#i had the ABSOLUTE DISPLEASURE

[pigeonpuddles]

I would say warrior's problems could be solved by having people other than 70 year old white women write the books but at this point I think we're lucky that people are writing them at all.

[cadmium-creme-egg]

poor car got beat to hell and back by a hailstorm throwing baseballs this afternoon. fortunately i have full coverage cause ouch

unfortunately, guess what's about to move over us again

[enbyleighlines]

So I’ve never read or watched Banana Fish nor do I ever have any intention of reading/watching it

But I just found out how it ends and I’m FURIOUS

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

tying alpha!toji down because he can’t keep his filthy knot to himself during your heat.

cw - smut, bondage, a/b/o mechanics, omega!reader, fem!reader, not proofread

“toji, i’m being serious. you’re not touching me until you can learn to pull out,” he didn’t even know why you were complaining. you loved being knotted by him, but apparently, it’s some sort of issue now that you’ve ran out of your birth control pills, and toji absolutely loathes condoms.

he expected you to last maybe half a day during your heat without him bedding and satiating you. you’re historically very needy during heats, and he’s more than willing to placate you over and over again. you’ll surely forget all about that pesky birth control and allow him to take care of you.

he ended up being the one coming to you. it had been a full day of your whines and cries filtering in and out of the bedroom. your scent was intoxicating, causing toji to have a permanent boner straining in his pants.

it was absolute torture, listening to his omega sob from dissatisfaction… especially when he knew that he had everything you needed. you were just so damn stubborn.

you were such a pretty sight to behold: arched up with your head thrown back. your eyes were squeezed shut as dewy tears slid down your cheeks. your body was flushed and trembling as you desperately rubbed your fingers in tight circles around your swollen clit.

“are you gonna quit being stubborn and let me help, princess? or am i going to have to keep hearing you all night?” he asked with a smug smirk, figuring you’d start begging for him right away.

“i-i don’t know. have you learned how to pull out?” even while completely wrecked, you were standing firm in your convictions.

“i don’t know. i haven’t tried yet,” he grinned, prowling closer to you in your nest. he knows that he could pounce on you and take an advantage of your… compromise positioning, but he much prefers when you beg and plead for it.

“ugh— you made me lose it,” you let out the most adorable frustrated growl that toji had ever had the pleasure of hearing, causing him to chuckle at your displeasure.

“you weren’t getting there anyway, doll. let me help ya,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes cascaded over your body hungrily.

“shut up,” you snap, making him to raise an eyebrow at you. he doesn’t give up his amusement from your sudden attitude. no, he actually finds your bratty side just as endearing to him.

you get up and walk out of the bedroom briefly, letting toji’s confusion and curiosity eat at him until you return to the bedroom with a dining chair.

“sit,” you demand, and toji obeys after ripping his clothes away from his body with an expectant grin on his face.

“oh fuck yeah, you want to take what you need from me?” he asks as you reach into a bedside drawer. he’s assuming that you’re grabbing a bottle of lube even though he can see your glossy slick pooling and seeping from between your thighs. he licks his lips, feeling his mouth water from pure animalistic drive.

when you lean back up with ropes in your hand, his eyebrows furrow in confusion. how are you to ride him while being tied up..? he could easily jostle you around, throw you up and down his cock until your crying and gushing, but he didn’t necessarily know if that was safe to do while you’re bound.

imagine his surprise when you start restraining the ropes around his pretty scarred skin. the rough fabric hugged his muscles perfectly, creating the prettiest harness for him.

“what d’ya think you’re doing, doll? you aren’t that mad at me, are ya?” he asked as he sat still for you, letting you do your thing to him.

once he was fully restrained, he’d struggle against the ropes, letting out small grunts and disappointed groans when the bright red rope only tightens around his muscles, rubbing small burns into his skin that make him growl in displeasure.

your honeyed scent is killing him, absolutely filling the room to the brim with your scent of need. he knows you need him. right? you need toji to fix it for you, but you’ve went ahead and tied him to this damn chair at the foot of your bed.

he didn’t know a lowly omega in heat would be so ruthless when knotting the ropes over his bare abs and biceps. his wrists are even bound together behind the god forsaken chair. worst of all, there’s a band of rope looped over his waist so he can’t buck his hips. the thick braided thread rubs deliciously over his hardening length. only the thin fabric of his boxer briefs are protecting him from rope burn on his most sensitive appendage.

alphas are suppose to remain in control, but he absolutely let you play him like a fool.

all he can do is sit and watch as you crawl back into your nest, settling down on your back with your legs spread for him to gaze at your glistening pussy.

“let this serve as a lesson, toji,” you say to him, slowly bringing your fingers to your pouty lips before sucking on them to coat them in spit.

toji watches closely, studying every move your body makes while you’re on display for him. his jaw clenches, knowing that should be his fingers you’re sucking on.

when you pull them from your mouth with an obscene pop and slowly rub them over your swollen clit, toji immediately pulls hard from the chair. no way in hell is he going to watch you pitifully try to satisfy yourself while he can’t do a damn thing about it.

he’s your mate for crying out loud. his literal existence is tailored to pleasuring and treating you, but you want him to sit and watch as you do a piss poor job at doing his job?

“c’mon doll,” he pants, clenching his jaw as his dark green eyes flutter between staring at your pretty face and pussy. “i was only messin’ with ya. i’ll pull out— promise.”

you ignore him, knowing that he’s saying whatever he can so you’ll release him. you hum as your fingers continue to lightly rub and tease yourself for his viewing.

toji growls and curses. his body is aching for a taste of you. he knows he can bring you more pleasure than what you’re doing right now, but also, his cock is straining so hard against the ropes, it feels like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

when you slip two fingers into your slick channel, something akin to a whine flees toji’s lips. he’s been reduced to a dog — sitting at the foot of your bed, watching helplessly as you leisurely pump your fingers in and out.

his hips try to buck upwards, and he lets out a strangled groan as the rope rubs up and down his length. it’s the only friction he can get right now.

