#finally I have some time to fill all these

[requiemforthepoets]

you just pulled a verstappen! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you played a sim racing before, but not really on an actual sim racing setup like lando’s. so when you had the chance, you decided to try it out.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, fluff, and a little bit of cursing

WORD COUNT: 820

AUTHOR’S NOTE: found this on my drafts. i have a lot of lando one shots, but never really posted it bc i think it was poorly written, so i decided to fix this one up and post it. i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

Your and Lando’s apartment was unusually quiet. Lando had been out all day, caught up in a string of meetings, and being alone in a big apartment, the boredom had started to creep in. You sighed, glancing over at Lando’s pristine sim racing setup, which sat there like a tempting invitation calling out for you. It wasn’t like you had not played sim racing before, but using his rig, specifically with Lando’s custom settings and all his tweaks? That was something else entirely.

“Eh, why the hell not?” You muttered to yourself with a mischievous grin.

You quickly booted-up Lando’s setup, and you were off. You found yourself in the middle of a tense Grand Prix, the roaring of the virtual engines filling up the headphones as you become very absorbed with the race. Time flew by, and you were too focused to even notice when Lando came home.

“Hey, baby! I’m back!” Lando’s voice echoed faintly from the hallways as he called back to you, and you never responded. All you could hear and think about was the hairpin turn coming up on the circuit, and nailing the turn. “Babe, where are you?” He called out to you again, but you were still glued to the screen, the intensity of the race drawing all of your attention.

A few seconds later, Lando still got no answer from you. So when he checked every room in the apartment, and saw that you were inside his gaming room all along, he entered immediately, but when he saw you, he stopped dead in his tracks. There you were, fully immersed in sim racing, eyes locked on the screen with his headphones on and hand deftly handling the steering wheel. He blinked, half in disbelief, before grinning like a little kid on christmas morning.

“Are you on my sim setup right now?” He asked, voice full of shock, but you were too busy overtaking another car to reply.

“Okay, that was a decent corner,” Lando said with a playful smirk as he walked over to you, leaning against the back of the chair. “Not bad at all.” He added, folding his arms, and watching in awe as you navigated through the pack of cars.

You heard him, of course, but you were in the zone. The next thing you knew, you pulled off a move that would have made Max proud, sliding past two cars with precision that even caught Lando off guard.

“Whoa, that was a Verstappen move!” Lando exclaimed, wide-eyed. “You just did a Verstappen! Are you sure you don’t want to join F1? Because honestly, what the hell was that?!”

A smirk just tugged at the corner of your lips, definitely proud of yourself, but you remained focused, determined to finish the race without breaking concentration. Lando couldn’t help but laugh at your intense expression.

“Alright, I need to record this one,” Lando chuckled, pulling out his phone. “No one’s gonna believe me if I told everyone on Thread that my girl just pulled a Verstappen move, unless I post it.”

“Look at this! My girl’s out here stealing my setup and driving like she’s been on F1!” Lando began as he started filming, making sure to capture the moment as you powered through the final lap, and zooming in on your face, grinning the whole time. “Guys, I’m telling you, I’m not really making this up. She’s actually faster than me on some of these corners!”

You barely heard him as you crossed the finish line, finishing in P1, and the sound of the crowd roaring through the headphones as you finally relaxed in the chair. You let out a squeal of happiness and looked over at Lando, who was still recording and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay, what was that?” He laughed at you, turning off the camera. “I leave for a few hours, and suddenly you’re doing Verstappen-level moves on my rig? Are you secretly practicing whenever I’m not home?”

“Maybe I’m just naturally talented, ever think of that?” You looked at him smugly, and wiggled your eyebrows as you teased him.

“You know what?” Lando grinned at you, gently pulling you out of the seat and wrapping his arms around you. “I believe it. I’m just saying, if McLaren ever needs a backup driver, you should really think about it.”

“Babe, that’s Pato’s job, and I won’t take that away from him,” you joked, causing Lando to laugh, and you leaned into his embrace. “I’m just kidding! But…I might steal your sim setup more often.”

“Deal,” Lando chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Just don’t make me look too bad, alright?”

“No promises.” You said cheekily, then grinning up at him.

“Alright, alright,” he smiled at you. “Now where’s my kiss.” You leaned in, and kissed him softly on the lips.

[fastandcarlos]

Post Race Massage : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: after another gruelling race, charles looks to you to help his aching muscles recover

You couldn’t help but laugh as Charles let go of a groan, his hands pressing against his back as the aches of the day caught up with him. He dropped down onto the bed beside you, his sad eyes glancing across at you as he struggled to deal with how much his body hurt.  

It had been a long weekend of racing for him, pushing his body to the absolute limit, but when he had a collision with Sergio during the race, his body was finally done in. After jolting in his seat Charles felt his body scream out in pain, a pain that had stuck with him for the rest of the day as you got back to your hotel. 

His steps were slow as he moved, his arm clung onto you for a little bit of support, it was unlike anything that you had seen from Charles before. As he laid himself down, it was the most comfortable that Charles had felt for hours, finally able to relax a little. 

“Who knew racing was so cruel on the body,” you teased, brushing your hand through Charles’ messy hair. “I thought you’re supposed to train so these things don’t hurt as much.” 

Charles frowned across at you, his usual confidence had been replaced by plenty of pity for himself, eyes searching in hope of a little bit more sympathy from you. 

You watched Charles for a few moments, thinking through of ways that you could help him. You remembered the things that you saw Charles’ team do in his driver’s room plenty of times before, confident you could do the same thing. 

“Why don’t you lay on your tummy?” You suggested, shuffling off of the bed so that Charles could roll over. “I’m sure there’s something that I could do to help you out and ease some of that tension.” 

Charles did as you said, with plenty of moans and groans, letting you know just how sore he was. You struggled to hold back your laughter as he did so, as much as you felt sorry for him, seeing him be so dramatic never failed to leave you in disbelief.  

Once Charles was comfortable, you pushed the legs of his trousers up so that you could get to his calves, pressing your hands into his muscles and massaging over them. Another moan came from Charles, this time one that was filled with relief and comfort. 

“Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop, that feels incredible,” Charles told you. 

You smiled back down as he rested his head against his arms. “If someone were to walk past our hotel room right now, they’d have some serious questions about what we’re doing.” 

“With how sore my body is right now, this feels so much better than sex my love.” 

A chuckle came from you as you continued to massage the tension and knots out of Charles’ muscles. You moved your hands up his leg, reaching the top of his thigh, pressing in as firmly as you could to try and help him. 

“I’ll bare that in mind,” you smirked, tapping against Charles’ bottom. 

He continued to sigh in relief, finally able to relax again. “Maybe it’s about time I accept that I’m not exactly a young racing driver anymore.” 

“How many times do you have to be told to do your warm ups properly before you listen?” 

Charles only had himself to blame for the pain that he was in, assuring you and the rest of his team that warming up was pointless. He was still young, fit, he didn’t need to stretch his muscles out, all he was doing was driving a car, or so he thought. 

“Take your top off,” you instructed, hearing a hum of delight come from Charles, only to feel you slap your hand against his back. 

Your eyes rolled as he took his top off and threw it on the floor. Your legs straddled around his body, sitting yourself just below Charles’ bottom so that you could get to his back. 

As soon as your hands landed at the top of his back, Charles’ smile turned up. Your hands massaged over him once again, digging into all the right places to try and untangle the knots that you could feel building up. 

“Good?” You questioned, although you already knew the answer, watching as Charles turned his head around to be able to look back at you with his smile. 

His head nodded in response, “I mean my body is still killing me, but you’re working some pretty good magic making it feel better right now.” 

“I’m glad I could help you out.” 

“I could get used to this.” 

“Having your girlfriend sit on your ass whilst she massages your body, I’m sure that you could,” you teased, “you can wipe that smile off of your face as well.” 

As much as he wanted to, Charles simply couldn’t, he was enjoying himself far too much. It was nice enough to have you help him, but feeling you sat on top of him was definitely an added bonus that he could get used to as well. 

“You know, seeing as you’re getting old we might have to invest in some things to help you when your body is sore,” you told him, “have you seen those massage guns that all the gym people are using these days?” 

“Trust me, no massage gun can make me feel as good as your hands,” Charles assured you, pushing back against you as you dug in against his spine, moving your fingertips around in circular motions. 

“Try and not sound so smug when you say that,” you challenged. 

Charles’ head shook, “I would love to try, but I’m feeling so smug right now, almost like I’m in some sort of dream.” 

He didn’t want to make his body suffer, but if this was how you treated him after it, maybe it would be worth it for Charles after all. He had a whole team of experts around him, and yet none of them took care of him as well as you did. 

“I think I’m almost done,” you told Charles, only to feel his hands reach back and rest on your hips, refusing to let you leave from where you were sat. “We can’t spend the night with me straddling you like this.” 

“What about if I turned over into a different position instead?” 

“I thought you were supposed to be tired and achy?” You reminded him, knowing exactly what Charles was hinting at from the suggestive tone of his voice. “You’ve suddenly changed your tune.” 

“I was, but then you gave me some godly massage and suddenly I feel like I’ve found a bit of energy again,” Charles smirked, sending you a knowing glance. 

You didn’t quite know what to say as Charles raised his eyebrows across at you, tensing his back so you could see his muscle definition, knowing just how much it turned you on. 

“If you moan in the morning that your body hurts, I’m going to have no sympathy for you,” you warned, sitting up so that Charles could turn so that he was facing you. 

“It’ll be worth it,” Charles promised you, “and anyway, I got another podium today, so we’re supposed to be celebrating that, aren’t we?” 

“That’s true, congratulations old man.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[darknight3904]

𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘰

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘖𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥…

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024).

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.9𝘬

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

It was an understatement to say Logan Howlett was good-looking. Every day waking up next to him was like an episode of America's, or well, Canada's next top model.

If there was a god up there, you wanted to thank them for whatever was in Logan's genetics, Even now, with messy hair and half awake, he was giving you butterflies.

"Quit starin', bub." Logan huffs as he brushes by you to get to the coffee maker.

You swore he was some alien from another planet. Seriously, how was he this hot?

Even at work, you found yourself daydreaming about him.

"Y'know, you're not paid to slack off." Matt huffed as he rearranged a shelf that some kid had messed up.

Your coworker's words had you groaning in annoyance. How could he be so inconsiderate? Interrupting your thoughts like that?

"The shop is literally empty!" You huff looking around at the little bookstore.

"Well, if I don't have a hot boyfriend to dream about, I don't see why you should get the privilege to." Matt grinned

"Whatever." You roll your eyes, "Not my fault he's the whole package."

Nearly a week had passed since you had gotten to have real alone time with Logan. Between work, running Laura around, and Wade's impromptu visits to your shared apartment, you and Logan hadn't seen much of each other.

Normally, you'd be able to accept this, after all life was busy. But, today it was like someone had lit a fire under you and the only way to put it out was with Logan in between your thighs.

Perhaps it was just because it was ovulation week, but all you could think about was getting home and pulling Logan into bed with you. God, you missed him so much...you were a ball of hormones and want as your mind wandered, imagining little versions of you and Logan running around the apartment, terrorizing Laura and Wade when he visited.

Friday night was often filled with stress, usually, you were sitting on uncomfortable metal bleachers, watching Laura's soccer games. But, this week was different, the game had been rained out and Laura had convinced you and Logan that she could sleep over at a friend's house.

The soft clink of keys had you turning towards the front door. Finally, Logan was home.

"I'm back." He announced as your cat, Jingle jumped from your lap to greet the man.

"Missed you." You smile as he plops down on the couch next to you, pressing his lips to your forehead briefly

"Wade kept me out longer than I thought he would." Logan says, "His fucking mouth is going to get him killed one day."

"If he could die." You snort

Logan lets out an amused scoff as he pulls you into his lap, eagerly pressing a kiss to your neck. His hands are a welcome weight as they settle on your hips, squeezing at the soft flesh there.

"Laura at her friends?" He asks with a coy smile

"Mmhm. Dropped her off myself." You say, wiggling your hips a bit in anticipation.

" Gonna take a shower," He says, "Meet me in the bedroom?"

You giggle and smile at the mischievous look on his face.

"Make it quick." You press a kiss on his cheek.

The scent of Logan's shampoo wafts down the hallway as you shimmy into something you've been keeping a secret for a few weeks. A lacy blue babydoll lingerie dress sits on your body as you quickly step into the matching thong it came with. You stand in front of the full-length mirror Logan hung on the back of the door to your shared bedroom.

You mess around with your hair, trying to find the perfect look, and then swipe on a strawberry-flavored gloss, one of Logan's favorites. You can't help but feel a bit giddy as you take in your appearance. Messy hair, shiny lips, and the perfect little number on your frame, you're sure to drive Logan even crazier than he already was for you.

The squeaking of the bathroom door's hinge's have you whirling around, unsure if you should lay on the bed, or perhaps sit on the edge.

