#every day it limps to the finish line

[sungbeams]

RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT — psh

sending your boyfriend an innocent selfie after a long and tiring day quickly snowballs into something far from innocent...

⟡ ┆ pairing. park sunghoon x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol!AU (for sunghoon, y/n unspecified)

⟡ ┆ content warnings. guided + mutual masturbation, phone sex, edging, dirty talk, a tiny bit of voyeurism?

⟡ ┆ word count. 9.7k

⟡ ┆ note. first full length fic on this account !! biggest thank you to @jayparked for reading over this and listening to me complain about this fic <3

Silence greets you as you open the door to your apartment, quickly toeing off your shoes and limping into your living room just to let yourself fall onto your couch with a sigh. Your head falls backwards, leaning against the backrest, and you maneuver your feet to rest on top of the coffee table in front of you, stretching out your aching muscles with a relieved exhale. Rhythmic and consistent ticking interrupts the quietness around — coming from the clock hanging above your bookshelves — and even as you try to fight it, your eyes flutter close in an hopeless attempt to find at least a bit of relaxation.

Today had been stressful. And that's bordering on being an understatement.

Within the first hour of arriving at work, you had somehow managed to spill coffee on yourself. And even though it wasn’t that big of a stain — in fact, it was barely even noticeable unless you knew it was there — it still bothered you enough to agitate you every single time you spotted the small splotch on your white blouse. As if that wasn't enough, your colleagues kept bothering you throughout the day, and, just when you thought you were finally done with your tasks for the day and could take it slow for the rest of your shift, your boss decided to unload a massive amount of work on you. Your first instinct had been to hide in a bathroom stall until your shift was over and go home, ignoring the assignments and just call in sick next week, not wanting to interact with even one more person. In the end, your inner people-pleaser won, and you had forced yourself to push through. Relieved you finished your work and excited to finally go home, especially considering you wouldn't have to go back until Monday, you stepped onto the subway train — just to find out your usual station, the one closest to your home, was closed for maintenance work for the day, running on limited service only, meaning you had to get off at the following station. And even though the walk from there only added a few minutes to your journey, it still felt like the last straw to your already crappy day — the fact that it was raining and you hadn't brought your umbrella certainly didn't help — and all you want to do now that you're home is to bury yourself beneath your blankets and forget about this whole day.

More than anything else though, you can't help but wish you'd be able to curl up in the arms of your boyfriend, maybe watch a movie with him, or just spend the evening cuddling with him while he lets you vent while his skilled fingers work out the knots in the muscles of your shoulders, something he has done several times in the past when you've been stressed. But alas, Sunghoon just so happens to be several hundred miles away from you, currently preparing for Enhypen's next stop in their Walk the Line Tour in Saitama. Luckily, they were almost done with their tour. They only had two more weekends, four concerts in two different cities, left, and then you'd get to finally wrap your arms around your boyfriend again. The urge to call him, to hear his soothing voice to help you relax, is overwhelmingly strong, but you know he's likely more than exhausted and stressed out himself. After having to deal with hours after hours of rehearsals, the last thing you want is to bother him even more by unloading your troubles on him, especially since they seem to be oh so trivial and irrelevant now that you're back home and able to get a breather.

With another sigh, you push yourself to your aching feet, resisting the urge to fall back down onto your comfortable couch and let the pillows embrace you, your joints cracking and crunching, muscles aching in protest at the movement as you drag yourself towards your bedroom to change out of your work clothes. As you open the door, you find your bed exactly the way you had hastily left it in the morning after accidentally oversleeping, the duvet hanging halfway off the bed, and — much to your annoyance — the small lamp on the right side of your bed still turned on since you seemingly had forgotten to turn it off when you were rushing to get ready to go to work, skipping about 10 steps in your usual routine to avoid being late.

Not wanting to stay much longer in your stained shirt, you quickly open the white blouse to leave it hanging off your shoulders while you pop open the button of your pants and pull down the zipper, your hips the only thing keeping them from sliding off your body and falling to the floor. With your pants undone and the cold buttons of your shirt brushing against your skin, you make your way over to your dresser to pull out one of your oversized shirts — one that your boyfriend had previously owned before you had stretched it out by wearing it to sleep or whenever you needed its warmth, the lingering smell of him bringing you comfort in the nights he wasn't able to make it home or when you fell asleep before him. You throw the shirt onto your bed before hunting down a pair of fuzzy socks to pull over your aching feet, currently bare against the cold floor since you had left your shoes by your front door immediately after coming home.

Pulling off your dirty — and smelly — clothes and putting on the fresh shirt, you sit down on the foot of your bed while letting out a deep breath, rolling your shoulders and neck, stretching your sore muscles as your nerves finally settle after your stressful day. Looking at yourself in the mirror opposite of your bed, hair disheveled and the wrinkly old shirt hanging from your body, a thought pops into your head.

Leaning back to grab your phone off the bed from where you had thrown it when you initially entered the room. Swiping and tapping on the screen, the camera app opens, and you take a quick picture of your reflection in the mirror, your bare legs peeking out from underneath the oversized shirt, the washed-out material covering your entire upper body. Your hair is a mess, and you can clearly see the exhaustion written all over your face in the photo. If it were any other person, you wouldn't send them a picture like this; you'd delete it and pretend it never happened. But it's Sunghoon. Your boyfriend who has seen you at your absolute worst, whether it be ugly sobbing because of a movie or that one time you were so sick you were barely able to get out of bed. So you can't quite bring yourself to care about your looks. And as messy as you may appear, you also find yourself thinking he might appreciate it. After all, he had never made you feel like you needed to hide yourself away from him since you started dating, telling you just how gorgeous you are to him every chance he gets — whether that's after just waking up next to him or after some _intense_ time spent together.

Tapping away on your phone, you send him a message with the image attached to it:

> hope rehearsals are going well and you're doing alright. also hopefully you're having a better day than me, i'm gonna make a quick dinner and then crash i'm exhaustedddd :( talk to you later or tomorrow ily \<3

The rest of your evening passes by in a blur. A cup of instant noodles gulped down as fast as possible without choking on it or burning your mouth before you're rushing through your nighttime bathroom routine, skipping over a few steps you just can't bother to do until you're falling into bed. You don't fight the sweet embrace of sleep as it takes over you, your eyes fluttering close as your body floats away, knowing the next day — a Saturday, finally the weekend — would be less stressful and allow you to rot to your heart's desires.

[--]

The next time you open your eyes, the sun is up and light filters through your curtains. Reaching over to check the time on your phone, the screen displays several missed calls from your boyfriend from the evening before. Seeing the notifications almost instantly wakes you up, the back of your neck tingling with worry as your hands begin to shake, your mind going crazy with all the possibilities of what could've happened that would cause him to call you that many times at eleven at night. You press your phone against your ear while rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes, anxiously listening to the repeating sound of the dial tone, the heartbeat echoing in your ears speeding up with every passing second.

After a few more rings, your boyfriend’s raspy morning voice replaces the silence of the other end of the line.

"(Y/N)? It’s…7:30 am. On a Saturday. Don’t you have the day off? Why are you up already, babe?"

Your worries instantly melt away as his voice fills your ear, his baritone sending shivers down your spine, replacing the uneasy tingling with a different, although similar, sensation. Despite only being separated for a few days, you still find yourself missing your boyfriend already, not able to help yourself even if you wanted to. Maybe it's related to your fluctuating hormone levels during your menstrual cycle or because the anniversary of your relationship is fast approaching — or just the fact that your boyfriend has been looking extra handsome recently — but you're starting to get impatient, desperately wanting to run your hands through his dark hair and over his smooth skin again.

"I fell asleep early yesterday, and I woke up just now to several missed calls from you. I was worried something happened,” you reply with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips, not a hint of anxiety left in your body.

Sunghoon chuckles slightly over the phone, and you can hear the quiet sound of rustling in the background, most likely caused by him sitting up in his hotel bed. And indeed, just as you're imagining, several hours away from you, Sunghoon is sitting upright, leaning against the headrest of the hotel room, his pillow pressed against his back, his hand reaching up to brush his messy hair out of his face. Somehow, though, it ends up even messier, sticking up from his head in all directions. Not that he particularly cares right now. No, all he really cares about is being on the phone with you, able to hear your voice at the beginning of his day.

"Well," he clears his throat, a teasing tone taking over his voice, "you sent me that selfie last night, and I wanted to have some fun with you... but I guess you had better things to do."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he lets his eyes adjust to the bright morning sun shining through the half-closed curtains, not having had the energy to get up to close them the night before.

A laugh erupts from you as you mentally picture your boyfriend sitting in the bed of his hotel room, duvet pooled around his waist and one arm slung over his bare chest as he's leaning back against the headboard with a playful pout etched onto his face. You silently sit up — your arm starting to fall asleep from the position in which you have to hold your phone against your ear — shirt slipping off your shoulder in the process as you reach up to push some of your hair out of your face.

"Yeah? What kind of fun?"

Your voice is curious, although hushed, almost as if you don’t dare to speak too loudly, even though you’re completely alone with no one to disturb. On the other end, you can hear Sunghoon hum slightly, the rumble in his chest echoing in your ear and sending the noises straight towards your core, your plush walls fluttering around nothing. Even after being with and knowing him for quite some time, little things like this — his voice after just waking up, his cheeks painted in a dusty pink, his hair a fluffy mess just asking to run your hands through it — still instantly manage to melt you into a puddle, goosebumps rising all over your skin.

"I think you know just what kind of fun I’m talking about, baby,“ Sunghoon lightly growls into your ear, pushing the duvet completely off his body, pressing a hand against the growing bulge in his underwear to relieve some of the pressure, "You looked so sexy, with your hair all messy from the day, your makeup smudged, and my shirt covering your gorgeous body. Wish I could be there right now to tear it off of you; be the reason you're all messy and disheveled for me.”

A quiet whimper involuntarily slips past your lips, your boyfriend chuckling lowly into your ear in reaction. He's aware of the effect he has on you, especially that of his voice. Whenever when he would want to tease and rile you up, he'd intentionally lean closer to you, whispering into your ear, his breath brushing over your ear, and no matter how innocent or suggestive his hushed words would be, your body would always react the same: shivers wrecking your body, breath speeding up, and eyes glazing over as you gaze up at him. The thought of those memories alone causes you to shudder and press your legs together, dampness slowly forming between them and ruining your underwear.

"Let’s try something different today, alright, sweetheart?"

You clear your throat in hopes your voice wouldn’t come out as breathy as you’re anticipating, but without avail, "Like...like what?”

"I want you to lie back down. I know you just sat up a few moments ago; I heard it, but now I need you to lie back down. Can you do that for me, baby?“

Your response comes as a hum, not trusting your voice and wanting to relish in Sunghoon's commanding tone without interrupting him. Silently, you shuffle down in your bed until your head is resting on your pillow again before kicking your duvet off your legs to feel less trapped and constricted, allowing you to move freely. Your shirt rides up in the process, exposing the bare skin of your stomach, goosebumps forming on it as the cold air of your bedroom comes in contact with your hot skin.

"I saw a blog post a bit ago online; it was about this couple in a long-distance relationship, and to spice things up in their bedrooms, they tried this little game that blew their minds away. How does that sound?"

You swallow thickly despite your mouth feeling as dry as a desert, breathing out a soft 'good’ as you impatiently wait for your boyfriend to continue husking into your ear.

"It's...I'm not sure how to describe it. It's like a guided mutual masturbation game? I'll get you to fuck yourself just the way I want you to do it while you get to listen to my voice and allow me complete control over you. Let me guide you, tease you, make you pleasure yourself until you cum all over."

Unconsciously, you start rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure forming between them. One of your hands sneaks down your body, rubbing your folds over the wet spot forming on your panties as you try your hardest to swallow down the whimper forming in the back of your throat.

"Baby, I know you’re touching yourself already. Unless you want to deal with the consequences the minute I get back home, I’d suggest you move your hand away from your pussy right this moment,” your boyfriend growls through the phone, the roughness of his voice startling you, “Busy your hands by taking off your underwear for me, okay?”

"Okay… 'm sorry,“ you mumble quietly before lifting your hips off your mattress to allow you to quickly roll your panties down your legs, exposing your dripping core to the chilly air of your bedroom, the contrast of hot and cold, as well as your growing arousal, causing shivers to run down your spine, "What now?”

"Alright, it's called 'red light, green light' game. The rules are simple. When I say 'red light’ you’re not allowed to masturbate; you’re not allowed to touch yourself or do anything to pleasure yourself. You have to lie perfectly still and just listen to me touching myself and telling you all the things I wish I’d be able to do to you if I'd be home right now. And when I say 'green light’ that’s when it’s your turn to play with yourself, and I’ll have to listen. That’s when you get to touch yourself, rub your clit and finger yourself; do everything to try and make yourself cum. You understand?“

You nod your head in confirmation before realizing your boyfriend can’t see you, opening your mouth to whisper your words of confirmation into the eerie silence of your apartment, "Yes, I understand.”

"Good girl.“

You clench your eyes shut for a moment at the term of endearment falling from his lips, exhaling slowly through your nose to keep yourself from letting your fingers brush over your exposed skin. Once again, you can hear rustling on the other end of the line. An almost inaudible grunt echoes in your ear before Sunghoon begins speaking again, "We’ll go back and forth like that until I tell you to cum, alright? I want you to be honest with me if you don’t want to do this with me.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly at your boyfriend, ever the gentleman, but also feel oddly touched by him making sure you’re comfortable with what’s about to happen between the both of you — all of this just because of an innocent selfie shared with him after a stressful day at work. Taking a deep breath, you try your best to control the shakiness of your voice, which you know will inevitably be there once you open your mouth to answer Sunghoon.

"Don’t worry about me, Hoon. I’m okay with this, and we always said we wanted to try some new stuff. I’m excited to try this with you.“

He sighs in relief at your reassurance, "And you’ll tell me if it gets too much? Or if you end up not liking it?”

You can't help but snort slightly at the way your boyfriend’s voice goes from deep and husky to soft and gentle within the blink of an eye, “Of course I will! I promise I'll let you know if I'm uncomfortable in any way. And we both know I wouldn’t be able to lie to you even if I tried.”

You both quietly laugh together for a few moments before Sunghoon clears his throat, his voice much deeper when he talks into his phone again, “Before we get started, do me a favor and put yourself on speaker phone. I'm gonna do the same so we have both our hands free, alright?”

"Okay,“ you reply with a hushed tone before taking your phone away from your ear and tapping the screen to put it on speaker.

"Ready to get started?”

His voice is louder in your room now, almost enough to convince you he’s right beside you, sitting on the edge of your bed and telling you what to do while watching you with hungry eyes, if not for the slight static sounds and rustling coming from your phone. The sad reality, however, is that he’s not in your bedroom, nowhere near you in fact, and if you were to reach out, your fingertips wouldn’t be able to brush against his hot and flushed skin like you desperately wish they would. It frustrates you, not being able to feel him on your body, but you force yourself to remember he’ll be back home soon — as a matter of fact, he'd be coming home in 10 days — and you both will get to catch up on moments missed together. Snapping back to reality, you take a deep breath, curious as to how this 'game’ Sunghoon has planned will turn out.

"Yeah, I’m ready,“ you breathe out, your fingers twitching to touch yourself, to run them down your body until you’re met with your already sopping core, but, as hard as it is, you refuse yourself and the need to do just that.

While you’re lying in your bed, desperate to touch your body, Sunghoon begins to pull down his underwear, his hard and aching cock springing free and hitting his lower abdomen. With a groan, he starts teasing himself with one finger, running it over the slit of his dick, the head red and angry after being ignored for so long already.

"Just got my cock out,” he moans slightly as his finger slowly collects droplets of his precum, “it’s so hard for you already, desperate to be touched...Remember, it’s a red light for you at the moment, baby. You have to lie still and just listen to me as I start touching myself.”

Adding a second finger, Sunghoon slides them over the underside of his cock, running them along the prominent vein there until he reaches the base of his cock. Wrapping his fingers around his thick girth, he lets out a relieved sigh. Having his own hand around himself comes nowhere close to the amazing feeling of your hand dragging up and down his stiff length, but knowing you’re lying in your bed, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself, and having to listen to your boyfriend’s sounds of pleasure is good enough for him at this moment.

"Oh fuck, do you hear how turned I am for you, baby? So turned on, knowing you can’t do anything else but listen to me touch myself, desperate to run your fingers down your own body, huh?“

His panting fills the void of your room, your fingers burying themselves into your duvet as you try to hold back from moving even a single muscle in your body. He lets out a grunt that echoes off your walls, sending shockwaves straight to your cunt as you find yourself wishing, hoping, _needing_ for him to tell you it’s your turn to touch yourself. Your breathing speeds up as you continue listening to your boyfriend, his soft moans, his groans, his grunts. The mental picture of him laying with his cock out, his hand wrapped around himself, burns itself into your mind, and you swear you've never been so jealous of someone’s hand before.

Sunghoon groans again as he lets his thumb swipe over the head of his cock, collecting the beads of his precum, continuing to relish in the sensation, "Feels so good, stroking my hand up and down my cock. Just knowing you’re listening to me doing these things, waiting for me to tell you it’s your turn.”

Your breathy moan interrupts him, your thighs clenching in impatience, "Sunghoon, please…wanna touch myself.”

"Ah, ah. Poor thing…don’t worry, it’s gonna be your turn soon.“

Sunghoon smirks, even though he's aware you’re not able to see it. Knowing you’re desperate, _so desperate_, to touch yourself — something you usually were rather shy about when the two of you are together — turns him on even more, his cock hardening even more in his hand as he continues to stroke himself.

"You wanna touch yourself, baby?”

"Please,“ you whine, throwing your head back as your self-control is wearing thin, "please let me touch myself.”

"Okay, green light for you.“

Taking his hand off his cock takes more effort and willpower than Sunghoon would’ve ever thought and is willing to admit, but he’s instantly rewarded when he hears the relieved moan falling from your lips and echoing through his hotel room. He can’t help but thank the heavens for the fact that he doesn't have to share a room with any of the other guys, or, god forbid, a manager. On top of that, the hotel rooms thankfully happen to be soundproof, so he truly doesn't have to worry about anyone outside of these four walls hearing him, no passing staff members or hotel employees — otherwise, he knows, he would have a great deal of explaining to do or deal with some peculiar glances thrown his way and hushed whispers surrounding him for the entire length of their stay.

While your boyfriend is struggling to place his hands next to his body, restraining from touching himself, you want to immediately run your hands down your body and touch your swollen lips to relieve the tension between your legs, play with your clit and thrust your fingers into your wet cunt until you’d finally get to cum. However, Sunghoon has other plans for you.

"I know you want to touch your pussy but you need to wait a bit longer, go slow on this green light.”

"I can’t,“ you whine at him, a pout prominent on your lips as you start to get annoyed at your boyfriend for teasing you, or rather making you tease yourself, like this.

"I know you can. Don’t be a brat now; just listen to what I'm telling you to do,” Sunghoon’s voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone, and you sigh in submission, giving him the clear to continue with his instructions, “I want you to touch your body. Slowly. Close your eyes and imagine me there while you play with your breasts, tweak your nipples, pull on them until they’re all hard and perky.”

You follow his directions, your hands lightly pushing the material of your shirt over your chest, running them over the hot skin of your chest, fingers playing with the rim of your areola to tease yourself before you ghost over your nipples. Your breathing speeds up as you finally start to feel actual pleasure shooting through your body, tiny jolts setting your veins alight as you start to roll your perky buds between your fingers. Breathy moans fall from your lips as you pinch your nipples, occasionally pulling on them just to let them snap back down, the slight sting of pain only intensifying your bliss.

"Such a good girl, doing what I tell her to do. Go on, run your fingers down your body to your pussy, stroke the inside of your thighs, and over the outside of your lips all while imagining me lying on my bed with my hard cock resting on my stomach, twitching to be touched,“ Sunghoon rasps as he’s thinking about how you must look, touching your body to his voice as you’re writhing on your bed, desperate for your release already.

He knows how impatient you can get, often whining for him to go harder, faster, to stop teasing you whenever you’re together, even though he likes to take his time with you. He enjoys riling you up until you’re nothing but a whining and moaning mess underneath him, until even the smallest brush of his fingers against your swollen clit could send you over the edge, and so, with your consent, of course, he often finds himself reveling in your impatience, enjoying the desperation written on your entire body as he edges you over and over again.

You, on the other hand, want nothing more than to plunge your fingers into your dripping heat, wet enough for two of them to slip right past your lips. Your hips jerk off the mattress when your fingers first make contact with the inside of your thighs, already so sensitive just from listening to your boyfriend pleasure himself and stroke his dick.