“tojiii~” you whine, trying to reach the spot with your fingers that he knows all too well.

“i know, baby, i know,” he grunts, still awkwardly rocking his hips to get the smallest amount of friction. “let me out so i can take care of ya. c’mon, let your alpha take care of you,”

that sounds like a perfect idea, you think as you reach back over to the bedside drawer, pulling out a dildo that was completely modeled after toji’s cock — every ridge and vein for when he was gone on overnight hits.

“no,” he growls, seeing the look of mischief on your face. “that’s not—“

his words crumble as soon as he sees you wrap your pretty lips around the tip of the dildo. you’re so fucking stunning like this. he flexes his muscles, trying to break his way out of the chair to get to you.

the chair creaks in protest, and the ropes only grow tighter against his skin. he realizes he’s sweating as he watches you get up on your knees on the bed. your dildo on the mattress, pointed upwards so you can ride it right in front of him.

the look of relief on your face as you slowly stretch yourself out on his fake tip makes him nearly whine. he’s never begged for anything in his life, but he’s close to begging for you to let him out.

he’s completely enamored by the way you’re taking fake him so well. you’ve got tears in your eyes, undoubtedly feeling the slight burn of being filled so full, but he knows you can take it.

his hips move in sync with yours, letting the rope rub against his fat cock as you slowly adjust and bounce on your dildo.

“please—“ he finally grunts in a breathy whisper when you bottom out. he can barely take it anymore, watching you while not being able to touch himself.

“please what?” you taunt in a breathy tone, still slowly dragging your hips up and down along the pretty dildo.

toji doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. he only knows that he needs you carnally. “fucking, brat— you know i need you,”

“mmmph! sounds like you haven’t learned your lesson.”

oh and you look oh so pretty while taking his fake dick. he can’t even pull his eyes away from you. his hips are shakily rutting into the ropes, taking what little friction he can get in stride.

“fuck, toji..” you gasp, causing him to let out a strangled growl. his head tips back, and you take a moment to admire his big beefy body all tied down and sweaty. his pheromones are honestly starting to overpower yours, and it’s dizzying.

he’s basically whimpering, humping the air like a dog as his eyes are glued to how your slick folds are accepting the dildo so well. he can feel just how well you’d take him in this situation. he’d be able to feel every little flutter and clench around his thick cock.

“please,” he tries again. he’s broken for you. never in his life would he think that he would beg for anything, but you’re too sweet of a prize to let his pride ruin. “please doll… let your alpha come take care of you. i’ll… i’ll be good.”

meanwhile, your hips are bouncing up and down aggressively. the dildo modeled after his cock feels so damn good, filling you up entirely and nudging against the spot that makes you see stars, but it’s no where close to the real thing. still, toji’s scent and whimpering is enough to keep you going.

“yeah?” you pant, “you’ll be g-good? how so?”

the chair creaks as toji’s hips are working hard. he’s matching your pace, trying to picture you riding him like that. “i’ll lay down and let you use me.. fuck, you can take what you want from me, doll. i’m yours.. just please…”

the wet sounds of your sliding up and down the girthy rubber dildo along with the chair violently creaking with each pathetic hump toji’s hips make fill the air. he’s completely whimpering now, damn near sobbing about how he’ll be a good boy for his omega. you fear you’ve unlocked something deep inside him.

it’s all too much. your body begins to quiver as your muscles draw taut. you’re so close, and the nagging fear of not being able to finish without toji’s help slithers into your brain.

“god— fuucking dammit,” a strangled growl get your attention, and you look to see toji with his head tilted back. his rutting is messy and losing it’s rhythm. then, you see the wet spot in his boxers.

he came without any touch.

the pathetic sight is enough to throw your right over the edge, sending you into oblivion as you cry out on the dildo. toji’s still pumping his hips like he’s trying to telepathically fuck you through your orgasm.

after a moment, the room falls into a deadly quiet. you look at toji while panting, knowing you have to untie him and some point, and he’s going to give you hell to pay.

@theuniversesnepobaby here’s sub toji that you’ve been wanting

[leclercandcozy]

Monaco’s Busiest Flower Shop ╰┈➤ LN4

summary: when lando norris keeps coming into your flower shop, you’re determined to figure out why he needs that many orders.

[word count] 6.1k

warnings: strangers to friends to lovers | flower shop owner! reader | fluff | humor | obvious and some not so obvious pining | kissing | humour! | cliches! | mature themes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: hello!!! and welcome to my very first formula one fic 🙌🏻 I’ve been writing nhl fics for years now and i’ve decided it’s finally time to dip my toe into some new media! hope any devoted f1 readers and/or my previous followers take their time to check this out.