You don't get a chance to make up your mind as Logan pushes the bedroom door open. A deep green towel is wrapped around his waist as your eyes greedily roam his perfect torso.

Logan sucks in a breath as he crosses the room to be closer to you. A big hand runs up your side, ghosting over your chest and then back down to land on your waist.

"Where'd you get this?" He smiles, eyes anywhere but your face.

"bought it a couple of weeks ago." You softly say, suddenly shy under his gaze, "Do you like it?"

"Love it." Logan smiles, meeting your eyes and letting the towel drop from his waist.

You let him push you down into the soft sheets of your shared bed, moaning a bit when his hands begin to wander.

Warm lips press against your neck, and then your collarbone, and then they begin to trail down to your chest. Logan's hands push the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders and his mouth begins to softly tease one of your nipples while one hand delivers feather-light touches over your panties to the mess between your legs.

Logan's mouth leaves your chest as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, letting his knees hit the ground as he gently pushes your legs apart. His hands pull your panties down and you hear a deep groan when the wet fabric finally hits the floor.

"Missed her," Logan says, pressing a miss to your upper thigh

You roll your eyes at his comment, he had recently taken up talking to your cunt, referring to it as her.

A loud moan escapes your lips as he buries his head between your thighs, licking up your slit and gently sucking at your clit.

"Ugh, Logan..." You groan, you're extra sensitive after a week apart.

Your hips jump off the bed when he slips two fingers into you, pressing at the spongy part that only he can reach.

"Fuck-" You gasp as he sucks at your clit again, this time rougher than the last.

Finally, this is what you needed, you groaned again as you pictured what was coming next. Your stomach tightened with need for release as your cunt wept and ruined the sheets below you. You were desperate for his cock, craving the way you knew it'd stretch you out, putting an end to the past week of torture.

Logan pushes your hips back down as your body goes taut and your orgasm takes over. Your hands tug at his soft brown hair as your chest heaves.

Logan presses a kiss to your clit one more time before sitting back, his eyes looking up at you.

"Not bad." You sigh, a dopey smile on your face

Logan lets out a scoff as he stands up and pulls you further up the bed with him. You greedily run your hands down his chest, admiring the way his muscles tense as your fingertips tease them.

"Greedy," Logan comments as you pull him on top of you

"Can't help it." You sigh, "I've missed you."

"I can tell. She's like a fucking waterpark down there." Logan laughs as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"You're gross." You comment as you feel your face heat up

"Only for you," Logan says

You suppose you might've had a clever retort but the push of the cock that you had craved all week long has you shutting your mouth.

Logan's hips gently meet yours as he sets a slow pace. A quiet moan leaves his lips as you wiggle below him. The stretch of him is as good as you remember but you need more.

"Harder." You groan as he looks down at you

"Don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart," Logan says worriedly

You a frustrated breath tumbles from your lips as you wiggle your hips unhappily. Logan was always so considerate and gentle with you. Always taking his time and making sure you were okay. He was truly ethereal in the bedroom. But, right now he was driving you nuts.

Logan lets out a loud oof as you push him off you and down onto the bed. You can tell he's confused as you settle yourself into his lap and reach into the bedside drawer.

A smirk plays on his lips as a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs come into his line of sight.

"Those for you?" He asks, "Want me to tie you up, bub?"

You roll your eyes as he plays with the thin strap of the lingerie that had fallen off your shoulders.

"They're for you." You smile as you grab his wrists, pulling them behind his head so he's stuck to your bed frame.

Logan's smile falters a bit but he lets you maneuver his arms anyway, "I can break these, easily."

"But you won't." You whisper into his ear and bite at the flesh there

"But I won't." Logan softly says, his eyes following your figure

Warm butterflies swim in his stomach as you line him up with your cunt again. He's never tried this position with you before, fearing it might be too much, after all, he wasn't the smallest guy around.

A soft groan leaves your lips as you sink down on him again. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders a bit as his head falls back a bit.

"New position?" He asks, regaining his confidence when he sees you're not in pain

"Mmhm." You say, focused on moving your hips

Logan's eyes widen as he lets you take what you want. The soft fuzz on the handcuffs tickles his skin as he itches to run his hands up and down your pretty body.

"Careful," He cautions you as you roughly move your hips above him

"Logan..." You groan, your eyes squeezed shut

He groans, as your pace quickens. The lust that clouds his brain is a tough fog that he can barely think through. He's worried that you're going to hurt yourself like this.

"M-Missed you so much." You confess, "Been thinking about you all damn week."

"Yeah?" Logan smiles and presses a kiss to your collarbone

"Yeah..." You sigh, "I've been so fucking horny lately."

Perhaps it's your admission or the lacy little thing that has yet to come off your body, or the new position, Logan's not entirely sure, but something in him snaps. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so worried about treating you like some delicate little flower.

The handcuffs don't stand a chance as he frees himself, from them. His hands come up and he quickly pulls out of you. A loud frustrated whine leaves your lips as you let him manhandle you.

"Logan I want to-"

He cuts you off as he spins you around and presses your chest down into the bed. You can feel the way he towers over you as he palms your ass, clearly liking the way it's on display for him.

"Have you ever tried this one?" His deep voice crowds your mind as he pushes into you again. A long moan leaves your lips as he chuckles at your submission.

A wonton cry leaves your lips below him as he finally moves his hips, cock hitting all the right places inside you.

Finally, you were getting what you wanted.

Not me disappearing into the void and then coming back and deciding it's the perfect time to write a bunch of smut...

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[littlelamy]

with rafe

a/n: SPOILER for S4; rafe x pogue!reader; if you haven’t seen s4 yet and don’t want spoilers please do not read it !!! i wanted to post it tomorrow but i love it so much so I’m posting today!

proposal with rafe

The sun casts a golden glow across the water as Barry’s boat floats in the middle of the water while a determined rafe zooms on his jetski to shore. He swings a leg off the jet ski, wading through the shallow waves as he makes his way to where you’re sitting under a tree, your gaze meeting his. There’s something different in his eyes—a softness, maybe even a hint of vulnerability, and you feel your pulse quicken as he reaches for your hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Come sit with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leading you to a spot beneath the shade. His expression is so uncharacteristically tender, it leaves you feeling both anxious and curious. He takes a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something important.

“Before I... before I take off, I wanted to say something,” he says, his eyes searching yours, his tone holding a weight that makes your heart race. Confused but drawn in, you nod, watching as he sinks down on one knee before you, reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful diamond ring. The delicate silver band catches the light, and you see his hand tremble slightly as he holds it out, a touch of vulnerability showing through.

“It was my mom’s,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a softness that you rarely hear. "Been in the family forever, so I know that's some Kook bullshit, but I..." His gaze holds yours, a gentle warmth shining through. “I just wanted to you to have it, before I...I left, so you know that we're real.”

Your heart swells, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes and the gesture that feels so intimate, so unexpected. You nod, a smile breaking across your face, and the weight of his love wraps around you as he slides the ring onto your finger with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

Your heart still pumping fast at his words as warmth spreads through you as he steps forward and sweeps you into his arms, holding you close as his lips find yours. His kiss is deep and passionate, filled with longing and the intensity he’s been holding back. He groans softly, pressing you closer, and you feel the weight of his emotions as you loop your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls you deeper into the kiss, as if it’s his way of saying everything he can’t put into words.

He pulls away smiling at your now heavy finger, his thumb brushing over your hand before he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out his keys. He holds them out to you, his fingers brushing yours as he places them into your palm.

“I want you…” he starts, his voice husky with feeling, “…I want you to quit your job, and I want…I want you to move in with me.” He pulls you in again with a even more passionate (if it’s even possible) kiss that makes your knees buckle. "Now we got that sorted," Rafe says laughing with the biggest smile as he pulls away from the kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, all right? Here. Stay at my…..Stay at our place.” He presses the keys into your hand with a firm but gentle insistence. As he pulls back his hands, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he says softly, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, then lips before stepping away. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his eyes holding a promise, a warmth that leaves you feeling like the luckiest person in the world as he steps back onto his jet ski.

As he starts up the engine and disappears across the water, you’re left with the keys, the ring, and the weight of his words—feeling the love and commitment he’s offering, and the life he wants to build with you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @wniektty

[leaawrites]

I like you, because you're you

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: in which, she likes him for who he is, not because of how he looks.

Warnings: insecurities (Lando), some mocking (?) (unintentional),

Wordcount: 0.7k

Masterlist

She had a type, there was no use in denying that. It looked almost like a pattern when you looked at her exes. It was almost scary how similar some of them looked.

And she may have dated one or two of them because she wasn’t over about the one before them, but those were exceptions. Those were the ones she met in a club a week after a new break up and was in desperate need to replace the heartbreak with something familiar, even when it was only a face filled with nostalgia of another for her.

It was never a serious problem for her when her friends joked about them looking like a family tree when put together, because it wasn’t totally exaggerated. It was never a problem until they started doing it at dinner with her new boyfriend. Saying how he looked like someone they knew, but couldn’t right place who it was he reminded them of. It wasn’t a problem until one said, “oh, yeah, you look like y/n’s last boyfriend. Same hair, same face structure. That must be it.” And all of them hummed in agreement. Laughing afterwards and waving it off as a joke he shouldn’t take too serious.

But Y/n knew Lando, and she knew that he thought about it. More than he should. She could see it in his eyes when they looked in hers - if they even did that evening. She knew by the way he tapped his fingers anxiously against his leg or the table. She knew from the way he chewed on his lip and how he sat in silence for most of the remaining night.

She knew and she didn’t say anything about it until they got to his apartment again, the door slamming behind him and her not even flinching because she saw it coming. Lando didn’t get angry often, he only got frustrated and closed off. Most times it was too late to make him open up when you noticed, but she knew that you just had to ask enough times to make him break.

“Lando,” she approached him, putting her lips on his shoulder and trying to catch his gaze, but Lando was focused on the skyline outside the window.

Monaco at night, a kind of peaceful you didn’t want to disturb but she knew she had to now.

“Lando, please talk to me,” she pushed a bit further, interlacing their fingers and laying her head against his back. Her thumb rubbing over his skin.

“What they said wasn’t appropriate and they shouldn’t have done it. And I know it’s a shitty perspective from you, but please talk to me. Yell or do whatever, just please talk to me,” she continued, almost sounding like she was begging. And if necessary, she would.

“Do you like me because I look like him?” He finally said, his voice shaking and quiet. It broke her heart, seeing her love so fragile. The clouds covering her sunshine. Him.

“I like you, because you’re you,” she quickly said, stepping around him and taking his head in her hands to make him look at her. She could see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. She could see them threaten to spill over and spill out. “I could never not like you, no matter how you look. You’re so funny and charming and loving, it’s breaking me to see you so down.”

“You promise?” Lando asked, putting his hands on her waist.

“I promise,” she answered. “Forever and always.”

He pulled her closer, closing any remaining space between them. With her head against his chest, she could feel his heart beating against his ribcage. Furiously trying to break free. She kissed the place where it was at, trying to calm it down, trying to not make it worry. Lando put his head on top of hers, kissing her hair and letting his tears fall down on her.

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back on Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a fight with Lando, you’re nowhere to be found when he leaves for Austin, making him fear the relationship is over. But when you arrive at the track with Max, he gets a second chance to make things right, and the two of you reconcile.

Word count: 2061

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, yeah

You and Lando rarely fought. You’d been together since his final season in Formula 2, a bloody long time, and you could count the big fights on one hand. But this one was different. This was the worst of them all.

It was his last day at home before flying to Austin, and somehow everything went down.

"You're being clingy!" He shouted, running a hand through his messy curls, frustration etched on his face.

You stared at him, stunned. "I’m being clingy? Me? Lando, we’ve been together for years, and I have never asked you for anything. The one time I do, and this is what you say? Wow."

"Yeah, well, you’ve never acted like this before!" His face hardened, eyes sparking with irritation you weren’t used to. "Seriously, if you suddenly want some boyfriend who’ll sit around every night, watching dumb TV shows and cuddling you to sleep, maybe you should find someone else."

You shook your head, disbelief morphing into something different, something more hurt. "Maybe I should do that!"

He was beyond pissed. "Then please, do! I'm going out and I'll do the same." He turned, grabbing his jacket without a second glance. and strode out, slamming the door shut behind him.

You flinched at the echo, the silence crashing down around you as tears started to well up. "I hate you, Lando Norris." You whispered into the emptiness of the apartment.

Lando sat in the VIP section of his favorite Monaco club, gazing blankly over the crowded dance floor. The music pulsed, people laughed and danced, but his thoughts were miles away, thinking of you.

Max leaned in, breaking Lando’s trance. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Lando shrugged. "Was it that bad?"

Lando sighed, his gaze distant. "It was! It was the worst fight we’ve ever had." He swallowed, the words bitter. "She probably thinks I’m cheating on her right now."

Max’s eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about? Why would she think that?"