"Can you feel yourself getting wet, baby?” Sunghoon’s voice sounds choked, almost as if it pains him not to touch himself while having to listen to your breathy moans and pants.

"Yeah…“ you whine as you slide your hand between your thighs, your fingers running over your lower lips and feeling your silky essence coat your skin, your other hand continuing to tug at your perk nipples and massage your breasts, "so wet for you.”

"Only me?“ he asks with a strained voice, his hands clenching beside his legs as he continues to listen to the little noises slipping past your lips as you run your fingers over your body, jaw tensing as he resists the urge to touch his aching cock, leaking against the taunt skin of his stomach.

You give him a desperate whine in reply as your hand bumps against your swollen clit, desperate to get some attention from your fingers as well, "Only you. Only for you, Sunghoon.”

"Go on then, baby. Go and finger yourself for me. Just one finger for now, though.“

Sighing in relief, you finally slip a finger between your legs, sliding it into your center, curling it upwards and moving it inside you as moans tumble past your parted lips, raw from biting them to try and keep quiet, not that you care about your noises anymore now.

"Feels so good, fuck, Sunghoon…please let me cum,” you beg for your boyfriend, already dreading the moment he’s going to tell you to pull your finger out of your pussy again, knowing it will inevitably happen once he hears you getting closer to your orgasm.

"You wanna cum? You wanna cum all over your greedy finger, baby?“

You whimper out in response, the tip of your finger barely grazing against that one spot inside you that your boyfriend is usually able to reach without any problems, his long fingers curving in your cunt as he brings you to the edge over and over again. You slip a second finger into your pussy, a small part of you hoping two of your fingers would come at least partially close to how his usually feel inside of you. With no avail. Dreaming about Sunghoon’s fingers only makes your thighs quiver even more, tears of frustration forming in your eyes since you know your fingers will never feel as good inside you as his do. 

"Answer me, baby,” Sunghoon’s demand snaps you out of your daydream, your fingers continuing to twist and curl inside you.

"Wanna cum…p-please, I wanna cum so badly-“

Sunghoon can tell you’re frustrated based on the choked sound cutting off the whine in your voice — and he almost feels bad for you. He knows you're usually not a fan of touching yourself without any help, his specifically, but he puts his faith in you and this little game the two of you are playing, trusting that you’ll be able to finish by just listening to him pleasure himself and his voice while his body succumbs to his carnal needs. Despite this, you’re still able to feel your walls flutter around your fingers as the heel of your palm nudges against your swollen clit, drawing a sobbed whimper from you.

"That’s too bad, baby. Red light for you now.”

You mewl in protest, wanting nothing more than to keep your fingers buried inside you until your release would finally wash over you. However, not wanting to disobey your boyfriend — and especially not wanting to deal with his punishments — you slowly pull your fingers out of yourself. Your digits are coated in your essence as you place your hands next to your body, smearing your juices onto the skin of your thigh, waiting with anticipation to hear Sunghoon’s groans resonate from the speakers of your phone.

In the bed of his hotel room all the way in Japan, Sunghoon moves his hand back to his cock, fingers wrapping around himself, slowly sliding it up his length until he reaches the top, his thumb running over the head to spread the pre-cum leaking from it over his hot skin. He groans your name at the motion, imagining it was your hand wrapped around him instead, imagining you sitting between his spread-out legs, your mouth kissing up and down his shaft, lips closing around him just for him to thrust into your wet heat while fisting your hair.

"Sunghoon,“ your whine interrupts his train of thought, his eyes flashing open to stare at the cold wooden ceiling of his room, "talk to me, please. Tell me what you’re doing.”

"That what you want?“ he rasps, continuing to stroke himself as his hips buck up to meet his fist.

"Yes, please,” your voice is small as you respond, almost as if you’re scared to admit your lewd thoughts, scared to get judged or ridiculed despite knowing your boyfriend would never do anything like that, would never make you feel like you have to hide yourself from him.

He chuckles slightly at your request, discovering a new side, a dirty side of you that you have never shown him before whenever you two have been together. He grunts as he tightens the grip around his dick, the muscles in his lower abdomen drawing taut as he feels himself inching towards his own orgasm.

"Fuck,“ he grunts as he lets his thumb slide over his slit a few times, his legs clenching at the pleasure rushing through his body, "stroking my hand over myself, wishing it was yours instead of mine. I’m thinking about all the times I’ve had your pretty lips around me, the noises coming from you as I pull on your hair to guide your head up and down my cock until you let me fill your mouth with my cum. Thinking about it dribbling past your lips, running down your chin, and making a mess of you before I fuck you into the mattress, throwing your legs over my shoulders as you scratch up my back.”

You can’t help but let your hand wander back towards your core again, running it over your swollen sex before you let two of your fingers rub small circles on your clit. You whine at the feeling, wanting to finally, finally give in to your body's pleas. However, what you forget to think about is that Sunghoon knows you; in fact, he knows almost better than you know yourself, your body, your movements — and the noises you make when he's fucking you. The moment you moan at the feeling of your fingers on your aching clit, he knows you’re touching yourself despite it not being your turn yet. His eyes snap open, his hand stills on his hardened cock as his eyebrows furrow in disbelief, not quite wanting to believe what his ears are hearing.

"Babygirl, I said red light,“ he pants after picking up his movements again, the sound of his hand stroking himself clearly audible at your end of the line, "you stop when I say so. Don’t make me punish you when I get back home.”

Your breath hitches and your fingers pause their movements. The whine falling from your lips could be described as nothing short of pathetic as you mumble out a halfhearted apology, your hands trembling as you pull them away from your wet, almost dripping, pussy. Your legs start twitching in response, your body burning at the denied orgasm, so close to the edge but not allowed to let yourself submit to the feeling just yet. You can’t help but hate yourself for giving in, weighing in the option of just taking your boyfriend’s punishment once he’s back by your side, but, in the end, you know the kind he would give you wouldn’t be just a few spankings until your ass would be raw and red. 

Oh no, knowing Sunghoon, he wouldn’t let you cum for several days until you were a begging and delirious mess for him, the only thing on your mind being him and his cock. Only then would he allow you to cum, after making sure you’d tell him — assure him while sitting on your knees with his hard cock in front of you, your hands wrapped tightly around it — that you wouldn’t disobey him again. It had happened before after all, only once, but enough to engrave it into your memory, the way your body trembled, your mind reeling at the denied orgasm, your lower lips so uncomfortably drenched you felt like you were going insane.

Sunghoon continues to stroke himself, moaning your name into his room and, once again, thanking the universe for his hotel room being soundproof as well as the fact that it was still early enough for him to be sure none of the other members would be awake right now to disturb him. His heart is beating out of his chest as he listens to your shuddering breath and soft whimpers sounding through the speakers of his phone. He can tell you’re trying your hardest to hold back, wanting nothing more than to touch yourself again, to finally rub your clit once more and make it over the finishing line, but you're keeping yourself from it in order to please him, to not make him punish you. And he absolutely loves it. Loves knowing the control he has over you even several hundred miles away from you.

"Sunghoon…please,“ you breathe out, whiney, your begs sounding like a broken record.

"Use your words, baby,” he says, his voice cracking as he tugs especially hard on his thick cock, "tell me what you want.”

"Please, p-please wanna touch myself again…“ you beg for your boyfriend, desperate to push your fingers back inside your sopping core and make yourself cum, being denied your orgasm too often already.

"Fuck, so desperate for me…you like playing with your pretty little pussy that much, huh?”

You nod despite Sunghoon not being able to see, a frail, nothing short of desperate, moan slipping past your lips. Your walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled up again, to have your fingers rub against them. Your legs twitch in anticipation, muscles tensing up, and you have to grip onto the duvet that’s pooled around your hips in order to not give in to the urge to touch your body despite it not being your turn just now. Hearing those sounds coming from you, Sunghoon can’t help but feel sorry, stilling the movements of his hand before letting out a deep sigh.

"Alright, it’s your turn again. Green light for you, but I want you to follow my lead again, okay, baby?“

"Okay. Thank you,” you sigh, your body relaxing again at the thought of you finally getting to finish.

"I want you to rub your hands over your body. Run them over your breasts, circling your fingers around your nipples, and then down your tummy to work your way towards your pussy. Now…put your fingers along the insides of your thighs and push them wide apart; are you following what I’m saying, baby?“

You moan in confirmation, your fingers running over the sensitive insides of your thighs, turning you on even more than you already are, ready to push them into your weeping hole as soon as he tells you to. Your nipples are hard and pert against the cold air inside your bedroom, desperate for your attention, which is directed towards another part of your body.

Sunghoon clears his throat before he continues, need and want turning his voice hoarse, "I want you to imagine this while you’re fucking yourself, while you’re trying to make yourself cum right now. I want you to imagine the skin of my face brushing against the insides of your legs; imagine my mouth coming closer and closer to your pussy, my hot breath fanning over your wet lips. And before you even realize it, imagine my tongue running over them, gliding from one end up to the other, drinking you in, sucking on your clit as I’m going down on you.”

You almost can’t hear him from the squelching sounds your soaked pussy makes as your fingers move inside of you. Your mind is rushing, scrambling to get your mouth to produce any other sounds besides the constant moans spilling past your lips.

"Fuck,“ you cry out, throwing your head back and straining your neck.

Your body shivers as you imagine everything he just told you, his hands all over your body, his tongue on your cunt. Arching your back off of the mattress, your walls clench around your fingers, which never stop working their way in and out of you.

"Imagine my head between your thighs, your hands tugging on my hair as I’m pushing my tongue inside you, tasting your essence in my mouth. Keep playing with yourself, baby. Keep imagining me right there with you. Bet you wish it were my fingers buried deep in your cunt instead. You’re really close, aren’t you?”

You reply with a weak moan, “Yes, please, please…”

Sunghoon knows the telltale signs of you being close to your orgasm, and even without seeing you, he can still hear the way your moans get more and more whiny, your breathing speeding up, and your vocal cords producing the most beautiful sounds as you groan out his name, causing his dick to twitch against his stomach, untouched. Just before you can feel yourself tumbling over the edge, he tells you to stop again, the two simple words spoken into the void of your room the most torturous thing he has ever done to you.

Your body listens before your mind even processes his words, your hands moving away from your dripping and clenching pussy as soon as those words leave his mouth. You throw your head back in irritation, your eyes fluttering open, tears of frustration burning behind them, your skin scorching hot as you try to calm your breathing. Pleasure slowly fades away, slipping from your grasp, and all you’re left with is a dull ache between your legs, feeling empty after you pull your fingers away from your drenched folds, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

Sunghoon’s chuckle sounds out of your phone in reaction to your whiny sob ripping its way from your vocal cords, “You didn’t think I’d let you get off this easy, did you? Now, you gotta listen to me again..."

He groans as he lets his hand glide up and down his cock again, his breathing quickly turning into messy panting. He tries to force himself to not go too fast, wanting to draw out his orgasm even more than he already had. Sunghoon doesn’t want to cum before getting to hear your beautiful and desperate moans again, needy whines echoing through his hotel room while you’re pleasuring yourself. No, he doesn’t want to miss out on that experience.

The thought of you lying on your bed — your body damp and sticky due to the sweat coating your skin while your hands are pressed against your sides, fingers twitching with anticipation — drives him absolutely insane. He can’t wait to come back home and reward you for doing this experiment with him, licking you up until you would be trembling underneath the slightest of his touch, just to drive you over the edge again and again.

"God, I’m so hard just from thinking about going down on you. I love it so much, eating you out, seeing your eyes roll back into your head as I wrap my lips around your swollen clit,“ a choked moan cuts him off as he throws his head back, his throat straining at the effort to keep himself from cumming, "hearing you whimper, hearing you moan my name, whining for me to make you come…”

Being able to listen to him moan like this, so desperate for his release, draws out an involuntary shudder that makes your pussy throb in anticipation and need. You clench your fingers by your side to keep yourself from running them over your trembling body, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

"Fuck…Sunghoon, please. I wanna cum, please, let me touch myself again,“ you whine desperately, being denied too many times now.

Sunghoon nods on the other end of the line, not that you’re able to see it, but he groans in confirmation, "Go on, touch yourself to my moans. I want to cum together with you, fuck…rub your pretty little pussy for me, baby.”

Sighing in relief, you instantly move both of your hands down your body towards your core, slipping two digits past your wet lips while the fingers on your other hand start rubbing circles on your swollen clit. You’re past the point of wanting to build up to your orgasm, ready to let it crash over you and take you with it until you’re completely wrecked.

"God,“ he almost growls into your ear, his voice strained with effort, "I’m imagining you, laying in bed. I bet your fingers are pressing really _really_ hard and quick circles against your clit, huh?”

"Y-yes! Please, please feels so good," you babble out, your own thoughts not making any sense to you anymore.

Your panting becomes erratic, whines falling from your mouth as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. The pace of your fingers quickens, and you can’t help but let a loud moan slip past your lips, your lower one slipping out of the grasp your teeth had on it just moments ago. Your moans turn into whines and heavy breathing as your toes curl at the pleasure pricking at every nerve in your entire body. Moving your hand away from your clit, you let it ghost over your body, dragging your fingernails over your scorching skin until you reach your breasts to roll one of your nipples between your fingers.

"That's it, come on, say it now. Say it for me, baby,“ he urges you, desperate to release all over his hand, the head of his cock colored an angry red as he continues to pump himself to the pace of your breaths.

"Shit…I-I’m gonna cum,” you stutter, your voice airy and feeling lightheaded as your body threatens to get overwhelmed with desire.

"Yeah? Gonna cum all over your fingers for me, baby? Gonna cum so hard, your thighs will shake for days when you think about this? Won’t be able to walk today?“

You mewl loudly in response, your walls fluttering and twitching around your fingers, your palm rubbing against your swollen clit as your other hand grips tightly onto your breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipple, "Fuck…y-yeah...”

Your boyfriend groans at the other end in response to your noises, his breaths nearing erratic as he rushes to meet the pace of your movements with his own stroking, his hand fisting up and down his hard cock, “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over your fingers like the good girl you are for me.”

"Ah, fuck…fuck me, feels so good!“

You move your hand away from your chest, angling the fingers buried inside you so you could press quick small circles against your aching clit again, and soon enough you’re choking out a loud moan, your voice echoing off your bedroom walls as you feel yourself coming closer and closer to your release.

Your orgasm crashes over you in one big wave of heat, your back arching off your bed as your hand stills inside your pussy. Your release gushes from your core, coating parts of your trembling hand. Drool threatens to escape past your lips as your jaw slackens, the moans tumbling from your mouth come nothing short of pornographic, your orgasm too intense for you to bite them back or even attempt to contain them. 

Loud groans fill your room, joined by the wet sounds of your boyfriend pumping his cock at a mind-blowing pace, coming straight from the speakers of your phone as you hear him panting faster and faster until he grunts out, "Oh fuck, shit…I’m cumming, I-I’m cumming!”

Sunghoon desperately continues to stroke his cock as it twitches in his hands, his muscles burning with strain as they tighten all over his body. He throws his head back as his vocal cords produce the loudest groan you’ve ever heard come from your boyfriend’s throat. His chest heaves up and down as he shoots his release all over his hand and his lower abdomen, completely emptying himself onto his burning skin. He continues to lazily move his hand up and down his cock to ride out his high until sensitivity starts to settle in and he pulls his hand away from his slowly softening dick, letting out a low sigh in relief.

Slowly, his breathing starts to even out, his body relaxing; he feels his muscles loosening up, and he revels in the lightness of his body after his orgasm. The thin sheen of sweat that covers his body begins to dry on his skin, still hot and burning, and the sticky feeling makes him cringe slightly — not that he cares in this moment. Through the speakers of his phone, he can hear your breathless panting. Reaching over, he holds onto the device to press it against his ear again, wanting to have your voice echo directly into his ear.

Just as Sunghoon, your breathing starts to slow down little by little, the familiar hazy weightlessness taking over you. You almost feel as if you’re floating through the clouds, even though, at the same time, you find your body wanting nothing more than to sink deeper and deeper into your mattress until it would be swallowed wholly.

Pulling your fingers out of your ruined cunt, you can’t help but whine as you take in the mess you’ve made of the top of your duvet, “Sunghoon…I made a mess.”

"Yeah? Made a mess for me? Wanna show me?“ he teases you lightly, his voice sounding louder, which leads you to assume he has his phone in his hand again instead of carelessly tossed onto his bed.

"Mhm,” you shake your head in denial, “I’m all gross and sticky.”

"Baby, we’ve had sex before; it’s nothing new for me to see you this way. But if you don’t want to show yourself to me right now, you don’t have to. Whatever makes you the most comfortable.“

You can’t help but smile as your boyfriend’s soft and caring side pushes its way back to the forefront again, shoving his dominant side back down until the next time you'd find yourselves in a similar position — maybe when you're finally face-to-face again. He has always been caring after sex, making sure you had everything you needed and weren’t uncomfortable in any way. There have been several occasions of him carrying you towards your bathroom, sitting you down in the bathtub, and running you a hot bath before sliding right behind you, his big hands massaging your shoulders and running over your scalp to relieve any tension in your body. Some rare times, you had even fallen asleep, right there surrounded by the hot water causing your muscles to relax and your boyfriend's arms wrapped tightly around you, your eyes slipping close, and the next time you opened them, you were lying in bed next to Sunghoon, covers draped over you and his soft snores filling the silence of your bedroom.

You snap out of your memories to reach over to your bedside table, grabbing some tissues out of the box standing there to carefully wipe away the mess between your legs before taking two of the wet wipes you’re keeping there as well to sporadically clean yourself until you’d be able to muster the strength to get up and walk over to your bathroom — or would fall asleep from the exhaustion starting to settle into your bones.

"Thank you, Hoon.”

"What are you thanking me for, baby?“ he chuckles right into your ear.

"Just…this. You know how hard it is for me to cum when we’re not together, and I’ve had a really crappy day yesterday, so...I really needed this,” you explain to your boyfriend, your face heating up at the confession.

You’re truly grateful to have him in your life. Even if he often doesn’t realize it, but the smallest things he does, like making sure you’re comfortable with everything and anything he does, encouraging you whenever you are feeling down, or even just picking up a snack you mentioned running out of. All those things and so many more make you feel at home around him, wanting to keep him in your life until the day you’d die.

Sunghoon laughs slightly, and you can hear him swallow thickly before he replies, “There’s no need to thank me. I love you, and I care about you. Despite your selfie yesterday being sexy as fuck, I could tell you weren’t feeling well. That was the real reason I called you in the first place. To check up on you and cheer you up. But of course this is also a nice way to spend the morning before a busy day and the concert later tonight.”

"I love you, too,“ you reply, not quite knowing how to appropriately respond to your boyfriend's words.

"You do know I’ll have to punish you when I get back home, right? For not listening to me back there?”

You could swear you can hear the smirk on his face through your phone when he says those words, lowering his voice until it’s almost comically husky. Laughter slips past your lips, your boyfriend joining you in it as you say, through your laughs, “Sure. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Sunghoon clears his throat on the other end of the line after both your laughter dies down before you hear some rustling and his feet patting on the floor of his hotel room, “What do you have planned today? No work, right?”

Before you get to answer, you hear the water tap turn on in the background as your boyfriend had gotten up to walk to the bathroom of his hotel room and wash his hands. Meanwhile, you are staying in bed, exhausted, and your muscles still twitching slightly from the intense pleasure you felt just moments ago. You take a few moments to reply, wanting to relish the comforting silence between the two of you.

"Not really, to be honest. I was thinking of maybe heading to the store for ice cream or snacks later and then just catching up on some shows and spending the day curled up on the couch. Do you have a lot to do today other than the concert?“ you finally answer his question, finishing your response with another question in hopes of being able to talk to Sunghoon some more before he would have to hang up to attend to his schedule for the day, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

"No, we only got soundcheck in the afternoon, and that's it,” he replies to you, turning off the running water before he dries his hands with his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, all while continuing to talk to you, “I think maybe two or three interviews tomorrow, but that should be it…”

"Sounds great,“ you yawn in response, reaching up to run your hand over your face in hopes of waking yourself up some more.

"Go back to sleep, baby. You deserve some rest; take it easy today, okay?” he chuckles, his voice turning even softer than before, almost as if he’s hoping to lure you to sleep with his deep baritone.