🎶 say you love me by fleetwood mac, message in a bottle by taylor swift + don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

lando norris has never been too fond about the smell of flowers.

it's not that there's anything wrong with the floral scent—it's just definitely, absolutely not for him. there's something about that light, almost crisp musty smell that rubs lando the wrong way.

or maybe it's perhaps what he associates with those smells. red roses? his primary school principal who very clearly had it out for lando. daisies? the single flower he picked for his 1st grade crush, and she threw the petals back in his face as some sort of childish rejection. lilies? his late grandmothers funeral. morbid, yes, but true.

so to say he was dreading walking into this monaco floral shop was an understatement. it's painted a pastel peach, windowsills just a few shades darker so that they stand out from the brick. not that you can really see them though, not with the abundance of flowers in the hanging window baskets.

lando has already passed the store twice in procrastination. the first time he claimed he needed a coffee from the cafe across the street—because if he had to go in a flower shop, he at least needed some caffeine to serve as a pick me up while he did so.

the second time—okay, well, the second time he didn't have a valid excuse. lando simply just kept trucking by like the peach coloured brick wasn't flashing at him. taunting him with its happy colour and girly smell.

it's just...it's his elderly neighbours birthday. his elderly neighbour who he adores and who always bakes cookies for him, and lando won't be home to wish her well because of traveling. and she loves flowers. lando knows this because they're always on her counter, and he can smell peonies on her clothes anytime she stops by for milk, pinching lando's cheek while she calls him adorable.

so he knows he has to do this. his displeasure towards the arrangements be damned. lando tells himself to man the hell up and do this one nice thing for the sweet woman across the hall.

lando inhales strongly, collecting as much monaco sea air as possible before entering the shop. the wooden door creaks as he pushes it open, and instantly lando is hit with a million pollen and petal particles.

"fuckin' hell." he mumbles to himself, voice barley audible as his green eyes trail around the shop. with something similar to a grimace on his face, lando takes in the overgrown space. flowers fill every available space, making it almost impossible for a normal folk—or clueless folk—like him to navigate through.

lando takes a step, and the floorboards groan under his weight, giving away how worn and aged this place is. it's been a flower shop for as long as lando has lived in monaco, and for a moment, he lets himself wonder how long before too. surely, years based on the way that the smell so practically oozing from the light blue striped wallpaper.

wallpaper he can barley see, mind you, due to the wall of roses.

"is there something I can help you find?"

lando blinks, head snapping away from a bright yellow bundle of...some kind of flower, and towards the direction of your voice.

there's a section of teal counter, an old fashioned register and company cards sitting on top, and that's where you are. you've got on a apron that's the same peach colour as the bricks outside. and your hair’s pulled back in an effortless kind of way, and lando already knows that you smell like the flowers all around.

he swallows roughly and blinks again.

you smile, almost in amusement, and that's when he realizes that he's been stroking a flower petal like a muppet. "sorry, yeah, actually."

lando weaves through the various display tables until he's at the counter. up close, he's able to get a proper look at you, and his mouth goes dry at the sight. you're ridiculously beautiful. like other worldly kind of beautiful that would make even the most charismatic and charming men fall to their knees.

also known as him.

lando pushes through the sudden school boy nerves that are threatening to climb up his throat, sending you a boyish—yet confident—grin. "I want to send my neighbour flowers for her birthday, but i've got no clue about flowers."

you hum, "okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"

he sends you a sheepish look, palms flat on the counter top. "all of them."

you giggle and lando swears he could faint at the sound.

"all of them?"

"yeah," he nods, "I swear that lady is like a bloody flower enthusiast. she's always got them on her island." lando pauses, a smile pulling at his lips, "and her windowsill. and her balcony. and her bedroom surely."

your fingers drum along the counter in thought. lando notes that your nails are painted a pink. it reminds him of the monaco sunset.

"and how old is said neighbour."

he blows out a breath and then grins cheekily, "elderly."

"i'd go with something classic," you tell him after a moment. you reach for a binder tucked between the register and the wall. it's blue and decorated with uniformed stickers and sharpie notes. you flip it open, swiping through a few sheets.

you point to a flower lando has never heard of, but he leans in and looks like he understands anyways. maybe—just a possibility—he was doing it so he could be closer to you. and yup, you smell like a flower field.

"i'd also throw some carnation in there. it's a classic flower for a piece. and beautiful."

lando's eyes dart away from the book and meet yours. they're swimming with passion and eagerness. it's cute, and lando can't help but to smile like a lunatic—teeth on full display. "I trust you, do whatever you think will make her happy."

your smile widens, "what's your budget."

he purses his lips. he hasn't really even thought about it. how much do flowers even cost? a beat passes, "don't have one."

your eyes widen briefly before you manage to control yourself. you're well aware that monaco is full of rich and wealthy people—even if you're not familiar with every single face that walks into your shop—but hearing those words never fails to suprise you.

flowers are expensive, and someone as clueless about flowers as the man in front of you seems to be, would have no idea.

"okay, that's great." you grab a form from behind the counter and then reach for a pen. you click the top a few times, the sound audible over the radio playing softly in the background. "when do you want the flowers to arrive?"

he tells you the date and you neatly write it down.

"and what's the name of the recipient?"

repeat.

"and the name of the sender?" you question after jotting down the previous answer. your eyes flicker up towards his green ones, a hint of personal curiosity in your gaze.

he takes his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to contain the embarrassing grin wanting to take over his face. "lando."

"lando." you repeat.

"and your name?"

the pen in your hand almost falls away, your eyes quickly finding his once more. "y/n." you tell him timidly, warmth collecting high on your cheeks as he repeats your name, slowly, like he's testing out how it sounds.

his eyes don't stray from yours, gaze tense and fond in a way that makes you positively squirm. you clear your throat, ball tip of the pen hitting the paper once more. "and the address?"

lando recites his neighbours address with ease, and you write down it just as quick. you question him on a few more basic things; phone number for contact purposes, if he’d like a card with the arrangement, and if so what he’d like to say, and you even asked him what day he’d prefer for delivery.

he asks if you do the deliveries, and you get warm again—lando wants to bathe in the pink of your cheeks. you tell him you have a driver who does it for you.

after he signs his name on the form, you take it back from him, moving towards the register between you. it’s silent for moment while you presumably log in, nails tapping rhythmically on the screen while you do so.