"Because, I pretty much said that." Lando muttered lound enough for Max to hear over the music.

Max looked at him, incredulous. "Why the hell would you say that, you absolute idiot? You love her."

Lando exhaled heavily. "I was angry! I didn’t even think. I just… said it. I realized how bad it sounded the second I left."

Max shook his head, staring at him with a mix of pity and frustration. "Well, congratulations: you’re an idiot!"

"Thanks for the information."

It was late when Lando finally got home. The apartment was dark, and silence filled the rooms. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, his mind caught between whether he should crash on the sofa or swallow his pride, apologize, and lie beside you.

He waked to the closed bedroom door, standing there for a long moment, nerves filling his body. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he stopped himself. He stepped back and with the sting of guilt he fell down on the sofa.

You were deep asleep when a hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see your best friend sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open, hair rumpled from sleep.

"What?"

She yawned, rubbing her eyes before looking at you. "Your phone won’t stop ringing."

Blinking, you glanced at the empty nightstand, remembering you’d left your phone in the living room. "What time is it?" You muttered. "It’s probably Lando. We were supposed to leave for Austin early."

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head and laying down next to you. "Then answer it or turn it off. It’s too early for this, and I’m exhausted."

"She rejected my call!" Lando exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

Max raised an eyebrow. "That’s good news."

"How is that good?"

"At least we know she’s okay." He said. "And still mad at you, which is probably deserved."

"I don’t even know if she was still here when I got home last night. The bedroom door was closed, and I just… crashed on the sofa. I only realized she was gone this morning."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "So, what’s the plan now?"

“I don’t know,” Lando groaned, slumping into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "The team’s going to kill me if I miss this flight."

"So go!" Max said firmly.

Lando looked up, shaking his head. "No way. I’m not leaving without her."

Max rolled his eyes. "Look, she knows you have to leave, Lando. Sooner or later, she’s coming back, and when she does, I’ll bring her to Austin myself. Just go."

"What if she refuses to go?"

"She loves you. She'll want t make things right. Trust me!"

Lando hesitated. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You slipped into the apartment two hours later, knowing Lando would be gone by now. The silence felt heavy as you shut the door, but before you could make it to the kitchen, Max appeared, stepping out from Lando’s streaming room.

You jumped, clutching your chest. "Max! What the hell? You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He said, raising his hands in apology.

"What are you doing here? Is Lando still here?" You glanced around, half expecting him to walk out from somewhere.

"He left. Had to, or he’d have missed his flight."

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a long sip. "I thought you were going with him."

"I am. I was just waiting for you."

You looked at him, understanding dawning slowly. "Max, I don’t think going with you is a good idea." You sank into a chair at the small dining table, and Max sat across from you.

"That’s not true."

"Max, you don’t know how he treated me, the things he said��" You swallowed, voice shaking. "He told me I should find someone else. And said he would, too."

Max leaned forward, shaking his head. "Look, he was furious and stupid. Belive me, I know what he said, and he regrets every word. He didn’t even want to leave. I practically had to drag him onto the helicopter."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Max, I don't know."

"He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, Y/N. He’s been calling you non-stop, hoping you’d pick up, and he’s completely torn up about it. So please, come with me. Let’s go to Austin."

Lando had been unusually quiet all day. Practice had gone well, but not well enough; the Ferraris were ahead, and so was Verstappen. His mind should’ve been on the upcoming sprint qualifying, but all he could think about was you and the fight. He could only hope that Max was somehow convincing you to come to Austin.

"Everything alright? You’ve been quiet, which is… not like you." Oscar asked, glancing over at Lando as they wrapped up filming a video for McLaren’s social media.

"Just tired." Lando muttered.

Oscar hesitated, then asked gently. "Where’s Y/N? Lily told me she was coming."

Lando’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking up to meet Oscar’s. "I… don’t think she’s coming." He admitted, his voice low. "I messed things up pretty badly."

Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Want to talk about it?"

Lando shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Not really. Just… hoping I haven’t lost her." He said, more to himself than to Oscar.

Lando was suiting up, pulling on his gloves and securing his helmet, trying to lock his focus onto the upcoming sprint qualifying. But the knot of anxiety in his stomach hadn’t eased since he arrived, knowing he might have to go through this entire weekend without you there.

Just then, Max appeared in front of him, grinning. "Hey, mate. Just came by to wish you luck. And, by the way…" Max lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. "She’s here."

"Fuck... thank you for bringing her."

There, standing quietly near the corner, arms crossed and headphones on, was you. You looked a little nervous, a shy expression on your face and when your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

A wave of relief fell over him, and he instinctively took a step forward, desperate to close the space between you. But Max put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not now." Max warned. "You’ve got a sprint to think about. You can talk to her after."

"But—" Lando began, his eyes darting back to you, a urge to apologize.

A couple of mechanics also intercepted him, nudging him toward the car with hurried reminders. "We’re starting in a few, Lando."

Lando clenched his jaw, glancing back at you. Taking a deep breath, Lando slipped into the car, his heart beating a little steadier, his mind clearing. For the first time all day, he felt ready. You were here and that was everything.

You watched the qualifying from the garage, heart pounding with every lap. It was always like this: nerve-wracking, pride and fear as you watched him push himself and the car to the limit. But today, your chest felt even tighter, knowing the tension lingering between you.

When the session ended, Lando finished fourth. Relief mixed with a bit of pride washed over you as you clapped, your gaze fixed on him as he came into the garage.

The moment he spotted you, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and without a word, he reached for your hand, gently but firmly, and led you out of the garage toward his driver’s room, ignoring the curious glances around you.

Once inside, he closed the door. "Y/N… Babe, I’m so sorry."

You looked down, your arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me, Lando. You didn’t just walk away, you made me feel like I was… too much."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand again. "I was an idiot. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. None of it was true. You’re not ‘too much.’ You’re… everything to me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "That could never be true. I can’t imagine any of this, my life, racing, anything, without you." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I was terrified you wouldn’t come. That I’d ruined everything."

You took a shaky breath. "Max convinced me… told me you didn’t want to leave, that you were just… scared of losing me."

"More than you know." He said, his hand holding yours firmly. "Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."

"I don't want you to give up anything, Lando."

"I know. I know. That's not what you asked me."

After a long moment, you squeezed his hand. "I’m here now." You said softly. "Let’s just start with that."

Relief flooded his face as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. "I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful you’re here. I don’t want to mess this up ever again."

You gave him a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I didn’t come all this way to hold onto what happened. Let’s just… move forward. Together."

He smiled. "Together."

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. "Lando?" A team member called from the hallway. "They need you back in the garage in five!"

Lando glanced back toward the door, then returned his gaze to you, clearly torn. "Go!" You murmured. "I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You melted into it, letting the last of the hurt dissolve in his warmth.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with a smile . "I’ll be quick." He said, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting it go and heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time. "I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered.

[kirozai]

—HSR YANDERES AS TROPES.

Forced Proximity? Soulmates..? Amenesia! Common tropes that always end up happy! Your favorite characters love you so so much! But.. is it in the way you want?...

content warnings: yandere, toxic love, unreliable narrator, descriptions of gore, unrealistic relationships, unwanted PDA, depressive elements, suggestive, gn!reader (maybe ideas for makeup but most of the part is gn) pairing(s): sunday x reader, blade x reader, aventurine x reader, jing yuan x reader word count: around 350-500 each, 2100+ words in all A/N: I got a tiny bit carried away

Aventurine - Amnesia

WHAT’S PLAYING: engravings - Ethan Bortnick

Your eyes are blinded by the casino lights. The sound of chips being thrown and cards being shuffled fills your ears. Things feel so familiar, but at the same time, completely foreign. You turn your eyes to your lover. At least you think he’s your lover.

Two weeks ago you woke up in the dead of night on a hospital bed feeling numb from your head to the tips of your toes. The hospital lights were blinding making you feel dreary. You slowly regained movement by wiggling your fingertips and finally being able to sit up on the comfortable bed. As you gazed around the room you felt shocked to see gold engravings on the trim of the walls. It’s obvious it was a hospital, but it felt too expensive.

And you? You felt out of place.

A nurse walked into your room with a pan of what seemed like a new IV bag and other things like syringes and such. She turned wide-eyed and gasped as she suddenly dropped the pan of expensive medical equipment. You couldn’t make out what she said as she mouthed something out loud. The drowsiness hit you and you passed out.

The next time you woke up to a man sitting beside your bed in the most luxurious clothes you ever laid eyes on. He looked worried, very worried. Realizing you woke up once again his Avgin eyes-

Wait Avgin?...

“Sweetheart! You’ve been out for months. How are you feeling? Is there any pain? How… Can…?” He spoke quickly but after the first couple of sentences, his words faded into mush.

He called you sweetheart though, you deduced he was someone close to you. Someone that must have cared for you. 

But then why do you feel-

Cutting your thoughts you paused. Thinking was causing you too much pain and headache at the moment. You tried to recall what happened. 

And at that moment you realize you couldn’t even recall who you were.

After some time of recovery, you were able to get a couple of things down. The handsome man’s name was Aventurine. He is your lover. (?) You two have been together for quite some time now. You were diagnosed with severe amnesia, but your lover was kind enough to explain everything to you. Although, he was still hesitant to explain what happened to you and the reason why you were in the hospital.

You tried to get something out of the many doctors and nurses, but they seemed… scared.

Aventurine never left your side when other people were around. It was either you and him or no one at all. Leaving you lost and not being able to truly be clear about your condition. Everything went through Aventurine. 

One day during your walk around the large hospital, Aventurine got a call. He looked at it and furrowed his eyebrows, smiled at you, said it was an urgent call, apologized, and left for a brief moment. 

You dragged your IV stand a couple of steps more and abruptly stopped in your tracks as you overheard a pair of nurses talk about… you?

“IPC… they… lies… Aventurine… hiding.” Those were the only few words you were able to make out.

It no longer mattered though because Aventurine’s bright smile found you again and you walked back to your room first. If only you could see the piercing glare that he sent to the nurses. He wouldn’t know what to do if you heard about the fates of them after spreading lies to your pretty head.

After the recovery, you settled in enough to “your life”. Now you sit next to your lover whose luck shines more vibrant than a newborn baby’s laughter. You feel content for the most part.

I wonder if you would still feel content if you were able to take a good look past Aventurine’s perfect poker face. While you sleep he watches you worriedly, wondering if you’ll remember one day. Remember that this perfect love story he crafted isn’t so perfect after all. He wonders how you would react if you were to find out again the atrocities he’s committed in the name of “love”. He holds his chips tightly, but luck has always been on his side.

So tonight like any other night, you’ll smile with no idea of what had occurred in the past. At the end of the day, occasionally it is better to live unaware.

•••

Jing Yuan - Grumpy x Sunshine

WHAT'S PLAYING: Carousel - Melanie Martinez

The Luofu General was known for his joyous laughter and the positivity that he spread throughout the entire planet. He joked and was an infectious smiler. You on the other hand were known as the Yin to his Yang. If Jing Yuan was the sun, you were his moon. It’s adorable on paper, isn’t it?

You do nothing less than agree with the fact that your husband Jing Yuan was very positive. The reason why differed from others though. 

You believed the reason he was so happy was because he sucked every smile, every laugh out of you. 

Your story was the average fairytale, opposite attracts and then they fall in love. The End.

Unfortunately for you, Jing Yuan was anything but ordinary, and maybe that played a part in your perfect tragedy. 

Jing Yuan loved you. You knew that for sure. He had always been a PDA person, always close to you and you would most likely be seen dead than without his arm around your waist. It wasn’t a big deal though. This is what lovers usually do right?

Until you tried to back away. Things got… messy. 

Arguments ensued and you realized that he never really treated you as an equal. He loved you, yes, but he viewed you as lesser and somehow put you on a pedestal at the same. exact. time.

“You don’t respect me.” You stated firmly.

“But I love you.” He replied as if nothing was wrong.

You never thought your husband to be a jealous person and truly he was not. The possessiveness is what got you through.

It began small from making excuses on why you shouldn’t go out,

“It’s my day off!” or “It might rain soon.” Both are lazy excuses you’ve heard again and again. Yet you still seemed to fall again and again for his sunshine charms and wits.

You were the perfect lover to Jing Yuan, loving, kind, and malleable to believe whatever he wanted you to believe.

At some point after the large argument you two shared, you didn’t remember the last time when you had left the estate. 

You felt stuck, stuck on a carousel that kept going around and around and stuck trying to read between the lines of Jing Yuan’s perfect facade. If you caught him at the wrong time you wouldn’t see him for days and when he would return he would haphazardly apologize with the stupidest excuses. 

You never raised your voice anymore after THAT argument though. You were too scared to. So even when he scratches his name into your skin, even if he hugs you so tightly to the point that you feel like your lungs are collapsing, you find excuses for him. For yourself. To make this entire relationship work

Because you love him.

And you don’t not what scares you more anymore. The slight warning in his tone and the ever-present toxicity seeping its way into your originally “perfect” marriage. 

Or.

The fact you’ll still stay even if it gets worse.

Why?

Because you love him.

•••

Blade - Forced Proximity.

WHAT’S PLAYING: This is Love - Black Box

There’s blood on the walls, the floors, and even on the couch. Anything you’ve been able to find you’ve smashed onto the ground. Your hands are covered in blood. No worries to Blade though. He sits on the couch covered in the blood of a man. Your eyes flicker to the dead body right in front of you. The now dead man who tried to help you escape from this prison Blade oh so lovingly calls “your” home to no avail.

Blade’s red eyes stare into the distance of space. Perhaps he’s wondering what he should do next for your transgressions. Perhaps he is wondering what he can do to make you smile again. Or maybe, he doesn’t care. Maybe he finds happiness and contentedness in your suffering. After all, a being who is forever stricken by mara might find peace in others' pain. 

But.

Past this mara-stricken being is a man who does have some semblance of love for you. Blade knew your every like and dislike. He would trail kisses up your neck and on your lips. You’d joke together. You both were disgustingly domestic at times. At least that’s what appeared. Loving Blade wasn’t difficult when every moment you breathed you were near him. 

You wear outfits perfectly fitted to your style sponsored by your self-proclaimed lover himself. Anything you want you’ll get. Jewels, clothing, books, anything you could ever desire. It’s nothing but pocket money for the Stellaron Hunter. 

Your mascara has been smudged after all the tears. Your sniffles fill up the room, you look at your palms. Hands covered in scratches and blisters from broken glass and accidental burns. You don’t have to worry though, Blade will patch it all up for you. This situation will fade into the past just like all the others. Your head peaks again at the dismembered and maimed body on the floor. You stop breathing yet again. You shut your eyes and open them once again when you feel a warm breath on your neck. 

It’s Blade, you can tell that the mara had warned off him. He tightens his arms around your body and somehow pulls you closer than he ever did before in your “relationship”. You blink once again as a tear rolls down your cheek and pray to any Aeon out there for help. Despite this, you're well aware it’s no use. There’s no place in the universe where Blade won’t find you. So you close your eyes to hum a broken chord as you prepare for the cycle to begin again.

•••

Sunday - Soulmates

WHAT’S PLAYING: Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Fairytale love stories where the prince and the princess lived happily ever after were something that you grew up with on your home planet. As you grew up though, “soulmates” left your mind. Other things like making credits and exploring the galaxies were more on your agenda than finding “true love”.

True love was a fairytale. Something that didn’t exist and that’s what you stood by ever since.

Ever since your planet was destroyed by its inhabitants. If people couldn’t love the homes they lived in how could they ever love one another?

You enjoyed travel, you enjoyed learning about other planets, cultures, and people. You didn’t have time for the nonexistent love. Though you enjoyed hearing the stories of it. You’ve met others who found their “soulmates”, their one and only blessed by the Aeons themselves. 

On your travel across the world, you stumbled on Penacony, The Planet of Dreams and Entertainment. The perfect and endless days are what brought you in the most. You could be there for days on end but turn out to only spend a couple of hours outside in the “real world”.

Real world huh?

You think you miss the real world a little bit. 

“Are the pastries not to your liking love?” Sunday inquires.

“They’re… fine.” You reply.

Sunday smiles. You don’t know what it means though. He smiles at everything, he smiles at gatherings, at your laughter, and even at the tears you desperately try to hold in. He thinks of you as something to be protected, something that should be kept safe in a cage, away from the tainted lies of others.

Everything feels uncomfortable, from the moment you met Sunday you felt an odd gravitational pull towards him. It was truly as if he was your soulmate. 

Except,

Something begged you to run away, something deep in the back of your soul. It all went away when you laid eyes on him though. 

You wish you listened to your fight AND flight response.

Everything you wear is coordinated by the Head of the Oak Family. From the tiniest detail to your entire personality. Sunday is a firm believer that only the true you can come out behind closed doors, with locks only he has access to. His mansion was the perfect enrichment for a now flightless bird like you. 

Perhaps the fairytales were somewhat true. The prince and the princess always seemed to stay forever together.

[freeabortionslol]

being best friends with the hughes and jack having always been in love with her and everyone knows but her. they finally get together and when jack tell everyone’s no one’s believes him and thinks he joking

okay...so i may have done like way too much plot for this but I honestly cant help myself. i also don't know if this was a request for a fic or a text but I wrote a fic (oops drop it in my inbox if you wanted it as a text and I'll do it)

it's nice to have a friend(jack hughes x bsf!reader)

summary: fluff! pining (from jack ofc), bsfs to lovers, luke being an absolute child, basically jack picking you up on a rescue misson

warnings!! cursing, kissing

wc: 3k

“Y/n L/n drunk and crying on the curb. You’re in your element.” Jack smiled at you out the passenger window from the driver's seat. You had been out with your friends for a girls night. It was supposed to be fun and you were supposed to let loose, but instead you found yourself chasing your wasted friends around all night. You were too busy making sure they wouldn’t do anything stupid to have any fun of your own. When you went to the bar to get a drink you turned around and they were gone. They left you by yourself in the city in the middle of the night, and being scared to ride in an Uber alone, you decided to call your best friend, Jack.

“I’m not drunk, asshole. I’m barely even tipsy.” You got up to stand, walking towards the car door, hopping in with one swift motion. You climbed into the seat, slamming the door behind you, and crossing your arms. Jack’s gaze lingered over you for a moment watching your misery which he hated more than anything. He graced you with an empathetic half smile before turning his hazards off and driving the car back onto the road. 

He sighed deeply, turning the radio down slightly “What happened?” he asked softly.

“Maria and Chloe left me in the bar alone. Some creep was all over me at the bar and I guess they assumed I was good with him.” You sniffled out, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “I spent the whole night chasing them around.” Jack placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. “I just wanted one night of my own to let loose and have fun.” You flailed your arms in the air letting tears escape your eyes. 

“Hey, the night is still young.” You turned your head to look over at him, noticing how perfect his jawline looked through the street lights. “We can still have fun. Luke’s staying with Quinn in Vancouver. We'll hang out just the two of us like old times.” Jack’s words settled in, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Despite the situation, he always knew how to lift your spirits.

You glanced over to him, letting out a deep breath. “Yeah? Sure you’re up for it? It’s already almost one.”

Jack scoffed playfully and squeezed your shoulder. “Of course I am. You’re my favorite person and we can’t have you sad on a Saturday evening.” 

The drive back to the apartment was silent for the most part. You watched out the window, the familiar streets making you feel more at ease. You and Jack walked through the apartment complex in silence, watching as he fiddled for his keys in his pocket. You stepped through the door, letting the scent of the cinnamon candle fill your nose. You felt almost immediately at ease as you flopped onto Jack’s bed, letting his soft duvet entrap your body.

“Get out of my bed.” Jack laughed, pulling you up by your arm.

“Why? I’m so tired.” You pouted, giving him puppy eyes.

“You know the rule, no outside clothes in my bed. No makeup either, you’ll get it on the white sheets.” Jack smiled as he walked over to his dresser, pulling out a devils t-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear.

“Nuh uh. Your dick has been in those.” You crossed your arms, glaring at Jack who had the clothes in hand.

“They’ve been washed. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He threw them over to you.

“Correction, don’t get these Jack Hughes gray Calvin Klein boxers in a twist.” You said, making your way towards the bathroom. You slipped your sweaty black dress off your body, stealing some of Jack’s deodorant before pulling the shirt over your head. You took a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, analyzing everything that had gone wrong tonight. You felt a small sense of betrayal from your friends as sadness crept up on you. You wondered what kind of friend would leave you alone in a bar with some random man in the middle of the night with no ride home. Jack would never do that, no he would’ve never let the guy get within two feet of you. Suddenly relief washed over you, realizing that you were safe at Jack’s house and not sleeping on the floor of Chloe’s apartment. He wanted nothing more than to make you comfortable, though you couldn’t tell why. You pulled the boxers up and began carefully wiping your makeup off with the neutrogena makeup wipes that Jack kept at his place for you. You started to glance around the bathroom noticing that he kept a lot of things here for you. You always knew they were there because you used them, but you never really took attention to the gesture. You looked down at the sink seeing your pink toothbrush, whitening strips, cerave face wash, and your expensive mouthwash he knows you like. You turned your head to the back of the toilet where Jack had put various feminine products in glass containers. You glanced at the shelves in the shower at your shampoo, conditioner, sugar scrub, shaving cream, and your razor. That’s a lot of things that cost a good bit of money. You thought to yourself, this place screams “I have a girlfriend” do girls not notice these when they come over? Come to think of it, Jack’s never really mentioned girls around you. You knew he had them of course from Luke and Quinn, but you never bothered to ask him thinking it may cross a line. You however, spent endless hours talking his ear off about your male conquests. Guys from work, home, bars, hinge, you name him and Jack’s heard about him.

“You good in there?” Jack knocked on the door.

“Y-yeah i’m alright just finishing taking off my makeup.” You replied, his voice breaking your trance.

“Just making sure you didn’t pass out.” You couldn’t see him, but you could sense his sly smile through his voice.

“I’m not drunk, Jack!” You shouted, kicking the door which resulted in several giggles from him. You wiped the final streak of eyeliner off your face and made your way out of the bathroom. You immediately caught sight of Jack lounging on the bed in his sweatsuit, computer in his lap. He looked up from the screen to subtly stare at you in his clothes. His eyes softening at the sight of you, his shirt fit comically large around your frame, but it was perfect to him in some way.

“Gonna keep staring at me like some fuckin’ weirdo?” You raised your eyebrows at him.

He scoffed, “Sit down, pretty girl.” He scooched over so you could lay beside him, your shoulders brushing against each other as you took your spot.

“No, pretty girl left a few seconds ago when I took off my makeup.” You turned your face slightly to look at him. A smile was already growing across his face.

“Impossible. There’s one looking at me right now.” The two of you held your gaze for a few moments, neither of you sure what to do next. Your heart began to pound as you thought of the possibility of him kissing you. You quickly turned your face towards the laptop screen.

“So what are we watching?” You cleared your throat, your head finding its place to rest on his shoulder.

“Not one of those stupid romcoms you like.” You smacked his shoulder playfully and scoffed.

“You love those movies!” 

“Wrong. I liked Ten Things I Hate About You.”

“So, that's the pick?” Jack groaned, throwing his head back.

“Fine! But no crying.” He started typing the movie into the search engine, clearly pretending to grumble about it. You settled against him, head on his shoulder, letting yourself sink into his skin as the movie started. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you tried to distract yourself from the way his thumb absentmindedly traced patterns along your arm. You could feel him stealing glances of you as the movie went on, his head shifting slightly. You felt the warmth of his gaze and couldn’t help to sneak a few back, each one resulting in a smirk or a soft laugh from him. It was enough to make your heart race. As the poem scene began playing, you couldn’t help but let tears fall. You shifted to wipe your eyes, feeling silly but not caring.

Jack chuckled, pulling you in closer, his voice low and teasing “I thought we agreed no crying.”

“Shut up.” You mumbled, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I’ve seen it so many times, but it just gets me y’know?”

He rested his chin on your head, giving you a gentle squeeze. Your heart thudded as he pulled back slightly to look down at you, his face closer than ever, his blue eyes scanning your expression trying to read your thoughts. You felt a rush of courage and held his gaze, feeling the redness rise to your cheeks. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y’know you don’t need makeup for me. You’re perfect the way you are.” You blinked, catching your breath as his words sunk in. He brushed a strand of hair from your face and before you could think twice, you found yourself leaning in to close the gap between the two of you. Maybe it was the confidence of the alcohol, but that had almost entirely worn off. Jack’s eyes flickered with something unspoken as he met you halfway, his lips pressing softly to yours for a lingering kiss. The two of you held the kiss for a moment, his teeth subtly biting your bottom lip gently. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, as yours moved to his arm. The kiss intensified in an instant, releasing every amount of tension that kept it hidden for so long. You both pulled back, foreheads resting against each other, each of you breathless. He stole one last kiss, before pulling away entirely, smiles growing slowly as the realization hit.

“I love you.” He cooed out, his hand still resting on the back of your head. You let out a soft laugh, moving to rest your forehead in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his body.

“I love you too, Jacky.” He quickly moved his hands to wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body, letting the scent of your perfume entrap him. Your legs were tangled, letting yourself drift off to sleep as the tv played softly in the background, neither of you watching any longer. Jack waited until you were asleep before moving you over, so he could spoon you letting himself breathe. He pulled his phone from the nightstand with his freehand to text his brothers about tonight's victory.

Jack: Guys I did it. She’s mine. Told her I loved her.

Luke: Who?

Jack: Y/n

Quinn: HAHA no way

Jack: Yes way

Luke: No. Number one you're too much of a little bitch to ever tell her, two she would never ACTUALLY go for you.

Quinn: As much as I want you to go for it, you never would

Jack: I DID I SWEAR

Luke: Yeah okay pal cya tomorrow

The night was peaceful, you and Jack were wrapped in each other throughout your sleep. The morning light was harsh on your eyes which Jack took notice of, and got up from the bed to close the blinds. You subtly shifted your body onto the pillow at the sense of Jack’s absence. He chuckled softly and moved his way to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Luke was coming home today with Quinn alongside him. He didn’t expect to have you over last night, but my goodness was he happy about it. Jack began mixing batter in a bowl for the pancakes, letting his mind drag him to the memory of you sound asleep next to him in his bed. He wanted every night to be that way. He glanced over to his door hoping that maybe you would stumble out of his room, but he knew you were tired from the night before. He was in the middle of flipping a pancake when he heard the front door open, followed by the familiar voices of his brothers. 

“Guess who's back!” Luke shouted, walking into the apartment, throwing his bag on the couch. “Ooh! Pancakes!” Luke ran to the kitchen trying to get in Jack’s way, to which he responded by pulling the plate of finished pancakes out of Luke’s grasp.

“Uh uh! Go wash your hands first.” Luke groaned and made his way to the closest bathroom, which was Jack’s.

“You’re such a mom.” Quinn remarked, taking a seat at a barstool. “Funny joke last night, but seriously you need to tell Y/n how you feel. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, it’ll at least stop you from following her around like a lovesick puppy.” Jack slammed the stack of pancakes on the counter, pulling out four plates instead of three which Quinn didn’t take notice of.

“I’m not joking. I actually did it.” Jack scoffed.

“Uh huh sure, and I quit my job last night.” Quinn laughed out as Jack sent him a middle finger. The scene was quickly interrupted by Luke storming out of Jack’s room, running towards the kitchen. “Woah, Luke. Slow down.” Luke was panting, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath from the run he just took.

“There's…A…” He took deep breaths before every word.

���There’s a what?” Quinn questioned, pulling a pancake from the pile onto his plate.

“There’s a girl in Jack’s bed.” He panted out. Quinn’s eyes widened, immediately shifting his gaze to Jack who was smirking.

“So mr I confessed my love to Y/n last night has a girl in his bed?” Jack threw his head down at the stupidity of his brother. “Knew you were lyin”

“WHO DO YOU THINK THE GIRL IS?” Jack yelled, a wide smile across his face. Luke’s mouth dropped immediately, forgetting about the pancakes he ran back to Jack’s room, Quinn following close behind. Luke didn’t think twice before jumping on the bed throwing his body over yours. You awakened in an instant, you rubbed your eyes and looked up to Luke who was wearing a sly smile. 

“Gross Luke. How much axe body spray did you put on?” You groaned out, your eyes still not fully opened.

“No! Gross Y/n. You kissed our brother!” Quinn stated as he moved his way onto the bed, lying down next to you, propping himself up on his elbows. You squinted your eyes, trying to find the strength to keep them open. 

“She’s in his bed, they definitely did more than kissing.” Luke laughed out and you sent him a hit to the shoulder.

“Get off me you asshole!” You pushed Luke off, climbing your way out of the bed and towards Jack's dresser. 

“After all this time I can’t believe he actually did it.” Quinn let out with a chuckle as you pulled one of Jack’s hoodies from the drawer.

“What are you talking about?” You said pulling the hoodie over your head.

“Dude, Jack’s been in love with you since like seventh grade.” Luke shifted his position to the edge of the bed as you turned to face him.

“Are you serious?” You squinted your eyes, crossing your arms.

“Are you kidding? You never knew? He made it so painfully obvious.” Quinn chuckled, throwing his head back slightly. You stood there still processing what Quinn said, your heart pounding at the revelation. Jack had been in love with you since seventh grade? How did you miss that? All those little gestures, every time he was always there when you needed him, the way he’d listened to you talk about every guy you dated, even if you could sense his slight discomfort. It all made sense now.

Luke, still lounging on the bed, watched your reaction with a mischievous grin, “So do you like him back, or was last night just some…experimental sleepover?”

“Luke, stop. It’s- complicated.” You turned your head trying to hide your blush, knowing damn well that it wasn’t complicated. You just didn’t want to have this conversation with Jack’s teasing brothers who just so happened to be your best friends.

“Complicated?! He literall-” Luke started but was cut off by Jack walking in the room looking mildly confused and a bit exasperated.

“Hey hey! Let’s not harass Y/n right when she wakes up.” 

Quinn laughed and stood up, clapping Jack on the back. “Look, lover boy, we're just helping her process the last decade of weird repressed feelings the two of you have. She had no idea how obvious you were being.”

Jack turned pink, giving you an embarrassed smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t that obvious.” he mumbled, but you could see a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.

You stepped forward, reaching for his hand. “Actually you might have been, and I…I might’ve been really bad at picking up the hints.” You laughed softly, squeezing his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm on yours.

“Finally!” Quinn groaned out, Luke flopping himself back into the bed.

“Now we don’t have to watch you guys be grossly oblivious to each other anymore.”

Jack rolled his eyes slightly, keeping his gaze on you, a gentle smile on his face. “You wanna go for this?”

“Absolutely.” You nodded, heart pounding with happiness. Jack pulled you into his arms, planting a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.”

Luke groaned loudly from the bed, interrupting the moment. “You guys are disgusting. Breakfast is getting cold.” You and Jack let out a subtle laugh before walking to the kitchen, hand in hand.

[chris-prank]

A desperate yandere in your area

Chapter 2 : Surprise visitor

Sub pathetic yandere x GN reader

Previous chapter

(This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only, I do not support yandere behaviors in real life)

CW: NSFW, collar, praise kink, masturbating in secret, handjob, voyeurism, teasing, porn with plot, yandere behavior, mention of stalking, reader is horny too and L bomb

Word count: Over 2K

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You sat on your bed, putting headphones in your ears. It had been a truly tiresome day, so you figured that a little alone time was well deserved before doing any house chores. Setting comfortably against your pillows, you selected one of those “man moaning and whimpering” audios. You closed your eyes as the delectable sounds filled your surrendering. 

You were starting to get into it, when suddenly, a moan seemed to have been louder than the others. They were also small whimpers…Weird…You decided to not pay much attention to this as your body relaxed. Your hand creeped down your pants when you went in the mood again. 

You were making rhythmic movements, trying to imagine a pathetic man in front of you making all these slutty moans. Even in your while enwrapped in your fantasy, you swore some noises were always too loud to be coming from your headphones. You used your clean hand to pause the audio and there it was again! A small whimper!

You checked your phone and no, the audio hadn’t started again. It was so faint that it was difficult for you to pinpoint where it was coming from. You took out your headphones and really tried to concentrate on the source of the noises. It almost sounded like an injured animal, maybe a cat had gotten into your apartment ? You knew that one of your neighbors had one, so it wasn’t impossible. You sigh in defeat, knowing that you wouldn't be able to finish what you started. You took a blanket and got off your bed. You roamed around the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to alarm the poor unknown creature. As you got closer to your closet you could feel your heart pulsating in your ears, the whimpers were coming from there. You raised the blanket, ready to throw it if the animal showed any sign of aggressivity.  

In one swift motion you opened the closet door. And there was… Jacce sitting on the ground, pumping his cock forcefully. He was so engrossed by the smell of your shirt covering his face, that he had failed to remember to keep it down. You didn't even scream or move. You felt like you dissociated from your body, as if you were watching this surreal outcome from a second point of view. 

The man opened his eyes when he was just about to cum, finally noticing you standing in full height before him— just like he had fantasized on so many occasions, but this time it was real. 

“F—ngahh—uck.” His eyes rolled back for a second, his body shuddering while he ejaculated. Ropes of cum shooting unintentionally in your direction.  

His sudden climax reactivated your nerve system. You dropped the blanket on him, ran out of the room and into the living room. Not only was there a man that broke into your house to masturbate, this intruder was JACCE! The barista you liked! This was the most horrifying situation you've ever been in. You regretted dreading that it could have been a wild animal, because it would have been better than whatever this was. 

You could hear shuffling noises behind you, certainly him trying to put his junk back into his pants as fast as possible.

“Hey w-wait.”

When you turned to face him, his expression was still stuck in this dazed state of the aftermath of cumming. Like clockwork every time he took a step forward you would step back.  

“Y-you weren’t… supposed to see th-this.” He breathed out like he ran a marathon, “let me ex-explain before doing anything… p-please.” 

Jacce looked down at your hands before looking back at you. You didn’t answer but didn’t make a move either. The man took that as a sign to continue. 

“I… I know what it looks like… A guy that you barely know, touching himself in your closet… in your house…” He hesitated at the last part, “but I’m not a creep! I-I did this because I love you!”

Love me?! You had noticed before that he gave you more special treatment compared to other clients… but you never expected this! You felt your body getting weaker, as if you were about to faint from the stress. 

“Are you… going to hurt me?”

Jacce's expression seemed to drop at the question, as if he was heartbroken that you thought he would do such a thing. This was not going as planned and he hated himself for it. You weren’t supposed to find him in your closet. You weren’t supposed to see him like this. 

“I could n-never hurt you! I love you!” He was speaking with conviction, “I just want to be there for you! To serve you like you deserve… If anything you should be the one hurting m—”  

“What are you talking about?!” You cutted him short in a panic, “I don’t want t-that!”

“What!? B—But I can be so good for you!” His voice raised slightly in desperation,  “most guys are too stupid to even split the house chores! I'm ready to do everything for you!”

You stepped back while he kept walking forward. He was so absorbed in waves of emotions to notice the fear in your eyes. He gripped his shirt, his hands trembling and tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

“I would NEVER take you for granted! I would be the most attentive and obedient person in your entire life!” His entire body was now shaking violently, “I don’t even have to be your boyfriend, I can be your pet!” 

You didn’t know what to do. Your brain was going thousand miles an hour, making it near impossible to settle on something. While trying to think clearly, you also had to focus on what he was saying. He kept going on and on about the fact the he wanted to… serve you. What if it was true and not just excuses to make himself look less bad? 

You decided to test your luck. It's not like you had another choice. Jacce was taller than you and getting him more agitated was not a good idea. You builded up all the energy you had left and talked over him in an authoritarian tone. 

“Sit down against the wall.”

And he did. 

All the panic that contortionned his face had completely disappeared, replaced by an expression of anticipation. He looked sincere about his intentions… but you couldn’t totally believe him just yet. The fear in your guts was still present, but it was slowly being overshadowed by something else. Your mind kept wandering back to the whimpers he cried out while touching himself and how cute he looked all desperate. You could sense the familiar sensation creeping between your legs the longer you looked down at him. Jacce seemed to be also stimulated by the turn of events, because he quickly placed his hands between his legs, not wanting to blow up his small chance with you. This pose gave him an even more submissive look, which made you go crazy. 

What if… maybe we could both take advantage of this situation. 

You were indeed craving for someone like this. Until now you could only find them in fiction and even then it was hard to dig them out in the sea of dominant love interests. Jacce would get your attention and you would be able to feast upon the site of his patheticness. You were definitely twisted to consider this outcome about a man who broke into your house, but it’s not like you would be doing anything wrong. It's your house so your rules on how to deal with intruders. 

“Let me see what's happening between your legs.”  You tried to keep the confident facade as you spoke. 

Jacce's shoulders jolted a bit in embarrassment, but he did reveal the tent in his pants. He looked so disheveled with his flushed face and his coat lazily falling off one his shoulders. So hot. 

“Do you want me to make it better?” Your voice was dripping with such honey, that you were even shocked by it. 

He nodded frantically. Consent was something crucial and he had just gave it to you with indisputable enthusiasm. 

You got down on your knees to get better access to him. You reached your hand out for his bulge, caressing it, which made his body tremble in anticipation. You unzipped his pants and slightly pulled at the rim of his boxers. His erection sprong out, finally letting you have a good look at it. His dick was 6.5 inches, the foreskin pulled back to reveal his pink gland, now on the verge of turning red. The tip was crowned with little pearls of precum, some of them sliding down his shaft like water drops on a car window. It made your mouth salivate just by thinking of wrapping your lips around it and admire his face contorted in pleasure. 

Jacce was clearly trying to stay quiet, but when you spat in your hand, he couldn’t help but whimper at the thought of what was going to happen. You rubbed your palm on his tip, which made him buck his hips, before wrapping your fingers around it. Your thumb was barely reaching your index finger and that warmed your lower half even more. The idea of something like this stretching your inside was so enticing.

“T–thank y–you… Haah… I’ll be so so good to you, I promise.” 

Jacce leaned in, clinging to the front of your shirt. At last he was feeling your divine touch. A part of him still couldn’t believe the turn of events. He imagined that you would have at least tried to hit him or something. But no, there you were, willingly giving him a handjob like a merciful master. You squeezed the base of his shaft, admiring the precum oozing out of the tip. You started to stroke him at a medium pace. Surprisingly, his voice was more soft spoken than what you expected. He was murmuring needingly into your ear while his drool stains your clothes. Jacce was still sensitive, since he had already cum not too long ago, causing him to swallow back cries multiple times. 

“If you want me to continue you’ll have to answer some questions, ok?” 

You felt like you were babying this grown man, talking to him like that. But he didn’t seem to mind, since he nodded without a complaint. Your grip started to loosen up tho, since that wasn’t a satisfying answer. 

“Use your words or I’ll stop making you feel good.” 

“I’ll–I’ll answer!” He whined.

“Good job.”

He shivered at the praise. That’s what he had dreamed of hearing from you for months. You picked up the paste again, pumping him harder. His head fell back as he unconsciously reached one hand out to his hidden collar. You were taken aback at the sight of it. How depraved is this guy!? Without thinking, you placed your index and middle fingers in the loop and tugged at it, making him moan like never before while jerking his head back up. You were pretty sure he almost came just from that. 

“First question… How long have you been stalking me?”

“I st–started five months ago Mmm-Ahh… ” He sobbed, it was so hard for him to speak, “Y-you were always so n–nice to me when you N-gh came into the coffee shop. I wanted to kn-know more.”

You’ve been going to that place for about a year, so at least he hasn’t been doing it for that long. You were a bit taken aback that you never suspected anything though. This guy has been either really good or very lucky until now. 

“Do you break into my house often?”

“N-no.”

You abruptly stop touching him, forcing him to speak again.

“I–I swear! I only did it six times!”

He arched his back and whimpered, urging you to stroke him again, which you happily obliged. It was hard not too! 

“P-please u-use me, use me, use me! I want to be your dumb ngAhhh little puppy…” 

The words were spilling out of his mouth with pure urgency and he bucked his hips against your palm uncontrollably. All clear signs that he was close to release. You couldn’t count the number of times you fantasized about turning someone into such a mess, but now that you were experiencing it, your simple imagination was nothing compared to the real thing. Your own self control started to waver the more it went on. Jacce knew that he was about to cross his limit as well, closing his eyes shut, preparing himself. But the grip around his cock loosened, until it completely disappeared. He whined and moved his hips, searching for the touch of your warm hand again. 

“W–why did you stop? I–I told you what you wanted to k-know!” 

You didn’t answer, only looking at him with an indecipherable expression. All the moans, whimpers and other noises he let out, made you so horny that it was becoming too much to bear, but you knew it would make him way too happy to be used to make you cum. You couldn’t let him release either. He didn’t deserve it, not yet anyway. 

“I’m not letting you cum.” 

“Wh-what!? W-why?!” He complained again. 

“You broke into my house and stalked me for five months.” You swiftly got on your feet, “bad boys don’t deserve to ejaculate.”

Bad boy was like the last nail into the coffin for the pathetic mess. In Jacce’s top ten of the worst things you could say to him this one was pretty high. Small tears rolled down his cheeks as a result.  

“You… you’re right… I’m sorry.” He sniffed.

You did feel a little bit bad for making him cry and wanted to fuck him dumb too. No, not tonight. You had to hammer that in your brain to resist your desires. You decided to at least help him a bit before kicking him out. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.” 

“N-no! I–I’m supposed to be the one to–to take care of you.” he whined.

You gave him a stern glance, which shut him up instantly. You came back with a bottle and a wet towel in hand, crouched down in front of him and handed out the water. He took it, chugging it halfway in one go. 

“T-thanks, you’re so nice to me… even when I don’t deserve it.” He whispered, looking away with a subtle smile on his lips. You could sense that, despite his guilty look, he was celebrating this whole situation on the inside. 

With the towel you cleaned off his cock, still covered in a mixture of your spit and his cum. Jacce was looking at you like a puppy who made a mess and was watching his master taking care of it. His breath was getting heavy again and you could feel his cock twitching through the towel. He was totally getting turned on at how gentle and attentive you were to him. This had transformed into the perfect domestic fantasy in Jacce’s twisted mind. 

“I’ll help you to the door if you think your legs aren’t strong enough yet.”

“I thought you accepted me! Can’t I stay!?” 

“I haven’t made my final decision yet.” You crossed your arms,“if you really are a good boy you will let me think about it.”

Hanging over his head the possibility of being yours was enough for him to accept your request. He didn’t even consider the fact that you could call the police the second he leaves. Besides, the fact that you decided to touch him, instead of all the other decisions possible, was making him a bit more confident. After helping him up, you opened the front door and waited for him to leave. Jacce stopped, now the roles were reversed with his figure overtowering you. 

“You promise to think about it?” He whispered anxiously. 

“Yes, now please get out.”

He nodded and you watched Jacce for a bit to make sure he was really leaving, before closing the door. You looked down at the spot where the desperate man was previously sitting. You could feel your guts twist again, urging you to satisfy the heat between your legs. You sighed as you went into your room. The dirty audios you used to listen to were definitely not going to be enough to satisfy you anymore. 

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I love nothing more then making a reader who is horny for the yandere too 😌

Link for the chapter on Ao3

Here is an other old sketch I made for this chapter back in 2023!

[ghostlyglimmer]

OHH, this is such a fun idea, I had to whip up something based on this!

It had all gone downhill fast.

The plan had been Dick’s idea—though Tim and Jason definitely could have pointed out the glaring holes in it, and Damian hadn’t exactly offered his usual dose of cynicism. It was supposed to be a quick, in-and-out operation. Minimal risk, maximum payoff.

But things got complicated when that guy showed up. Just some kid, and not even a vigilante or a rogue. It was supposed to be a straightforward job in Gotham’s shadier district—stop the exchange of a highly dangerous chemical, break up the bad guys, be home in time for breakfast. But, no, some civilian had gotten in the way and distracted the gangsters long enough to mess with their timing.

As Jason would tell it later, “It was just bad luck.” As Bruce would say, “It was complete negligence.”

And as for Danny? Well, he didn’t have much of a say in it. Not that he was about to back down from a bunch of armed gangsters, especially with the Batkids swooping in around him, leaving chaos and knocked-out criminals in their wake. Danny had handled a few of them before they even showed up, quietly taking out the last of them when Bruce finally stepped in.

And now they were here, a tense, heated argument in a dark Gotham alley.

“You should have waited for backup!” Bruce snapped, his voice slicing through their squabbles. “I told you it was a risk to go in alone—especially when we didn’t have all the intel! This is about safety, and clearly—”

“Right, clearly we were fine until you stepped in,” Jason shot back, scowling.

“It would have gone smoothly if someone didn’t just happen to be there,” Dick muttered, clearly feeling defensive.

“It was your idea, Grayson!” Tim hissed, his voice laden with frustration. “Don’t turn this around.”

“Maybe if you’d listened—”

Damian scoffed. “I could have handled them on my own.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and he turned to Danny, who was awkwardly inching his way toward the exit.

“And don’t think you’re getting out of this,” Bruce said, turning his Batglare on him. “You’re grounded too.”

Danny froze, one foot halfway lifted in a tippy-toe pose. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

The Batkids stopped mid-argument and looked at Danny, then back at Bruce, then at each other, as if piecing something together. Dick’s face morphed from irritation to confusion; Jason’s went slack.

“Uh… Mr. Batman, sir, with all due respect, I’m just some guy,” Danny said slowly, staring at Bruce. “Can… Can Batman even do that?”

“Everyone in the Batmobile,” Bruce said firmly, ignoring Danny’s question. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”

Danny, still too stunned to process much beyond “Batman grounded me,” felt himself nodding along. Guess we’re going with it.

The ride was silent and tense. Jason looked broody, arms crossed, staring out the window. Tim rubbed his temples, probably rethinking every tactical choice. Dick was sulking, and Damian, surprisingly, just looked mad at being lumped in with the others. Danny, meanwhile, stayed very still, wedged between Tim and Jason, trying not to breathe too loudly. It was a surreal experience—he was tired, his limbs ached, and his brain was reeling from the absurdity of it all, but it was Batman. The Batmobile wasn’t exactly the place to make his objections.

By the time they reached the Batcave, Danny figured he’d try for some clarity.

“Uh,” he started, looking around at the cavernous space, vast and impressive, filled with tech and lights. “So, do you mind if I, uh, call my family to tell them I won’t be home tonight?”

The entire cave fell silent. Jason froze mid-complaint, Dick and Tim stopped sulking, and Damian’s scowl melted into shock. All four of them stared at Danny, and then slowly, like someone had hit pause, their heads turned to look at Bruce.

He seemed unbothered, glancing at Danny as if this were just standard procedure. But for everyone else, the realization was dawning. Dick was the first to speak, his voice wavering.

“Uh… Bruce?” Dick asked slowly, eyebrows raised. “Did… Did you kidnap a civilian?”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason burst out laughing, doubling over, his hands clutching his sides. “Oh, this is gold. He’s not even a rogue, B. He’s just some random guy you told to get in the car!”

Danny held up his hands. “In my defense, it was Batman, okay? Who’s going to not get in the Batmobile when Batman tells you you’re grounded?”

Tim covered his face with both hands, muffling his laugh. Damian scowled, crossing his arms.

“This is embarrassing,” he muttered. “Father, you’re losing credibility by the second.”

Bruce’s expression tightened, clearly irked by the fact that his kids’ attention had wandered from the initial issue. They had disobeyed him, endangered a civilian, and now they were laughing because, okay, maybe he had unintentionally forced said civilian to join them in the Batcave.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly rethinking several recent decisions.

“Alright,” Bruce finally said. “My apologies. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you don’t need to be here. We’ll get you a ride back home.”

Danny blinked, a little surprised. “So, wait, I’m not grounded?”

“No, you’re not grounded,” Bruce replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason snickered. “Damn, you got off easy. We’re grounded for sure.”

Bruce cleared his throat, and the smiles faded from the other Batkids’ faces. “Yes, you’re grounded,” he said, looking at each of them in turn. “All of you.”

They groaned in unison, but Danny, relieved beyond measure, was already edging toward the door. He nodded a quick thank you to Batman and managed a small, awkward wave to the others.

As he left, he could hear Dick muttering, “Grounded… from what? We’re grown men!”

Jason groaned. “Grounded as in, no solo missions, genius.”

Danny paused, letting the sounds of the Batfamily’s complaints echo behind him as he took the lift back to ground level. He shook his head, chuckling. Only in Gotham. Only with Batman would you end up “grounded” for just existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But hey—at least he got a free ride in the Batmobile out of it.

Imagine the batkids fuck up major and a batdad had to step in and clean up their mistake

Everyone kinda embarrassed because of their blunder and Jason is lashing out to protect himself from shame

Dick is joining is cause well he feels bad about it being his idea

Now Tim is arguing too

Damian wants to feel involved and u can’t convince me other wise

Bruce is trying ti make a point about safety thats just fully derailed

Anyway Danny as Fenton is just there in the background around all the bad guys he took out before Bruce actually got there like “awkward” but the moment he tries to just tippytoe his way out Bruce turns to point at him “and don’t think you are getting out of this. Your grounded too”

He just freezes. Can batman do that? Is he legally allowed to do that? Wait what does Batman mean by grounded?!!? Whats his move here.

“Everyone in the batmobile we will discuss this more in the morning”

Oh ok thats his move. Ok yea Batman just grounded him. He better go.

So they r having the ride home and everyone is sulking and Danny is just there confused but doesn’t say anything because hes probably tired and it’s batman wtf you gonna do.

So they are at the cave and Danny finally just “so can I call my family to tell them I wont be home tonight?”

You everyone just stops. And slowly turns to face him. “Ah yea dumb question. I guess uhhh no phones huh?” No one moves. Everyone is pretty shocked. Cause one bruce kidnapped some kid. Two theres a civi in the batcave. Three bruce kidnapped some fucking kid. Four some random kid just got in the car with them. Five holy fuck bruce kidnapped some kid.

Breaks over enjoy post

[mrsriddlenott]

okay I just need pussydrunk mattheo 🥵

It is honestly embarrassing how long this has been in my drafts unfinished(literally a few days over a year🤦‍♀️) I have been awol for so long but I have been GOIN through it y’all. I think I can finally at least try and actually come back to this blog. I love writing so much and I hate when it just isn’t fun anymore. And when I saw this I actually got excited to finish it so let’s see how it goes. Please correct mistakes and give feedback

Warnings: suggestive content but not actually full smut, public oral(f!receiving), heavy petting, play argument/kinda roleplay, some teasing.

{masterlist}

~Needy~

To plenty of people having a needy boyfriend would be the end of the world. But when that boyfriend is Mattheo Riddle, who seems to have an unnaturally high labido and stamina, it’s more of a pro rather than a con.

But what comes with needy is clingy. Mattheo just needs his hands on you whenever he can. You weren’t complaining but he certainly was. There was just too much time out of the day that he couldn’t touch you. So me made sure to cut thay time down as much as he could.

“Come oooon Baby” Mattheo groaned as he tugged you towards an empty, shadow filled corridor, “Just think about it, how many days a week do we have Potions, and how many weeks are in a term, how many terms in a school year….we can miss one hour of Potions Baby it’ll be fine. Plus you’re the smartest, prettiest, hottest person at this school you’ve got options for you future.”

“Um first of all,” You start, crossing your arms across your chest, poking your hip out to make Mattheo groan out loud as he restrains himself from touching you, “This will be the fourth time we missed Potions so far this term, and second of all who said I was worried for my future, nuh uh Baby I’m worried about yours.”

“Merlin you’re sexy when you’re being all bossy”Mattheo sighs, stepping closer to you and fanning your face with his breath, “I don’t care about my future as long as you’re in it, I need to keep you excited don’t I Princess?” He laughs out as he watches your resolve melt away, moving his hand up to grip your waste.

“That’s no fair.” You pout, desperately trying to hold a straight face as you continue, “You know you’re not allowed to call me Princess in an argument, you always win with that.” Mattheo sighs dramatically and steps even closer to you, breathing your air as he holds your hip tightly, tugging you into him aggressively.

“I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me,” He begs dramatically, smiling before dipping his head into the crook beside your shoulder to trace small pecks across your collarbone, forcing a moan to slip past your lips despite your pretend protests.

“How could I ever forgive you for such a lapse Mattheo,” you smile at how fast he halts his mouths assault of your collarbone giving you time to slip your fingers into his raven curls, giving them a tug to force his eyes up to yours, “You know, I can think of something you can do to earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” He rasps out, his breath caught in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his hair and the other slowly slipping down his chest at an agonizing pace, “What can I do to make you feel better Baby, I’ll do anything for you, you know that.” His voice his breathy and desperate, sending heat down your abdomen as your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. At the gentle shove to his shoulder, Mattheo knew exactly what you wanted, smirking as you looked down to him where he leant into you with those pretend innocent eyes. Mattheo fell to his knees immediately, his hands tracing their way under your skirt while his eyes stay on yours.

“Is this what you’re asking for…Princess?” Mattheo asks, smirking as he gains dominance from below you, “You want me to make you feel good?….But Baby what about Potions, we-we can’t miss class i-it’s impo-“ You cut off his teasing with a tug to his hair and small sigh at the feeling of his hand ghosting across your underwear. Mattheo groans, his eyes falling into the back of his head as your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Okay okay, I’ve got you Princess.” He laughs breathlessly as his fingers tug your underwear down your legs, allowing you to step out of them before he shoves them in his pocket with a wink. In a flash Mattheo has his lips on you, his head vanishing under your skirt, his hand trailing upward to squeeze at your chest through your button up, the other gripping your thigh to give you support as you begin to wobble.

“Oh fuck Mattheo,” You moan loudly before clamping your hand over your mouth, almost forgetting your very public location at the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue meticulously swirling around your clit. His chuckle from below almost pisses you off enough to fight for dominance but as though to wipe your mind of it, Mattheo flattens his tongue and leaves a strip up your heat, making you whimper into your hand and bite your skin to prevent getting caught.

You shake as Mattheo’s fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh while it wobbles, unsteady as you begin to lose balance at the fast pace of Mattheo’s tongue, “Fuck Baby, can you stand or do I need to hold you?” He chuckles against you at your whine of protest, not wanting him to stop even for a second. Mattheo quickly tugs your thigh over his shoulder, allowing him to gain more access, speeding up his actions, moaning at your taste and the thought of you coming on his face as you depend on him to hold you steady. Your head falls back against the stone wall, your eyes rolling backward as your hand falls to his shoulders for balance not caring anymore about your volume. Your little whimpers and squeaks drive him insane below you, he knows your close, he can feel it.

Without warning Mattheo shifts lower, shoving his tongue into you, lowering his hand from your chest in a flash and using his thumb to stimulate your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you, matching his own pace and groaning as he feels your legs begin to shake for him. Your moans become screams as you release on his tongue, falling into his hold while he rises to look at your post-orgasm face he loves so much.

“Good thing we did this during class, someone might have heard otherwise.” Mattheo says simply with a laugh as you weakly smack at his broad shoulder.

~~~~

Pretty short compared to others I have but I just really wanted to start posting again. I’m probably gonna be cleaning out my drafts and trying to get them out even old ones ppl probably aren’t waiting on anymore to try and get back into a groove on here.

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

[sirfrogsworth]

Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

[infiniteglitterfall]

Additionally, they do not see us as "mentally competent adults," they 100% argue that being trans is a mental illness. Winning against that in court requires that the judges disagree.

They have literally been doing this for years. Because one of those key words is ADULTS. And when you ban trans health care for MINORS, you eliminate some of the customers for the people serving ADULTS, and clinics end up CLOSING.

Like in FUCKING FLORIDA.

Trans adults have been turned away at Florida pharmacies while trying to get their hormones. New rules finalized today will further impact that process.

Two Florida medical boards met Friday to finalize rules for how transgender minors and adults in the state can access gender-affirming care. Amid confusion that has prevented adults from accessing care, LGBTQ+ Floridians and their doctors asked the boards to do better to protect trans people — and to acknowledge gender-affirming care as legitimate medical care. The boards acted in response to a law signed in May 2023 by Gov. Ron DeSantis, which restricted access to gender-affirming care for trans adults and minors.

This article is from June 2023.

"But the Fourteenth Amendment!"

In the aftermath of DeSantis signing the law, LGBTQ+ advocates say that some physicians simply stopped providing gender-affirming care — since they did not yet have the informed consent documents finalized on Friday.

Meanwhile, over the last month, transgender adults in Florida have been turned away at the pharmacy amid confusion about the state’s evolving policies restricting gender-affirming care....

The confusion at pharmacies stems in part from a law that DeSantis signed in May. It mandated that trans adults may receive gender-affirming care from only physicians, instead of nurse practitioners.

That's all it fucking took for absolute chaos to set in for everyone across the entire state.

On July 1, another bill is going into effect that is deeply worrying to Knoll. The law allows pharmacists to refuse to fill a prescription if it violates their ethical or religious beliefs — which he fears will allow more pharmacists to deny gender-affirming care to trans people.

Ultimately, the state’s restrictions on gender-affirming care may not be enforceable, according to the courts.... Lawyers for the state are appealing Hinkle’s decision to the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals.

You cannot simultaneously say that Trump didn't do all this shit people were afraid of, AND that the courts will stop it.

Because THIS is the fucking reality of what that looks like.

Not just a few months of chaos while we, not you battle to establish that this shit is not legal.

This is one moment, one illustration of what that actually entails, out of a CONSTANT onslaught.

Even if every single fucking barrier they put into place -- MANY more of which are described in the rest of this article -- was stopped, this is still CONSTANT chain-yanking. Trans people in Florida, to name just one festering battleground here, have had to go through years and years of these already.

If we win the battles, you assholes smugly tell us that there was and is no problem, it's all media fearmongering. If we lose, you don't even notice, because it has no impact on your life.

I will note, though, that this is at least the third time today that I've seen someone dismiss Trump's past actions, and explicitly stated future plans, as just "he didn't do any of the bad shit you thought he would before."

And I think I understand how the man got reelected.

Stockpile HRT now.

[ode-to-melpomene]

hi hi mel!!! i love all your works and your writing is so wonderful ^^

was wondering if you could write something where one of the bat boys reaches the reader right before they’re about to get kidnapped by some criminals?? like maybe they’re publicly in a relationship w the batboy’s wayne identity n get targeted for that reason but one of the boys gets there js in the nick of time :)

thank u sm and have a great rest of ur day ^^

Love this prompt! Some of these are pre-kidnapping, some are mid-kidnapping. If anyone wants additional characters added, let me know! Hope you enjoy 💛

Daring Rescues

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x gn!reader, Dick Grayson x gn!reader, Jason Todd x gn!reader, Tim Drake x gn!reader Synopsis: Who comes to your aid when you find yourself in need of saving? Word Count: 2466 Warnings: Established relationship! Kidnapping, minor injuries, general mortal peril.

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce knew better than to associate you with Batman. He had learned that lesson a hundred times over by now, how dangerous it was to associate the people he cared for with the cowl. But now wasn't the time to dwell on the blunder.

“Oracle, update,” he barked over the communication device. Bruce perched atop a balcony, staring down at the street below.

“Black SUV turning onto Carlton,” Barbera replied, the sound of her fingers furiously working over the keys of the Batcomputer meeting his ears. “The car is registered to a loan shark put away a few years ago. Suspected ties to Falcone.”

Bruce uttered a grunted mm in response, eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. His eyes scanned the road below. He caught the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance. “GCPD?”

“I’ve got them cutting off side roads. Headed your way now.”

He squared his shoulders and prepared himself to launch from the balcony, one hand braced on the ledge beneath him and the other on his belt. He cocked his head to the East and narrowed his eyes- yes, there. He watched the SUV turn the corner, skidding as it spun around the sharp turn and narrowly avoided oncoming traffic.

“Sixty-three miles an hour?” he guessed.

“Sixty-six. Sounds like you might be losing your touch.”

“Oracle,” Bruce warned. He scowled. That extra speed would change his entry angle.

“Sorry. Dropping in three-”

Bruce’s hand shot to his belt.

“Two-”

The end of the grappling hook shot out from the device in his hand and buried itself within the construction scaffolding across from him. He gave a single tug, then launched himself from the balcony-

“One-”

- And crashed feet first into the rear passenger window of the interior of the modified SUV, seats removed to provide more space in the back. Panicked shouts rang out as glass shards shattered across the interior. Bruce pulled his cape over the lower half of his face, preventing glass from cutting his skin as he hit the floor.

The vehicle swerved and he used the momentum to bring his elbow into collision with a man’s partially covered face, his jaw making a distressing crack at the impact. His other hand lashed out, grabbing the driver by his hair and slamming his face against the steering wheel. The driver’s nose crunched and blood sprayed against the vehicle’s dash.

Hands grasped at his suit and he drove his knee into the third assailant’s ribs, sending him stumbling backwards. Your muffled shriek filled the interior of the SUV as the vehicle swerved and momentarily rocked into the curb.

The driver’s hands gripped at Bruce’s wrist behind his head, his foot flooring the accelerator. Bruce let out a tsk as he lunged forward and looped his arm around the driver’s neck. The man’s shrill scream was quickly silenced as Bruce squeezed the man’s neck in the juncture of his elbow and bicep.

He pulled the man backwards and used his opposite hand to stabilize the chokehold. His freehand reached for the steering wheel, guiding the vehicle down the road. He just needed a moment-

The driver finally went limp in Bruce’s arms. He tugged, pulling the man from his seat and wedged a batarang against the brake, quickly bleeding off speed.

Muffled screams filled the room, followed by a grunt of pain. Familiar hands raked over Bruce’s belt. He gripped the wheel with one hand and turned his head just in time to see a zap of electricity come to life.

You dove towards the third kidnapper, barreling into him and driving the taser into the side of his neck. The man screamed, spasmed, and went limp.

You panted around the gag in your mouth, your hands chained together in front of you. You held the taser tightly in your hands, glaring down with a fiery expression.

When you turned your gaze on him, that fiery passion was replaced with a soft, mirthful glint in your eye. You gave him your best smile, despite the gag, and a cheesy thumbs up.

Bruce scowled, despite the way his heart skipped a beat.

Dick Grayson:

Why did you always have to rush into things?

Of course it was a set up. That was so obvious now that you had a split lip and blood trickling from your nose. It was a last ditch effort on the part of some petty criminals who wanted a piece of the Wayne wealth in exchange for Dick’s hapless partner.

The masked goons cornered you in your own apartment, toying with you like cats stalking a mouse. One swung a pipe wrench and you skittered backwards, nearly bumping into the end table next to your couch. You really needed to move that when this was all over, and make sure the space was less cluttered so you wouldn’t get tripped up like this again-

A blade came slashing down, glinting in the waning sunlight that filled your apartment as it narrowly missed your face. Your curse was met by vicious laughter. With a snarl, you gripped the end table and hucked it at the figure holding the blade. 

Two of the goons jumped away from the end table as it flung towards them. You took the chance to dash to the kitchen, knocking over and tossing random items in your wake. As much as you appreciated the self defense training Dick had put you through, you didn’t trust yourself against their weapons. You took solace in knowing they weren’t here to kill you… but that didn’t mean they weren’t more than willing to rough you up.

You just needed to waste some time. So you threw a plate, a beautiful, arbor rimmed plate that had been a gift to you and Dick from Selina and Bruce (you suspected Selina stole them.) The assailants dodged the ceramic, so you snatched the detachable faucet and sprayed the nearest goon in the face with cold water. Too bad they were smart enough to wear masks.

And then you saw the balcony door slide open. It all happened so fast, a flash of black, blue, and silver darting into the space. Metal clashed with skin, a sickening thunk sounding as an escrima collided with an attacker’s skull. An angered shout tore through the air, only to be quickly silenced by a thud as the outspoken figure hit the floor.

It was over in a matter of moments. Three unconscious bodies on the floor, tucked out of sight behind your kitchen island, and a shadowed figure huffing agitated breaths through gritted teeth. Spots of blood on the escrima, on his face.

You blinked once, twice, clearing the fog from your vision. Nightwing- Dick loomed across from you. He tucked the escrimas behind his back and turned to face you, the scrunch in his brow covered by his mask.

“Are you alright?” you asked, voice barely above a tremble.

His expression softened immediately. He heaved a sigh and dashed around the kitchen island, sweeping you into his tight grasp. You wrapped your arms around him just as eagerly, pressing your face to the stretchy fabric of his suit.

“Should be asking you that, love.” Dick pulled away slightly, holding you at arms length. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you knew he was carefully taking stock of your injuries.

“Just a few scrapes,” you said with a reassuring smile in spite of the way your swollen lip burned. “You should see the other guys.”

Dick barked out a laugh and pulled you flush against him once again, burying you in a tight embrace.

Jason Todd:

You should have called a cab.

Rain poured down on you, drenching you to the skin. Rain hadn’t been on the forecast today–you always made sure to check on days you chose to walk to-and-from work. When you had stepped out of the office building to find a slight drizzle dappling the sidewalk, you had thought nothing of it. Like many other Gothamites, you had assumed it was a passing spring weather.

Now the storm drains gurgled pitifully as water gushed into it. Your clothes were sodden, shoes waterlogged, mood dampened. You squelched down the sidewalk with a sour expression plastered across your features. The torrential downpour quieted your sentences, muffling your ears to the acute sound of footsteps following you from a distance.

You turned onto the next block and huffed, the wind now buffeting you face on. What a dreary, horrible day to be let off late from work. Jason would likely be on patrol by now, leaving you to sit alone in your shared apartment, reheating whatever he had left over from lunch. Maybe you could curl up in your bed and dive into that novel you had both been reading. That could make for a good conversation to wind him down from the emotional high of his patrol-

Foreign hands snatched you from your thoughts and dragged you into a dark alley, your scream muffled by a gloved palm.

You were slammed face first into a brick wall, the rough texture scraping your cheek. You bit back a snarl as the hands turned you around and smacked the back of your head against the hard stone. The chill edge of a blade was pressed to your throat and when your eyes readjusted to the sudden darkness and stinging pain in your head you were met with a masked figure. Great, because what you really needed after a long day was a mugging.

You fought viciously as the figures around you herded you down the back alley like a spitting, snarling animal. You stomped your heel on their feet, bit at their hands, kicked and flailed until you heard muffled requests for rope and chloroform. It wasn’t until you saw the van tucked away beside an industrial grade dumpster that you began caterwauling like an anguished banshee.

You were relieved by the sound of a familiar thump at the edge of the alleyway–you would recognize the sound of those heavy boots dropping anywhere, with how often you heard them on your fire escape. Your attackers slammed you against the van and you barked out a gleeful laugh at the sight. The attackers had a moment to turn their heads before Red Hood was descending on them with ferocity. You turned away, pressing your forehead to the van.

Screams, bones cracking, bodies hitting the ground. It was over quickly. When you turned to face him, his armored chest was heaving and he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. You knew better than to touch him when he was this high strung, so you settled for the safer option.

“Took you look enough,” you teased breathlessly, keeping your gaze one the way the red surface of his helmet snapped to face you instead of on the (you hoped) unconscious kidnappers. “I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to take care of this myself.”

The toe of Jason’s boot nudged an unconscious figure, a red and rapidly welting bite mark blossoming on the individual’s hand and wrist. “I don’t doubt you could’ve, but a little help never hurt.”

You cracked a smile, softening the hard lines of your expression in the hopes it would ease him. His shoulders relaxed at your placating gesture. You extended a hand, fingers spread in a silent offer.

“Walk me home?” you asked, more for his benefit than yours. Your heart still pounded in your chest, but the tightness eased when he interlaced his gloved fingers with yours.

Tim Drake:

Warehouses were such a cliché place to harbor an abductee. What happened to creativity? Tim crawled through an upper window of the dilapidated warehouse, some thirty feet above the ground. He stepped carefully across the rafters as he surveyed the scene.

There you were, a normal college student tied to a chair–well, normal if you ignore the fact that you were rumored to be in a relationship with the Timothy Drake-Wayne. He frowned at the sight of your arms twisted behind you and tied to the back of the chair. They had you situated in the center of the empty room with goons patrolling around you. His eyes sought a singular figure atop a pile of scrap, a rifle in hand. The figure searched the rafters–Tim would have to be careful to avoid him.

Tim stalked across the rafters, keeping to the shadows. He crept across one of the beams that bridged the center of the warehouse, ducking low and staying out of the light. His eyes were fixed on you-

Oh. You perked up, your head lifting and shoulders easing. You knew he was there somewhere, judging by the way your head turned slightly to scan the open room. You tilted your head, a flimsy gesture towards a second figure, patrolling near you with one hand tucked away in her coat. A hidden weapon? He bit back a smile at your clever aid.

Tim took another step, and something clanged. He looked below him, spotting a hook hanging from a long chain, the chain swinging under the beams subtle movements. He turned just in time to see the sniper swing his rifle in the direction of the sound-

You screamed.

The shrill shriek shook each of the assailants and all eyes turned to you. He exhaled a harsh breath of relief as you wailed and the masked figures moved in towards you. The sniper’s weapons whipped towards you and away from Tim.

Tim dropped. His landing was cushioned by the goon you had pointed out, knocking the figure to the ground. He used the momentum to carry himself into a roll, then launched to his feet and barrelled into the next unsuspecting kidnapper. This one was ready, his hands up in fists. Tim gave an opening and ducked as the man’s fist sailed past Tim. He gripped the attacker's arm and yanked, tossing him over Tim’s shoulder. The man landed with a thunk and Tim was quick to follow, extracting a pair of cuffs from his belt and linking the two fallen attackers together.

A shot rang out. It seemed the sniper wasn’t very good, considering Tim remained fully intact. His hands dipped to his belt again and withdrew a few batarangs. A quick volley knocked the sniper's mask askew and sent them stumbling down the rickety pile of scrap they stood upon. He used the opening to launch himself across the room, bo staff extending in hand. He swept the kidnapper’s legs, sending the figure tumbling down the pile.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked as he knelt to cuff and gag the attacker, kicking the rifle aside in the process.

“It got drafty,” you called back from where you sat tied in the center of the room. “Must’ve left the window open.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

in the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel

President Aemond Targaryen x reporter!reader

mini smutshots from the National Anthem series

🍒 18+ MINORS D N fucking I 🍒

a/n: may this serve as your lusty reprieve from the great shitshow that has been unfolding. This contains scenes scattered throughout the series, and may contain spoilers, but who are we kidding. We knew these things would happen. No taglist—this will find you I'm sure.

main masterlist

after Aemond wines and dines you, convincing you to take on the job

The ride back to his suite was torturous. He wasn't sure if he had ever been left desiring someone so much, after his fingertips dragged along the wet lips of your pussy.

Your panties were lodged in his pocket like some consolation prize.

He'd much rather have the real thing, much rather be thrusting deep in your throbbing walls. His pelvic bone slamming against your ass as he jackrabbits with wild abandon. You, his pretty girl, his angel, squirting all over him.

All over his desk. All over the pristine leather backseat of his car. All over his Lyseni cotton sheets.

All over his thick cock.

Finally alone, he leaned back in his chair, bringing the delicate fabric to his face, inhaling deeply as his other hand slid down, unzipping his slacks, freeing the ache that had been building the whole night.

The desk was littered with confidential files and pressing matters, but all he could focus on was you—and how much he wanted you there, spread across his desk, begging.

His grip on his cock tightened, knuckles whitening as he drew your lace panties closer, pressing them firmer against his face, savoring every lingering trace of you. The scent was intoxicating, clouding his mind with memories of your skin, the sounds you made when he almost had you.

He imagined you there, straddling him, back arched, your tits bouncing free from your stiff white blouse. You would plead for his hands on you.

His strokes quickened, his jaw clenched as he envisioned tearing the lace from your body, you in different yet equally tantalising positions.

A low growl escaped him as he came, hips jerking, his release hot and messy over his fingers, desperate satisfaction twisting into a smirk on his lips.

It won't be long until he had the real thing.

His angel, falling apart on his cock.

The President and yourself, one night in his palatial holiday estate

The silk of his tie was tight over your eyes, leaving you in total darkness as you lay sprawled on the bed, legs spread and wrists pinned above your head.

"Look at you, angel," he murmured, his voice husky as his fingers traced down your throat, feeling the way you trembled under him. "Completely at my mercy. Can’t see a damn thing, can you?"

You shook your head, breath hitching as his hand slid down, spreading your legs wide, controlling your every motion. Controlling you.

His lips dragging down your neck, he bit just hard enough to leave a mark. "You’re not touching me tonight, angel," he growled, his mouth wetly brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "All you get to do is lie there and take everything I give you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," you shakily whispered back.

With a wicked smirk, he slid the thick head of his cock against your drenched folds, dragging it up and down, coating himself in your slickness before finally plunging all the way in, stretching you wide with one unforgiving thrust.

"Aemond," you gasped, a shuddering moan leaving your lips as he filled you, every inch pushing you to your limit.

"Fuck, you’re perfect," he groaned, his hands on your hips in a bruising hold, keeping you in place as he pounded into you, hitting the soft spot in your walls, leaving you trembling. "Such a good little angel…"

"You feel that?" he hissed, his pace unrelenting as he drove into you harder. "That's what it’s like to be fucked by a man who can't get enough of you. Who's going to ruin you every damn time until you’re soaked and wrecked, begging for more."

President Aemond was just as fucking mouthy in bed as he was in those rallies.

But just like everyone else, you were entranced by him. You would eat up every single word.

Especially there, especially then.

His fingers found their way between your legs, circling your swollen clit, his touch skilled, ruthless, dragging you closer to oblivion with every flick.

"You're dripping for me, angel," he muttered. "So desperate for my cock, aren't you? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't even walk tomorrow?"

"Yes, Aemond," you gasped, each word a broken plea as he hammered home, his pace vicious. "Please… don't stop… Don't you dare fucking stop."

"Oh, I'm not stopping," he growled, practically splitting you open as he buried himself deep, until you were a writhing mess beneath him. "I'm going to fuck you... until your pretty pussy can't take any more."

And with a final, brutal thrust, he sent you over the edge, your release crashing through you in waves, leaving you breathless and shuddering, barely able to moan his name as he drove into you a few more times, his own release tearing from him with a guttural moan, his presidential seed coating your insides.

When he claimed your lips, tongue dragging along the outline of your mouth, he decreed, "You're mine, angel... Mine forever."

At the height of Aemond's campaign, in his office

Under the grand mahogany desk in his office, you were on your knees, Aemond's cock stretching your mouth as he lounged in his leather chair.

He had one hand buried in your hair, guiding you as he wanted. The heady taste of him filled you as you hollowed your cheeks, dragging your lips down his length, letting him hit the back of your throat with every stroke. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you fought to take every thick inch he fed you.

His angel, ever so eager to please.

"I wanna see you choke on my cock, angel. Take all of me. Like that... good girl."

Just as he let out a soft, restrained groan, the office door opened. You froze, your poor heart racing as you recognized the heavy footsteps that entered. Aemond's bodyguard, Steve, had stepped into the room, file in hand.

Aemond didn't even flinch. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his face impassive as he addressed Steve in a perfectly composed manner. "You have that report for me?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's voice was just as steady, but there was the slightest hesitation, a subtle shift in his voice that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

Aemond's fingers curled in your hair, urging you to continue. So you did, the notion of being discovered sending an undeniable thrill through you. You began to move again, tonguing his length.

"Just leave it on the desk, Steve," he said dismissively.

When Steve rushed out of the office, your Aemond resurfaced.

"You love this, don’t you?" he muttered, his composure slipping now that you were alone again. "Sucking me off... knowing someone could catch you, knowing they'd see how filthy my angel truly is."

Not long after, the warm, salty taste of him hit your tongue in hot and heavy spurts, filling your mouth.

He held you in place, refusing to let you pull away as he emptied himself down your throat.

You kept your lips sealed around him, your tongue pressed flat along the underside of his cock, feeling every shudder, every twitch as he spilled the last of his release.

"Fuck, fuck yes... my good girl."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, but Aemond was quick in letting you know that he hadn't had his fill of you yet. Truthfully, he never would have enough.

Always needing you, always needing more.

His strong arms carry you sit on top of his desk, hitching your skirt up to reveal the glistening lips of your pussy.

It was his angel's turn.

And so the President got on his fucking knees, and devoured.

May the gods bless Westeros, indeed.