He truly hates whenever you force yourself to stay awake just to talk to him. He recalls the endless nights while he had been stuck in a different timezone, on tour in the US, preparing for concerts and countless interviews while also juggling livestreams, the late-night conversations with you, your voice slurred as you'd force yourself not to fall asleep just to be irritated and exhausted the entire following day until you'd get to hear his voice again. And even though he’s now only a few hours away, in the same timezone for a change, knowing he'll be back within less than two weeks, the memories instantly weigh down on his chest, his heart with guilt, not wanting you to neglect you and your needs just for him.

"Okay…you're right...“ your voice slightly drifts off before you ask one last question, "Sunghoon?”

He perks up, his gaze previously settled on the stark white covers of his bed, almost as if you were in the room with him and he would be able to look straight into your eyes when he looks up through his lashes. His heart drops as he’s looking at the bare wall opposite of him, despite knowing he wouldn’t have found you standing there anyway.

"Yeah?“ he replies instantly, matching your low volume with his voice to lull you further to sleep and not startle you right out of it.

"I love you,” you whisper, exhaustion finally catching up with you.

 You want to stay awake longer, want to use every possible second to talk to your boyfriend some more, but you're also aware of the fact that he hates you staying away just for his sake. You know it makes him feel guilty for not being beside you, not being able to hold you as you fall asleep, even though you have told him time and time again that you can live with the occasional distance; it’s what you signed up for after all when you started dating an idol, a member of one of the most sought-after boy groups of the moment at that.

Your eyes feel heavier and heavier as you finally give in and let sleep take over your body, dozing back off to sleep with your phone slowly slipping out of your hand.

On the other end of the line, Sunghoon knows you have fallen asleep when he hears the soft thud of your phone hitting the mattress, your soft breathing filling his ear as he smiles to himself, satisfied to not have you awake any longer and overexert yourself further. He whispers his next words, more to himself than with the intention of you hearing him.

"I love you, too. I’ll text you when I know at what time I’m gonna be coming home. Now get some sleep.“

©sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[sagebrush-and-sadness]

BOOTHILL HEADCANONS

author's notes just some silly goofy headcanons for Boothill because he's a cutie patootie and I love him fem!reader, completely SFW ♡ and ⥩ are appreciated!

※ He always patiently waits for you to finish applying sunscreen or moisturizer to his face before he can finally go shooting bad guys to his heart's content. Most of the time he jokes around or teasingly dodges your hands; sometimes he mumbles that this is embarassing and he really doesn't care, sweetie, come on, but he will always give you a kiss as a token of gratitude. Because, trust me, he does care.

※ Loves snapping his teeth at you. It's a (weirdly charming) sign of affection, a habit Boothill took up pretty early in your relationship. You teasingly call it a cute aggression and he doesn't deny it. However, if he does that in public at someone else, you better get a hold of him and scatter away because the man is getting pissed.

※ Oh, he absolutely will blow raspberries on your neck whenever he has a chance to hug you from behind. And he's as sly as an old fox, lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle kisses and nuzzles — just to violently strike a poor, helpless you and dance away laughing joyfully.

※ Your first kiss with Boothill was that of desperation — he just barely made it out alive from one of the IPC warehouses, his left leg limp and dragging lifelessly across the floor, a few bullet holes adorning his signature hat, thankfully not lost in the heat of a battle. He looked no better than a wild ragged coyotte, a pitiful thing, an unsightly creature smelling of rot and blood, but upon seeing him, safe and relatively sound, your heart swelled with tenderness and your eyes — with hot tears. You wanted to kiss him then and there, and he anticipated as much, grabbing your face in his hands, firm yet gentle, and all but smashing your lips together. Perhaps, it was a shatter of all your dreams about a romantic first kiss, but at that moment it was the most perfect one...

...Or was it? As tender and loving as Boothill was with you, his tongue still tasted like oil and gunpowder. He laughed it off the first time you made a face, but since then he's made a mental note to always carry a bag of candies and lollipops with him.

※ He's the type of guy to randomly get you fresh field flowers.

Also the type to dance with you while holding one in his teeth. There is a whole anecdote about him picking an unknown flower that turned out to be quite poisonous and suffering from tongue swelling half a day after that. Don't bring this story up, though, his male ego is still recovering.

※ Boothill's upbringing obliges him to treat women with courtesy and respect. He may look like a heartbreaker to some, but in truth, his mindset is that of a traditional man. This said, he loves referring to you as a 'woman'. His woman. He relishes the fact and there is so much pride, so much infatuation and genuine awe behind this word every time he all but purrs it out. It's a strangely specific nickname of his, and no matter how unusual it might have sounded to you at first, now your heart flatters every time you hear it drip from his lips. After all, you are his woman and he is your handsome cowboy.

He might however bark at you when you're pestering him. Something in the lines of 'I'm busy, woman, what are ya yapping 'bout?'. Naturally, he never uses it as a means to offend and will put a bullet through the head of anyone who dares belittle you like that. The unspoken rule of a cowboy says: never criticize another gentleman's hat, horse and wife. And Boothill is very serious about his rules, even if technically you are not his wife (yet).

※ He adores it when you dress up for him. No matter how often or seldom you do that, no matter what exactly you're wearing — a cute cocktail dress or a strict suit — he would whistle low and stride right to you with the air of a beau who just saw the girl he'd buy a drink for. His sultry pretentious flirting never fails to make you giggle.

※ Boothill will always find time for you. No matter how many light days separate you from each other, no matter how busy the schedule or how dangerous the enemies, he can never really get you out of his head. You are always there, his little beacon of light, and he knows that you're waiting for him with worry and hope. He hates telling you that you can't come with him this time; hates seeing your smile drop and your fingers fidget anxiously as you watch him step on an unknown land. He misses you dearly five minutes into the mission, so he calls you as often as he can, showing you all the pictures he took or all the things he got for you as souvenirs. When it comes to your messages or calls there is never really bad timing for Boothill — an inconvenient one, perhaps, but even the heat of the battle will not stop him from picking up. He might even consider against shooting the poor son of a bitch that let him talk to you peacefully out of courtesy, but we will see about that.

※ Ever since you came into his life, Boothill's spending habits have gotten somewhat healthier. The thing is — the guy is loaded, yet money never held any real interest for him. After all, he became a hunting dog not for the promise of fresh bones, it was more of a pleasant bonus rather than a necessity. Most of his credits were spent on oil for his spaceship and himself, some repairs here and there, bullets and, surprisingly, booze — now unable to fully experience the harmful effects of a few bottles of whiskey a day, Boothill drinks it in the same manner some people chew on their gum. However you and your loyal companionship awoke something within him, something he thought had died many miserable years ago. An urge to care. And it came so naturally to him, too. It was very easy, on a level of subconscious, for him to pick up the habit of buying you food — the one he knows you like, of the highest quality. Or making sure you have an outfit for any occasion in your life and enough space to store them all. Or that all your beauty and health treatments are paid for. Or... and the list goes on and on. Boothill is a man who will respect you for wanting to be independent, sure, but will not shame you for wanting to be provided for.

English is not my native language. So please, if you see any mistakes in grammar, punctuation or spelling, or simply think that something sounds weird, let me know! Ty!

[jamminvroomvroom]

die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes
you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry
you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night
i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

~

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

-

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it
and it makes you feel alone
just know that i would die for you
baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

-

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

~

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

~

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

-

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

-

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

-

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

-

let me know what you think :D

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin

(i ran out of tags omg? whoops) lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

House Husbands ft SatoSugu

househubby!Sato is overjoyed with his decision to shift his focus solely on taking care his overworked little wife. He feels worthless in his own line of work because regardless of his efforts, nothing ever changes. Being at your beck and call, making you happy.. It's all Satoru needs outta life and he's never felt more fulfilled.

househubby!Sugu is absolutely exhausted dealing with the internal war rampaging his thoughts, distorting his morality into a demon he can't recognize. But the unyielding love and support of his nonsorcerer wife is enough to suffocate his uncertainty. And Suguru's proud that with your help, he's able to shed all the toxic doubt and decides to dedicate his life to the woman that saved him.

househubbies!SatoSugu refuse to acknowledge the absolutely ridiculous qualms that they're putting their wants and needs on the back burner to take care of you. They constantly remind you that you're everything they'll ever desire in life; that they could only continue to witness curses bring the world to its knees long as they could always be there to keep you safe.

househubby!Sato is on pins and needles waiting for you to come home every single day. Bouncing on the tips of his toes like an anxious child, tense as fuck while pacing like a madman. "Relax, Toru. She gets in the same time every evening. Rilin yourself up for no reason." Suguru chuckles from the stove, finishing up dinner. "But she's been gone for hours and I miss heeer." Satoru whines like a brat, wholeheartedly feeling like his partners calm demeanor was nothing more than pure utter cap. "Quit actin like you don't want her home too. Listened to you fuckin your fist to that video of her in the bathroom earlier." Electric blue eyes narrowed, slender finger pointed accusingly in a sputtering Suguru's direction. "Will you just finish settin the damn table before y/n gets home!" He hisses back, shame licking warmth across his cheeks. "Fuckin creep Toru, I swear.."

househubby!Sugu consistently rescues you from a needy Satoru's overbearing 'welcome home' after each grueling work shift. Heroically puts himself in-between the world's strongest sorcerer and woman of their shared affections; effectively untangling you from the bone crushing embrace and ambush of kisses. "Seriously gonna smother her one of these days, idiot. Actin like she's gonna disappear or somethin." Suguru chastised, scooping you up in his own snug embrace and pecking your lips in adoration. Only a second in the kiss turns way too passionate for Satorus liking and he immediately despises the soft mouth moving slowly against your own, so damn sensually. "Lies! You just want y/n all to yourself." Satoru pouts listening to your tiny hums of pleasure as he stomps off to pour his tired little wife a glass of wine.

househubbies!SatoSugu make it a daily routine to lay you out after work and massage the accumulated tension outta every inch of your depleted frame while askin bout your day; coppin a feel as they simultaneously knead your stressed ridden muscles till you lay limp and aroused on the bed. "Fuuuck, y/nnn. Look so good spread out like this for us. Wanna continue to make our girl feel good.. Gonna let us play in that pussy for a lil bit?" Satoru speaks low at your ear, leaving sweet kisses down your neck and your shoulders when you nod. "Lemme and Sugu relax our perfect lil wife even more. Know you want this pipe, baby. Let us make you cum, deserve that and so much more. Can we, princess, hm? Work so goddamn hard every. fuckin. day." Print of his mouth leaving goosebumps over your sensitive skin while grippin on your love handles, lips trailing lower and lower as Suguru takes his place at your ear. "'S all up to you, babygirl. Tables set; blunts rolled.. Can go smoke and eat, maybe come lay back down after.. Rub ya pretty feet till you pass out inste-," "mmmfuuuck, Toru.. Oh! Yeees, right there.. Oh, oh- tongues so deep, Daddy." You interrupt, breathless moans loud and airy as Satoru spreads your doughy chocolate cheeks and digs inside you further. Pulling back to lap at your slick like a kitten does milk. Suguru chuckles when you shamelessly groan your pleasure all up in his face. "Play in that pussy it is then, babygirl."

househubby!Sato slipped into domestic bliss quite effortlessly. He's proud to admit his biggest worry these days is how mad Suguru gets when he forgets to separate the whites from the colors. "Dammit Gojo!" Satoru flinches from the spot between your legs, head snapping away from his video game to the rapid footsteps barging his direction from the bedroom. You continue to card your fingers through his soft hair, chuckling when a furious Suguru appears clad only inna pair of tight white briefs splotched with pink, holding a pair of your panties. "How many fuckin times have I told you not to mix colors with whites?! I gotta whole basket full of pink boxers cause you never pay attention to what the fuck your doin!" But Satoru only gives him the saddest puppy dog eyes he can muster while trying to ignore his Fallout character getting absolutely slaughtered by a Deathclaw. "I'm sorry! Just wanted to help with the chores. You know it wasn't on purpose, Big Daddy." His taunting and dramatic fluttering lashes have you both clutching your tummies in serious efforts to hold in your guts from the raucous laughter. But Suguru is less than impressed. He seethes in silence for a few moments before growling out through clenched teeth. "Both of you shut the fuck up.. Know what? Get over here and hurry up. Now.. On your fuckin knees." It was interesting start to your day off to say the least..

househubby!Sugu! likes to the play the role and has no problem keeping his brats in place. He's good at being the perfect Daddy with only one demand: utter compliance. And he doesn't tolerate disobedience. "I know that- ah ah ah. Slow, baby. Slow.. All the way down. Mmmmm.. Jus like that." Suguru tightens his grip on the soft locks, using them as leverage to control the pace of him dipping his cock in and out of his lovers throat. "I know it's confusing baby, sooo confusing to my girl hmm? He's your Daddy too. Aint that right? Oooh shit, suck it harder.. Mmm, ohhh yeaah- oh fuuuck!" Suguru huffs hoarsely, head fallin back in pleasure before he looks down and stares into your eyes heatedly, your gaze making his nut creep closer. "But I'm his Daddy, sweetheart. And it's time I- fuuuuck, 'm close! T-time to teach you both a lesson. Ready Toru?" Suguru slides a hand into your kinky y/h/c hair, yanking you closer to his hips and buss heavily into Satoru's waiting mouth. "Mmmmph!" Your poor husband struggles and chokes around the first gush, gagging harshly when Suguru slides his dick in deeper. "So bad at t-takin dick, Toru." He teases, wide tip knockin into glaring Satoru's abused throat; spurting twice more and flooding it with thick pearly cream. "Fuckin hell, Toruuuu! Oh God, Saaatoruuu!" Suguru moans filthily, snatching his cock and aiming at your pretty face. "Ah, ah- mmmnnh! Take it, take the rest of Daddy's nut, mama." Suguru's cum blankets your cheeks and lips in three milky streams. "G-good boy.. Ohhhh, my good giiirl, y/n." He praises when you and Satoru gently suck and lick at the oozing head of his throbbing cock, prolonging the intense pleasure.

househubbies!SatoSugu! try not to ravish you too often because of your hectic schedule but there's nothing to save you from their fiendish antics when you take your mini vacations. Time off with your husbands is nothing short of more work for you. At the very least, it's a very thorough and strenuous workout. They very consistently keep you stuffed: with happiness, love, and of course dick. "Toru- ah f-fuck.. Don't do this to me, Daddy pleeease!" You cry for your husband to give your puffy overused coochie reprieve but he's consistent with his denial. "Shhh, princess, shhhh. You're okay, you can take it. Gotta be quiet though. Me and Sugu both worked so damn hard to fuck this pretty chocolate lil pussy so good.. Don't wanna wake him up after all his hard work do you, baby?" He sucks and nibbles on your folds incessantly, grinning when the pressure of his thumb at your overstimulated clit makes you shriek and gasp for air. "Bullshit, Toru. Got her screamin her fuckin head off." Suguru exhales tiredly with closed eyes, scooping your trembling body closer into his side as you writhe from the intense sensation swirling between your legs; head thrashing from side to side on his broad chest. "Daddy, please! A-already came three t-times tonight. Ahhhnm, oh oh- needa a break, pleeease!" Your increasingly desperate cries raising in volume have Suguru's half hard dick filling full as he peeks down between your thick brown thighs, making direct eye contact with a sadistic Satoru. Who ofcourse gives a naughty wink, mouthing 'watch this' to an intrigued Suguru and latches on to your throbbing nub to nurse on you hungrily; pulling off repeatedly with acute bursts of suction that have you wordlessly keening as you squirt impressively allover Satoru's swollen pink lips inna messy glaze. You cum so fuckin hard, hands shooting to anchor themselves in Suguru's dark roots; plushy frame jerking erratically in attempt to twist away from the suffocating pleasure. "Fuuuck, Look at that.. Got her raining cum all over your pretty face, Toru. Gotta be the hardest our lil wife's eva came." Suguru admits, putting his ego aside. Too preoccupied with wetting up Satoru's face to notice how your husbands stare into each other's eyes, dicks pulsing and raging between their legs.

househubby!Sato despises Suguru's all work no play attitude. After an entire week of repetitive chores and errands in addition to no sex, Satoru's dying to get home so one of his spouses can drain his fat sack dry. "..need a warm tight hole to slide into. Been so fuckin pent up.. Babygirl is gone entirely way too much lately." He complains as Suguru drives them back to the house. "Well you know y/n's been workin hard as hell towards that big promotion, Toru. Left for work at like 5 this morning.. She'll probably need some rest and jus wanna cuddle after work." Suguru reminds him. Satoru manspreads with a huff, head slamming back into the headrest and groans in agreement. Well if not y/n then.. "What bout you? Been a minute since my handsome husband had a good nut. Don't you.. Need some relief?" Satoru asks, voice low and deep. Fingers slinking into his husbands hair scratching at his scalp lightly, his other hand caressing up and down his muscled thigh. Suguru gulps audibly, adam apple bobbing as he concentrates with all his might to keep his eyes on the road. "Uhhh.." Satoru's clear invitation instantly has him rock hard and remembering that last time he had the strongest man in the world on his back while you were at work. Filth spewing from his mouth that eventually went quiet and slack when Suguru held down his wrists and grinded in deep as fuck over and over. Damn, the slutty way Satoru kept rolling his narrow hips.. Effectively fuckin himself on Suguru's dick with the prettiest flush on his chest, strands of snowy locks plastered to his damp creased forehead, stiff untouched cock twitching and smearing precum between them. "Sugu? Still with me?" Satoru asks, cheeky smirk alluding to knowing exactly what's on his husbands mind. Suguru clears his throat and nods, mouth dry and parched; immediately in dire need of a drink of the tall glass of water sitting next to him. "Well? You gonna fuck me before y/n gets home or nah?" Another curt nod from Suguru has Satoru grinning like he just one the lottery, greedily groping his spouses bulge the rest of the ride home.

househubby!Sugu feels like he can only indulge his husbands despicable fantasies when all duties have either been prepped or taken care of. Therefore he feels absolutely guiltless when he's halfway to heaven and his cell rings, your parents number popping up on the screen. Satoru stares at Suguru in disbelief as he pulls away and gets outta bed. Mouth running a mile per minute to your dad while he hops around the room trying to get his leg into his pants. ".. Alright, bet.. Love you too pops.. Bye." He ends the call and turns to a disheveled frowning Satoru, reaching up to swoop his long hair up inna bun. "The fuck, Suguru-," Satoru starts but his protests are swiftly dismissed. "Don't start. They just need one small lil favor. Plus, Moms said she missed you cause you didn't come by with us last time y/n and I visited." Satoru sighs in acknowledgement and quickly chucks on his clothes, features softening considerably. "I do miss Mama y/l/n. Wanted to run a few things by her for y/n's birthday surprise anyway." He shrugs, slipping into his black nike slides. "Alright, sounds like a plan- oh! She said to tell you she's got your favorite mochi wai- Gojo, WHAT THE FUCK!" Suguru sentence abruptly cutting off, consumed in horror that Satoru just teleported them into your parents kitchen clad only in a pair of black jeans. "Christ almighty!" Your mom jumps at their sudden appearance and Suguru's exclamation, holding her pounding heart and sternly eyeing your husbands up and down. "Sup Mom, where is it?" Satoru gets straight to the point, kissing your mom's cheek and skipping off to the garage freezer when she points. "Hell is wrong with that boy?" Your mom asks the sanest of the two, already heading to grab Suguru a shirt and some socks. "So many things, Ma. How much time you got?"

househubbies!SatoSugu are both pleasantly surprised when you pull up to your parents spot after work and tell them there's something that's been on your mind for the past few weeks. "Spill the beans, princess. Can't believe you waited this long to tell us." Satoru gives his signature pout as he pulls you down to sit on the couch in-between them. "Yeah, sweetheart. You know we don't keep secrets. Tell us what's been on your mind." So you take a deep breath before you launch into your mini speech. "I love you both so much, never ever dreamed I'd be lucky enough to marry my soul mates. And I know we've talked about kids but my job has always made that impossible but today I got the promotion." Your husbands are ready to click their heels in excitement at your news but you hush sweet words with a finger to their lips. "But that's not all. I- uh. I make my own schedule now and haveso much more time on my hands that I think- um.." You stall a bit, nervous as fuck. "Y/n spit out already. Got us on the edges of our seat here." Satoru groans at your reluctance. "Honey, what's goin on?" Suguru questions with concern. "I stopped taking birth control so we can have a baby!" Your hands pop over your mouth at the outburst but your men already have that look in their eye and quickly close in on your tense frame. "That's all? So anxious just to tell us you wanna get bred tonight?" Satoru teases, gripping your hips and kissing your cheek. "That right, sweet wife?" Suguru sneers, loving how your breath speeds as they feel you up. "You want us both to put a baby in that needy lil pussy tonight?" You're only able to nod and moan as Satoru takes that moment to slip his tongue into your mouth and grope your tit roughly. Suguru watches with a sly smile as your other husbands assault evolves into finger fuckin you while inhaling your soft pretty cries. "Time to say bye bye, princess. Your Daddies need time alone with our perfect lil wife now." Suguru finally says after watching for a couple minutes, pulling you from a distraught Satoru and ushering you towards your parents. "And we're leaving your car. Tell em I'll pick it up tomorrow." Satoru demands as he sucks your slick from his fingers. You do as they say like always. And since you so sweetly asked for a baby, your generous husbands happily give you two tonight.