“can't make her birthday?”

your question has lando momentarily confused, brows pulled tight. it’s only when you raise an eyebrow in silent amusement that lando remembers who he’s getting the arrangement for—and why he’s here in the first place.

“oh, right,” he swallows roughly, “no I can't, i'm traveling for work.”

you hum and shoot him a curious glance. “what do you do for work?”

he laughs once and breathy, eyes falling down towards the floorboards for a few moments. once he meets your gaze again, he notes that you haven’t look away—and you look more intrigued than before.

lando grins, “you're not going to believe me if I tell you.”

“are you putting on some kind of mysterious act?” your fingers halt on the screen—hovering over the baby breath button—and you squint hesitantly.

“depends?” he hisses through his teeth, “is it working?”

“I suppose so,” you breathe a sound that almost sounds like a laugh, eyes darting away before quickly darting back to his. “i'm definitely curious now.”

“wasn't before?”

you kiss your teeth to keep a fond smile from blossoming on your face. you’ve dealt with flirty customers before, obviously, but there’s something about the curly haired, gap toothed smiley one in front of you now that has you actually flustered.

you decide to not answer right away, clicking a few more flowers on your computer for the order print. finally, after what feels like an eternity for lando, you answer.

“you're cheeky,” you muse.

he’s still grinning. “it's a part of my charm.”

you bark a laugh, “I bet it is.”

the door creaks open, breaking whatever trance the both of you had been in. a customer, a few years older than you, walks in causally—moving towards some daffodils you’d potted this morning.

you clear your throat, looking away from lando’s green gaze, and back towards the till. he watches you click a few more buttons and type some codes in—and then the printer is whirling to life.

the customer picks a bouquet and moves to wait behind lando.

his heart pings at the time being interrupted.

“i'll just take your card information then,” you say promptly, “my machine takes a picture of it for billing, if that’s okay with you?”

lando slides his credit card over the counter, “yeah, sure. thank you.” he watches as you carefully take his card—like it’s made of gold—and place it on some fancy machine lando couldn’t even attempt to dissect. it makes a few clicking sounds, presumably capturing the information, and then you pass it back to him.

“all right, you're all set.” your fingers brush his when lando takes it back.

“I appreciate this.” lando shoots a glance over his shoulder once the guy starts impatiently tapping his foot. and look at that—he’s suddenly got the urge to punch out your next customer!! without hesitation, lando looks back at you, continuing like nothing. “I think I would've been completely lost without you.”

you grin, smoothing down the front of your apron like a nervous habit. “we'll, it is my job.”

“you're good at it,” he compliments with an earnest smirk.

it makes you laugh awkwardly, absentmindedly reaching out to straighten up the stack of local business pamphlets. you keep them there for weddings as it helps local venues get recognition. “i'm not sure one could really be good at taking information for a floral arrangement,” you mumble modestly.

“well I think you're great.” lando answers quickly.

the guy behind him clears his throat and lando has to stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull.

you smile politely and lando, despite the annoyance for the douche waiting in line, follows suit, his own toothy grin reappearing. “i'll be seeing you, y/n.”

—

almost a month passes before you see lando again. despite the hopes of him walking back through the front door of your flower shop again, you didn’t believe the day would come.

but here he is, clad in a branded sweatshirt and shorts with his curly hair all unruly like he’s been running his fingers through it on the way over.

lando has some dignity, so he pretends to look very interested in the rose display before letting his eyes wander in search of you. yeah well, that whole self dignity thing lasts 20 seconds before his sights are set on you in your peach apron.

you can’t help but grin once you feel his gaze land upon you. like him, you also wanted to seem casual, so as soon as you realized it was him walking through your door, you reached for a book, and flipped it open to a random page in some attempt to appear scholarly.

you can’t even remember if this book is yours or the delivery guys.

“back for more flowers?” you ask, eyes flickering up to his approaching figure.

lando grins, “yeah.” no.

you close the book and put it back in the half dusty corner you found it. “the neighbour again?” you question, placing your palms flat against the counter.

he rubs the back of his neck. “not this time, but she loved them so much—sent me cookies as a thank you and everything.”

“i'm offended that you didn't bring me one,” you tease him quickly and easily, making lando’s stomach do that funny drop you get on a carnival ride.

you log into the register and lando laughs, answering you with an impressed raise to his eyebrows, “they barley lasted 10 minutes.”

you snicker at that. opening up a new order form in his file, you ask—“so who are these ones for?”

lando almost curses aloud. he really hadn’t thought this far ahead. when he woke up this morning he had a plan. he really did. despite the jet lag he’s still battling from three weeks of consistent travel paired with inconsistent sleep, lando was going to get up early and come visit your shop.

he was going to turn on his natural flirtatious side and ask you to dinner or something just as chivalrous—perhaps the new cocktail lounge that opened up just down the street from your shop.

but then you asked him with a pretty smile if he was back for more flowers and he just said yes without a second to process the question.

you wait patiently, fingers still—and now a bit longer and painted a sky blue—for his answer. an answer that’s taking a suspiciously long time for a person who supposedly came in here to but flowers.

lando clears his throat, “my...sister.”

“your sister?”

“yeah,” he nods, “it's her graduation.” she’s only in second year at uni, you idiot.

your eyebrows draw together with confusion.“in august?”

lando rubs along the back of his tanned neck once more, and you pick up that it must be an anxious habit. “yeah,” he winces, eyes trickling back to yours from where they briefly settled on the worn wood beneath his feet. “i'm a little late.”

“alright well,” you exhale, bringing out that same binder from last time. “let's do something simple, and something that says sorry for the late arrangement.” your teasing tone has lando smiling softly. you don’t catch it, too busy flipping through the pages in search of the flower you’d thought of it your head.

“yeah,” he breathes, “sounds great.”

you make a little trumpet noise when you find the poppies, letting lando choose between the variety of colours. he picks orange, says it’s his favourite, and you think that, oddly enough, it suits him.

you repeat the same process as before, and when you ask for a delivery address, lando just spews out his own. it’s not like you’d know anyways—besides, he can’t tell you that his sister actually lives in the UK and will not be receiving these flowers period.

so yeah, his address will do.

“okay, these will only take me 20 minutes tops. would you prefer delivery again? or would you like me to text you when they’re done and you can come pick them up?”

lando stutters for a moment, the excitement that settles in his chest at the thought of seeing you again today almost too much for him to bear. “I’ll come back, if that’s okay with you?”

you grin with half amusement, “i’m definitely okay with that.” you print the order form and grab it from the printer once it’s finished up. “I’ll text your number on file when they’re done.”

and before he can’t say anything else, lando just smiles dreamily, “please.”

when you do text him 30 minutes later, he returns to the shop almost immediately after, a cheeky grin on his face and two takeaway cups of coffee in his hands, you can’t help but to accept one. it takes him another 20 minutes before he leaves again, both of you too distracted with learning about one another to notice the passing time.

—

a week and many daydreams of lando walking through the front door of the store later, does he actually walk into the shop. he's gotten a hair cut since the last time you saw him. it's neater, but still got that messy look that makes him look like the main love interest in a early 2000s rom com.

lando’s got a container in one hand and a smile on his face. unlike last time, he doesn’t even glance at the flowers, and instead makes a beeline right for you.

you’re fussing over some sunflowers that are beginning to wilt in a large mosaic vase set out in front of the large window—giving the shop most of the sunlight you crave.

“you're back,” you note, eyes closing in to the tupperware in his large hand. “and you've got...are those cookies?” you turn away from the flowers, gently crossing your arms just as lando comes to a stop.

he grins proudly, “I saved you some this time.”

the brief conversation about homemade cookies from his elderly neighbour crosses your mind, and your eyes widen in recognition. “you didn't need to do that,” you scold kindly, not yet taking the container lando is gesturing out to you. “I was only playing,” you admit shyly.

“it's no big deal,” he shrugs, smile growing once you timidly take the clear container that holds four cookies. “plus, it's a thank you for all your help.”

“well,” you laugh once as you walk towards the counter, placing the cookies down next to the register before turning back to lando. he’s not near the sunflowers like you expected. no, he’s followed you to the counter.

you smile shyly, “thank you for the treat.” lando runs his hand over his sweatshirt—it’s a chiller morning in monaco, oddly enough—and mumbles some kind of compliment.

your cheeks heat anyways. “have you only come here to bring me these?” you squint inquisitively after a beat passes, eyeing lando.

“what?” his voice cracks embarrassingly, leaving him no choice but to awkwardly clear his throat. “no.” yes. “I had to be in the area.” no he really didn’t. “met up with a friend for coffee,” oh did he now? “told him all about your shop.”

his awful lies are all worth it the second an appreciative look flashes over your face. “did you?”

“I did,” lando swallows roughly and shoves his hands into his pockets. “he said he'd have to check it out.”

your lips part, but the shrill noise of the mint green phone attached to the wall ringing stops whatever words you planned to say. you look away from the phone and back to lando, sending him a guilty smile. “duty calls. excuse me.”

he watches you round behind the counter and answer the phone. lando’s not too sure why he sticks around for the phone call to finish up. maybe it’s the way he’s too entranced watching you in your element to leave, or maybe because he still hasn’t asked you out, and was planning to do it today before the phone started to ring. lando’s not quite sure.

regardless, he’s still there once you’ve finished the call, and you send him a look. “everything okay?”

lando blinks, “I also came because I need another flower arrangement.” he wonders if you can actually smell the bullshit coming form his mouth.

“oh!” you emote, “really?”

“yeah, my race engineer is getting married.” no lando, actually, your race engineer has been married for 10 years.

your eyes flash, “race engineer huh? you work with cars?” you question while bringing up his file.

“something like that.”

you smile, nodding your head slowly like you don’t quite believe him. lando almost wants to shrink in on himself and hide from your gaze—but that means he wouldn’t be able to look at you, and that sounds downright dreadful.

“alright, well, let me get something together then.”

—

four days before lando needs to leave for the british grand prix, he's walking back through the front door of the peach painted brick building.

it's not like you were expecting him or anything, but you're not surprised when the door creaks open and you catch sight of a familiar head of curls. what does surprise you though is the two men he's with—you presume they are his friends.

your curious and intrigued eyes catch lando's. despite the smile he sends your way, you can see something that looks a lot like embarrassment coupled with annoyance twisted within his expression.

his friends though? they couldn't look further from annoyed if they tried. both tall men who look around lando's age, scan your overgrown floral shop with wide eyes and amused grins.

"hello." you swallow thickly as their gazes land on you. your body naturally wants to freeze in place, especially when lando's friends somehow grow more smug and excited at the sight of you.

"y/n, hi." lando speaks first, his greeting coming out in one long breathe of relief—like physically seeing you now is allowing him to finally exhale.

"hello," the one who previously stood on lando's left greets you, a teasing glint in his eyes that makes you heat up. you note that he's got a similar accent to lando. the guy leans against the counter—not intimidating, but rather casual—"so, you own this place, right? do your own arrangements?"

"I do," you nod, already itching to reach for your binder just to look busy. your eyes narrow, "do you need an arrangement?"

"I actually do," he says, inspecting one of your business cards next to the register. his eyes flicker back to yours, "it's my girlfriend and I's anniversary, so i'd like to get a few big arrangements."

the other friend walks up next to the other one, a wide smile of his face. he's got the same accent—you wonder if they all grew up together. "lando hasn't stopped talking about you and this place for weeks. and when george here mentioned his anniversary, we just knew we had to come see what all the hype was about."

your eyes flicker towards lando, who has now come to stand beside his two friends. lando's cheeks heat and his eyes briefly meet the floor like they've done many times in your shop.

"is that so?" you ask the nameless friend, a slight teasing tone to your voice that has lando grinning automatically. when he looks back up, his eyes naturally lock with yours.

he sends you a meek smile and it doesn't go unnoticed by his friends, the two giving one another a look as you return the gesture.

"don't listen to these muppets," lando grumbles, "they've been in one too many crashes."

you let out a quiet laugh, fiddling with the pocket of your peach apron. you force your eyes away from lando's familiar ones and back to george—or so you think the other one called him. "I've got a form to go over with you, if you'd actually like to place an order."

george smiles appropriately, "yes, thank you." like lando has seen you do before, you go through the entire process with george in a quick yet efficient manner, taking down his information and helping him pick out the florals for the two arrangements george plans on having delivered in two weeks time.

once it's all done and you've printed the order form, you turn your gaze back on lando, a half hidden smile instantly pulling on his lips as you do. "is there anything else I can help you guys with today?"

"i'm okay, thank you," his other friend grins and extends his large hand to you over the counter, "i'm alex."

you take his hand delicately and lando hates how a pang of jealousy hits his chest. alex is literally in a relationship you muppet. "y/n."

the process repeats with george, who makes some kind of lame joke that works in making you laugh in amusement. lando naturally shifts, practically shoving george out of the way so that he's the one closest to you instead.

"lando." you greet with a knowing smile, "are you getting anything today?"

"not today-"

alex interrupts before lando can continue further. "im sure he'll be back soon enough to place an order though," he knocks his shoulder into lando's teasingly, "he really loves your place."

"oh yeah, he really—"

"alright," lando smothers whatever annoying thing george was planning to add on to alex's comment. he sends both of his friends a warning look, "I'll meet you guys outside, yeah?"

the two of them snicker—alex even tosses his hands up in a mock surrender—while the two of them make their way back through the flower shop and in the direction of the door. before the door creaks back open to reveal the monaco skyline, both alex and george send you enthusiastic departures, followed by inaudible whispers and laughter.

silence fills the store once more. lando's face is still tinged red in a flustered and slightly embarrassed way, and it has a little giggle slipping from your lips.

lando's lips turn upwards immediately. "I'm sorry about them, again," he retorted his earlier apology. "they insisted on coming with me when I mentioned stopping by tonight."

well, not exactly the truth. in all honesty, george and alex had both grown sick and tired of hearing lando talk about you and your shop—constantly—and forced lando to bring them so they could see what all the fuss was about. on the way over to your shop, lando had made his friends promise to behave and not scare you away—because that's the last thing he needed.

but then they walked in, saw why lando was so fond of you, and all promises of good behaviour were left at the door.

"they're fine," you reassure truthfully, a small smile playing on your lips. "so there's really nothing for you today?"

lando ponders for a moment, lips pursed while his eyes dart around the shop. right next to the counter you've got a selection of pre-made arrangements, easy for grab and gos for last minute birthday dinners, and early morning stops. lando picks the one with the most orange and places it on the counter between you.

"i'll take these, actually."

your grin widens and in an attempt to conceal it, you duck your head, busying yourself with wrapping them in paper for departure.

after a beat, your gaze finds his once again, except this time, its swimming with hesitation and a pile of curiosity. you clear your throat, finishing the last fold on the arrangement, "so...are these for your girlfriend?"

lando's ears pick up the distaste and envy that laces your question, and his urge to smooth over the situation before you get the wrong idea comes automatically. "no,” he huffs, eyes searching yours, “no girlfriend here. if I did have one though, i'm not sure she'd appreciate how often I visit the nice pretty girl at the flower shop."

your eyes widen, “oh-wha-me?”

lando laughs softly while your shellshocked expression doesn’t waver. he palms the back of his neck, a teasing tinge to his tone. “you are the only one who works here, right?

“yes,” you breathe.

“then yes,” lando’s grin widens. “you.”

like clockwork, you duck your chin to hide your face and lando blushes—the two of you very much resembling nervous primary school children with crushes. we’ll, actually, that’s exactly what it feels like. and clearly, according to alex and george, it what it looks like as well.

lando pays for the orange flowers, and when you ask again who they’re for (this time), he just says one word: you.

lets just say, you keep them in the back office and grin like a manic anytime you go in there and catch sight of them.

—

after the whole buying flowers and gifting them to you exchange that happened two months ago, you never really expected to see lando again. well correction—you expected to see him, but you didn't expect him to keep buying arrangements.

oh, but did you ever assume incorrectly. sometimes it was twice a week he'd walk into your shop, a shy yet confident look to him while he ordered an arrangement for some random event—team dinners, galas or his mothers retirement party.

sometimes you wouldn't see him for three weeks. you didn't ask about his whereabouts—assuming he travels for work—but everytime without fail, his first day back in monaco, he'd come see you. smiling and with a pep in his step, always telling you in a quiet, intimate way that he missed you.

but that's all he says. much to your dismay, lando never asks you out. not to coffee or dinner or anything in between. it's gut wrenching, sure, and then you start overthinking every single interaction with lando. were you misreading the situation?

but then he'd come back all flirty and telling you he missed the smell of the shop and you'd think otherwise. plus, he keeps buying damn flowers.

so today when lando walks into your shop, you're determined to figure it all out—the flirting and the flowers and everything else that gets your heart thumping and mind wandering.

he waltzes right up to the counter that separates you from the rest of the shop, a cheeky smile on his face as he leans on top the counter with his elbows.

you raise a brow, “another arrangement?”

“you guessed it,” he smirks boyishly up at you.

you don’t move to grab the binder like you usually would, and that instantly has lando’s thick eyebrows furrowing. you continue to stare down at him, unamused. “who are these flowers for?”

lando blinks, stuttering while he tries to formulate some kind of plausible response. “ummmm...oscar.”

“who's oscar?”

“my friend.”

you make a noise, eyes narrowing in utter disbelief. “does oscar typically want flowers?”

much to your surprise, lando just shrugs a shoulder, and with his lips pursed, he tells you—“don't really know.”

you don’t answer. not right away. it’s now that you grab the sticker covered binder full of pages upon pages of different flowers, carefully flickering it open so that the cracked spine doesn’t obtain any further damage. you seem very calm, and that makes lando feel the complete opposite.

there’s something your eyes that has lando narrowing his gaze on you. you don’t look at him while you quickly and quietly fill out the information—after all, you’ve filled out enough of these for lando that you’ve got his damn phone number memorized.

finally, you turn your attention back to him. “and delivery adress?”

and it’s then. when lando easily recites that same adress he’s given you more times than you can count, does your curiosity come to a tilt. you softly drop the pen, “i've got a question lando.”

“yes?”

you kiss your teeth, “how come every single arrangement after the first one is being delivered to the same address?”

lando blinks a few times. swallows roughly twice. and then he lets out an awkward chuckle, finger absentmindedly stroking along a divet in the wood counter.

“would you believe me if I told you everyone I know all lives in the same place?” he grimaces, hopeful eyes twinkling with mischief.

your nose scrunches—half amused and half in confusion. “not too sure if i'd buy that.”

“no?”

“nope.” lando’s shoulders sag and an apologetic grin forms at your response. you let out a slow breath, crossing your arms over the apron lando has been dreaming about. he sees that peach colour everywhere now—it’s like a less than kind reminder of how badly he’s been fumbling you. for months now.

“you know you don't have to come in here and buy things all the time,” your voice is laced with masked disappointment, making lando frown. you continue softly, “it's okay if you want to just browse.”

“I don't want to browse.”

“oh?”

lando curses to himself, so softly that to you it simply sound like a heavy exhale. you wait patiently for his response, playing with your bottom lip between your teeth to keep any emotions at bay.

you watch with careful eyes as lando pushes off the counter, his back straightening. his eyes meet your again, and after a tension filled beat, he admits—“I really didn't like the smell of flowers, you know that?”

“i'm sorry to hear that,” your voice is cautious. confused. “why did you come here then?” a pause while your brain jogs with memories. “was the neighbour a real person or…?”

“shes real,” lando reassures you quickly, “and it was actually her birthday.”

“and the others?”

he takes a deep breath, and then finally, after months of months of practiced speeches in his bathroom mirror, and imagining this conversation while the country music you have playing in your shop plays through his headphones before a race, lando spews.

“my sister didn't graduate, no one was getting married and oscar is actually allergic to pollen.”

you complete idiot, he thinks. because instead of that clearing up any of your confusion—and why would it because what the hell?—lando’s words have only made your expression grow tighter. you blink, “so why'd you keep buying the flowers.”

“because of you.”

“me?”

okay, he thinks, this is it. it’s finally time.

lando’s plump lips part, “because I liked you or I still do.” he takes a deep breath, “like you.” when you don’t respond, he continues. “and I know that it's kind of crazy and i'm crazy and i disappear for weeks at a time and im flirty and have too much money to spend on floral arrangements for imaginary occasions…but I just wanted to come see you.”

“lando,” your shoulders drop, and lando’s heart does as well. is this rejection? has he been playing this weird, long game for months only to have misread the situation.

“you can kick me out,” he offers.

“no,” you shake your head softly, and the last thing lando’s sees is your shy smile before you lean over the expanse of the counter, and place a delicate kiss to his cheek. so close to the corner of his mouth that for a moment, lando’s knees go weak. “i'm not going to kick you out,” you promise as you drop back to your heels.

dazed and still reeling form the feeling of your soft mouth on his warm skin, lando can only manage to nod dumbly. “that's good.”

“and I like you too,” you grin, “and all your made up occasions.”

lando exhales with a wide smile, “that's really good.” and because he’s sure he’s finally got it right, lando takes his turn to lean over the teal painted counter, one large hand holding the side of your face while he brings his lips down to yours.

it’s not perfect in the sense of the movies, but it’s perfect for you and lando. you’re both grinning into it, making it hard to actual kiss like normal people, but somehow you still manage to capture one another’s mouths in fleeting, tender kisses.

you pull away after a few moments, a playful laugh passing through your kiss moistened lips. “you're a race car driver.”

lando blinks, forehead bumping your gently while his thumb strokes long your cheek. “huh?”

a giggle sounds between you and then your pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “that's your job.”

his eyebrows tug down towards his noise while an amused look crosses his face. “how'd you figure it out?”

“I googled you.”

he can’t help but to dip down and steal another kiss, muttering against your mouth—“cheeky girl.”

[illbegottenfaith]

stutter (a puzzle pieces by saint motel inspired fic)

something about you and your features reawakens theo's stutter (theo nott x reader)

a/n - LOVE how I usually naturally write in British English (for the most part) but the title of this fic is apparently the American English variant?? sorry but stammar just doesn't have the same sound as stutter and it rlly messes with the flow of my sentences lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, theo has a stutter, tw alcohol, slightlyy mean reader? very mild tho lmao

word count - 3.2k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf

Theo’s stutter had never been bad exactly - just bad enough to be noticed. Bad enough to make him hesitate before speaking, bad enough to make his father sigh whenever he tripped over a word at the dinner table.

"Think before you speak," his father would say, voice clipped, disapproving. "There's no point in opening your mouth if you don't know what you're going to say."

As if Theo didn’t already try.

So he adapted. He learned to pick his words carefully, to stay quiet unless absolutely necessary, to keep his voice even and deliberate. The less he spoke, the less he had to risk tripping over his own tongue. He stopped rushing and started living his life at a careful, highly controlled pace.

Over time, with extensive help from the best speech therapists his father could find, he grew out of his stutter. By the time he was old enough to be surrounded by classmates who would’ve torn him apart for it, it was already buried beneath layers of indifference. He built himself a reputation on cool control - on quiet, dry wit and the ability to cut someone down with a single unimpressed look. He spoke when he wanted to, not when people expected him to, and that was enough to keep it from ever being a problem.

Until you.

Because for some infuriating reason, with you, it found a way to slip through the cracks.

You and Theo were like two puzzle pieces that never quite fit right.

You didn’t hate each other - not really - but it seemed like a stretch to call yourselves friends. Try as you might, your personalities seemed fundamentally disconnected. He had little patience for your sense of humour, or lack thereof in his opinion. On the bad days, you had a snarky quip ready for even his most innocent comments. It was the most maddening thing for your friends - just as seemed that the two of you had finally learned to get along, Theo would take the mickey out of you, or you would turn your nose up at his boorish antics, and the cycle would repeat.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), all of that changed two weeks ago. It had happened on a brisk Wednesday night. His dorm was fresh out of bottled water and it was too late and too cold to sneak down to the Kitchens to get some. Mattheo was keeping everyone up fretting about what-if-someone-gets-extra-thirsty-in-the-middle-of-the-night-then-what and no one could get him to shut up. Naturally, Theo had been rather unceremoniously evicted from his cosy, dry bed to fetch water from the girls’ dormitory, after a unanimous (and unfair) vote.

So there he had stood outside the girls’ dormitory, shivering, waiting for one of your friends to bring out some water. He had glared at the distorted view of the moon through the common room walls, fuming about how it already was the middle of the night and none of his roommates seemed the least bit thirsty, not that Mattheo would listen to reason.

Finally, the door had swung open, and out of the shadows peered your wan, tired face.

Maybe it was something in the way your lips twisted in displeasure as your droopy eyes struggled to stay open. For some odd, inexplicable reason, he felt a pang of regret over having woken you.

If you were slightly more awake, you might have noticed the glazed look in his eyes. But as it were, all you had done was shove a small jug into his lax hands, manually curling his fingers around the handle when his grip refused to tighten. Of course, you and your roommates were too environmentally conscious to be entertaining single-use plastic.

“Hold still,” you had muttered as you tipped your room’s jug into the smaller one, filling it up. In the pale moonlight, it had been as though he was seeing you in a completely different light for the first time, both figuratively and otherwise. You hair looked unbearably soft from the way it cascaded down your shoulders. Almost as soft as your pillowy lips, which were now parting to release a sigh. And did your skin always smell this sweet, he wondered, as you stepped closer?

“You want a cookie?” you had asked waspishly when he had kept staring at you once his jug was full. That had snapped him out of his trance. After bidding you a hasty, clipped goodnight, he had crept back down to the boy’s dormitories, head reeling, heart thudding. Before finally nodding off in the wee hours of the morning, he had put the whole thing down to sleep deprivation.

But when you looked just as adorable in your 9 am Charms lesson the next day, bags under your eyes as you poorly stifled your yawns, he knew he was well and truly fucked.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he’d be hard pressed to muster up any real sort of annoyance over the reactions you elicited from him, knowingly or otherwise.

You were all in the Great Hall, having breakfast. Your friends were talking about some book they had read recently. Mattheo and Draco were having an arm wrestling match right over their eggs. Enzo was yammering in Theo’s ear, not that he was listening. Theo had long since learned to tune out Enzo’s chatter until lunch, when he was sufficiently awake to actually process it.

No, what he was doing was watching you - watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip instead of your breakfast, a faint crease between your eyebrows as your eyes flitted across the parchment. He cast his eyes around the table listlessly, desperately wishing for a change in topic, preferably one that had to do with you.

His prayers were soon answered. Ivy turned away from her conversation to look at you.

“How’s the essay coming along, Y/N?”

You finally peeled your eyes away from the essay you were proofreading, sliding your gaze disinterestedly to Theo and the rest of your friends. He watched your sleepy, downturned eyes momentarily rest on his, a familiar electric jolt twinging in his chest. There was no denying it - what had previously seemed uninteresting or unimaginative was now hopelessly irresistible to him.

You scowled, flipping back to the first page. “Terrible. Awful. I don’t know what possessed McGonagall to let me take N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.”

Because you’re brilliant at it, Theo wanted to say, just like how you’re brilliant at everything else.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Ivy said reasonably as you haphazardly started gathering your things.

“It is, it really is. Even worse, my guinea pig escaped so now everyone has something to practice on except me.”

“I can be your Guinea pig,” Theo murmured. