this point.

“i want it.” you nod, and jisung kisses your hand again.

“gotta give my girl what she wants then, yeah?”

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

[bratdotcom]

Confessions of an Insomniac

curly x coworker!reader ⋆ an au where you're his coworker, and he's head over heels for you

⋆ tags : slowburn, coworkers to lovers, jimmy is mentioned like 2 times but never shown

word count : 1k+ ( and proud!! ^^ ) ⋆

⋆ taglist : @likeadeadbattery

Curly never thought he'd find himself in such a compromising position. He took himself for being a professional man. Took pride in it, too.

He was the captain, after all - your captain. Worked with you long enough to know you on a first name basis. He never truly shook off the flush that appeared on his chest whenever he called you by your actual name. He preferred calling you by your title, Doctor (L/N). It was professional. It was propriety. It was what made sense to him.

In all his years of running the Tuplar, he's never felt this way about a coworker before. It made him feel sick with sweaty palms, unable to focus.

That would explain his frequent visits to your office. But you didn't need to know that.

Curly's senses were more hyper-aware than he usually was, more than he needed for his position on the ship as you check his heartbeat with your stethoscope. "Oh, change in pulse." You comment, chuckling to yourself as you scribble that information down.

You were close. So, so close.

Curly knew the procedure. Attentiveness was expected. The way your eyes softened on him wasn't. Checkups were the norm. The way your touch seemed to linger on him like static through the corridors wasn't. He fixes the neckline of his shirt after you pull away to keep himself distracted.

"Have you been working out recently?" You hold your clipboard in your hands. Curly found it hard to tell if you were asking that question casually or professionally. You were using your doctor's voice, but you were asking him something he'd hear you ask over lunch.

Curly straightens his posture at the question to appear more put together in front of you.

"Yes, I have." He replies, though the answer was obvious. His muscles almost jumped out of the fabric of his jumpsuit. He wonders if you asked that question just to hear him say it himself.

"Usually, I do warm-ups in the morning before starting my duties..." You listen to him and nod along as he rambles on about his workout routine, not minding the lax tone of his voice.

Knowing that Curly trusted you enough not to use his captain's voice on you had to be some form of an honor, right?

Both of your words held weight. Both of you had people who looked up to you. You were both similar, in a way. Curly had you and the crew. You had Anya and him.

Curly stops his little tangent when you pick up a different colored pen and scribble more doctor's jargon onto his sheet. "That's good." You respond, eyes focused on your clipboard.

"Good?" he echoes, his face, all the way up to his ears, goes red. Pink against his skin, but red nonetheless.

He was used to people praising his routine, but it felt different coming from you.

"Yes, despite our advancements in technology, we still experience muscle atrophy." You explain, using your doctor's voice. "What you're doing helps prevent the risk." You glance towards him. "You're aware of what that is, yes?”

Curly nods, silently hoping you wouldn't comment on his appearance. "Yes, I've read about it before." He says with a bit more confidence, his hands going from his knees to his thighs.

You chuckle as you speak. "Once we get back to Earth, you won't topple over like a Jenga tower.”

Still red in the face, Curly chuckles along.

"Maybe you should get Jimmy on your little workout regiment, too."

Curly knows he shouldn't laugh at the jab you just made at his second in command, but a little good-natured ribbing never hurt anybody, right? You were joking, weren't you?

“Don't tell him I said that."

You whisper, leaning in to add emphasis to your words.

He smiles, letting out a small chuckle of approval. He eases his tone, feeling less stuffy the longer you went on with your playful jabs at his best friend. "Don't worry, Doctor (L/N)." He reassures you, his hand on the table. "I promise you, I won't tell him a thing. It'll be our little secret." Curly adds an almost teasing tone in his voice.

He relishes in the reaction you gave him. The subtle flush of your cheeks told him everything he needed to know.

You didn't mind breaking the lines between camaraderie and fraternity.

Maybe you did, maybe you didn't.

Maybe Curly was just too deep in his head, too caught up in the version he had of you.

Blinded by your smile and the way you laughed at his jokes. Curly wonders if you feel the same way as him. Saw the same version of him that he had of you.

Curly watches as you work in pure concentration, your eyes glued to your clipboard, pen cap pressed to your chin. He takes in the sight, secretly glad that you were distracted. He had the chance to do nothing but stare, admire you as you worked.

You break your concentration to speak.

"You don't have to keep calling me doctor, you know. You have the bragging rights to call me Doc."

Curly smiles ruefully at your words. He should tamp his feelings down now, shouldn't he? He had to prove that he still had control. That he was the one in charge.

Mostly for himself, not you.

"I suppose you're right." He shrugs, trying to keep his tone neutral as he gazes away to focus his eyes elsewhere. "Bragging rights, huh?" Curly says softly to himself, still smiling.

Luckily, you don't hear the way he fondly repeats your words.

"Are we still up for our little date, captain?" The way you lean in to speak makes him want to look anywhere but you. The phrasing you used made him feel all warm in the chest again.

You were going to be his downfall. All the hard work, the excruciating hours he put into getting where he was now, was just one word away from going completely down the drain.

All because of you.

"You really shouldn't call it that." Curly rubs the back of his neck like a nervous teen. Awkward and clammy. At least now he wasn't as pink as a baby mouse. "Wouldn't want the rest of the crew getting the wrong idea, would we?"

You lean back and let out a laugh, sounding as though you didn't have a care in the world.

"Yeah, you're right. Doing nails isn't much of a date anyway."

Your words sting Curly, just a bit. There was a wordless form of intimacy behind doing someone's nails of someone you loved. Carefully holding the other person's hand in yours. Trusting them enough for your hold to go limp in theirs.

You even get the right to tell others that you had the privilege of having someone else do your nails.

Bragging rights, as you playfully put it. Perhaps he was looking into it too much.

Curly mirrors your movements, his eyes temporarily flick to your hands as you speak. You had nice hands, compared to his. He'd never voice his opinions to your face, of course. Never. It'd be unprofessional of him. More than he was already. He felt guilty, thinking of you in such a way.

The thought of being alone with you strangled all competence out of him. The smell of your shampoo clouded his senses. You, you, you.

All he could think of was you.

"Trust me, Jimmy's not gonna crucify you for wearing some clear coat, Curly."

Your breath mingles with his as you do his nails, his knees were starting to hurt from sitting on the carpeted floor of the conversation pit, but he wasn't complaining at all. He appreciated the level of care you put in as you held his hand. It was endearing.

Curly looks down at his hand, his head tilted at an angle.

"What is a clear coat?" he asks, genuinely wondering what exactly you were applying to his nails. He probably should've asked that before allowing you to do this.

The small grin that appears on your lips when you hear his question makes him completely forget that what you were doing together wasn't a date. That what you were doing was just a favor between coworkers.

With a flick of your hand, you reply. "A clear coat keeps it all shiny and neat. Feels nice, huh?" Curly nods to your question, careful not to move too much as you hold his hand in yours.

"Keeps your nails from chipping, too. Wouldn't we want that, would we, Captain?"

The way your eyes flit up to him almost makes him turn red. He could've sworn he heard a teasing tone in your voice.

"No, not at all, Doc." He replies, looking down at his nails. The changes were subtle. But you were right. It felt nice.

He pretends to admire the way his nails look in the artificial moonlight, when in reality he's looking at you.

"Better waste of time than staring at those pixels, right?"

Curly remembers your words from earlier. Your promise to do his nails as the rest of the crew slept. Two insomniacs against the unrelenting pull of space. Just you and him.

He wonders if your promise was just some flimsy excuse to get him alone with you.

"Right." He repeats, voice softening.

"Captain." You scoot closer to him, your knees touching his.

Your arm brushes against his, just like it did whenever you crossed paths in the halls.

"When this is all over... I wouldn't mind seeing you outside of work."

It takes him a moment to catch on to your words. His own words catch in his throat. The walls of the ship felt more suffocating than they usually did.

"I'd like that." He responds.

Carefully, as if you'd break in his hands, he slots his fingers in between yours. He tests your reaction by squeezing your hand. When you squeeze back, he smiles.

He leans in but doesn't kiss you.

"I'd like that a lot." He adds, his other hand going to your shoulder.

Again, Curly looks at you. Deep in thought as he takes in the way you looked at him. Lost in your eyes, he almost doesn't hear what you're saying.

You looked happy, as if a weight was finally lifted off of your chest.

His eyes widen when you lean in to kiss him.

He tenses up, not expecting you to do the first move. As quickly as you pull in, you pull away. Short and sweet. That's all he needed to know you felt the same.

You were red in the face, just like him.

His thumb brushes over your skin. Curly always tried to see the bigger picture.

He never thought you'd be a part of it, too.

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

This is a really specific request so it's absolutely fine if you don't feel comfortable doing it but protective Liam standing up for his autistic gf to her dad or older man family member who keeps being willfully ignorant and making comments

Support||Liam Lawson x fem!autistic!reader

Word count—769

Liam’s patience finally snapped as the older man—her father—leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smug look on his face. The latest comment had been the tipping point.

“I just don’t get why everything has to be so complicated with you,” her father said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You make a big deal out of nothing, and it’s like… people walk on eggshells around you. Life doesn’t work like that.”

Liam glanced at his girlfriend, who sat rigidly beside him. Her eyes were fixed on her lap, her fingers twisting anxiously around the hem of her shirt. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was trying to shrink into herself, and it made his blood boil.

“Enough,” Liam said, his voice firm and steady.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said enough,” Liam repeated, standing. “This isn’t okay. And it hasn’t been okay for a long time.”

Her father leaned forward, clearly affronted. “Listen, young man—”

“No, you listen,” Liam cut him off, his tone sharp but controlled. “I’ve sat here all night listening to you talk down to her, dismiss her feelings, and act like her autism is some kind of inconvenience for you. And I’m done with it.”

Her father blinked, clearly unused to being challenged. “I’m not being dismissive. I’m just saying she makes things harder than they need to be. Back in my day, people didn’t have all these labels. We just got on with life.”

Liam let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. And how’s that working out for you? Ignoring reality doesn’t make it go away. It just makes you blind to it. Autism isn’t a ‘label.’ It’s part of who she is. And what you call ‘making things harder’ is just her trying to exist in a world that wasn’t built for people like her.”

“She’s fine,” her father said dismissively. “She just needs to toughen up.”

Liam’s voice rose, his frustration spilling out. “She’s already tougher than you’ll ever understand! Do you have any idea how much courage it takes for her to face people like you every day? To advocate for herself when people constantly dismiss her? You’re supposed to be her family. You’re supposed to support her. And instead, you make her feel small.”

“Liam…” his girlfriend murmured, tugging at his arm. Her voice was quiet, but there was a waver in it that broke his heart.

He turned to her, his expression softening. “No, you don’t deserve this,” he said gently but firmly. “You’ve been putting up with this for too long, and it’s not fair to you.”

Her father threw up his hands. “Oh, come on. I’m her father. I know her better than you do. She’s just being dramatic.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, and he turned back to the older man. “You don’t know her better than she knows herself. And if you think this is ‘dramatic,’ then you haven’t been paying attention. She’s told you what she needs. She’s told you how to support her. And every time, you’ve ignored it. Do you have any idea how much that hurts her? How much that undermines her?”

Her father opened his mouth, but Liam didn’t let him speak. “You think you’re the authority on her life because you’re her dad? You’re not. She is. And it’s about time you started listening to her instead of dismissing everything she says. Because if you keep this up, you’re going to lose her.”

The words hit like a hammer, and her father’s bravado faltered. For a moment, he looked genuinely unsure of himself.

“She’s not asking for anything unreasonable,” Liam continued, his voice quieter now but still firm. “She just wants to be understood. Respected. Loved for who she is, not who you think she should be. That’s not coddling. That’s what family is supposed to do.”

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the sound of his girlfriend taking a shaky breath. She looked up at Liam, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Liam turned back to her father, his tone softening just slightly. “You still have a chance to fix this. But it starts with you admitting that you’ve been wrong. And it starts with you trying. Really trying.”

Her father looked down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable. For the first time that evening, he seemed to be grappling with Liam’s words.

Liam reached for his girlfriend’s hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “You’re not alone in this,” he said to her softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Not anymore.”

[lexirosewrites]

I saw your post and am sending positive vibes and care.

Here's a little bit of my new chapter of my omega verse Steddie fic.

*************

Two weeks had passed, they had settled into the house, Rosie had gone back to sleeping through the night and Steve was in full bonding ceremony planning mode.

The new house was a fair bit closer to Gareth’s house meaning he could walk home now if he wanted a few beers. Steve worries about him driving if he even has one.

He's just passing through a small field when he here's a little meow. Confused, Eddie grabs his phone to give him some light and he sees a tiny little kitten in a ditch.

The gasp that leaves Eddie doesn't even make the little guy startle. Bending to scoop the kitten up he can see it's ginger but it's covered in dirt. “Oh little one. Who left you. Are there any more of you?” Eddie asks the tiny ball of fur as he searches the surrounding area, all the banks, ditches and bushes but nothing.

Eddie guessed the kitten is eight, maybe nine weeks. The kitten had snuggled into his chest the second he was picked up, taking in Eddie's body heat letting out a tiny meow.

Eddie can't help but wonder what would happen if he never stayed a bit longer and had another drink, the poor little mite wouldn't have lasted much longer by the looks of it.

Eddie carries the filthy little ball of fuzz home, the whole time cradling it like he did Rosie when she was new. The whole time he walks he keeps repeating in his head, don't get attached. We're just going to clean you up, give you some food and get you to the vet tomorrow.

Eddie enters the house and as expected Steve is upstairs, likely asleep. Eddie walks the stairs on the off chance Rosie is awake for a feed. Entering the bedroom his heart melts. Steve is laying in the nest sound asleep snoring gently and Rosie is fast asleep on her back, mouth open looking almost identical to her mother. Eddie backs out of the room not wanting to disturb his family.

Eddie gets the kitten a saucer of cow’s milk from the fridge, honestly he's not sure if it's even the right thing to give the kitten but it's all he has to hand right now and given that it's two in the morning he wouldn't even know who to call.

He fills the sink with warm water and gets some of the bathing supplies they keep under the sink for Rosie. Steve loves to bathe their daughter in the sink from time to time. Eddie can't help himself but sing in a very low voice to the kitten as he washes the small creature.

Wash, wash, wash it away,

Wash until we're clean.

Eddie repeats as he would to Rosie. Stop it Eddie, she's not staying. Even Eddie's alpha wants to stop its feet at the thought, the kitten is theirs now.

Eddie gently places the kitten in the nest while he looks around the downstairs trying to find something for the kitten to sleep in. Eddie thinks the kitten might be a girl but he's not fully sure. When he re-enters the living room the kitten is fast asleep, cuddled into Steve's nursing pillow.

Eddie decides the best thing for the situation would be to just join the kitten in the nest, he scoops the kitten up and it immediately goes to the crook of his neck for warmth. Don't get attached Eddie.

~~~~~~~~

Steve wakes to the sound of his daughter fussing as she tugs at his sleep shirt letting him know she's looking for milk. He can't help the confusion at his alpha not being in their bed.

The pang of panic that his alpha might not have come home is squashed instantly when he walks down the stairs into the sitting room. His alpha is sound asleep in the nest, Steve still feels a little bit confused but he also needs tea.

Steve places a now babbling Rosie onto the floor with her toys so he can make his tea. Within seconds he can hear Rosie trying to wake her daddy.

Her shouts of “dada” are met with Eddie's sleepy morning voice. “Morning baby girl.”

Walking back in the room Steve smiles over at Rosie and Eddie in the nest having their morning cuddles.

He stops dead when he sees one of Rosie's teddies move. “Eddie, what the fuck is that.” Steve can't help but ask.

Steve's crossing the room in seconds. It's a kitten, a tiny ginger kitten. Steve sits in the nest and scoops it off Eddie's lap. The kitten instantly snuggles into him and lets out a tiny pur. "Eddie what's this. "Steve asks as he pets the tiny kitten, Rosie looks completely fascinated by it.

"Don't be mad, I found it on the side of the road abandoned." Eddie starts as Steve gasps, moving the kitten into the crook of his neck to comfort the kitten further, making a little cooing noise at the kitten .

"Have you fed them? " Steve asks, betting Eddie hasn't.

"Oh, yeah some cow's milk because that's all we had.” Eddie replies. Steve thinks that actually that's probably not the best for the kitten but he doesn't want to criticise his alpha.

“Can you sit with them while I wash up please?" Eddie asks, looking a bit sad.

Steve gets Rosie set up in the highchair before heading to the fridge and taking a bottle of his expressed milk out. It just feels right to him as he heats the milk and puts in a saucer in front of the kitten who instantly fills her belly.

When Eddie walks back in thirty minutes later, Rosie is playing with her toes tucked into his side and watching bluey. The kitten is on his chest sleeping peacefully.

"I don't know if it was the right thing to do but I gave her a little saucer of my heated up milk. We will check with the vets if that's safe for her too. " Steve says in a way of greeting.

"Yeah, we need to take her to the vet. Hopefully he will know where to rehome her." Eddie says, sounding a little sad.

Steve can't help the hiss that rips from him making Rosie jump and Eddie's head snaps up to his mate. “Baby are you ok, did you get hurt?” Eddie asks him.

"You are not rehoming my baby. She's our family now, she needs us Eddie. Why don't we just re-home Rosie while we are at it. " Steve scolds his alpha, feeling anger burn through him. Get rid of the kitten, not a chance, she's his baby.

"But, wh-what. I thought you said no." Eddie sounds so confused.

"I know what I said” Steve bites out, annoyed that the alpha didn't just know.

“But then she snuggled into me and the baby Eddie. She's meant to be here, I wouldn't have fed her my milk if I didn't want to help her get big and strong. Call the vet and make an appointment." Steve tells his mate with a little bite.

Eddie looks truly confused but he doesn't argue, he just walks back towards the kitchen.

Steve scoops the kitten up and plants a little kiss on the kitten's head. “That's right little one, we have two babies now huh.”

🩷🩷🩷

[silcobrainrot]

I was typing out a reply to this post and then I realized I lost the plot so bad that I didn't want to derail OP's point so here it is. OP's points that I'm reflecting on:

Zaun is a very fucked place with a very fucked system. He’s doing what he thinks needs to be done in order to at some point be able to rein it in and make it better. He wanted to give Zaun a fighting chance against Piltover. He wanted to make them equal. And in a place where there are no rules. And people talk with violence. You’re going to have to make some very awful choices in order to not only take control, but have enough power to fix it. He may not have been the one to change Zaun, but he’s raised the girl that could.

"but he’s raised the girl that could." SO fucking true and I wish s2 had let her. firing that rocket at the council was a promise to make their lives hell. i didn't need to see her as the leader of a movement but it would have been nice to see her enable and enact change just by being a powerful loose cannon. Act 1 almost gave us this but then she decided that Jinx was dead in ep 4 and then we don't see her do much of anything until she shows up to the battle in the finale. She could have spent the season being unhinged, having agency and making actual choices that have consequences for herself, Zaun, and Piltover (she was responsible for most of the inciting incidents in s1). The good consequences and the bad.

Let her run wild. Show her lose herself to her grief and anger and how much she misses him and how fucked all of this is. Then bring her back. Not in a redemption arc way, I don't think she needs that, but in a way where she finally understands what she wants her life to be. She mourns the loss, she comes out of her grief, she forgives herself for killing him because it's what he would have wanted, and for the first time ever, she gets to choose what her path in life will be. It's time to be her own person. She's not a hero, she'll never lose her enjoyment of violence and chaos, but she is no longer fueled by anger and hatred and vengeance.

Let Sevika use the stuff Jinx does on her own--avenging Silco and taking vengeance against Piltover--to lead a movement. Let Sevika struggle with keeping the people who worked under Silco loyal to the mission. Show us how Sevika got on good terms with Scar [the firelights' leader while Ekko was away] and what an alliance between the movement for change inspired by Jinx, and the firelights, could accomplish for Zaun. Bringing them hope that change is really possible. Getting them out of their homes and their "every man for himself" mentality and get them believing in something. Wanting more for themselves. Organizing. Community services. Shared resources. Fucking unionizing idk. We see so many of Zaun's worst people but there are normal people living in normal poverty just trying to get by down there, too. Show us the Zaun Silco had become so disconnected from due to isolation and obsession.

It started with Silco, despite how flawed his methods were and how they did so much damage to the Undercity. An evil he thought was necessary because he didn't know any other truth in life besides pain and misery. But it started with him, and it gets realized by his daughter and lieutenant. Sevika is probably the closest thing he had to a friend, who stuck by his side despite how much their methods were hurting the people they were trying to liberate. The people who worked closest to him, lived closest to him, and could see the flaws in both his methods and him as a man, finishing what he started.

But instead we get Jinx committing suicide and Sevika joining the council which. Jesus fucking christ I don't even want to get myself started on that bullshit. @wetnoodle thank you for the brain worm

[nixthefirst]

Open your eyes Kaiser x reader

Spoilers for Michael's past, angst, negative thoughts, mentions of fights (Please do not read if you're having a bad day)

Michael hates fighting with you. He can't control himself, he can't control his actions. And it's always the same.

The cold breeze caressing his skin makes him want to push himself into your arms even more. He raises his head up a bit to find you sleeping peacefully. Maybe he should get up to close that window, it's really cold. But you wouldn't care right? There is enough blankets to keep you warm and does he really want to leave your warm embrace?

Michael lays back down, he hugs you even tighter. He just can't seem to fall asleep tonight. Not that his thoughts really allow him to.

How did he get this far? It's... weird? Amazing? He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know, doesn't want to remember any of those nights. The hellish nights of sleeping on the cold floor, wondering if he'll even wake up tomorrow. Why can't just run away? Why can't he just be free? Hasn't he suffered enough already?

A tear threatens to roll down his face but he closes his eyes instantly. Michael moves around before finally laying his head down on your chest. Thump thump thump. It feels... almost peaceful. For a moment his thoughs leave him alone, they leave him alone in the ecstasy.

Yet they are never kind enough to leave him alone for too long. This time though, Michael thinks of you.

Michael thinks of how warm your embrace is, Michael think of how bright your smile is, and how jealous he gets when it's not directed at him.

...

Now that he thinks about it, tonight is probably the first time in a while you were able to sleep so peacefully. Why do you even stay awake every night? Doesn't he provide for you? Isn't he enough? Why can't you just let him do it for you?!

Michael knows you're also broken. Maybe just as much as him. And that hurts the most for him. He puts you through all his episodes and behaviours, but you're just as broken as him. Yet, he is not you. He can't help you, he can never do something good for you. All he does is hurt, hurt, hurt you.

How can someone so broken like him do anything good for someone like you? How can he ever give back all the love you've given him? How can he convince you to not leave him when the day he fucks up inevitably comes?

He hopes that you'll be kind with him. Kind enough to not leave him. He knows he's broken, but so are you.

He just doesn't want to be left alone, vulnerable alll over again, he doesn't want to go through those harsh nights again, he doesn't want to see his so-called father in his sleep ever again.

But would the be fair to you? No. No it wouldn't.

That's when tears finally fall from his eyes. His heart aches.

He'll kiss you when you wake up, he'll spoil you rotten, he'll don anything for you, hell, he'll burn the world down for you if you want, just don't leave him. Please.

The only comfort he has for the rest of the night it holding you tight in his arms.

[woozinhos]

Hi!Can I request soft sub jeonghan with a shy unexperienced dom reader ?

I hope you enjoy this anon thank you for requesting I just hit 600 followers! <3

You had been wanting to try out a more dominant role for a while, but you were always too nervous to approach it. However, Jeonghan had been incredibly patient and understanding, and had agreed to let you explore this new side of yourself. As you prepared to take on the role of dom, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Jeonghan, on the other hand, was eager to please and happy to submit to your desires.

He lay on the bed, looking up at you with trust and anticipation in his eyes. You straddled his hips, your hands resting on his chest as you looked down at him. He was already half-hard just from the anticipation of what was to come, his body trembling slightly beneath yours.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered, your fingers tracing along the planes of his chest. "So perfect for me."

Jeonghan reached up and took your hands in his, his grip gentle but reassuring.

"Hey, don't worry," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. "Just do what feels natural. I trust you."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves as you let Jeonghan's words sink in.

"Okay," you said, your voice still a little shaky. "I'll try."

You leaned down and captured his lips in a soft kiss, trying to pour all of your affection and desire into the gesture.

Jeonghan melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face as he deepened the kiss. He was always so responsive, so eager to give you whatever you wanted. You pulled away from the kiss, trailing your lips down his jawline and neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

You reached down and took his cock in your hand, slowly pulling it out of his pants. He gasped against your lips as you wrapped your fingers around him, his hips bucking up involuntarily. You started to stroke him slowly, your grip firm but gentle as you worked him to full hardness.

Jeonghan's kisses became more frantic as you continued to stroke him, his body arching up into your touch. He moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he tried to hold on. You pulled away from the kiss, your eyes roving over his flushed face and heaving chest.

"You're so sensitive," you murmured, your thumb rubbing circles over the head of his cock. "It's adorable."

Jeonghan let out a low groan as you sank down onto him, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Oh god," he gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as he struggled to maintain control. "You feel so good, baby."

You paused for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Jeonghan was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to keep himself from bucking up into you.

"You're so tight," he whispered, his voice strained. "So perfect."

As you began to move on top of him, Jeonghan completely slipped into his submissive role. He became more pliant, his body going limp beneath you as he let you take control. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted in a soft moan as he gazed up at you with complete submission.

"Please," he whimpered, his hips twitching up to meet yours. "Please, more."

He was so needy, so desperate for your touch. He couldn't get enough of you, couldn't get enough of the feeling of being completely at your mercy.

"So needy," you teased, your voice low and sultry. "Begging for more already."

You continued to ride him, your movements slow and deliberate, making sure to draw out every gasp and moan from him. Jeonghan whimpered again, his hands scrabbling for purchase on your hips.

"Please, I'll do anything," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "Just don't stop."

You increase the pace, riding him harder and faster than before. Jeonghan's eyes roll back in his head, his body arching off the bed as he struggles to keep up with your pace. He's a mess of moans and whimpers, completely lost in the pleasure you're giving him.

You lean forward, your hands braced on his chest as you continue to move on top of him. Jeonghan's hands find their way to your breasts, his fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. He's so close, you can tell by the way his body is tensing up beneath you.

"I'm... I'm gonna..."

Jeonghan's voice trails off into a desperate whine, his grip on your breasts tightening as he tries to hold back his orgasm.

"You can come, baby," you whisper, your voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me."

Jeonghan lets out a strangled cry as he finally gives in to his release, his body trembling beneath you as he comes undone. He spills inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably as he rides out his orgasm. As he comes down from his high, he continues to moan and whimper, his body still twitching with aftershocks.

He looks completely spent, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You slowly pull off of him, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He whimpers at the loss of contact, his eyes watching you with a mixture of exhaustion and adoration.

You move to lay down beside him, wrapping your arms around his trembling body. He immediately snuggles into you, burying his face in your neck as he tries to calm down. You run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp as you hold him close.

"You did so good," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Can u pls write a smut where Arthur comes home after the worst in class episode in his little green suite, and maybe they roleplay or sumthing more vanilla

i'm telling you... there's something in the air right now because all these british youtubers are going through the peak of their lives right now in terms of how hot they're looking... don't tell me you don't agree. 👀 || WARNING: SMUT.||

"stay right there."

"pardon?"

"i need you to stay right there for a moment. don't move," she insists, holding a finger in his direction to keep him still, occupying the open doorway of arthur's en-suite bathroom and allowing her eyes to take in his appearance by dragging her vision up the figure dressed so elegantly in a suit coloured with a deep green material, "let me look at you for a minute."

"i'm confused," he hums out, hands on his hips and his elbows bent outwards, his eyebrows furrowing on his browline as he felt desperate for an answer, "what is happening?"

"don't be confused, babe," she shakes her head with a smirk on her lips, finally letting her eyes land on his face, "i just, i really like this look right now."

it dawned on him then, in the moment they finally made eye contact, that she was feeling a rather specific way towards him in the outfit he had worn for a video shoot that afternoon, his cheeks flushing a pink colour at how ravenous she seemed to look from where she had been stood in the doorway of his bathroom. her eyes had darkened, pupils large and black and overtaking the colours of her orbs, and she'd pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and she chewed hungrily on the flesh... all whilst refusing to tear her eyes away from his face.

"oh, you do, huh?"

"yeah, i really like it."

he cautiously took a step towards her and he was certain that he saw an intake of breath get caught in her throat, and the way her eyes widened at his movement had the depth of his stomach tingling, an urge to reach her quicker than he was planning to.

"don't take it off," she whispers softly, taking one large step to close the gap between them, his warm breath washing over her face and she felt her knees almost buckle beneath her, "keep it on. please."

his arms wrapped tight around her waist and he pulled her close to his front with her arms, out of pure instinct, joining around his neck, hands connecting at the nape of his neck and her fingers finding refuge in the hair at the back of his head. twisting the tips into the soft strands and pulling ever so gently on the tufts she had a hold of.

"someone's really in the mood today," he admits cheekily and she can't help but gulp thickly to his question, "did you miss me today?"

"miss you all the time you walk out the door," she says in reply, dragging her arms down his shoulders and loosening the tie that was still done to perfection around his neck, "but when you come back looking like this-"

"like what?"

he wanted to hear her say it. he wanted her to use her words. he just wanted to have clarification, to hear her verbally admit to him, that it was a turn-on for her to see him to handsomely dressed.

"arthur, please."

it was whiny, desperate, beautifully implorable and he could feel himself harden up in his boxers at the mere thought of being just brief minutes away from being deep inside her, having her mewl out and moan in pleasure, living a fantasy she'd never thought much into before. his fingers digging into her hips, his heart racing in his chest, tongue licking across his bottom lip at the thought of having her weak and reliant on him as she stood before him.

"tell me," he whispers softly, leaning his head down and much closer to her level, the tip of his nose brushing against her cheek as he spoke gently into her ear, "tell me how turned on you are. tell me how you want me to fuck you right now. tell me how you feel, lovie."

"i need you," her head tilts back and his eyes matched the exact same darkened look that she had in her eyes, moments ago, her hands pulling his head closer to hers and her lips brushed over his, "right now."

"right here?"

she nods quickly in response, "please."

his lips attached themselves to hers in a rough kiss, full of passion and hunger, overwhelmed by the desire to have her where she was so in need of him. his hands gave the tops of her thighs a pat, urging her to pull away from his lips and to jump up for a second, hands ready to catch her as her legs wrap around his waist and her ankles hook at the base of his back. immediately going back to having their lips dancing together with passion.

her back was soon against the mattress, body placed on the edge of the bed as he pulls away from her, standing above her.

"don't you dare take it off," she cries out breathlessly, shaking her head when she saw his fingers touch the buttons of the blazer, "don't, please."

"how am i supposed to-"

"just take your pants off," she digs her toes into the plump flesh of his covered bum and urges him to return to his previous position, "we don't need romance right now, arthur. i just need you. i want you."

the urgency in her voice, dripping with a desperate plea, had him eagerly throbbing behind the material of his trousers. fingers undoing the belt, followed by the button, followed by the zipper as he wiggles out of the waistband and lets the garment drop to his knees. her eyes wandering down his body, settling on his hardened cock hidden by his boxer shorts, pleading with her eyes to release what she was after.

he sprung into action, her head rolling back because she was always in complete awe and astonishment at how lucky she'd gotten to be with someone so incredible as pleasing and satisfying her, knowing she was in for a treat that afternoon. he hoists up the material of her t-shirt and hooks his fingers into her knickers, pulling them away from her core and revealing the wet and glistening folds between her legs.

"you really are desperate for me, hm?"

she nods and her attention reverts back to him when she feels his weight adjust above her, his knees propping her legs open so he had access to tease her entrance with the tip of his cock.

with a deliberate thrust, he sank into her and filled her completely, enticing a stunned gasp from deep within her. pleasure coursing through her as he stretched her in ways she had felt before but would never get over - it was thrilling for her, knowing he had the same effect on her like he did the first time they shared a intimate evening together. they moved together, a rhythm building between them as her hips bucked up every time he gave her a thrust, each one sending waves of ecstasy through her body. toes curling, fingers gripping at the material of his blazer, knees tensing around him in an attempt to have him go deeper.

they were lost in each other. the chaos of london outside his window fading away as they surrendered to the pleasure that had overtaken their bodies as he continued to thrust, each movement sending her closer and closer to the edge.

“don't stop,” she gasps out, her breath coming in quick bursts, "don't you dare."

he responded with fierce intensity, their bodies continuing to move together in perfect harmony, the heat between them becoming thick and palpable, a fire that threatened to consume them both.

and as they reached the peak of their pleasure, she cried out loud, her body quaking in ecstasy as she fell over the edge without a care in the world on who could hear her. the world around her exploding in a blur of sensations, her body arching and trembling as she gave in to the white hot ball of pure electricity that erupted in her belly.

arthur followed closely behind with his own release. his own moans filling the air and mixing with her purrs of pleasure once she'd hit the high, his body falling beside her in the aftermath of their passion. breathless and satisfied.

"that was amazing," she whispers hoarsely, feet flat against the floor as her back stayed flat against the mattress, "i don't know what came over me then, i'm so sor-."

"don't even think about apologising," he turns his head to face her and she can see sweat clinging to his forehead and his eyes watering so slightly at the corners, "that was incredible. i might have to come home wearing suits more often."

"i don't even know if it was the suit, the colour, the fact i missed you a lot today," she shrugs, "whatever it was, i hope it never disappears."

silence swallows the both of them, their heavy breathing being the only sounds to fill the quiet of the room, his fingertips brushing over hers as they laid together on the edge of the bed.

"reckon we should get cleaned up?"

she nods, "can we have a bath though? i don't know if i can stand."

"i did you that good, huh?"

[casuallivi]

The Midnight Kiss

Warning: blink and you have a giant doc worthy of flashbacks but moving the story forward is a hassle to you, huh? this is a self critique. I guess in the end we do write what we want to read, there's no escaping our kinks.

Enjoy. Comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 9: 500 days of Azriel - part 2

DAY 348

“Hold for me!”

The feminine pitch echoed in the parking lot, bags fumbling against her ribs and sneakers thumping in concrete as she ran for the elevator, Azriel using a hand to keep the door open.

“Good morning, sexy.” A slightly out of breath Elain greeted him coming into view, a messy braid swaying from one shoulder to the other.

“That’s no way no greet your boss.” He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Don’t mimic me.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Elain denied mid eye-roll, mouth already twisting to repeat his words. “I wasn’t! Gosh, you’re stiff from sunrise to sundown, and not in the fun way.”

Ignoring her blunt lie Azriel took the heavy black bag containing a heavy camera support from her shoulders and pressed their floor number.

“You chatter from sunrise to sundown, and don't see me complaining.”

Her braid slapped him in the chest, Elain turning to look at a him, mouth hanging open as if she could not believe her ears.

“Are you freaking kidding me!?! Of course, you do! You complain about it all. the. time!”

“Nah, that doesn’t sound like a me thing.”

“Unbelievable. Hold this.” she muttered pulling the light orange scrunchie from the end of her braid, nimble fingers combing through her hair to undo the thing. Azriel slipped the accessory in his wrist, watching she bang her head from one side to the other.

“Are you trying to get messier?”

“I’m giving it a sexy spin. You wouldn’t know nothing about that miss my-mommy-combs-my-hair-every-morning.”

A couple more shakes and she was done, picking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and opening the camera app, moving her neck this way and that to check herself.

“Say My girlfriend is the sexiest in the whole world!”

Azriel frowned at the blinding flash lights coming out of nowhere.

“A little warning.”

“I like organic moments. And you never come out looking ugly anyways. Is infuriating.” She moved closer to him, opening her phone gallery and proceeding to show him the picture.

Azriel barely paid attention to himself, eyes fixed entirely on Elain, mapping the constellation of freckles framing the bridge of her nose and puffed cheeks pushed upwards by a big smile. Then her finger was swiping on the screen, showing him three more photos she managed to snap in succession

"Look at my lazy eye! Christ, even glaring you look good. Never managed to catch up with an open mouth, eyes rolling, sneezing, poking your nose, nothing! It’s like you are prepared every goddamn time.”

He chuckled at her indignation.

“Why do you take so many pictures?”

Elain shrugged.

“I like documenting stuff. Stuff that catch my attention.”

“Everything catches your attention. You have the attention span of a hyperactive toddler.”

“Oh, shut it. I bet you have some weird photos in your phone, you probably collect feet or something. Where is it?”

A sneaky hand quickly found its way to his front pocket, Elain made sure her eyes were wild open to taunt him. "My, my, is this phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

She didn’t wait for him to answer, taking the phone out with a false victory cry.

“What’s your password? No! Let me guess…. 0828?”

Her question caught him by surprise.

“You remember my birthday?”

“Sure! How could I forget you’re a tight little virgin?” Elain pumped her eyebrows up and down, getting an eye roll as response. “Wait a minute,”

“Here we go.”

Azriel stepped out from the elevator making away to the rented shoot set, not bothering to check if Elain was following. He knew she was. She would never pass an opportunity to tell him whatever nonsense she had come up with.

“Now that I think about it… does that mean I get to pop your cherry?” She gasped exaggeratedly, placing a hand in her heart. “Do not worry Marino, I’ll do right by you, I’ll give –”

“All right now, let’s not. 1234. The password is 1234.”

Elain typed the password clicking her tongue, a fake expression of disappointment fixed in place.

“Christ, you’re a grandpa. This is a terrible password, too easy to remember.”

“That’s why I put it.”

“That’s why is bad.”

She went on and on about him being an old guy who was not deserving of technology, Azriel not really paying her much attention until she squealed like a guttered bunny.

“Oh my god,”

Elain exited the gallery and return dozens of times, thinking his phone may had malfunctioned or something. Nope, the phone was working just fine. She waved it in his face.

“Why are there no pictures in here?”

“There are.” Azriel said nonchalantly, jerking his chin at the few images appearing in his gallery.

All impersonal and irrelevant, mostly pictures exchanged throughout the day in Marinos’ group chat. Elain shook her head in denial.

“I mean personal pictures, pictures of things you captured with your camera because you liked them, not because they are in a vision board from next month’s issue.”

Azriel frowned in confusion

“Why would I take pictures? I can just look at the things I want.”

Elain let out a dramatic gasp, hand to heart and everything. Before she could berate him a chirpy blonde fellow approached them.

“Morning boss. Morning El. What me to set you up?”

“Morning Tommy. You can take the bag from the handsome.”

Nonchalant, Azriel dropped the bag in the boys arms not bothering to make the transition easy, Elain’s assistant for the day nearly collapsing under the weight. Azriel watched the new intern struggling not to drag the bag away.

“I don’t like him.” He said serious. Not an ounce of strength in those arms. He would not last.

"You don't like anyone."

Morning El.

"I specially don't like him."

“Are you a serial killer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

"This is not normal."

His phone was pushed on his chest and then Elain was back on her phone, frantically swiping her fingers across hundreds of pictures gleaming in the bright screen. Literally hundreds. She gave him the phone and Azriel kept scrolling. Different shoots of ice cream, juice, pizza, donuts, pasta and other food related items passed by.

“Are you setting a portfolio for a culinary magazine?” he joked.

Elain slapped him in the arm, the aggression changing to a caress when her fingers splayed over his shirt, curling around his covered biceps.

“God, you’re big. Strong too.”

“Open space. Office hours.” He chanted, not bothering to remove her hand. Once could say he flexed a little, but Azriel would firmly deny.

“I know. What were we talking about?”

“Food.”

“Yeah, food… I could eat you up.” She sighted lost in a dream.

“Elain.”

“I said food gives me joy.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. Judging by her phone gallery, everything gave her joy. Parcs, dogs, kids, houses, rain, trains, books, fresh laundry. Eventually, his employees began to fill the screen as well, goofing in their spare time, posing in the allocated sets with some model, posing with props, taking mirror selfies, cataloging material in their reunions, then it came him. Azriel clicked on a couple pictures of him taken recently, face serious and sleeves rolled upwards as he examined a variety of reports covering the meeting room table. He turned to Elain, questioning her with a look

"You look good when you are focused." She shrugged. “By the way, you don’t have to make the intern cry. I know you don’t believe it, but it is possible to treat people nicely and not die on the spot.”

Azriel sighed deeply. Never a single topic with this one. Elain’s mind had a tendency of jumping from one subject to the other, the conversation never floating in a single direction.

“I’m not running a daycare, Archeron. I’m their boss.”

“I know that. I still think you can be less of an asshole,” suddenly, she pointed a finger at him saying, “and praise! Everyone likes a little praising every once in a while. You never praise anyone! It’s absurd.”

“When one of them do something worthy of my praise, they’ll receive it.” A bit of silence passed, and Azriel could feel Elain starring a hole at his face. “What?”

“It’s that your kink? Making someone working hard for your praise?”

The more his ears turned red, the playful glint in her eyes shining brighter. Where Azriel wasn’t one to make jokes or sexual innuendos in public, Elain used them as a second language, not ashamed to shoot her shot any time. At first he thought he hated her jokes, annoyed at how inconvenient she was. Later, Azriel realized his annoyance came from the fact that he was not able to quip her with a response, a fitting rebuke only coming to mind when it was already too late.

“Do you like receiving it or giving it? No matter, I guarantee I can satisfy you either way.”

“Nope. I’m done talking with you now,” he announced walking away from her. “I have real work to do.”

“I work too you know! I make the stars in this set shine!” She yelled after him. “Have a good day, lover!”

DAY 424

“All I’m saying is you can tell me. I’m your brother, for fucks sake.” Cassian whined loudly from his chair, legs shaking like a goddamn toddler.

“I’m not talking to you.” Azriel said from behind is computer.

“Come on, bro. All I’m asking is a little bit of gossip from how are things progressing with our sweet little Lainy. For example, has she taken your virginity yet?”

"She's not yours anything." Aziel said monotonously, not bothering to give his brother too much attention. “And I am not a virgin.”

“Men don’t count.”

“Fuck off.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure our Lainy won’t –”

“Not yours.”

"Agree to disagree. Since you decided playing this fake dating shit, she sure ought to be my something." Cassian taunted. “Come on Az, I know you are not dating her. You can come clean now, I won’t judge. Much.”

Azriel watched his brother, his restless hand tapping against the armrest, the smirk that didn’t quite meet the eye. His brow furrowed.

Azriel and Cassian had a complicated relationship in boyhood, having to relearn how to navigate around each other once they were adults. The boys weren't in speaking terms for two years of their late teens and the majority of their twenties. When they were seen together at last, everyone assumed the brothers made piece to take over the family business because it was the natural outcome for them.

In reality the biggest reason behind Azriel’s return to America was Marinos wasn’t as profitable as before. While Azriel followed Morrigan across the globe her modeling career took flight but his grandfather got sick, and Cassian –who had always been the favorite for choosing to learn the finance trade– took over the family publishing business, only then discovering the trojan horse his favorite relative had left him. Their grandfather’s entire publishing business was facing bankruptcy, the magazine being one of the remaining divisions that still hadn’t gone under.

By the time he asked for Azriel's help, it was too late to save most of the branches, but Azriel did his utter best to save Marinos –a fashion magazine originally envisioned by his mother that no one ever really cared about. It cost him four years of strenuous hard work, twenty percent of the shares sold, multiple department changes, function extinctions and staff rearrangements, and the woman he thought it was the love of his life gone, but Azriel got Marinos back to its feet.  

Azriel watched his brother, the nasty memory of their split replaying in his mind. It would be a lie for him to say pettiness wasn't what guide him to drop himself -almost- on top of Elain Archeron on that night. The woman had a massive crush on Cass, and knowing his brother's ego as he did, Cass was probably nursing said crush to act on it. That night Azriel’s drunken mind conjured a reality where if he was lucky, he would make his brother a little jealous, just enough to give him a bit of satisfaction. A petty payback for succeeding in doing what Azriel never could.

“You are awfully interested in my girlfriend.”

“Am I?”

Seeing his brother show such blunt display of interest in Elain gave Azriel a couple emotions, and satisfaction was none of them. It doomed on his mind that he had become attached to Elain rather quickly, because playing petty games Morrigan and his brother didn’t seem so interesting anymore.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, Cassian sneer daring him to submit, to speak first, to cry and beg and plead for his brother to leave him alone as he would do when they were kids. Azriel wasn’t a kid anymore.

Cassian opened his mouth, and Azriel would never hear what he was about to say. Two knocks on the wood and the brothers broke their staring contest as a twirling Elain made her way into the room, the skirt of her dress swaying around her legs.

“See? I told you it wouldn’t wrinkle! I’m all ready for – Cassian.”

Her eyes grown bigger mid-sentence, surprised to find his brother there, same brother who wasted no time in placing two finger on his mouth whistling loudly.

“I'm ready for you too. Looking good, Lainy.”

"You're back."

Azriel watched her expression change from mirthful to bashful. He wondered if she was feeling shy of embarrassed. He hoped it was the latter.

“Yep, and just in time to make your wishes come true. I’m not Santa, but you can sit on my lap and tell me everything you want. I'll give it to you."

“Christmas in long gone, Cass.” She snorted.

“Oh, a daddy is never of duty,” he winked at her.

Elain suppressed her giggle, Azriel gagging all the wall to the coach hanger. “You are disgusting.”

Cassian ignored him, all smirk and bravado as he got up and moved toward Elain, malice radiating from every step. He appraised her from head to toe. It was a rare event to see Elain in a dress. Glittering eyelids matched the cleave-free green dress that stopped a few inches above her knees, white flats completing her look. His eyes returned on her knees, his smile dropping, replaced by a frown. There, pinkish than the rest of her skin, laid a perpendicular scar dividing her knee in half, stretch marks from the stitches leaving the skin heightened in a standing position. Cassian had never noticed that scar before. He wondered if it was new.

Elain cleared her throat, a blue jacket appeared in his line of sight as she repositioned the piece of clothing in her arms to cover herself, uncomfortable with his stare. Cassian smiled at her, deciding it was best not to ask about it.

“So, where we going?”

He offered her a hand, the promise of a kiss in his eyes. Elain had always loved the kisses he deposited in her hands and cheeks, lips lingering on her skin to enjoy the squirm she thought he couldn’t notice. He did notice, every time. Cassian loved making her squirm, delighting in her little crush.

For the great shock of a nation, Cassian had not fucked Elain, but now that his brother was he wondered if he had missed some kind of swift opportunity.  Elain wasn’t ugly, and it had been a long time since he found a match to his twisted sense of humor. What a delight it was that her sense of humor came wrapped in a package with a killer pair of legs, which should definitely be exposed more often. His look drift to her chest. She didn’t have much in that department but that didn’t matter much, he was more of an ass man anyways. No, Elain wasn’t ugly at all, and Cassian liked looking at her very much.

She could dress better, tho. He preferred his women with smoked eyes, sexy dresses, thigh slits and high heels. Women looked very fuckable in heels, all perched ass and tits pushing in his direction. He loved it.

Brown eyes sparkled with joy, a pretty smile blooming on her lips as she raised her hand. Except she did not place it in his expecting one, no. A harsh push forced him to the side, Azriel replacing him to take her hand, a light kiss landing on the back.

“You looked lovely.” He complimented taking her from the room. Not bothering to say goodbye to his brother, choosing to forget he existed all together.

"Good enough to eat?"

"Behave."

"Only 'cause you asked, love."

Contrary to Azriel, Elain had not forgot Cassian was there.

"We are going on a date!" She shouted back at him while Azriel walked faster to get her away from his brother. Cunning bastard.

Cassian watched her wrap her other hand around his brother’s flaccid biceps, smiling as she murmured softly to him. His expression faltered for a second. What was so funny about Azriel’s sad lack of mass muscle? Fixing his face, he jogged towards the couple, reaching them near the elevator, meddling in the middle to keep them apart, an arm around his brother and the other around Elain.

"Now this is a development I had not seen coming. Lainy, is this some kind of bet gone wrong? You can tell me if it is, as his boss I have the power to set you free."

"You are not my boss," Azriel pipped at the same time Elain said, "We are good."

Under his arm, Elain shrugged.  Azriel breaking free to go stand at her other side, pulling her by the waist till she parted from Cassian.

“This makes no sense. You are two fight like dogs… Is little Azzy threatening you?” Cassian concluded at last. “Is that it? You can tell me if he is, I’ll beat his ass for you.”

Elain simple laughed.

"Please, like he could handle me. Did you know that my sister,"

"Is a professional MMA fighter." Azriel finished the sentence in her place, winning an ugly glare. "Yes, he knows, everybody knows. You've mentioned it. Several times."

“Meddlesome.”

“Broken record.”

“Maybe he didn’t know.”

“He knows.”

“How do you know? You’re not entitled to everyone’s knowledge.”

She bumped him with her hip, Azriel not moving an inch, and turned to Cassian.

"Anyway, your brother confessed his undying love for me, and how all that stress was his way of demonstrating affection. Like a little boy pulling the pigtails of the girl he thinks is pretty." She sighed deeply. "I knew my irresistible charms would get me in trouble someday."

"I'm right here." Azriel reprehended pulling her closer.

"Oh my, you are here, love? You are so pretty for a second there I thought you were a painting." She slapped him lightly on the cheek, Azriel grabbing her wrist on the second tap.

“No hitting.”

”Why? Is it that your kink?” She asked using a tone Cassian could not distinguish, as if she was sharing an inside joke with his brother.

The elevator doors opened, his existence completely forgotten by the couple bickering as they walked inside and off they went.

DAY 489

Had someone told him he would be outside his girlfriend’s apartment, making out against a door like a couple of fucking horny teenagers, he’d have called the bloke mad. Now here he was, being the mad man himself. One side of her overall had unbuttoned, the metallic piece rasping on the wood as Azriel pressed Elain harder against the door, two bodies merging together.

The goodnight kiss was supposed to be gentle, a tender caress to remember till he saw her again. Azriel would be gone for a couple days, and Elain insisted he walked her upstairs before he left.

“I’m not coming in,” he warned her back in the car.

“Just walk me to my door, that is.”

“I will. But I’m not coming in.”

“Gee, you said that. I just want to give you a proper goodbye,” she said with false innocence.

Liar.

Once upstairs she invited him inside again, but Azriel would budge.

“Fine. Can I at least get a kiss?”

He gave her a peck.

“Goodnight, Elain.” He said knowingly. Azriel called her by last name to annoyed her, a petulant childish trait that he seemed to have absorbed around her.

Determined hands wrapped around the lapels of his suit, Elain tiptoeing to tug him down.

“I wear black and white you think I'm a nun? Don’t you dare leave after giving me this slob sorry excuse of a kiss Azriel, or I swear to God –” Her empty threat was swallowed by a kiss.

Azriel wouldn’t admit to a soul, but riling her up was fun. Their breaths mingled in a slow and sloppy kiss, Azriel walking her backwards up till she hit her door, a painful hiss drowning on the slow sleek of his tongue. In the many days following their agreement Azriel and Elain had kissed many times, which had him quickly learning that she was a frenetic kisser, aggressive in her necessity to take the lead in a succession of hurried uncoordinated motions as someone who was ready to torn her clothes apart, moving too fast as she often did in every other aspect of her life.

Like a caveman first discovering fire, he enjoyed her enthusiasm with an intense amount of male pride burning in his chest. The problem was his body was still recovering from the aftermaths of a bad love. Until Elain, Azriel had only ever loved one woman in his life, had only ever been with her. Sure, he had been on a date here and there when things went south and they broke up for a few days of weeks. Pity-dates set by friends who could not understand why a twenty-something hadn't had a single girlfriend in his entire life, pity-dates set by worried familiars who secret thought him homosexual.

He remembered being set up with solid young women whose personalities were nearly a mirror of his own, having forgettable dates where he couldn't, for the life of him, recall what they talked about, kissing some of them goodbye with a lie ready on his lips that they should do it again. Tepid kisses that were closer to a handshake than caress between possible lovers. He went to bed with none of them.

Looking back, it was almost laughable how he caught Morrigan in an intimate act with another men more times than he liked to count but had never managed to move forward with another woman himself. Too hung up in a promise she had no interest in fulfilling. Now Azriel was done chasing a woman who had no love to give him, but his body was still fearful of getting with someone different, someone new.

He needed more time to adjust, time his volcano of a girlfriend seemed to not need at all. Tenacious hands found their way inside his jacket, running wild all the way from his hip to his neck, pressing him harder against herself, her soft breast rasping against his dress shirt with every move she made. So he had to educate her.

Where Elain was a trashing hurricane, Azriel was a placid running river, moving with deliberate slow and steadiness, guiding the kiss to a less hectic pace, leisured wet tongue kisses mingled with soft peck to stable his breathe, strong hands shaping the outside of her body without being too brazen, bold enough to soothe his curiosity in caressing her body but enough to blur the lines he wasn't ready to cross.

Hands moved to him front, trailing down from his chest to his waistline, closing precariously around his belt to get him closer. Azriel stopped the kiss, pulling away slightly. Blown-wild pupils had nearly encased the entirety of her irises, a breathless Elain looking up and expectant at him.

“I want to see you naked," she hushed. Quiet words spoken in a frenzy, a solid request with no shyness in the borders.

Despite his efforts to mellow the kisses, his heart thundered inside his chest. The feeling of soft curves molding perfectly to the hard shapes of his body making him dizzy. He collared her neck, not to choke, just to hold her in place.

“What would your neighbors say?"

Azriel meant to sound playful, calm. He sounded lustful and agitated.

Elain watched him like a hawk, searching his eyes for a bit, noting the tension in his shoulders, the uneasiness in his strained smile, a quiet tell for a question she would not ask. Not yet. With a yielding sigh, she hid her face in his chest.

"She’d probably thank you, that lady is a pervert,” came her muffled reply. “We could put on show for her.”

"Is that your kink? Exhibitionism?" His smugness could not be missed, Azriel feeling pretty proud of himself for the quick thinking. Elain had been antagonizing him about kinks for weeks, now it was his turn to make her hot and uncomfortable.

"Dunno. Wanna help me figure it out?" He groaned lordly. Of course she wouldn’t stay down. “I bet she’s more kinky, tho. Did you know she watches porn without headphones?” She lifted her head again, face soured by the memory. “We do not have good soundproofing walls, Marino. Sometimes I can hear it as I'm climbing upstairs!"

Azriel chuckled, moving his hand to her face, his thumb making circular motion in her cheek. Even at night Elain seemed to glow, her supple skin calling at him, begging for a stroke, for a touch, for a kiss. So soft and so, so,

“So pretty,” he finished out loud. The unsolicited compliment turning her face red.

She recovered quickly, fully leaning into his hand to say, “I’m prettier naked. Wanna see?”

“Out in the hallway?” He challenged mildly.

“Out in the hallways.”

“For everyone to see?”

“Eve-ry-one.” She said secured. “But mostly you.”

“You are confident."

“Maybe I am an exhibitionist.”

Azriel laughed quietly, cradling her face in both hands now, a kiss landing in her forehead. Having known Elain for over a year, Azriel has lost count of how many sexual innuendos he heard coming out of her mouth. He was mostly shocked at first, mildly annoyed later, and full-on done with them once Cassian joined the mix, an insufferable nasty match that could put hookers to shame. Then he asked her to date him, and Elain perverted agenda had seemed to find a new single target: him.

Azriel would have been caught by surprise had he not been so used to her being deliberately inappropriate. Elain wanted to have sex with him and would spare no efforts to make sure Azriel understood that, but Azriel was scare to correspond because he wasn’t sure of how his body would react with a new partner.

Truth be told, he was scare he would not react at all.

“I’m sorry.”

"If you apologize for that I'll feel like a predator." Elain grimaced, exhaling in defeat. "It’s all right, rain check on exhibitionism. This is actually a very good choice you know, I remembered I'm wearing an ugly beige bra."

Azriel gave her one last kiss.

“My favorite color.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? You do seem like a guy with a boring favorite color.”

DAY 500

Her shirt had been distracting him all afternoon. The darned thing wasn’t even a sexy one, just a simple white cotton t-shirt with a stupid drawing of potted plants having a conversation.

Azriel used her jeans belt loops to turn her around till her ass was pressed on the table "You are fun, but funny, tsk tsk. Funny is a big stretch."

His fingers dug in her in waist, cutting her cognitive abilities, stopping her from registering the insult. "Cute shirt."

Elain looked down on her white tee design, where two potted plants were having a conversation. One saying, "Aloe, how are you?", the other "Hey, long Thyme no see."

"Thanks."

He traced her lower lip, muttering. "No lipstick, today?"

Her tongue darted outside, meeting the pad of his thumb. "Didn't want to smear you."

"Glass walls. Office hours." Came his low warning.

The usually cool space of the meeting room now felt like a glass furnace, his body burning from the inside out.

"Technically, we are past office hours.” She countered with a sassy tone. “I'm friends with Marie, you know, the cleaning lady. She gave these glass walls an extra glow this morning, I can guarantee you'll find no germs in it. Now, if you wanna put some germs in it, I have a few ideas about what we could press there. Who. You. could press there. But I should warn you, the dress code suggestion may get a little skimpy."

There was no hidding his smile now, except he wasn't amused. His smile was wicked, smoldering hazel eyes hiding delirious promises. Azriel cleaned her saliva over her cheek, finding her neck. Before he could rip a page from her book and make a nasty suggestion of where to put her tongue next, knuckles rapped on the wall, a voice calling for him.

"Az."

Azriel blinked, relaxation morphing into anxiety. He didn’t recognize it at first. The voice that had not called him in a while. Her voice.

“Az?” She tried again.

Blood drained from his face. Azrriel didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The sound of clicking hills filled the unnatural silence, and he knew he could not escape any long. It would come any time now.

"Az... Azriel."

There it was. The trembling call, the crying in her voice. He withdrew from Elain completely, no wanting to soil her with the disgust leaking out of him. Taking a deep breath, Azriel faced Morrigan at last.

“Hi,” she said with trembling lips.

He didn’t greet her back. Didn’t bother too.

"Can we talk? Please. I really need to speak with you."

His heart beat faster. Beneath his skin a new kind of emotion began to shimmer, rageful and blinding, so overwhelming he didn't process Elain's soft "I'll give you a minute," didn't felt the comforting swipe of her hand on his back before she left them alone.

Elain left him and Morrigan stayed.

“I missed you. I’ve called and called and you did not answer me. You know I need you,”

Morrigan was talking.

Morrigan was talking to him.

Her mouth was moving and he had no fucking clue about what she was saying.

Azriel couldn’t listen to a single word, too busy watching her. Watching her meticulously painted cherry red lips. Not a smudge in place, not even when a tear slipped past her black-lined eye the red did not smudge. She remained perfectly put together. He followed the lonely tear all the way to her chin. From there, Azriel kept going, descending to the gold choker around her tanned neck, to the strapless blood red jumpsuit that left her arms and neck uncovered but protected everything else all the way to her ankles, finishing in the black stilettos that made no more noise because she hadn’t move an inch.

Azriel would have easily fell for it in the past. The watery eyes, the singular tear drop streaming down her cheek, the trembling lips to make sure each word came out a little shaky, just enough to make her look pitiful, careful to still enunciate them properly for him to understand every word.

Words he'd latch on, let it sink, let it drown him in guilt and misery and a feeling of longing for a relationship that never existed outside of his head.

Now that he didn't listen to her, Azriel saw her. Her well-manicured coffin nails, the sunglasses on top of her head, the lasted Dior jumpsuit draped over her body. Nothing in her posture or clothes showed a person suffering as she claimed to be. 

Azriel saw Morrigan and it saddened him how easily it was to manipulate him.

To let himself be manipulated.

“Are you done?” His question was cold, cutting her sob story in half.

Morrigan sniffed, big brown eyes looking pitifully at him until she saw his resigned expression. His lack of will to entertain her. That's when her face changed, her real self breaking through the cracks of the insecure and pitiful persona she was trying to play. She looked at him regal and feral, Morrigan looked at him with the uttermost conviction that she could bring him back to her world in the snap of her fingers.

"Are you done?" she repeated back at him. Voice clear as water.

"I'm done with you."

"Stop this bullshit Azriel, we both know you don't have it in you." She pulled a small hand mirror from her purse, padding the area beneath her eye where a second tear was coming down. "I've entertained you long enough. It's time for you to go back to where you belong."

"And where would that be?"

"Beside me."

Azriel was stunned for a second. Then he was laughing, howling even. His laughter was a sad thing, carved from disbelief. He must have misheard her. Behind me, that's where she meant. Behind her, after her, pinning for her like a dog while she lived her life to the fullest not bothering to give a fuck about him. Azriel ran a hand over his hair to pull the edges hard, moving on to rub his face furiously. No, no, no. He wasn't doing this, he wasn't going to entertain her anymore.

Sharp nails carved a path on his forearm as he tried to pass by her, Morrigan grabbing him with all the strength she could must.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"I'm talking, Azriel."

"I'm not listening, Mor."

Azriel held her stare, all the love he once felt turning into an ugly thing inside his chest. She held him harder, nails sinking deeper. Her voice reflecting every ounce of authority she deem to exercise over him

"I'm talking, Azriel. And you're listening."

[soldearestsoulmate]

Character + Prompt/Request:

Sol x GN!Reader, for the beginning, then Sol and GN!Reader (spoiler. you break up)

One angsty torturing of Sol coming right up! pfff <3 (More could of been added to this...A continuation? Maybe Reader comes back...Even after all the red flags there, and suspecting what was done...What if they still come back? Only time may tell. lol)

Warnings: Attempted drugging with sleeping pills, manipulation, toxic relationship.

“Why would you put so much hope in me? Things have clearly never worked out for me!”

Rarely he rose his voice at you, unless he really was affected by his emotions, which clearly he was right now.

You've heard him say this before though, done this before. Over and over again, things go well, then they fall, then you work to try to rebuild it all with him, for him.

You loved him, you did. Cared for him deeply. But everyone has their limits, and you finally reached yours.

"You're right...They haven't, and maybe it's a sign this won't work out after all." His eyes widened at your words. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out at first. Then he started to panic, you could see it clearly, he quickly grabbed your hands, with pleading eyes.

"NO! THIS WILL WORK! IT WILL! IT HAS TO! YOU'RE MY SOULMATE AFTER ALL! WE'RE MEANT TO BE!" You felt his hold tighten, it was starting to hurt...

"Sol...Maybe you've been wrong though? What kind of soulmate can't make their love truly happy?...Help them with their problems when needed most? Make them more happy than sad, and feel more love than sorrow? That's no soulmate...at least one you deserve. You deserve better."

"No no no please don't say that. Don't believe any of that. I'm sorry! I'm sorry I keep screwing this up! I keep making it hard for you, for us! But I'll try, I'm trying! I'll do better. I'll--I'll try therapy again. I'll talk to Hyugo and--"

"And what? We repeat this all over again? Sol...Please...You know we've been hanging on by a thread for too long...I love you, I really do but...I love you too much to keep making you suffer like this...I...I can't stand to see you hurt anymore...And I know I'm mostly to blame for it all..."

"NO! YOU'RE NOT! IT'S HIS FAULT! ALL ICHABOD'S FAULT! EVEN AFTER RIDDING OF HIM HE STILL--"

"...What?"

Sol let his grip go, taking a step back, realizing what he said. "I mean...I..."

"Sol...What about Crowe? What do you mean 'ridding of him'?"

"P-pumpkin...I can explain. Let me just--" Sol attempted to hold your hands again but you stepped back, moved away from him. Eyes widened in confusion and fear.

"...What happened to Crowe? Solivan, god help me if you did something to him--"

"Pumpkin please! I swear it's not like that! Just let me explain and--"

"Then explain right now what happened to him. Explain or I will call the cops." Sol felt his heart skip a beat and tighten from your threat. Yet he forced a smile, trying to act calm.

"Of course...But let me please make you a drink, some tea, it'll help calm you while I explain...Okay? Please..." Sol's pleading eyes never failed to have a affect on you...So you nodded and let him go get that drink for you.

As Sol left the room, he texted Hyugo, a simple text, saying "They found out." sent out and then he put the phone away to focus on you.

He went to the kitchen to prepare that tea he promised, but pulled out something he thought he'll never have to use again.

"...You just need some sleep, pumpkin. I promise you. It'll all be better soon." He softly said this as he mixed in the pills into your drink. Then looked at the drink in his hands. He knew this had to be done, but wished it didn't come to this again. "I'll make this better again. I promise..."

After a moment of making peace with this decision with himself, he made his way back to the room where you were at.

"Here you go, pumpkin. One warm cup of tea made with lov--" Sol froze as he entered the room, to see no sight of you. Then saw the window wide open, your one and only exit taken. He didn't even care about the cup of tea he dropped, that both shattered and spilled over his shoes.

All he was focused on now was running to the window, to look around outside, in hopes of seeing you but you were nowhere to be found.

"PUMPKIN?! Y/N!" His breathing quickened, his heart raced, he felt his panic rising more as he started to pace the room. Looking for a sign of where you could of went. He even flipped the house upside down for a possible chance of finding you, hoping you were just hiding but you weren't there. You were gone.

Then with trembling hands he grabbed his phone to try to call Hyugo but kept messing up. He was scared, not over you getting the cops after him though. He was scared of losing you, of you being away from him.

He wasn't thinking straight anymore. He left the house in a panic now to look for you, to find you and bring you back home. To make this all right, but you wouldn't be found...Not anytime soon that is...

So he'll just run, and search for you for hours, calling you out, begging and pleading for you to come back. All while he ignores Hyugo's panicked texts and calls...

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

The time my bf turned into a cat.

So, for the Meowstathon my mootie @itsargyle started I decided to write about the lil guy :D

Grumbling Star wiped at their eyes, wondering what was making that scratching noise? Grabbing their phone and checking it Star's eyes widen seeing so many miss calls from their boyfriend. Rushing out of bed Star threw on some clothes.

"Shit, shit, shit-" Cursing to themselves, Star tried getting ahold of Faust. But hearing the voicemail he made twice in a row they started over thinking.

"Oh my god hes dead and I'm the reason he died-" Rambling, Star flung the door opened and paused. Seeing a...cat?

The small creature looked at them and huffed loudly. Crossing his little arms, if Star wasnt so confused they would have cooed. But when the cat? Faust? Meowst? Started talking Star blinked.

"Oh 'm g! Thanks for picking up the PHONE!" Sassing, Faust watched as Star dropped down. Concern all of their face as they tried thinking of what to say. With a sigh Faust walked up to them and patted their leg.

"I think I pissed off a wizard? I dont know he had a tacky outfit on how could I NOT say something?" Explaining, Faust frowned hearing Star laugh. He didnt know if it was directed to him or they cracked.

Looking at the small black cat, that looked like he had a wig on. In Faust's usual outfit, looking stylish as ever. Star couldnt help but think that Faust would end up here because he insulted an outfit.

"So, is it permanent or?" Asking Star held out their hands. Watching as Faust, cat like perked up and went to them. Purring a but as he rubbed his cheeks all over their hands.

After realizing what he was doing Faust gently swatted at them. Then huffed and shrugged his little shoulders. God he was so fucking cute right now!

"I dont think so? But let me tell you paws are NOT easy to use on a phone." Complaining, Faust's eat them twitched, "That reminds me I kinda lost my phone....It was too heavy to bring!"

Nodding their head Star looked around the hall way they were in. Sighing they got up and looked at how, well smaller Faust got.

"So do you want to come inside? I can probably go find your phone? Where were you when you changed?" Questioning Star smiled softly seeing Faust walking in. He was plushie like and so adorable!

"Uh I was in the alley by my apartment. Hopefully it's still there if not I'll just buy another one." Indifferent Faust tried jumping on the couch. Then scolds when he couldn't lift himself up and turned to Star.

"Can you pick me up please?" Asking Faust also lifted his arms and made a gripping motion. As if an invisible arrow went through Star's heart they clutched it.

"Yeah- just hold on your so fucking cute I'm going to die." Giggling, Star then took out their phone and took a picture. Cooing they then threw it on the couch and picked Faust up.

"You better not keep that!" Pouting, Faust after being put down hissed. Turning away he crossed his arms and his ears went back.

Ut was hard not to giggle at how cute he was. But Star steeled themselves and began asking more questions. Since they both don't know how long this will last, also to see if maybe they could go find the wizard.

[brotherwtf]

Clegan hate sex please 🙏

oh my God clegan hate sex yes yes I think we need more of this

trying to figure out what kind of au this could fit in but I'm thinking thoughts where they're rivals of some sort and are forced to stay on the same hotel floor (maybe rival lawyers? you guys remember that au?) but they're forced into proximity with each other

they hate each other, absolutely hate each other... but goddamn Gale can't stop thinking about how huge John looks when he spreads himself out in front of Gale, fuck John can't stop thinking about Gale's tight waist and ass in his perfectly pressed suits, pretty damning thoughts about your enemy

tense moments passing each other in the hallway to their rooms, lingering eye contact with Gale's brow set permanently in a glare and Johns lip quirked up in a grin, eyes lingering as they swipe into their respective rooms

Gale's practically itching for something, can't quite place it, so he leaps from his bed and marches across the hall, doesn't know what he's doing, and knocks twice on John's door

and that fucker, John answers with just a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping down his chest and glistening on his shoulders and Gale's mouth goes dry, but he shoves John into the room anyway, slamming the door and uses both of his hands to shove John onto the bed, straddling his hips without a word and tugging his shirt off, pushing John's hands away when he tries to bring them up to his waist

"don't touch, and don't fucking talk" Gale hisses, planting his hands on John's chest and squeezing the muscle, sighing shakily at the feeling

and John of course doesn't know how to keep his fucking mouth shut, so he does talk "are you that desperate, Gale? come on you could have just asked, would have fucked you right there in the hallway if you wanted me too," and Gale curses that the words cause a flow of blood to his groin and leans forward to shut John up with his lips

John would moan obnoxiously, disobey Gale's other order and bring his hands up to Gale's waist, moving his hips back onto John's hardening cock as Gale kisses him with all teeth and tongue, frankly it hurts but John likes it rough like this, kisses him back with the same filth and swallows the tiny sound that comes from Gale's throat

"shut the fuck up" Gale breathes and stands so he can rip off his pants pushing John further up on the bed and yanking the towel off of Johns waist and letting his hard cock lay heavy on his chest

"look at you, who knew you were hiding all of this under your perfect suits?" John marvels and Gale finally just puts his palm over John's mouth to shut him up, and it works the slightest bit by muffling his speech ever so slightly

John just uses his hands instead, bringing them around to massage Gale's perfect ass, groaning obscenely loud with it between his hands and Gale can't quite help the small groan that escapes him

forces John to open him up with his fingers, keeps his face wonderfully screwed up at the feeling of it, grip getting tighter on John's face as he practically rides John's fingers, almost embarrassingly desperate for it

oof what if when Gale pulls off of Johns fingers John manages to flip Gale over and wrap a hand around his neck, pushing him into the bed and breathing hotly in his ear as he guides his cock to Gale's loose hole, sliding in almost sinfully and he groans obnoxiously in Gale's ear

"God you're so fucking pretty for such a bitch, no pretty words to go with that pretty face?" John growls, fucking into him fast and cruel as Gale grits his teeth and tries not to moan

"Your cock isn't that big for someone who fucking acts like it, can't even fucking... fuck, feel it," Gale curses, panting into the sheets at how deep John is fucking into him

John laughs, planting his hands on Gale's shoulder blades and fucking into him harder, cursing under his breath at Gale's choked sounds into the mattress, Gale's hands clenching into the sheets and creasing them from how hard John is fucking into him

"sure are moaning like a whore for someone who can't feel it, god look at you, taking it so fucking well," John whispers and slaps Gale's ass, reveling in the way Gale jolts forward and bites back an almost scream

"fuck you... fuck.. fuck I'm gonna come," Gale hisses

John flips Gale over and links their hands together, pressing another desperately filthy kiss to Gales lips as he fucks back into Gale, panting against his lips as his thrusts get erratic

"then fucking come, come on, come from just my cock huh, you take all your rivals to bed or just me?" John growls and thrusts particularly hard when Gale nods and moans, baring his neck for John to bite and suck marks into

they come with choked sounds and growls and Gale practically scrambles out of bed with no ceremony to pull his clothes back on, John could almost feel a little sad

"what, no pillow talk after the best sex of your life?" John teases

"I would hardly call that the best sex of my life," Gale glares and has his hand on the door but doesn't quite leave

"I won't charge if you want to come back tomorrow night," John says, keeping his legs spread in case Gale wants to come back and set up between them

"fuck you, John" Gale says and leaves John naked on his bed

but John can't help but smile when he sees the angry red mark that Gale couldn't quite cover with the collar of his shirt, and definitely can't keep the smile in when Gale does indeed come back the second night, that same look in his eye as he pushes John into the room