[gay-dorito-dust]

( ´∀`) I am possibly missing where it says your requests are open or not. I apologize if it is.

If it interests you (your batfam posts bring me joy) how would the boys Jay, Dick, Damian (whoever else) would react to only being able to tell the truth for a day? Like they confess all the things they like about their crush, compliment their family, admit to disliking a dish Alfred made (GASP <(｀^´)> ).

Thank youuuuu~

Jason wore his heart on his sleeve, he lets anyone knows what’s on his mind with zero filter, so him being forced to be truthful was no different to how Jason actually was on a day to day basis.

So at first he doesn’t think anything was out of the ordinary until you asked him a question one day regarding your love life;

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to find anyone here Jay, I mean what do I have to do to find somebody.’

‘You don’t have to do anything because everyone else is the problem, not you.’ Jason found himself answering before his mind could find an appropriate response without crossing the boundary of your friendship. ‘They obviously don’t see perfection when they see it because they weren’t looking at you and I find that insulting because who wouldn’t look into your eyes and see forever within them?.’ He finishes and was quick to cover his mouth with his hand, worried that he might’ve said too much for you.

‘And do you see forever in my eyes jay birdie?’ You asked softly, leaning towards him.

Jason drops his hand from his mouth. ‘Hell yeah I do, amongst many other things because you’re worth every heartbreak I’ve ever had in the past because being with you would be my life’s greatest dream come true.’

The next time Jason spoke truthfully was when Dick came to visit and it was after a long, long night of patrol and sleep was at the forefront of his mind, causing it to fog as he let it slip on what he truly thought of Dick.

‘You’re my brother, we may not be related by blood but no one has stood in my corner and was so prepared to be in the wrong then you Richard, and for that I thank you. You really are the best of us.’

Needless to say when he found out that Dick had the whole thing recorded, he wanted to strangle the fucker and make his death look like an accident. Sibling things.

Now, Jason -much like any other- loved Alfred’s food and would never raise an issue over it as he’d pretty much eat anything with his bottomless stomach. So even if he didn’t like one of Alfred’s recipes more self then others, he would say it in the most politest way possible. He loved that kindhearted man too much to ever say anything in regards of the food he’s made him since he was a young lad.

Dick would find peoples expressions to him being honest and truthful funny, but at the same time would be somewhat relieved with this turn out, as he wouldn’t have to force himself to be truthful just to get people to stop asking whether he was alright or not.

He knew he wasn’t always open and honest with his innermost thoughts and feelings at the best and worst of times, knowing all too well of how that would cause lead to the occasional argument of two down the line for himself, but he was never really given the space to figure it out himself on his own time.

So when he found himself speaking the truth to just about anyone, it was as though his heart was exposed for all to see it beating and all. It was as though all of his innermost thoughts regarding everyone in his life was being broadcasted to anyone and everyone with ears and the ability to hear it.

‘You’re so good with Hayley you know.’ Dick blurted once when you were playing with Hayley, stoping as soon as you heard him say this, allowing for Hayley to snatch the toy from your limp hand and lie down elsewhere to amuse herself with the squeaks that the toy would make every time she bite down on it.

‘What?’ You asked.

‘I mean it, you’re really good with Hayley and you’ve been nothing but an amazing person with a pretty smile and addicting laugh.’ Dick adds as he held his head in his hands as he looked at you with a soft look upon his face. Dick wasn’t still that bothered that you knew how he felt, it was bound to come out sooner or later and would take it in stride, even if he didn’t have control over what had just came out of his mouth just now.

The next time Dick finds himself being truthful was when he visited Jason after a long night of patrol and in the midst of a silent period Dick then said;

‘You’re amazing Jason. Bruce doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he never did when it came to us Robins, using one of us as a frame of reference for everyone else isn’t fair but you are my friend, my brother and I am so proud of you. You are not a failure, you’re anything but one.’ Jason sat silent the entire time and after Dick had finished he made a noise from the back of his throat, a small smile gracing his face as he looked out over the streets of Gotham, reaching out to pat Dick on the shoulder and said. ‘Thanks man.’

Dick always cared deeply for Jason, seeing him as his little brother and would gladly stand in his corner no matter what, even if he was wrong because that was what older siblings did. Dick never shied away from how deeply he felt agonising pain when he though he had lost his little brother and confronted Bruce about the entire thing, enraged and grieving simultaneously. Now whenever he caught wind of what Jason was doing as red hood, he can’t help but smile knowing his brother was doing just fine, but would always make it known that he was just a phone call away.

Dick knew Alfred wasn’t going to bite his head off for saying that he didn’t like something but would instead ask how he could better it for his taste. So even if Dick did say anything about one of Alfred’s recipe, he knows Alfred would be more than understanding. However it was an unspoken rule amongst him and his siblings that they’d eat anything and everything Alfred made them without a single complaint unless it was necessary.

They all love that man too much to ever say anything negative about his cooking.

Damian would hate being forced to speak nothing but the truth.

He’d really hate it as being blunt and opinionated was how he always was and so being open and honest wasn’t his forte and it felt wrong in a sense due to it feeling as though he was put in a position of vulnerability.

He hates it even more when he finds himself confessing to all the things that he liked and or found remotely interesting about you whenever you were near, it felt as though someone was pupating him to say these things when deep down he knew they were how he genuinely felt but was too deep in denial to admit this to himself.

‘How do I look?’ You innocently asked.

‘Breathtaking like you always do so seamlessly.’ Damian replied without hesitation before looking up from his sketchbook once realisation hit him, only to see that you were already looking at him with wide eyes.

‘You mean that?’ You said, wanting to know whether or not you heard him properly.

‘Of course.’ Damian said and when he felt his mouth open, he tried to close it but it seemed as though his body had a mind of his own as he found himself continuing to speak. ‘On many occasions have I spent thinking you were naturally breathtaking and have thought so for many more on top of that to the point you are my one sole muse.’ He finished and it wasn’t long before you were planning your first date together.

Damian knew this wouldn’t be the first time he was going to be forced to speak the truth and the second time came in him actually complimenting Tim on his smarts and combat prowess, something that he’d rather drink pure poison before ever admitting out of pride.

‘Tt. Don’t sell yourself short Drake, you’re a competent Robin and an exceptional detective.’ He’d say when it was just him and Tim in the Batcave and immediately regrets it and makes him swear to secrecy, obviously this doesn’t last long after the period of speaking truthfully wears off and Damian goes back to being his blunt, straightforward, unapologetic self.

Damian loves Alfred’s cooking, but all of his cooking weren’t Damian’s favourite and while he wouldn’t hesitate to tell others how he felt, he didn’t feel the same when it came to Alfred’s cooking despite the man being nothing but kind and open minded.

So if he ever were to speak about his least favourite food Alfred had ever made and even when Alfred was more then accepting of his opinion, Damian would try to help Alfred however he could in return for his comments about his cooking. Alfred was probably one person he’d never want to hurt with his words.

[naoyoki]

content warning : afab!reader , nsfw , needles and blood (we're tattooing choso) , car sex , cowgirl , nipple play , doggy style . wrote this while watching 'can i solve pll season 2 before the reveal?' on yt lmao ... hope yall like this! pinned

marking ink on choso was always a pleasure from your end. this man has been nothing but nice and respectful towards you. a true and fit gentleman, a cutie even. although this peculiar trait was forged due to his shyness you reckoned, truthfully it didn't matter much really.

but todays appointment was far beyond whatever you had expected it to finish as.

choso desired a face tat, a straight rectangular line running across his nose. it was not only your first time doing such art on someone, it was his first and apparently only face tattoo he would ever get.

this was not only special, but extremely nerve wrecking for you both. it was your first time coming inches close to a clients face, especially one as handsome as choso.

goodness, you were in a daze as you straddled him, he was too large, you could not get as close as you wished to get the perfect angles and to not mess up, even when the stencil guided your every stroke. his thick, rough hands rested on your hips, securing your position over him and keeping you stable.

however, his touch kept your thumping heart far from stable. you could feel it up your throat peeking around, ready to rattle you out. your cunt was no different.

'is he hard or is he just this big while limp?'

and fuck, did you really wanted to find out. particularly wishing it was the latter. with such thought in mind your pussy marveled by the imaginative construct, continuously clenching onto nothing but the fabric of your underwear. as if calling your clients cock.

and it was hard, so unbelievably hard to keep up the façade. the buzzing of the pen and the constant gulping sounds choso made was the only thing that could be heard in the shop as the last ones for the day.

the intense white light of the lamp above gave you the access to see each and every tweak and tear coming from choso's face. but that did not distract you from the carnal needs.

and to your unknown dismay choso was well aware of your predicament. you were sitting on him. how could he not feel your pulsating and aching cunt over him? the pain of the piercing needles kept him at bay; strong and resilient.

he had booked so late in the evening because he wanted to ask you out but, sweet lord did he hit the jackpot with this one. his crush on him, dueling her unresistable desires. all because of him.

"done, you can open your eyes, cho." you finished wiping up the ink and blood that built up on the last needle stroke with a sterilized wipe, "here."

you handed him a paper towel, "i don't want tears in my chair." choso chuckled, moving his left hand to grab on to your waist— causing you to freeze under his touch, the other one catching the paper towel and collecting his tears.

"you gonna wrap it up." he gestured, while holding on to the crunched up paper towel as he sat straight looking you right in the eyes.

you divert your gaze from his, with the unsaid excuse to set a little special tape the wraps around the fresh ink. but he knew better.

with the art work done you lead the man towards the counter at the back of the shop, the cash exchange was swift. just as his confession.

in the middle of his short sentence of confession you had the initiative to lock your lips on his quite gently, "you could take me home and stay over..."

although you did not reach that far, "oh god, choso, fuck!"

you were absolutely right with your predictions a few minutes prior. he was huge, long and thick with veins decorating the whole length. your pussy leaked, your slick and precum sticking on his lap as you bounced on his dick at the backseat of your car.

the car shook with each plunging thrust you provoked. choso's grip on your ass did not falter, assisting you with his crazy force to bury his cock to reach deep inside you. but that was until his focus shifted towards your tits. meddleing around your shirt, choso, with one hand began to play with your right nipple.

"shit cho!" you jolted, weakening by his teasing touch and closing your walls tighter on him, "so f'king good. keep touching me like that."

"is it that good?" he pushed himself into you without warning and with no care, "c'mon baby, scream how good am i."

he wanted to keep you, he wanted to blow your mind, choso desired to keep his mark on you, for as long as you could remember him. and if using you as he pleased, then that will do. your puffed up clit brushed against his pelvis and his mushroom tip relished into kissing your cervix and the soft g spot tissue. you had begun to gulp on your gasps, he was splitting you open as he pleased, and calling out on it made you further aroused.

"you're so good, f-fuck, you-you're so much better than i coul-d ever imagine~!" you clutched onto his shoulder blades while you immersed yourself yourself to match his pistoning, astounding yourself as the rush of your release came so easy and quick.

you did not know if he finished alongside you, choso moaned deliciously while you jerk around his lenght. so you accounted his jizz dripped from your hole onto the leather seats. but choso had other ideas.

the buzz of your delectable orgasm was subduing when you found yourself on all fours and ass up.

"oh, no sweetheart. we're not finished yet." he whispered, wrapping his ringed hand gently around your throat as he teased your folds with his still hard-on.

[its-avalon-08]

Hi, could you write a story with George, where he is protective of the reader? I don’t really have much of a plot, but I would like a bit of angst and fluff. Thanks!

all my love (gr63)

✦ pairing - george russell x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, jealousy, protective george

George Russell is always fiercely protective of Y/N, whether they're in the fast-paced world of Formula 1 or just enjoying quiet moments at home. His protective nature shows in the little things—like making sure she's safe from paparazzi pushing through the crowd, or standing up to people who try to belittle her. He keeps a watchful eye on her during events, always ready to step in when someone gets too close or crosses a line. No matter how tense things might get between them, George's protective instinct never falters. To him, Y/N is everything, and he'll always go the extra mile to keep her safe and remind the world that she's his.

It was the day after a big race, and George had just secured a podium finish. The media frenzy was at its peak, with paparazzi and fans crowding every corner outside the hotel where George and Y/N were staying. Y/N had accompanied George to an event that evening, and as they walked out together, hand in hand, the mob outside seemed more aggressive than usual.

"Stay close," George whispered, his thumb gently rubbing the back of Y/N's hand.

Y/N nodded, trying to stay calm despite the growing chaos. The crowd of fans surged forward, phones held high, while photographers shouted for George's attention. The security guards tried to hold them back, but it was clear they were struggling.

Suddenly, there was a push from behind, and Y/N stumbled forward. The momentum from the crowd caused her to lose her footing, and George instinctively reached out to steady her.

"Oi! Watch it!" George shouted, his protective instincts kicking in. He tried to shield Y/N with his body as the fans kept pressing forward.

But the crowd didn’t stop. In the confusion, someone jostled George from the side, and before he could fully regain his balance, another push sent him tumbling to the ground, pulling Y/N with him. She gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as she scrambled to get up.

Out of nowhere, Lewis Hamilton, who had been nearby, immediately stepped in. His arm wrapped around Y/N, gently but firmly pulling her away from the chaos. “I got you, I got you,” he whispered, his calm demeanor doing little to hide the concern in his voice.

Y/N looked over her shoulder in panic, her eyes searching for George. “George! George, are you okay?”

George was already getting to his feet, brushing off the dust from his trousers, but there was a deep scowl on his face. He winced slightly, favoring his left leg, and his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Back off!” George shouted angrily at the crowd, his voice sharp and filled with fury. “What the hell is wrong with you lot? You just shoved her!”

The crowd stilled for a moment, clearly taken aback by his outburst. Even the security guards began pushing the people back more forcefully, creating a space between George, Y/N, and the aggressive fans.

Y/N, still in shock, held onto Lewis, her heart racing as she watched George. "George, you’re hurt…"

George limped over to her, his frustration melting into worry as soon as he saw her in Lewis’ arms. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” His voice softened instantly as he reached for her, ignoring the pain in his leg.

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered, her eyes filled with concern for him. “But you’re not…”

“I don’t care about me,” George said fiercely, pulling her close despite his obvious discomfort. “I care about you. They shouldn’t have done that.”

Lewis gently let go of Y/N, stepping back slightly to give the couple some space. “You guys good? I can make sure they clear this area if you want.”

George nodded, his arm firmly around Y/N’s shoulders. “Thanks, mate. Just… get her inside. I’ll handle this.”

Lewis shot George a reassuring look before turning to the nearby security team, instructing them to handle the situation. Y/N glanced up at George, worry evident in her eyes as he tried to stand tall, though the pain was clear on his face.

“You shouldn’t be handling anything,” Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, love,” George said, his tone softening as he looked into her eyes. “I just… I lost it when I saw them push you like that. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Y/N shook her head, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You don’t have to apologize. You always protect me, but I hate that you got hurt because of me.”

George held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I’d get hurt a hundred times over if it means keeping you safe. Nothing matters more to me than you.”

From a distance, Lewis gave them a small, supportive smile before heading back inside, leaving the couple to recover from the chaos.

As the security team finally cleared the crowd, Y/N looked up at George, her hand gently resting on his cheek. “Let’s get you inside and take care of that leg, alright?”

George smiled down at her, his protective demeanor softening. “Only if you promise to stay with me.”

Y/N smiled back, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Always.”

2.

It was supposed to be a quiet family dinner at Y/N’s parents' house in London, but as always, the atmosphere had turned tense. George had been by Y/N’s side the entire evening, but he could sense her unease from the moment they arrived. He could see why, too. Her family, particularly her parents, had a habit of being overly critical, constantly making snide remarks that chipped away at Y/N’s confidence.

Y/N sat next to George at the long dining table, her eyes focused on her plate as her mother launched into yet another judgmental comment.

“You know, Y/N, it’s a wonder how you manage to keep up with George’s lifestyle when you’re so busy with your little business,” her mother said with a condescending smile. “I mean, it’s cute, but don’t you think it’s time to settle down and focus on something more stable?”

Her father, sitting at the head of the table, nodded in agreement. “Yes, George is a successful man in the prime of his career. Surely, you can’t expect him to be patient with you forever.”

Y/N’s grip tightened around her fork, her knuckles white as she tried to keep her emotions in check. She always had to endure these dinners, these backhanded comments that made her feel small. But it hurt even more now with George there, witnessing it all.

George could feel the tension radiating off of Y/N, and he wasn’t having any of it. He had been quiet for most of the evening, but hearing Y/N’s family tear her down, yet again, was the last straw.

Before Y/N could respond, George stood up from his seat, his expression hard and unwavering. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit here and listen to this anymore.”

Y/N’s parents both looked up, startled by the sudden interruption. Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t appreciate the way you talk to her,” George said firmly, his voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity. He looked at Y/N’s parents with a kind of authority they hadn’t expected. “Y/N is the smartest, most capable person I’ve ever met. The way you undermine her achievements, her hard work, it’s—honestly, it’s disrespectful.”

Her father frowned. “George, we’re just being honest. She could be doing more with her life. Someone has to push her to do better.”

George’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the back of his chair as he leaned forward slightly. “She is doing more with her life. She’s built a successful business on her own, while managing to balance everything that comes with being in a relationship with me and the crazy life I live. She’s strong, she’s incredible, and frankly, the fact that you can’t see that is disappointing.”

Y/N’s mother blinked, clearly taken aback by George’s words. “George, we’re just trying to look out for her.”

“No,” George interrupted, his voice low but firm. “You’re tearing her down, and it’s not okay. I won’t sit here and watch it happen.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest as she watched George stand up for her, his protective energy filling the room. She had never seen anyone stand up to her parents like this, and certainly not for her. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, trying to stay composed.

Her parents sat in stunned silence as George turned to Y/N, offering her his hand. “We’re leaving.”

Y/N, still processing the moment, nodded silently and slipped her hand into his. They left the dining room without another word, the tension hanging thick in the air behind them. The moment they were outside, Y/N let out a shaky breath, her hand still gripping George’s tightly.

“George…” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

George turned to her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. Ever.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at him, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. “I… I didn’t know how to say anything. I’ve put up with it for so long, I just…”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with it,” George said softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You’re amazing, Y/N. And I love you, just as you are. I needed them to know that.”

Without another word, Y/N surged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and kissing him with all the emotion she had bottled up inside. The kiss was desperate, filled with relief, love, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. George’s arms circled around her waist, pulling her close, his hands resting on the small of her back as he deepened the kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Y/N rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed as she savored the moment. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

George pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You never have to thank me for standing up for you. I’ll always protect you, Y/N. Always.”

Y/N smiled through the remaining tears, her heart full as she leaned into his embrace. In that moment, she knew she had found someone who would love her unconditionally, someone who would always have her back—even against the people who should have supported her the most.

3.

It had been a long day, and tensions between Y/N and George were running high. They had argued that morning over something trivial, but as the hours passed, the silence between them had grown heavier. George was short with her, and Y/N, equally stubborn, gave him the cold shoulder. They barely spoke throughout the day, both too proud to break the silence first.

But they had plans for the evening—an invite to a club for a post-race celebration with the team. Neither of them wanted to cancel, so they dressed up and went along, even though the air between them was still tense.

Y/N wore a sleek black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, her hair cascading down her back in loose waves. She looked stunning, and George couldn’t help but steal glances at her as they walked into the club, though he said nothing. His jaw was set, his mood still sour from their earlier argument.

The club was alive with music, lights flashing as people danced and laughed. George immediately joined his team, catching up with Lewis and a few others. Y/N, still frustrated with him, decided to grab a drink and wandered towards the bar. As she stood there, sipping her cocktail and trying to shake off the lingering tension, one of the mechanics from another team slid up beside her.

"Hey there," the mechanic said, flashing a grin. "You look a bit lonely. Where's your guy?"

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she forced a polite smile. "He’s around," she said, keeping her tone neutral.

The mechanic didn’t take the hint and leaned in closer, clearly interested. “Well, if he’s leaving someone like you alone, he’s making a big mistake. How about we get out of here? I know a quieter spot down the street.”

Before Y/N could respond, she felt a familiar presence behind her. George had been keeping an eye on her from across the room and, seeing the mechanic's approach, had immediately crossed the floor. His hand slid possessively around her waist, pulling her firmly against him.

“She’s not interested,” George said coldly, his voice low and threatening as he stared down the mechanic.

The mechanic raised his hands defensively. “Hey, man, no harm done. Just talking.”

“Yeah, well, you can go talk to someone else,” George said, his jaw tight. His hold on Y/N didn’t loosen as the mechanic walked away, casting one last glance at her before disappearing into the crowd.

Y/N looked up at George, her heart pounding—not from fear, but from the way George’s protective side always surfaced when it came to her. His touch, his stance, the way he looked at the mechanic like he would tear him apart if he tried anything—it was all undeniably attractive, even after a full day of tension between them.

Teasingly, she raised an eyebrow. “Even when you’re pissed, you still get jealous, huh?”

George’s lips twitched, his icy mood melting just a little as he met her gaze. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his arm still firmly around her waist. “I might be pissed off, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, “but you’re still mine. That hasn’t changed.”

The heat in his words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile, her frustration from earlier starting to fade. “Yours, huh?” she teased, her eyes sparkling as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

George’s expression softened as he pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “Yeah. Always.”

The argument that had been hanging between them all day suddenly felt insignificant. There, in the noise and chaos of the club, all Y/N could focus on was George—how fiercely he loved her, how protective he always was, even when they fought.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

George sighed, his thumb brushing her cheek gently. “I’m sorry too. I hate when we fight.”

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her voice soft as she leaned into his touch. “But I kind of like how protective you get when other guys try to hit on me.”

George chuckled, finally letting go of the tension from earlier. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not going to make a habit of this.”

She laughed softly, pulling him down for another kiss, this one longer and deeper. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N grinned. “Even if you’re mad, you still love me.”

George rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he held her close. “You have no idea.”

With his arms wrapped securely around her, the two of them forgot about the argument that had weighed them down all day. In that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were together, still each other’s, no matter what.

[wosowffc]

You need checked kid

Reader get injured in training but is too scared to get help

You had been at the club now a couple of months your only young, 17 to be precise, so had been living with Viv and Beth. You hadn't really expected to be living with a couple as you only have living with team mates as you never knew your mum and dad but Beth and Viv is what you needed just didn't know until u moved in. Viv has gone to Man City now but it's yours Beth and myles favourite time at weekends if she comes down.

Training is tough you had some struggles settling in but they are ironed out now, though you refused to do a medical as you got too worked up.

Living with Beth means you had gotten close to her closer freind group at club like Steph and when getting your first senior call up you attached to alessia and Beth.

You walked out that Monday morning feeling nice and refreshed Viv took you up to Manchester when beth had freinds visiting from Spain so it was a nice few days with her and myle also meeting some of the Man City girl though playing against them you hadn't really had conversations.

Drills started off and went well, some girls were doing solo training off to the side and some still feeling the acl effects but are close to a return which I'm so excited for them. We finish up doing some 5v5s there's about 4 happening each having a half of a pitch each. I was playing against Steph and Beth and alessia was accompanying me as a forward with Leah Katie and manu making up the team.

I was laid face down. What happened? How'd I get here? What's the ringing about? Questions flooded and I tried to push myself up with my arm which were quick to shake violently not pushing me far from the ground. I feel hands either side of my head.

"Stay still kid, it's alright don't move to much ok. You've hit ur head a good slap" alessia is above my me as I move onto mt back and she's still holding my head. Beth and Steph come rushing into my visson.

"Don't worry the medics are coming over now ok" Steph says rubbing my arm with a hand on my stomach. No. I can't. No medics.

"I'm fine. Please I'm just, let me up" you push them away as they all try get you to stay still

"Yn no come on, you need checked kid" Beth if I could run right now trust I would be in Scotland how quick I would go.

I get up the startling sickness very prominently present as the grass spins and the building contort. I start to walk , in a straight line, no but I'm getting away before the medics try to look over me. I'm scared. Petrified even of anything to do with doctors and yes I know technically there not but to me I'm still scared to the pit of my soul.

We arive home Beth telling me the whole car ride that I should have gone looked over while still making sure I was ok herself handing me water and food which I couldn't eat every corner bump pot hole made me feel like the world was moving more than it already was.

Viv rang worried after Beth had told her of course she had tried to talk me into it to b it my decision was final.

The match two days later against liverpool had been going pritty well. There been a few goals but I knew Id been off since hitting my head, should I have let someone know before hand yes but right now something was wrong seriously wrong. on the front line with alessia I start to walk towards her as the ball moves away.

She immediately grabs my side, moving to one knee to see my face.

"Yn!, yn hey are you ok, yn answer me!" She says as you head moves to her chest and u fall forward into her.

"Put her on her side less" Beth calls out running over as the team watches nervously at the side.

The girls fumble around me limp on the floor at the Center of them. The medics come over putting me on a stretcher and rush me in an ambulance.

The hospital. This is my hell on earth. I have no fears I like spider snakes what ever else I'm fine but doctors and all this is a no. go. area.

I woke with a groan seeing Beth next to me alseep hand on my leg. No, no, no I can't be here. Machines start rapidly getting faster which causes Beth to wake up form nex to me. She attempts to calm me.

It's about half an hour later after been given something to calm by the nurse Steph and alessia arive after getting a text from Beth and bringing you some food.

"You have a sever concussion from training yn. You can go home soon ok promise but they just want to take caution ok?" Alessia says before Viv comes in and gives me a kiss on my forehead

[uhohdad]

(18+) ABUSE & NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽ .₊˚⭑˚₊. ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽ .₊˚⭑˚₊. ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆

König’s Gloves are rough and coarse on your soft, delicate breasts. He loves watching you squirm under his harsh touch, laughing at the way you hiss and writhe when he pinches your nipples between his fingertips. Such a fun little doll to play with, ja?

König’s Glove dug into the flesh of your cheeks, scratching against the underneath of your jaw as he holds your head firmly in place. He tells you to Open wide, little one, before spitting into your mouth, priding himself at your pathetic whines and sad puppy-dog eyes, how he’s trained you take his abuse like the good little girl you’re supposed to be.

König’s Glove clasped around your neck, cutting off your breaths for air. He’ll laugh at the way your eyes swell in fear with every passing second, weakly scratching at his arm guards in your breathless desperation. His favorite part is when he can see the true doubt creep in - when you begin to worry that this little game you both play is about to turn into a homicide. He waits until you’re dancing the blurry line between conscious and unconscious, releasing his deadly grip on you at the very last moment. He stands by to watch you sputter and gasp for the air that he controls. You breathe when he says, little one.

König’s Glove on the crown of your head, steadying himself as he wets his cock with your tongue. Threading his fingers through locks of your hair and tightening against your scalp. A firm hold while he ruthlessly fucks that obedient, warm mouth around your muffled objections. He wants to ruin you, to stain your cheeks with tears, suffocate you with a cock that’s too big, coat your face in your drool and his finish.

König’s Gloves releasing their rigid hold on you only to return to your plush ass with a strict smack. He gives a hoarse laugh at the breathy, surprised gasp he forces from you. He’ll give you a few more for good measure, painting your ass with his handprints and reveling in each of your pitiful winces and moans. He hopes the influence his gloves have on you lingers long after he’s gone.

König’s Gloves soaking up your arousal while he pushes his thick fingers into you, gripping the entirety of your cunt with his possessive, brute hold. His hand just a blur as he pumps into you, watching you with those uninterested, cold eyes as he plays with his toy. So pathetic you are, with your high-pitched moans and whines, squirming and twitching in his lap, clawing at his bicep in response to his unrestrained slams into your dripping cunt. Having trouble sitting still, little one?

König’s Gloves on your waist, guiding you as you bounce on him, too much of a cockdrunk slut to be able to keep a steady, respectable rhythm on your own. Digging his fingers painfully into your soft flesh as he nears his finish, as he pounds your tight, dripping cunt from underneath you. An obedient, pliant doll for him to stuff. Long after you’ve gone limp in his hold, reduced to nothing but a whimpering, drooling mess at his hands, he buries his finish so far inside you it’ll be leaking out into your panties for the rest of the day. <3

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽ .₊˚⭑˚₊. ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽ .₊˚⭑˚₊. ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆

✧₊⁺ König’s Boots ✧₊⁺ König’s Belt ✧₊⁺ König’s Teeth

[lunajay33]

Change Part.11

•🩰🎀🩷•

Summary: Y/n is a loner but loves ballet but her family doesn’t have enough money for her to dance at the studio, Daryl is a redneck who hates people and prefers bikes, until one day these two run into eachother and their lives change drastically, will Daryl toughen her up? Will y/n soften Daryl? Or both? How will things go when people start coming back from the dead

Pairing: Young Daryl Dixon x f!reader

A/n: This is going to be a series, it’s gonna start with how they met eachother and their lives before the apocalypse, eventually it’ll blend with twd story line!!

Part.10

•Masterlist•

Daryl’s Pov

I don’t know how to fix this, how to make her fell okay again, she was always my light the one that made everything okay but when the world went to shit I slowly saw that spark die and now……she gotten so bad her brain shut off everything we ever shared

I see her struggle, see how she wants to remember so badly how she looks at me and wants nothing more than to be in my arms but it was holding her back all our growth together gone, but I’ll never give up on her….never

After the incident with Sophia I’ve been around more, thankfully she was in the house when all the walkers came out of the barn but it still felt wrong to lie to her but it was best for her and the baby

As I was sitting sharpening the heads of my arrows I heard her call out my name as she made her way through the field as the sun was setting

“Daryl!! I’ve got something for you!” I could hear the excitement in her voice which was rare now a days, I stood up ready to greet her when I heard her scream, grabbing my bow I ran to the field

“DARYL HELP ME” that scream tore something deep in me

Normal Pov

I had made a necklace for Daryl out of an old arrow pendant I had found in one of the greenes family sheds, Maggie said I could have it so I put it on a chain for Daryl, I finished it and made my way through the field to our tent seeing him sat infront of the fire, too excited I called out to him until something gripped my ankle and dragged me down, turning I see the most horrific grotesque being I’ve ever seen

It’s jaws snapping inches from my face using the strength I had left to keep it from biting still screaming for Daryl….anyone to help me

Soon an arrow was pierced through its head and it went limp as I pushed it off of me, crying I scurried back into Daryl’s arms

“Oh god….daryl what was that I……I can��t breath” I said panicking

“Hey yer okay, it didn’t bite ya did it?”

“What? No it didn’t what’s going on what is it D?” I asked gripping his arms

“It’s a walker, it’s what I’ve been trying to protect ya from, one bite and yer one of em”

“Is this why we can’t go home?”

“Ya Angel, this is why”

We walked back to our tent but for some reason finally knowing took that weight off of me, curling up next to the fire Daryl holds me close with a blanket over us

“Do you think we’ll have a home again? Where we can start over?”

“I hope so, I’ll do what I can fer ya and the baby”

“As long as I have you daryl just…..just don’t leave me”

“I ain’t going nowhere sunshine”

“You know there is one upside to my memory lose”

“And what’s that princess” he laughed as he squeezed me closer

“I get to have all these new experiences and feelings for you, like the first time we kissed and the first time you held me at night, I get to fall in love with you all over again, that’s how amazing you are to me Daryl, you’re my soulmate”

“Come on woman getting all sappy on me” he said before kissing my cheek

“I’m serious Daryl”

“Ya make me fall in love with ya over and over every day, I don’t need amnesia fer that” my heart warmed at his words

“Oh that reminds me, got something for you” I said holding up the necklace infront of him

“Ya made this fer me?”

“Thought you deserved a gift for having to put up with all my mess lately”

“Yer hilarious woman” he scoffed as he placed it around his neck

It’s been a week since the incident and Daryl told me all about why he’s been going out to the forest and what happened with the barn, it was hard to come to grips with at first but knowing I had Daryl eased my worries

I’m now 5 months pregnant and everyone now knew and they were all supportive except one….Andrea

She wasn’t to excited about having to deal with a child in this world and she usually voiced it to me, I was sitting around the camp taking a break from helping Lori and Carol with laundry eating a peach Daryl had brought back to me from one of his hunts, savouring in the flavour of the sweet peach Andrea walks by scoffing

“Excuse me?” I ask confused after I swallow my bite

“The usual, just you sitting on your ass while we all do the work around here” I was taken aback I always helped any way I could around here

“She was just taking a break Andrea, she’s pregnant” Carol said on my behalf

“Ya and she always has an excuse first it’s pregnant then she has amnesia, do you really have memory loss or just want attention?”

“Ya better watch yer mouth” Daryl growled as he came up from the field behind me

“And now she has her guard dog”

“Andrea leave her alone” Lori sighed obviously sick of Andrea too

“I’m trying my best here, I’m still getting my memories back” I said feeling Daryl’s hand sooth my lower back

“Ya ain’t got no right sayin she ain’t doing stuff, ya sit up on the trailer all day doin jack shit”

“I’m protecting the camp” she was fuming now

“Ya the side of my head would say other wise” she didn’t have anything else to say and stormed off

I sighed leaning back into Daryl as he wrapped his arm around my hip leading us back to our tent

“Don’t listen to her, ya know how much ya help out she’s just pissy because she ain’t as stunning as ya”

“Oh stop” I laugh gently pushing his arm

“How bought ya let me cheer ya up” he grinned with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes

“And how would you do that Mr.Dixon”

“Come on sunshine” he grinned taking my hand and guiding me back to our tent, when we got inside it was all decorated, in a Daryl way

“What’s all this my love?” I asked feeling like my heart was going to explode

“Something to cheer ya up angel” he helped me sat down as he started handing me the presents

“Got ya a pink night dress cause I know ya loved them and might be more comfortable than ma old shirt” it was silky pink with a frilly white hem on the bottom

“Daryl i love your shirts smells just like you but i am in love with this nightie!” I squeak in excitement

“Found some baby clothes, ya always use ta say how ya wanted cute clothes fer her” he showed me little pink baby socks with a matching hat for when it gets cold, and a few white jumpers with pink heart and bows

“And lastly I got lucky, found ya a camera”

“Come on Daryl just one photo” I whined as I straddled him on our bed as he groaned pushing the camera away

“Yer crazy woman I ain’t takin no photos”

“But I want the memories, how about if you let me take this one, just one photo of you…..you can take naked photos of me and keep them for when I’m not home”

“Ya got yerself a deal angel” he laughed excited

Spending the rest of the night taking photos in every position he wanted

The memory coursed through my mind making me laugh

“What’s so funny baby?”

“Well Mr.dixon, I think you might have some different motivations for this camera, some rather naked reasons” his face flushed with red like a school girl

“Ya had ta remember that” he finally smiled as he pulled me into his lap

“How about he try it out…..right now”

Taglist: @pinchofthetwd @bigbaldheadname @strawberrykiwisdogog @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @l0kilaufeys0n7 @deansapplepie @tesfayera @daryldixmedown @secretsicanthideanymore @superbowlisgay @pollito-chicken @shadowrose13-blog1 @absssposts @writer-ann-artist @dgeckobones @twisteduniverse5 @heidiland05 @lettersfromyourlove @minnie-min @severelykinky @mordilwen-of-mirkwood

[abiiors]

red lines - pt. 2 ║// matty healy x reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a late christmas/new year's gift for you lot but oh well, consider this an early valentine's day gift now lol. this is sad but also smutty which seems to be my favourite thing to write so enjoy ♡ cw: angst, crying (so much of it my god) (seriously, matty cries after sex like a loser) and arguments, a briefly sick baby (she has a cold) fucked up relationships in general, typos, probably cringe idk. wc: 6.5k here's part 1

matty’s red rimmed eyes stare back at you. 

if it weren’t for your baby’s soft babbling grounding you, you would have slammed the door in his face the second you opened it. before he even had the chance to get a word in. not like he’s said anything yet—he’s busy looking from mia to you and back to mia who’s strapped to your chest, face away from him. 

his daughter. he doesn’t even know what his daughter looks like. 

your heart hammers in your chest as you look at him, take him in properly. he looks like he’s been frozen in time—the same man you left almost a year ago, maybe with a few more greys on his head now. but everything about him harshly pulls you back in time. 

looking at him after all this time is like having the last piece of a puzzle click in place. 

“hi,” he says, and looks at the back of mia’s head for a moment. his hands twitch at his sides and matty shoves them in his pockets quickly. 

you clear your throat. “hi.”

the silence that lingers is so awkward that even the baby senses it. she fusses and lets out a soft whine and you know you only have a few moments before the whine turns into a full cry. 

“come in,” you offer and he nods. 

the door shuts behind him with a deafening creek and the silence returns with a vengeance. 

you watch matty as he looks around him. you wonder how it all looks through his eyes—a house that’s neither too clean, nor too messy, mia’s toys on the sofa, her bottle on the kitchen table, half finished. the half cooked pancake in the pan. and then he looks at the baby. 

you watch him carefully, look at the way his eyes shine so brightly and the subtle tremble of his lips. matty takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches out. about to touch her blanket. but you step back on instinct and his hand lingers in the air before falling at his side, limp and useless. 

“what do you want, matty?” you ask, your voice more steady than you expected.

he swallows harshly. “i wanted–i thought i’d…”

“you thought…?”

he squares his shoulder and straightens his spine, gathering courage just like you’ve seen him do so many times in the past. 

“i wanted to see her. mia. it’s a beautiful name…”

“who told you her name?”

you don’t know where the snapping, harsh tone comes from but matty flinches regardless. you don’t give him a chance to answer though. you know who told him her name. 

“it was adam, wasn’t it?”

“please don’t be mad at him,” matty tries hastily and takes a step forward before coming to an abrupt stop. “i begged until… yeah, i begged him to tell me.”

“look i…” he continues, “i messed up, okay? i messed up big time. i've spent every day regretting it. i miss both of you, and i can't—”

“you miss her?” your voice rings out around the room. 

mia in your arms is the only thing stopping you from yelling as your entire body shakes with so much rage. you try to keep the tears at bay, you really do but they fall one after the other. land softly on her head. 

“you miss her, do you, matty? do you even know what she looks like?”

he shakes his head and looks down in shame. 

“no? you didn’t beg your best friend for a photo?” your voice has taken a mocking quality—ugly and cruel. words meant to hurt him, to damage him. words that might give him a taste of a fraction of what you went through. 

“please, i—”

“get out.”

“no, listen to me! please, just—”

“leave!”

matty stumbles back and mia breaks into a cry. whatever possessed you to yell like that leaves instantly, zapping away every ounce of strength in your body. your knees shake with the effort of standing upright. your arms tighten around the baby. 

matty wipes his eyes quickly and makes his way out the door. 

it’s the thud that breaks the last of your restraint. quietly, you sit on the floor, soothing her for what feels like hours. trying to calm yourself by breathing in her scent. she’s safe. you’re both safe. 

you don’t need a third. 

you only need her. 

matty doesn’t give up. 

although he doesn’t show up again in person, a box shows up at the door—one addressed to both you and mia. it feels heavy in your hands and something rattles inside. 

as curious as you are, you set it on the dining table and go about your day. 

you don’t need any of this, whatever he’s sent is probably useless. it’s silly and meant to break down your defenses. you’re sure of it. 

still, every time you pass by it, the box seems to wink at you. so you chuck it in a random drawer—one where you keep the extra nappies, the backup-backup-backup ones—and breathe a sigh of relief.

relief that’s almost comically short-lived.

the days pass, and life falls back into its routine—diapers, bottles, and the sweet sound of mia's coos and giggles. the box from matty remains tucked away in the drawer, almost forgotten. you convince yourself that whatever he sent doesn't matter; you've built a new life for you and mia, and that's all that matters.

it's a rainy afternoon when mia decides to unleash chaos upon her last clean onesie. a cosmic fucking joke really that she should need her backup-backup-backups when you’ve almost managed to forget about the box. but there it is, sitting atop the neatly stacked diapers—a plain cardboard box, tied with a simple piece of twine.

you take it out and set it on the kitchen table. then you brew yourself an extra strong cup of coffee and sit in front of it, almost like it’s a staring match…

who’s going to break first?

but obviously it’s a cardboard box, it stays fucking still no matter how hard you wish for it to burst into flames. so you take a sip of coffee and begin undoing the twine. your hands tremble as you lift the lid. your heartbeat quickens. 

first you see a layer of tissue papers covering something and then under it, a plain envelope with your name written on it in matty’s handwriting. 

inside it is a piece of paper, slightly torn at the edges. folded and refolded a million times. 

hi, my love please come home i’m so sorry i don't expect you to forgive me. i messed up. horribly. there’s no other way to put it. and there's no excuse for the pain i've caused. i understand if you never want to see me again, but please, i’m begging you to let me see her just once. just to let her get to know her father. so that i can get to know my daughter.  i know what i did is unforgivable but it’s like half a piece of my heart has been missing since you walked out i let you walk out.  i don’t expect you to let me back into your lives but please let me hold her just once.  i would also like to set up a small trust fund in her name if you give me permission. i won’t have any control over it, but i want her to have something from me for anything she might want in the future.  i’m leaving that decision up to you.  there are post cards in here that i wrote for you and for her when things got really really bad. it’s not an excuse for how i behaved but some day i hope we could be together friends again.  till then just know that not a moment goes by when i don’t wish i could go back in time and stop myself from till then i hope you know how incredibly sorry i am. i hope you know that i will always have nothing but love and respect for you. and for mia.  love,  matty

the weight of the emotions threatens to suffocate you. the scratched-out bits from the letter are just slightly visible. not really enough for you to make it out properly but whatever it says has to be too personal, right? 

you sink further into the chair, and tears blur your vision. the postcards are right there under the letter—a hundred or so—his heart bared to you. all of the best and worst parts. all the ugly ones too. 

and then there’s the trust fund that he wants to set up. 

you know it’s the smart thing to do. you can’t have emotions clouding your judgement when it comes to securing her future. and he said he won’t have any control over it so that’s good, right…?

and yet a part of you hesitates to pick up the cards and read his words. 

everything feels too raw, too vulnerable and honest. 

everything feels too much.

you think and you think and you think for the next few days. 

all you do is think about him and the postcards and the trustfund. you even have a little spat with your mum when she says it’s a good idea. you accuse her of playing the devil’s advocate but ultimately she’s right. 

this is not about you. this is about your daughter. 

so you let her bathe mia and get her ready for bed, and then you pick up your phone and open the old text thread. 

have an amazing night, babe. break a leg.

the text sits there innocently. the words are still the same—casual and loving and normal and almost like they were written in a foreign language. you quickly wipe up your tears and delete the old thread before there’s time to second-guess it. 

gone. winked out of existence just like that. 

and then you open a fresh new thread. 

hi matty, hope you’re well.  got your letters hello matty hey. i got the box. can we talk?

it amazes you how much back and forth you have to do for a simple message. how many times you talk yourself out of sending it. but once it’s gone. it’s gone. 

half a minute later, three dots dance in response. 

hey, would love to. next sunday?

sunday works. that’s exactly a week from now. enough time for you to prepare mentally. it’s also a day after your mum gets back from her mini holiday so you can just leave mia with her without having to worry about bringing her with you. 

sunday works. see you then. 

and that’s the end of that. you switch your phone off and vow to not think about him till then. if only it were that easy…

three days later you wake up to a shrill cry coming from the nursery. 

hastily you check the time, 2:37 am, and run to check up on mia, heart thudding in your chest. she’s usually such a calm baby. she sleeps so well through the night and yet the closer you get the louder her cries get. 

the more you feel fear grip your chest. 

“oh my love, what’s wrong? what’s wrong, baby?”

she continues to wail even after you check her diapers and feel her cot for any wetness. it’s only when you gently touch her cheek do you realise how warm she feels. heat radiates from her little body and panic sets in as you rush to the kitchen to grab the thermometer. the digital display confirms your fear—a fever.

not very high but still, she’s sick for the first time in her life. 

“you’ve got a fever sweet girl,” you coo and clear your dry throat. 

fuck! calling your mum’s not an option. calling the gp’s also not an option. 

her loud cries make your heart squeeze in pain. rocking doesn’t help. strapping her to your naked chest helps only for about ten minutes until she’s screaming once again. 

you try a bath, hoping the vapour would clear her cold a little but all it does it give you a headache. 

your head feels like it’s about to burst open, blood splattering on the walls and everywhere else as mia continues to cry until her whole body is pink and red from the effort. how does a tiny baby have this much strength in her lungs? you feel her forehead for the tenth time—warm, and you wipe away her runny nose. but no amount of cooing and rocking her helps. 

“calm down, darling,” you try to shush her, a note of begging in your voice. your temples throb and mia wails right next to your ears.

you think maybe singing to her would calm her down but any more exertion and the black dots in your vision continue to swim around. 

fuck. 

you need help. and your mum is not an option. absolutely no one you can call at 3:30 in the morning. 

absolutely no one who will even answer. 

but that’s not true is it…

with shaky hands you pick up your phone and dial his number. you’d promised yourself never to go crawling to him for help. but the universe has a funny way of forcing your hand. 

desperation for your daughter's well-being overrides any pride or resentment. the phone rings, each tone louder than the last. just as you’re sure it’s about to go unanswered, his groggy, sleepy voice comes through from the other side. 

“hello?”

you barely give him the chance to speak before launching into your panic-filled pleas. “matty, it’s mia. she’s sick–she won’t–she’s so warm and my mum’s not here and i don’t–nothing's working—”

“hey, hey, love calm down,” he shushes from the other side and then there's rustling in the background. “i’m coming over.”

matty doesn’t even take fifteen minutes to get to your house, eyes widening the second he takes a look at you and your daughter. she’s been attached to you like an extra limb ever since you woke up to her crying. not that you’ve had the heart to set her down for any longer than necessary but you’re aware how deranged you must look with your hair all over the place and red eyes, exhaustion embedded so deep down in your bones that no amount of sleep will get rid of it. 

“she won’t stop crying,” you launch into it the second he steps inside. every two words you hiccup, trying and failing to keep the sobs at bay. “she has a cold, matty. i’ve tried everything. we had a warm bath, i gave her some calpol. i’ve tried rocking her and singing to her and i’m so fucking tired but she’s just–she won’t stop—”

“hey…” it only takes one gentle touch from him to make you forget every single feeling of apprehension. matty’s frown deepens.

“are you sure?” his voice has suddenly gone quiet, so quiet that you barely hear it over the baby’s cries. 

you look at him in confusion. “didn’t you listen to me? yes i’m fucking sure, she’s ill, matty. look at her!” your voice rises another octave, more and more panicked as another moment passes by and she refuses to settle down.

“no i…” he steps closer and extends his hand. almost afraid to touch her or you. maybe afraid that you might step away like last time. but you stay in place and matty touches the back of her head. it's featherlight at first as if she might break if he puts too much force into it. one touch and she’d crumble away like she was never here at all. 

as if this was all his dream. 

“no, i meant…” he swallows harshly and clears his throat. “are you sure you want me to take her?”

the hold you have on her loosens ever so slightly. 

you called matty here. it’s not like he showed up, unannounced and drunk, no! he showed up at an ungodly hour to help you. if anything… that earns him a tiny, miniscule brownie point. 

“do you know how to—”

“hold a baby?” he quips and you notice the way his face brightens almost imperceptibly, barely even noticeable. “i do, i’ve uh… yeah. i do.”

he doesn’t elaborate further, he only stands there patiently until you find your hold on her loosening. you will your heart to calm down, will your body to not be so rigid. then you take a deep breath and extend her to him.

she looks almost different in his arms. smaller somehow, so much more like him than you realised. and matty’s face holds an expression you’ve never seen before. 

something about it makes your heart stutter. 

he’s enamoured by her, so much so that he barely even reacts when she sneezes in his face and keeps crying even though it’s a bit softer now. maybe she’s just as distracted trying to process him, maybe she feels something too—a bond that’s somehow always been there, hidden and battered and hanging on by a thread. 

in a heartbeat, his face changes and he holds her to his chest. 

in a tentative voice, matty shushes her, bounces her a bit just like you had been. you wring your hands nervously waiting for something to happen. maybe he’d realise he still doesn’t want her, that he was wrong to think he did. maybe he’d give her back and leave you again quietly. 

your chest hurts at the thought, but you will it away and watch matty cuddle her closer. 

he holds her as tightly as possible without hurting her. matty closes his eyes and presses his face into her head, he swallows harshly and for a moment his whole body shudders. when he opens them again, they’re tinged pink, and he quickly looks away. 

“can you—” he clears his throat and tries again. “can you show me where the nursery is?”

you nod and gesture for him to follow. mia’s cries slow a little when matty starts walking. he continues shushing her and attempting baby talk which is slightly amusing despite everything. he gives up in a few seconds though and goes back to talking to her normally. 

“just a cold, my love,” you hear him faintly, “they’re really annoying though, aren’t they?”

in spite of yourself, you smile and stop in front of the nursery. 

“she usually likes the chair.”

matty looks to the corner of the room where you’re pointing and nods. then he clears his throat. 

“should i… uh, does she have a favourite blanket?”

the fact he thought of it is impressive. and she does, but you know it’s just been washed and folded. to get it for her, you’d have to leave them alone. for the first time ever. 

the rational part of your brain knows it won’t be a big deal. it’s two minutes at most and it’s not like matty’s gonna run away with her. your heart pounds regardless, and your feet feel leaden. 

“sure, it’s–yeah, let me just…” and then you leave before you have the chance to overthink it. 

by the time you’re get back to the nursery, soft blanket in hand, matty’s already settled in the rocking chair, mia in his arms with her cheek squished against his chest. 

he’s unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt so he’s not entirely shirtless but just enough to feel her against his skin—to get a second chance at the skin-to-skin he missed. 

“that’s it, darling,” he speaks softly and strokes her cheek. “settle down for me. daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay?”

with every word he speaks, her eyes get droopier, her sniffles turn to quiet breaths until matty takes a deep breath and starts singing a quiet song. 

it’s unfamiliar at first, and he starts off unsure and off-kilter. his voice cracks, but mia babbles something and presses further into his chest. it’s then that he really smiles—wide and breath-taking and so incredibly happy that the air whooshes out of your lungs just at the sight of it. 

daddy’s gonna take care of you, okay?

and that’s exactly what he does. he pats on her back softly, presses small kisses to her head until your eyes sting and a sob almost escapes. 

quickly, you back away, still clutching the blanket. still holding back tears until you’re far, far away from him and somehow in the empty kitchen. the sky is only just turning pink, even then, the darkness lingers. and that’s when the dam breaks. 

great, heaving sobs spill out of you—ugly and wretched and loud enough that it’s a miracle matty doesn’t come running. your legs give out from under you and you slide against the counter, leaning against it and praying for any amount of strength. your chest aches and your body trembles. a distatant memory flashes across your mind—of the last time you cried like this. when you accidentally called adam instead of your mum. 

when adam did show up even if you tried to get him to leave.

the cool surface of the countertop offers a small comfort. with trembling hands, you clutch the soft blanket, and bury your face in it. it still holds the scent of baby oils and powders, of her fluffy little head that you adore so much. the same head that’s full of his curls. 

you gasp for a breath and stifle another sob. the blanket helps too—it’s grounding and comforting. it’s familiar. you force yourself to take another deep breath, and this time it comes a bit easier. the weight on your chest eases just a bit. the grief that felt so overwhelming all these months loosens its grip around your heart and in the stillness of dawn, matty’s voice floats into the kitchen. 

you stay there on the floor, counting one breath after the other, listening to his lullaby until the whole kitchen is bathed in the orange light of dawn.

then you wipe away the snot and the tears and make yourself stand up.

you hold your head in your hands, hoping the dull ache would go away soon, along with all the memories of the last 24 hours. at this point, you’d settle for the complete erasure of the last thirty minutes. 

you just want to go back to before—back to your happy cheerful baby, back to being busy enough that you have no time to think about him. 

you desperately crave the before where the crack in his voice doesn’t haunt every thought. where the song doesn’t echo in the crevices of your brain and mia’s cries don’t grow quieter with every word he sings. in fact, you crave an alternate world where she doesn’t cry at all. she sleeps through the night like always and you video call your mum when she wakes up. 

that’s what was supposed to happen. not…this. 

not matty being in your house with your—his—daughter, watching her with that devastated look on his face. 

a soft thud of the door jerks you out of your thoughts but the house remains devoid of baby cries. the only thing you can hear really is matty’s footsteps growing louder until you can see him at the door to the kitchen from the corner of your eye. 

he hesitates and lingers like he’s trapped in a limbo. 

“you can come in, you know?” you straighten and roll your neck to get rid of some of the pain. there’s a momentary relief before the ache comes flooding back. 

“she’s asleep…”

“yeah, i thought she would be.”

“she feels a bit cooler to the touch,” he reports and relief floods your chest. 

for a moment the kitchen stays silent. the birds outside chirp once in a while and you hear the occasional sounds of a car but everything else feels like it’s come to a standstill. quiet. the universe holding its breath in anticipation. 

“i should go—”

“coffee—”

you both speak at the same time and shut your mouth again. another pang of pain lances through your body and this time you barely hold back the wince. 

he wants to leave, of course, he does. just because he came through in a time of need doesn’t mean he’s ready to be a father. it doesn’t mean you’re ready to let him be her father. 

“coffee sounds nice,” he speaks so softly that you barely hear it at first. there’s trepidation in his voice; a slight tremor that he might be pushed away again but a rock lodges itself in your throat and all you can manage is a slight nod. 

you can feel his stare burning into the back of your head when you turn. the coffee pot is still full of yesterday’s grounds—something you haven’t had the chance to tidy up yet. now that you look around, the whole kitchen is a bit of a mess. you scoff to yourself. your mum’s been gone for three whole days and your life is already falling apart trying to be a single mother. 

the gurgling of water fills the kitchen as the kettle starts boiling and you look around for a spare mug. yours is right by the coffee machine but an extra one should be high up in the cupboard. 

matty’s shoes squeak on the floor but he doesn’t come any closer. 

“need any he—”

“no. i’m fine!”

and just to drive the point home, you yank the door to the top shelf open and stretch extra high to reach the spare mug. cool air brushes the exposed sliver of skin and just for a moment you’re tempted to see  if he’s looking, just for a tiny second, until pain lances through your neck and shoulder and this time the loud wince slips out. 

before you know it, matty’s behind you, steading you with a hand against the small of your back—warm palm pressed against warm, exposed skin. somewhere deep down you would have recognised him through smell alone—the same warm spicy smelled laced with just a hint of cigarette smoke that you’ve thought about on many lonely nights. 

sometimes when you’re deep asleep, it sneaks up on you, envelopes you so thoroughly that you wake up surrounded by it, suffocating almost and still desperately trying to get lungfulls of it. 

the same smell surrounds you now and matty’s body presses close to yours. 

“careful there,” he breathes and the warmth of it spreads goosebumps all over your body.

“you alright?”

you know he’s referring to your wince from two seconds ago but your brain takes an eternity to form a coherent sentence. 

“fine,” you manage. “i was rocking mia all night, think i pulled something.”

instantly, warm, rough fingers touch your shoulder and the space between you comes alive with electricity. 

“trust me,” he murmurs and somehow you find yourself nodding and closing your eyes, sighing when his fingers press into your skin. the wood the counter digs into your pelvis, almost like a tether to this world, something to stop you from floating away and giving in to his touch. heat simmers in your blood just as the water in the kettle comes to a full boil. 

“this feel good, love?”

distant thoughts remind you to say no, to move away and shut hm off again. he has no business touching you again, but your body seems disconnected from your brain. instead of walking away, you lean back, into his chest and away from the wood of the counter. 

the tether snaps but matty’s there to hold you down. his hand snakes around your waist and you spin. spin till you’re facing him and pressed flush against his chest. until his scent is all around, finally enough to settle into your lungs and not dissipate into the cloying scent of nightmares. 

“we s-shouldn’t…” you try to sound firm but the word makes you choke. matty’s eyes dip to your mouth. 

“we shouldn’t,” he agrees and presses his lip against yours. 

the kiss takes you back to the last time—to the before, in that cosy hotel room by the sea. you think of the two people tangled up in the bedsheets, naked and sweaty and happy. one of them looks remarkably like you—the same hair and eyes, the same smile, slightly fuller cheeks though. she laughs and whispers something in matty’s ear. then he nips at her lips just like he nips at yours now. 

it’s a kiss teeming with longing and desire and everything in between. 

your teeth knock against each other and matty takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue in, to let it run over your lip and against your tongue until you’re panting and leaning against him for support. 

“m-matty,”

“tell me you don’t wan’t me,” he says all of a sudden but his eyes are so full of so much hope that your heart might shatter into a million pieces to see it die away slowly. 

“i want you…”

and that’s the only permission he needs before his mouth is on yours again, hungry and hot, your lips between his teeth until they’re red and swollen, and only then does he move to your jaw. 

his stubble leaves a faint burn on your skin and the fire in your blood burns hotter. 

“please,” he chokes out and swallows roughly, “need to taste you, please.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, instead you give him a light push on his shoulders. instantly, matty kneels between your legs and pulls your shorts down until they fall to your ankles, along with the underwear. 

silently, you curse for not bothering to shave or wear decent underwear. not like you knew this would be happening. but he’s like a man starved and every ounce of hesitation leaves when your fingers tangle in his hair. 

the tresses slip between your fingers, soft and curly and exactly how they used to feel a year ago, the greys stand out against your hand and a whine escapes you the moment his tongue connects to your clit. your breath hitches at the sight of him—eyes half-lidded, dark enough that they are almost black, lips swollen to the point they are wet and red. for a moment, you consider pulling him up just to kiss him again, to taste him again. but then matty’s tongue plunges inside you and your mind goes blank. 

his rough hand is against your thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh, another against your ass, holding you up and squeezing the flesh at the same time. your legs tremble and almost give up but he pushes you back and traps against the counter. 

you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t. you shoudn’t. you try telling that to yourself over and over again and yet your belly erupts in butterflies that just won’t go away. your hands move of their own accord, guiding his head, pushing his mouth right against your clit, and matty takes it all. 

“fuck–” he chokes out and goes back to licking another broad strip, “missed you, missed your taste, fucking missed you so much!”

tears sting your eyes and your body trembles for a different reason this time but you push it back and rut your hips against his face. 

despite the thoughts in your head, this feels good. this feels familiar and fantastic and as much as you don’t want to admit it, this feels right. 

matty moans against your clit and swipes a finger through your folds. euphoria makes your vision go white and you let yourself cry out his name. perhaps for the first time. the sound echoes around the kitchen, confined within the four walls of this room somehow even before you stifle the second scream. there’s a sleeping baby in the house after all, the last thing you need is for her to wake up and put an end to whatever this is until the awkwardness would push matty out of the house and possibly out of your life again—

your eyes scrunch shut as another lick makes your head spin. 

“fa-faster,” you moan out and shamelessly throw a leg over his shoulder, holding onto his head so tight now that he surely feels the tug. if anything, his efforts double, and his tongue plunges deeper into you than before.

the world goes hazy and soft around the edges as your eyes roll back into your head. 

fuck! he’s good… he’s always been good. he’s always known your body better than you have. besides, no one’s made you feel half as good in a year, no one besides your vibrator on occasional lonely nights. 

“fuck, darling you’re perfect…” he breathes and the word echoes around in your head. 

you were perfect. together. even after everything, nothing and no one can erase the that. 

you swallow another cry and hold onto him tighter. your head buzzes and pleasure floods through your entire body until you’re chanting his name over and over again. somewhere through it all, you’re aware of grinding against his face like a wild animal in heat but his mouth keeps up with it. if anything, his thumb joins in, pressing on your clit, pinching it just so till you jerk and let go all over his tongue. 

ecstasy replaces the blood in your veins, runs at lightning speeds and you feel as if you’re floating up, up and away if not for matty standing up, holding onto you, kissing you till you can taste yourself on his tongue—taste so much more that heat pools in your stomach again and you push your hands inside his t-shirt. 

his whole body tenses, muscles taut against your hand until he’s practically vibrating and rigid. 

“you really w-want this? me?”

the hope in his voice is barely controlled but you refuse to open your eyes. one look at him and you know your resolve will crumble and the tears will come. instead you push your face into the crook of his neck and nod. 

“i’ve never been more sure of something…”

for a moment, his breathing stops completely and matty goes still—you can almost feel his heart stop too, almost feel the stuttering beat pounding right under the palm of your hand. then the spell breaks and the clinking of his belt buckle fills the room. 

his lips press against the hollow of your throat, leaving wild, reckless marks behind before he moves over to where your pulse thrums wildly. his mouth finds the spot, sucks on it gently, and you find yourself losing in him once again. 

you feel the hardness of his cock through the boxers and before you have the chance to touch him properly, matty pulls away slightly, making you look at him in confusion. it’s only when his hand reaches for his wallet do you realise that he’s pulling out a condom.

good. there should be some barrier between you. some semblance of a boundary even though it laughably flimsy and pathetic. and well, that lack of barrier is really what landed you here in the first place. 

“i need—”

“yes,” he interrupts and goes in for another sloppy kiss. 

your hands wander until you’re pulling his hard cock out, feeling him moan into the kiss and he reluctantly pulls away to put the condom on. the moment stretches on and suddenly this whole thing feels juvenile, like he’s your high school crush. like this is your first time. excitement bubbles up in your chest—dull but unmistakably there. maybe just this once, you let it surge. 

as if in a daze, matty slides the stray hair off your shoulder, brushing away the strands until your shoulder is bared to him and kisses the exposed skin. goosebumps erupt in its wake.

the whole affair is silent—just moans and sighs and the sound of his shuddering breath before he’s slipping into you, deeper and deeper until all you feel is him and his heartbeat.

“fucking perfect, so fucking perfect…” he chants and thrusts again. and again. and again till your breathing becomes ragged and your head loses every thought once again, and then he’s the only person to matter in the world. 

you’d die if he were to let go of you now. 

his grip on you tightens and his pace becomes faster, hips slamming into yours until you’re both moaning and panting, until your face in in the crook of his neck, mouth against his neck. the kisses excite him more, make him shiver in delight, and somehow you feel him grow harder inside you—streching you out till you’re nearly in tears and crying out from pleasure that is almost overwhelming. 

“matty, you’re—i’m—”

“can’t wait to feel you drenching my cock,” his voice turns into an unexpected growl and pleasure coils in your belly. his hand inches between your legs, fingers circling your clit until his thumb is pressing down on it once again and you mewl. his chest barely even stifles it. 

“please…” you beg and get swept away by another feverish kiss. your head spins and matty’s saying something, he’s fucking into you so hard that you can barely hear a word over the obscene, wet sounds. or maybe it’s the blood rushing through your whole body that drowns it out. 

none of it matters though, not when you feel white hot pleasure swirl through you and then you clench around him, hard enough that he cries out too. hard enough that you feel him cum despite the condom. and that’s what tips you over the edge. 

matty keeps going through it, slamming into you until he eventually slows down, until he eventually stills but doesn’t pull out. you keep your eyes closed, chest heaving, breath mixing with his, bodies pressed together so tightly that you can practically feel the rush of his blood under his skin. 

some pathetic part of your brain makes tears prick at your eyes and you finally open your eyes, taking just a second to look at his face. there are lines etches into his forehead now—deep grooves that used to be much softer. a reminder of all the time that’s passed. his sweaty curls stick to his forehead, much more grey than before. much messier. still, he's as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as a forbidden fruit. 

then he opens his eyes too and the breath truly gets knocked out of you. 

after all this time, his eyes are the same warm hazel. the same eyes you look into every day. mia’s eyes. matty’s eyes. 

for a moment, the room feels colder. the orange hue feels odd and unnatural but it’s just a trick of the light, just a trick of an overthinking mind.  

“we—”

“don’t,” you interrupt quickly. “please, just… let me stay like this. let me have this memory.”

matty hmms, then moves his hand to the back of your head, fingers in your hair until you feel something wet on your cheeks, on your shoulders. until you feel his body shaking. you don’t look up. you don’t try to console him either. you just stay like that, breathe him in until your lungs feel full enough to burst. 

you know how this ends. deep down, you’ve always known it. 

still, letting go of him feels like plunging a knife in your chest. 

there will be a part 3, this was getting too long.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855@beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy@sierraeslaprincesa@harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet@thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername@celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman

add yourself to the taglist

[roseonne]

in your favor

Ran's always been the more favored Haitani. Or so Rindou thinks.

first offering for the tr fandom ! ( ao3 link )

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

Rindou's down.

Back flat on the ground, limbs unironically feeling numb and limp from all the kicks he's thrown and punches he's blocked, chest heaving heavily up and down as every ragged breath from his strained lungs becomes yet another, more alarming battle for his own existence that he must desperately prevail over.

But, goddamn it.

He's losing this fight, too.

"RINDOU!"

The familiar voice of his annoying older brother rings frantically in his ears. Despite already struggling so much to keep his mere consciousness intact, Rindou still manages a weak click of his tongue in disbelief.

"Too loud... Big bro."

"Shut it, Rindou!" Ran snaps as he appears by his brother's side in an instant, hastily sliding a gloved hand underneath his bleeding head and propping him onto his arm

Having now held his precious younger sibling close to his chest, Ran finally notices the number of cuts, size of the bruises, and depth of the wounds scarring almost every part of his body. All of which have been freshly inflicted, making Rindou's injuries perhaps a dozen times more fatal.

"We need to get you to a hospital. Quick!"

Rindou, meanwhile, has to squeeze his eyes shut for a solid minute (or two). His visionーwithout his glassesーisn't any good to begin with, so the sudden movement and shifting of his position sent his mind spinning into a deep, heavy spiral. Unfortunately, the moment he blinks his eyes open, he meets Ran's gaze locked onto him.

Great. Now he gets to have all the credit of saving the day for himself.

Rindou's had enough of this vicious, never-ending cycle.

Especially when it should've been him. It should've been the name of Rindou Haitani who the spotlight shines brightly upon.

Since it had always been him setting the tempo and dictating the outcome of the fights he and his brother got themselves into back in the day. Locking his enemies' joints and breaking them is his specialty; and that specialty is what earned him the title of one of the charismatic kings of Roppongi.

What remains of the job is to deal the finishing blows. Evidently, here is where Ran's sole duty starts, and ends.

"Rindou."

He flinches at the sound of his name.

"Keep it together, you idiot."

In hopes of repressing his growing irritation at the constant yapping in his ears, he forces his free hand into a feeble fist.

"RINDOU!"

But the switch has been ticked.

"I FUCKING KNOWーURGH!"

And with every word from his busted lips, more of his warm, Haitani blood comes splattering forth, tainting not only his uniform, but also his pride as a promising top delinquent.

...Shit.

It's all Ran's fault.

He wouldn't be lying so humiliatingly on the ground right now if his brother had not dragged him out of their flat earlier that day. He wouldn't be in this current state of a mess if only he had the guts to go against him once and for all. He would never have had his entire life on the line if he just wasn't his brother's younger brother.

At least, that's what Rindou thought he'd feel.

For even if Ran seems to be the more favored Haitani...

Rindou can't bring himself to hate him.

Ran is his family. The only one he's ever known, and the only one he'll forever be stuck with. They've been at each other's throats, yet also got each other's backs for as long as he can remember. And, although he hates admitting it, he won't have his life any other way.

So when the opportunity to 'protect family' presented itself to him, Rindou willingly jumped toward it; and his reward for such a chivalrous display of what normal people of normal families call 'love', is a lone, stray bullet straight into somewhere between his stomach and lower left rib. He's had his right palm pressed onto that area of his body this whole time; but the bleeding hasn't stopped. Even though Ran also has his own hand already placed on top of his.

"You're so stupid, Rindou! We both know you could've easily dodged that," Ran hisses, tone stern with fear, and white, blood-stained gloves unable to conceal the trembling of his fingers.

Turning his head over to the side, Rindou spits even more blood out of him and replies, "but I chose not to." 

"And that's what pisses me off!" Ran remarks in utmost frustration, gritting his teeth. "What has gotten into you, man!?"

Rindou smells the sweet scent of provocation and decides the luxury of a playful tease is worth every ounce of strength left in him. "Heh~ Seeing you all worked up isn't like you at all, big bro."

"Of course it isn't!" Ran hysterically agrees. "Damn it, Rindou, you know I can't lose you!"

The little sibling is taken slightly aback, but chooses once more to feign ignorance for the time being. "Why not? You've always been the more favored one between us, anyway."

With a small roll of his eyes, he adds, "so you can do anything you want now."

Grabbing him by the chin, Ran forces Rindou to set his pair of purple eyes back at him. "What the hell are you going on about!? The Haitani brothers wouldn't be the Haitani brothers anymore without either of us, you know!!"

Rindou must have gone mad. Truly mad. This could possibly be the first that Ran has ever spoken of his feelings out loud. Feelings of concern, regret, and despair for no other person but him. (Would be nice if he does this more often, though.)

"And besides," the expression on the older sibling's face softens drastically as he tries to repress an overflow of emotions threatening to stream down his cheeks from both his eye sockets. "I favor you more than anything in this shitty world, my li'l bro."

"Heh~"

Rindou flashes a closed-eye smile. He seems to have lost the pain his body's covered all over with, and his vision's becoming a bit too static for his liking; but there's no way he's letting Ran find out. This moment's way too beautiful to ruin. The least he could do to return the cheesy-ass sentiment...

"Then... I'm glad."

The skies above have turned a deep gray. Big, thick clouds that carry multiple streaks of lightning begin filling the endless expanse with a burst of various colors, one after another. It's only a matter of time before the rain finally pours. Too bad Rindou doesn't have much of that left to witness it.

"Thanks, big bro."

...Is the last he heard from himself, before all else belonging to his world inevitably succumbs into an uncharted, pitch black darkness.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

Rindou's up.

He pushes for his consciousness to awaken, forcibly prying his eyelids open despite the undeniable heaviness of slumber and lethargy weighing them down. Blinking once. Twice. And squeezing his eyes closed one, last time, a yawn worth a full night's sleep escapes freely from his o-shaped mouth.

A shit-ton of things seem to puzzle him all of a sudden, but one thing's for sureーpressing his fingertips across the area where his lower left ribs areーhe's proven his existence. At the very least, he's made himself certain that he, Rindou Haitani, graciously is still alive.

Oh, thank god...

Having been sprawled on the sofa for god-knows-how-long, with a languid arm over his forehead and a leg hooked above its backrest, Rindou recalls summoning a couple of guys over for drinks. But judging by the lack of sunlight entering the room through the slightly parted curtains draping the windows, and cases upon cases of empty beer bottles scattered around the floor, the fun must have ended quite some time ago.

"But what a weird-ass dream that was..." Rindou's mind jumps back to replay bits of the terrifying scene he witnessed only a mere several moments ago.

Well, it's more like a nightmare, if he must say so himself. Although he's had similar ones recurring every now and then, that recent horror truly feels the clearest, realest, and most alarming of all.

. . .

Nah, that shit ain't happening.

He tosses himself to his other side, wanting to get up at last, stretch his aching muscles, and soothe his nerves and worries away. But doing so too abruptly turns out to be an extremely bad idea, for a splitting headache smacks him wide awake the very moment he attempts to properly sit upright.

"Ow..."

The evident struggle to remain seated and steady not long later sends him completely falling off of the sofa with a loud thud. Landing on his lower back, Rindou lets out a painful grunt.

Shit!

In haste, he covers his mouth with his own hand to suppress any and all possible further outbursts. Verbally and physically.

I can't let this wake big bro!

"Rindou?"

Speak of the devil, and the devil shall make itself known.

Ran shows up in an instant, head peeking out from behind the sofa, a brow raised high in wonder. "You okay? What happened?"

"Big bro," Rindou says almost absent-mindedly, a little shaken at the series of misfortunes coming upon him at once. "You're up early."

Ran glances at the old wall clock hanging in the middle of the room.

5:26 P.M.

"Hm... I guess I am."

Although the time signals the conclusion of sunset, the arrival of nightfall is truly when the Haitani brothers kickstart yet another brand new day (or night) of nothing but pure delinquency, chaos, and style.

Granted that, both of them are in good shape to drag their asses out of their humble abode.

Ran tilts his head a little over towards one side, a pair of squinting purple eyes meticulously examining his younger brother from head to toe; much to Rindou's displeasure.

"You seem to be in a lot of pain," Ran observes. "Another hangover, perhaps?"

Rindou clicks his tongue bitterly, and Ran's older brother instincts immediately pop off. Snapping his fingers in affirmation, he then makes his way to the kitchen.

"Knew it before I even saw you all over the place." Ran sets a glass of water down on the tabletop. "Here, to sober you up."

"You don't have to keep treating me like a child, big bro." Rindou rolls his eyes, despite already seeing the world around him swirl uncomfortably in every direction. "I can take care of myself."

He wishes to reclaim his spot on the sofa, one hand firmly grasping the armrest, and the other on the center table for support. A big, bold attempt to stand is all it takes for him to lose his footing once more and stumble disgracefully backwards. Thank goodness the older brother manages to pull him up on time, and return him to his beloved seat.

"Not a kid anymore, huh?" Ran scoffs, dropping as well onto the sofa, and occupying the space right beside his younger brother. "Geez, this is why I told you not to bring strangers in here, Rindou."

Rindou presses his thumb and middle fingers to his temples in hopes of somehow easing the pounding in his head. "I wouldn't even have anyone come over if only you wake up on time for once to drink with me, big bro!"

"Uhm..." Ran sighs, "8:00 A.M. doesn't sound like the time for beer and alcohol, though?"

This conversation isn't going anywhere and is rather more so worsening Rindou's condition. If he could only take his big bro down in one shot, he would've been done by now. Too bad he's physically incapable of executing such a tempting deed at the moment.

It's... just all the same as ever. Ran acting all high and mighty when he fucks up. Doesn't he ever realize he's never had the right to say anything, as he himself is a walking streak of problems too?

"You can lean on my shoulder if you want," Ran offers from out of the blue.

"WHAT!?" Rindou yelps, quickly scooting a good few inches away from him. "Nuh-uh, no way!"

"Why not? Here, don't be shy now."

The kind of torture Rindou Haitani's been enduring since his rise from his ungodly slumber is beyond what he imagined is possible, and beyond what he can normally tolerate. Being unable to go against his brother's will, Ran is able to successfully prop Rindou's head onto his shoulder, as he so pleases.

The so-called nightmare he experienced earlier? Might have to take that back as an insult, for what he's facing now seems like a much more horrifying encounter.

"Hey, Rindou?" Ran asks, holding the glass he earlier filled up with water close to his brother's lips.

Rindou groans remorsefully, in between his small sips. "What now?"

"Don't leave me alone, yeah?"

"Huh?" The little brother is taken aback, almost spouting out his drink. "The hell's this coming from, big bro?"

"Hm... Dunno."

"Heh~ And you're telling me I'm drunk? Look who might've gotten a couple drinks himself."

"I guess I did have a few." Ran looks up, scratching his temple in thought. "Seriously though, don't leave, okay? I'd be really sad if you do."

"Stupid, big bro." Rindou turns his head away, the pain magically subsiding little by little, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a smile he cannot seem to hide any longer. "I ain't going anywhere without ya."

"Promise?"

"Gross. But, oh well. If it'll make you shut up then sure."

Ran lets out a laugh so full of relief and carefree, one might have mistaken him worthy of replacing the sun at day, the moon at night, and the millions of stars at twilight.

"Thanks, Rindou."

Of course you won't want me to leave, the younger brother prides to himself internally, I'm what you favor more than anything in this shitty world. Right, big bro?

As Ran gently combs his hair, detangling the knots in them with his fingers, Rindou can't help but share the exact same sentiment. 

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

↳ warnings: mention of weapons

↳ song: smells blood—kensuke ushio

↳ notes: first hazbin one shot. reblogs are appreciated, and i love feedback

masterlist | commissions | carrd

You knew this had been coming for a while.

Angels had always been a problem for hell. The extermination was a day every sinner feared; the possibility that anyone could be singled out by those glowing white masks plagued the public's knowledge. And now that the time until the next one had been cut in half, windows were being boarded up tighter than usual.

No one knew what was waiting for them when they died a second time. Theories ran rampant—as they always did around this time. Talk of double hell or a void full of inky black circled around the pentagram city like water down a drain. Overloads and imps alike all locked their doors, somewhat content knowing that the possibility they would die was slim.

You, however, did not have that luxury.

Charlie Morningstar adjusted her amour awkwardly, standing in front of a sea of waiting eyes. Her knees felt like limp noodles, and she couldn’t stop sweating. The Hazbin Hotel behind her cast a looming presence over the small army she had gathered over the past few days, bathing sharp toothed grins in a giant shadow. You yourself were dressed for battle and standing next to the princess, and other members of the hotel stood in a loose line beside you, fanning out into a wonky semi-circle.

The gun in your hand gave a slight click as you messed with it, checking to make sure the chamber was loaded with enough ammunition. You gave a slight hum as the angelic bullets sparkled up at you from their place before you placing the magazine back in place. The discovery that the angels own weapons could kill them had been a bit ironic to you, and you had been the only one besides Alastor too laugh a little when you heard the news.

Charlie had begun a speech while you had been checking your gun. A small noise came from the back of your throat as you listened to it, occasionally giving her a slight smile when she’d lock eyes with you.

“Nervous?” You heard Angel whisper in the midst of Charlie detailing her gratitude. Glancing away from Charlie, only just now noticing that Vaggie had been keeping her hand on the small of her girlfriend’s back the entire time, you chuckled.

“Only about your questionable fashion statements.” You responded without much real emotion. Flicking at the top of Angels head, your finger came in contact with a little feather hat, and the spider caught it before it hit the ground. You just grinned as he gave you a mock glare.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that tiny hats are very in style!” His Brooklyn accent slurred his words comically.

“Sure thing.” You snickered, only quieting once Husk sent you a look from over Angel’s shoulder.

You yourself had forgone any niceties like Angel’s hat or Sir Pentious’s war uniform. You figured that if you died today, you’d want to do it how you always looked. With a reinforced chest plate curtesy of Carmilla Carmine, you supposed.

By the time you had finished, Charlies speech was wrapping up. Looking around, you noticed most of your companions had broken into soft smiles, shifting on their feet as Charlie addressed them specifically.

A cheer rose as she finished—from both the cannibals and hotel goers. You were among the latter, raising an arm with a yell as hats were tossed in the air in celebration. You must have been the only block in the entire city to be celebrating right now. In a weird way, that filled you with hope, although you’d never admit it.

“This better work.” Cherri Bomb scoffed. But she was smiling, and you noticed her arm was around Angels tall shoulders.

In fact, as you looked around, you noticed nearly everyone was glowing with anticipation. The stench of fear was prevalent as ever, but it was outmatched by friendly noogies and excited chatter. Nifty was bouncing around with a thin knife, cruel excitement filling her eye. Husk had a far away look in his eyes as he thumbed his deck of deadly cards, but it was a fond one. As if remembering a better time. Even you were more comfortable than usual, playing with the trigger on your gun as your eyes swept across everyone.

Alastor seemed to be the only one standing alone.

“Ready to face off against someone that’s an even bigger dick than you?” You asked him, referencing to the first man Adam with an appropriate amount of sarcasm.

The Radio Demon didn’t even so much as jump when you walked quietly up behind him. He instead rolled his shoulder back and twirled his cane around. You supposed he had heard you coming with those heightened deer ears of his—something you had pointed out as unfair multiple times. It’d come in handy today.

“My, such dirty language for this grave situation!” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Red eyes observed your every movement, and by now you had grown accustomed enough to his unsettling ways to return the look. You grinned at him mischievously, but only for a heartbeat.

“You sure your shield will work Alastor?” Your tone dipped into a lower tone of questioning now, testing the waters of how he was truly feeling. It was no secret to you that Alastor wore a smile to hide his true intentions, and it annoyed you how well it worked. So other methods had to be used in your favor. You found the most effective one was simply asking him what you wanted to know. Of course, he has lied to you plenty of time before, but you considered the situation unique enough for an honest answer

“Doubting me now of all times, dear?” He chuckled darkly. “A mistake I hope our enemies make.”

“Not in the least.” You looked away from his piercing gaze with the casualness of an old friend, and not someone that he could kill with a snap of his fingers. “Just cautious. Can’t be making mistakes today.”

Alastor said nothing more, but you had a feeling he agreed with you.

A sudden cry rolled through the crowed gathered in front of the hotel. You squared your shoulders as a call of ‘it’s coming!’ rang. From somewhere in the underfed of heads ready to dig into angelic flesh, you thought of Vaggie hugging her girlfriend one last time. You thought Sir Pentious nervously smiling at Cherrie Bomb, and you thought of Husk chuckling at Angel Dust’s antics. Even Alastor rose into the air from somewhere next to you, and onto the top of the hotel. A sign that it truly was about to begin.

With a cock of your gun and a tensing of your stance, you dug your heels into the dirt, looking up at the red clouds with a steely glint in your eye. You listened to the voices of friends and sinners and to the roaring in your ears. Memories of nights in your room here came to mind, and you held onto them like it was the last thing you’d ever do.

Then the sky opened up, and death itself poured from it.

[polyklok]

Thank you @hopedope for sending me this lovely request in a very nice manner! I’m sorry it took me like damn near a year to get it done 😅

Doing Pickles’ Makeup

“C’mon, pleeeeaaassseeee?”

Pickles raised his eyes to you, slightly amused by your begging and more-than-slightly annoyed by your persistence. It was impressive, though. You had caught him at a particularly vulnerable moment of looking through naked lady fan mail and he was in a good mood. With your hard work and determination, you whittled down his several ‘No’s to a ‘Maybe’ and now, finally, a-

“I’ll think aboot it.”

“What’s there to think about? Just lemme take a crack at it!”

You had found an old magazine, of which Snakes ‘N Barrels headlined on. From that, a pretty close-up of Pickles’ glamor days, in which he was smothered in smokey purple eyeshadow and cherry red lipgloss. He doesn’t even know why that magazine was in Mordhaus in the first place. You somehow got it in your head that you needed to see an updated version of his dolled-up look.

He shuffled through a few more letters, no longer taking the time to admire the detailed shots of many-a titties. You leaned forward even more, keeping an eager stare. Damn your puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine. But I’m nat keepin’ it on all damn day.”

A mischievous grin spread across your face. He hated how adorable your evil ass could be.

At the very least, it was relaxing. He insisted the two of you had taken the activity to his room, he did not need anymore comments from his bandmates about how gay his makeup was. You straddled him on his bed, dipping the brush onto the makeup pallet by his head and spreading it across his closed eyelids. He shivered every time your warm breath puffed against his now-highlighted cheeks, fingers gripping harder onto your thighs he was allowed to hold as an added bonus for his troubles.

“M’gonna add shimmer,” You muttered, more so to yourself than him.

“No. Anything but the sparkles.” He said in a flat tone, mocking his earlier reluctance. Although he couldn’t see it, he swore he heard your lips spread into another smile. Maybe he’d let you do his makeup again if it made you this happy. Maybe.

His eyes felt heavier and heavier every time that brush glided against them again. He couldn’t tell if you were adding an ungodly amount of product or if he was just getting sleepy from it. His head sunk deeper into the mattress. He can’t remember why he was so reluctant in the first place. Having you on top of him while he got to practically nap rocked.

“Open your eyes,” You said, softly, ruining the comfortable moment.

“Don’t wanna,” He replied, just as soft.

“Pickles.” Oh shit. He knew not to defy that kind of tone. His eyes immediately shot open, wincing slightly at the sudden light flooding his vision. While you shuffled through your makeup bag, he admired the point of view he had, letting his hands linger up to your waist.

“Here.” You brought out a recognizable tube. Pickles grimaced. Even way back then, this was by far his least part of the process. You popped the mascara out and leaned in even closer than before, placing those little bristles right in his eye line.

“Blink.”

He did so and immediately regretted it. It was so weird to have his eyelashes, a teensy body part he hardly ever noticed on himself, to suddenly be covered in thick goop. But he didn’t fight it, blinking thrice for each eye and pushing down the strong urge to rub it all out. You blew gently on his new lashes, drying them into a thick, heavy fan.

“Yuck,” He mumbled, trying not to let you hear. If you did, you ignored it, simply assuring him that you were almost done.

“You want red, pink, or black lips?” You asked, shimmying down his legs so he could sit up properly.

“Dealer’s choice. I trust ya.”

You chose the black, which was really more of a super dark blue with a pearly sheen. He rested his jaw in your hand, holding his mouth limp to give you the perfect canvas to spread the lipstick on. Just as you were finishing his bottom lip, savoring the intimate moment-

“PICKLES! Toki and Skw-Woah. What the hell?” Nathan kicked open the door, apparently needing to tell Pickles some absolutely essential information, only to find you sitting in his lap and applying fucking makeup to him.

“Jesus fuckin- Nate’n, I told you to start fackin knockin, man!” Pickles turned his head so violently, the black smeared across his cheek in an ugly streak. You frowned, there goes your hard work.

“Pickles is getting his fucking makeup done!” Nathan yelled down the hall.

“Scheriously?!”

“Ha! Dat ams so gay!”

The rest of his bandmates could be heard not too far away. Pickles groaned, “Get the HELL outta here, dood!” He grabbed an empty beer bottle from his nightstand and flung it at the doorframe, shattering it.

“What’re you trying to relive the nineties or something? Gonna go back to your old band?” Nathan was clearly digging into his irritations, playfully enjoying how pissed off Pickles was getting.

“I think he looks hot,” You said matter-of-factly, hugging his head and pressing it against your chest. Pickles went slightly red with the affection, frantically waving his hands to get Nathan to fuck off. Nathan, luckily, understood the signal and promptly shut the door right before the rest of the band could get their mockery in.

“D’ose fuckin’ guys,” Pickles mumbled against you, one again relaxing into your touch, “You really like how I look like this?”

You pulled back, examining his face. His eyeshadow primarily black, blending into a very shimmery gold color. His highlighter was a similar gold and, despite the smudge, his lips looks good enough to kiss. So you did. “You always look good. Just especially now.”

“Don’t give yerself too much credit,” He teased with a smile, dragging you down with him in a tight squeeze. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he loved being fawned over whilst the two of you cuddled into oblivion.

[tadpolesonalgae]

High Lord!Eris x reader: Servitude[***]

A/N: I’m very split on this fic since I love monsterfucking but I crave dialogue

Summary: The night Beron dies and Eris inherits the Autumn Court throne, he goes a little mad from the sudden surge of power, and needs to work his frustrations out - kind of like Calanmai - and who better than you? You practically stumble straight into his lap

Warnings: reader having a CNC/rape kink?, monsterfucking, exhibitionism, dubcon in parts, it’s not breeding kink but there’s definitely something

You’ve been fantasising for too long, and your scent has shifted.

You sigh, heavily, feeling the familiar heat of arousal lick between your thighs. This was an utterly inopportune moment, couldn’t you have waited at least until you were in the privacy of your own home? Not out in the middle of the woods, and especially not on the court-wide day of mourning—tradition for when a monarch passed.

The news had spread like wildfire through summer-crisped leaves, ravishing the city until there wasn’t a single soul that didn’t know. Now all that was left to see, would be who the power would come to, who would inherit the throne out of Beron’s sons.

Heat is still thrumming beneath your skin, but it’s less prominent. You might get away with sneaking back into the city without someone catching your scent, and cornering you. Maybe hauling you into a side alley, and pushing your clothes away, shoving you against a wall - or maybe they’d bend you over - tearing your underwear from your wet heat—

Shit.

Maybe it would be a better idea to finish yourself off out here, in the woods, where someone’s less likely to find you. Especially at this hour. Your teeth find your lower lip, tugging it with indecision.

Eventually you begin quietly moving deeper into the forest, where the trees were thicker, shrubbery taller and more dense, vines stringing from the branches like limp chains. Everything seems so…erotic. From the mushrooms lining the forest floor, to every root large enough for someone to bend you over.

You swallow, undoing the ties of your cloak, too hot to keep your clothes on, folding it over your arm. If you’re going to do this, you’ll damn well enjoy yourself. You locate a nice little clearing, spotting a tree that looks comfortable enough to perch upon. It’s massive, and you wonder for a moment how many centuries it’s seen—if it’s older than your own people.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you begin stripping off your dress, peeling away layer after layer until you’re utterly bare to the night breeze. You imagine every soft gust of wind is a gentle caress from the elements, touching your skin greedily, wrapping you up. You shiver with delight, the heightened sensitivity of your body as you wrap your cloak over your shoulders—a barrier between your naked heat and the dirt coating the large root you’ve selected.

With a shaky breath, you lean back against the trunk, parting your legs a little, then—to hell with it. You straddle the root, the thick maroon fabric the only thing between your heat and the bark. Slowly, so slowly, you begin winding your hips, eyes rolling as your clit presses into the material.

This is so wrong, and it sends frenetic zaps of energy straight between your spread thighs. Fuck, it feels good.

Your lips part as your slick begins coating your cloak, enabling your hips to glide back and forth as you slowly hump the tree, as if you’re grinding against it’s leg. Like a bitch in heat. Your eyelids flutter, nipples peaking as you cup one of your breasts, fingertips dancing over the sensitive skin as you continue winding your hips. Faster, and faster.

Your body is beginning to move on its own, following an innate rhythm your arousal taps into. Back and forth, back and forth, clit gliding smoothly over your slick cloak, the texture of the bark delicious beneath you.

A breeze lifts, carrying your scent with it, cooling your skin as heat builds in your lower belly.

A twig snaps and you freeze, back curving as you peer through the dark clearing.

There’s nothing to be seen…but you can feel it.

The starving weight of hungry eyes.

You can feel them devouring your body, fucking you senseless in the perceiver’s mind.

Isn’t this just what you wanted? To be seen? For someone to watch as you indulge in pleasure? How many times had you fantasised about that delicious weight of a lustful gaze when you’d left your curtains a little too wide, or when you’d moaned after not fully closing the windows? Now someone is watching, and you dare stop the show?

That won’t do at all.

If they had come to kill you, you’d surely be dead. So they must be here for the performance. And who are you to withhold it?

————

The power thrummed beneath his skin, thundering through his body as it ravaged his mind, ripping sense from it’s firmly seated place.

One moment, he’d been calming himself with a midnight stroll through the apple orchards, too tense to sleep, and the next, this power had come crashing down onto him, riding his rationality until it was whipped into submission, yielding to that greater sense.

He’d know what it was the moment it happened, and while he was pleased that it had been passed to him, dread had coiled in his stomach at the pure strength that was now his to control. Eris knew the transformation would be coming any second, and he couldn’t afford to be anywhere near the Court Palace when it happened. Using the limited control he had on his magic, he winnowed deep into the forests surrounding the citadel.

And then he had yielded.

His nails became hooked, growing and sharpening into deadly blades. Canines protrudes from his upper lip, lethal enough to slice with the softest brush. His skin hardened until it was ensconced in scales, rippling with the growth of corded muscle.

Eris no longer moved on his two feet, but four, triple-pronged paws. A mighty tail snicker-snacked behind him as he silently slithered through the undergrowth. Hunting.

He needs to hunt, needs to chase something. Become the predator that has taken over him entirely. Satiate its needs before he can return to his Fae form.

He knows he could become larger, could grow big enough to trample the lush forest that has served his court for years, and that is now his to control, but he manages to keep the power contained. Despite how wildly the magic thrashes and writhes to be set lose.

Almost as if the Mother is urging him on, he catches a scent in the wind. A mouth-watering, dizzyingly appetising scent. So inherently feminine as it wafts to him on the breeze. A growl he doesn’t recognise drags from his throat as he begins tracking it, needing to sink his teeth into whatever it is.

Eris keeps close to the ground as he silently bounds through the dense shrubbery, mighty paws carrying him with lethal quiet. Closer and closer, until he can practically taste that sweet, sweet scent on his rough tongue.

There you are.

The beast inside him hushes, settling into a low crouch, ready to pounce at any second.

For a moment, he’s back in control, watching. And that’s all he does. Watches as you peer around the clearing, trying connect that other presence you feel to a pair of eyes, but you can’t find him. But you know he’s there.

He doesn’t question why you’re out here, or what the hell you’re doing stripped bare in the middle of the forest in the dead of night. All that matters is you’re there, ripe for the taking.

Your hips begin winding over your thick cloak, and he nearly growls with hunger. The sweet scent is coming from you, arousal making him drool as he contemplates how he wants to take you. He doesn’t feel like drawing it out. He wants it now.

And he can tell you’re already close.

————

Bushes rustle, but you continue moving, spurred on by the sounds.

Your eyes slide shut, revelling in the pleasure, the heat that’s coiling in your belly. A little longer and you’ll be there. You’ll come undone before that strange set of unknown eyes.

A growl pulls you from your fervour, and you freeze.

An awe-full, terrifyingly great creature prowls forward, long, hooked claws glinting in the moonlight. It’s eyes are slitted, reptilian features crowned by a halo of straight, pointed tusks. The eldritch animal stalks forward slowly, moving with languid grace toward you, and you can see the muscles rippling beneath the tough, scaled skin.

No. It’s not an animal. There’s nothing remotely normal about this creature.

Arousal slams into you.

One look into it’s slash of pupil and you can sense the beastly Fae power thrumming beneath its armoured surface. He’s been transformed.

The beast prowls closer, and you keep utterly still, nipples peaking in the cool night air. A low growl rumbles through the clearing, and you can swear you see its chest vibrate. There’s a sinister gleam in its eye that has something primal in you begging you to bow. To run, or scream.

He snarls, stopping just outside of your reach, leaving you within his.

Maybe he wants you to stop. Maybe he’s the guardian of this forest and is preparing to rip you apart for performing such a sacrilegious act.

Swallowing, trembling, you shift, moving one leg over the root, so you’re practically side-saddle. You aren’t foolish enough to turn your back on the magnificent beast.

“I’m sorry…” you stammer quietly, fear tracing up your spine. His nostrils flare, and he purrs. As if he enjoys your terror. “I didn’t mean any harm…” you beg, softly, nails digging into the material of your palm.

His slitted eyes take you in, peering at your elevated position on the root. His nostrils flare again, and the delicious scent of your fear and arousal twine together, and he needs.

Your breath catches as he noses roughly at your belly, shoving between your thighs, tongue pushing out. Your eyes roll as the Fae creature begins lapping at you, the rough, slick muscle rolling over your clit, and your hips buck. Keep still. The beast seems to command with his eyes, making certain he won’t have to hunt you down now that he’s found you.

A whimper spills from your lips with the forcefulness of his licking, and you nearly topple backward. His head dips, bringing the tusks closer to you, and you grip on desperately. The beast’s head tips back up, and you’re pulled forward, so you’re toppling forward onto the column of his snout.

The Fae bucks his head, hoisting you higher, your thighs spread over the lower bridge of his nose, breasts pressing to the space between his eyes as his tongue fucks into you. A startled moan bursts from your lips as your clit glides across the scales ensconcing his powerful form. Your back curves, allowing him deeper as the hot, rough muscle drives within your sex.

The pleasure crests over you, and you cry, delighting in the delicious sensations being gifted to you. Your hips wind, desperate to ride out the orgasm, and it’s as if his tongue spasms, sending those eye-rolling vibrations to your wet heat.

Panting fills the clearing, along with that deep, beastly purr. He seems satisfied with himself. Until he tilts his head downward, and you slide off his slicked scales onto the ground. You wince with the drop, landing on your ass, before you’re peering up at him.

He prowls closer, until he’s over you, and you’re having to crane your neck to see him. But your eyes catch between his hind paws, and your breath catches. You whimper at the sight of it: he’s hard, his cock widening a little beneath his tip, a pearly bead of come nestled in his slit.

He’s big. Far too big for you.

Fear coils within you as you shift onto your hands and knees, attempting to frantically crawl out from under him, but he pursues with a deep growl. It’s a warning you realise, through whatever unearthly magic he possesses that allows him to make such a drastic transformation.

It’s a warning you don’t heed, too occupied with attempting to escape.

One large paw crushes down into your shoulder, though the pressure lessens when you whine. Instead it shifts to the base of your neck, talons hooking smoothly over your shoulders as if they were fashioned around your bones. You whimper, wriggling desperately as his tail twines around your hips, keeping your ass in the air.

“Please…” you beg, using all your fae strength to push against the creature that will surely wreck you. “Let me go…”

His grip tightens, and it’s then you notice his paws have shifted. Instead of having them end in triple-pronged talons, it’s now five fingers. They’re still much too eldritch to be fully fae, but… You crane your neck to try and get a look at the monster, but it’s difficult. All you can make out is the corded muscle of his arm—not paw.

You whine when his tip presses against your entrance, and you can practically feel that pearly bead of come mix with your own release as he slicks himself up. His tail constricts, pulling your hips back to him, and he pushes in. Your mouth drops open in a silent moan as he fills you up. Big, but not unmanageable—definitely a stretch.

A hiss rips from between your teeth when he moves to draw back, and it stings. You need longer to adjust, you can’t go as you are. He’ll tear you to pieces.

Eris senses your hesitance, the too-tightness of your cunt. He growls impatiently. He’d already prepared you, now he needs you to come to that perfect state of ripeness. He can’t set himself lose until you’re there, ready for him.

The tip of his tail rolls over your clit—it’s the most he can manage in this new body of his, how little control he has over its fine details. His tongue lolls out, and he licks along your neck, purring at the flavour, tasting your arousal.

Heat is already blooming in your lower belly when he begins moving. And when he draws his hips back, to press back in, your back arches with pleasure. This time, when you wriggle against him, you need him deeper, need him to be filling you up, and spilling into you until he’s dripping down your stomach.

It’s like he can sense your desires, as if his senses are so powerful they reveal everything to him. His hips draw back, and he slams into you. If his tail hadn’t been holding you in place, you would have surely been knocked forward. You moan, a deep, needy sound that he replies to in his chest, the noise vibrating against your back.

He picks up the pace, already beginning to pound into you, and it’s as if he wants to you scream, like he needs to hear what he’s doing to you. His hips roll, and the swell of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside of you, and you can’t help it.

The short scream tears from your lips, making him snarl in delight, gripping you firmer as he continues assaulting your senses. Your back curves, and you begin to match his pace, pushing back against him.

That white-hot coil tightens in your belly, and your vision blurs.

Eris’ taloned hand leaves your nape, hooking beneath your shoulders as he lifts you upward, your back flush against his warm chest. A shiver runs over you at the mind-numbing contrast: the heat of his chest to the cool whips of midnight air along your front. The rough pads of his fingers dance over your chest, and the tears spill, drip-dropping straight to the earth beneath you.

He grazes your nipples and you think you might fracture beneath the pleasure he’s subjecting you to, how his cock keeps abusing that one spot over and over and over. His tail rubbing over your clit while his fingers warm your breasts.

There’s nothing you can do to prevent it as the pleasure against crests, more powerful than last time. Your whole body trembles as your muscles seize and spasm, cunt fluttering around him wildly as you lose yourself in the frenzied washes of euphoria.

Eris feels your delight, feminine satisfaction tinting your scent as you come, and he feels himself release.

You moan sharply, suddenly, feeling as his come shoots into you, cock spilling precious pleasure inside your wet heat. You can feel it, feel the light pressure in your lower abdomen as he fills you up, so thoroughly that he’s dripping down your stomach before he’s finished.

He gives you so much.

You’re panting, breathless, feeling like you’ll never need again if you have him. So deliciously male.

Above you, he sighs heavily. The strain has lessened, and he feels himself beginning to revert back into his old self. His arm remains hooked beneath your chest, but his tail releases you, shrinking away as scales melt into skin, tusks transforming to long, silky locks of hair that cascade over your shoulders, tickling you slightly.

You gasp, indulging in the soft press of his skin, hand gripping his wrist, wanting to keep touching him. His hips draw back, and you whine from how empty you feel, but you manage to shift onto your back, taking in the male who just ravished you.

He’s beautiful. Magnificent grace radiating from him, and you know you wouldn’t be able to escape him if you wanted to.

He’s tired, eyes half lidded from the effort of keeping the sudden surge of power contained, but he’s managed. And it’s his now.

Fire blazes in his gaze as he takes his female in—you. He can feel the warmth from your skin, hand cupping your jaw, talons shrinking to elegant nails. You tip your head, and he takes you, mouth slanting over your own as he carefully pries your lips apart.

You moan, arms snaking over his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips as you kiss him fervently. Your eyes slide shut, allowing him inside, wet heat lapping against your tongue and you grip him tightly.

You won’t let him escape either.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[chaifootsteps]

view count update as of today: 8 days ago, 7.3M views

it's really crawling it's way towards 10M, I don't know if they're going to break it before the next episode drops at this rate

it's been out longer but both prior episodes got around 14M views. If it doesn't climb much higher that's a drop by half

do you think the crew is getting worried at this point? I know animation takes a long time but they have to fund this somehow, unless Viv just outsources everything to the cheapest place possible to make this limp over the finish line

I'm honestly wondering what the corporate structure of Spindle even is any more. just a rotating door of animators around the central favored few? if Hazbin is animated by Bento and now this Italian studio and Helluva is part outsourced to TC, then saying it was made 'by Spindlehorse' is really misleading imo

Calling it now, she'll outsource it. If she has to, and she very well may, she'll fire every last animator and outsource them all, then run to Twitter to lie.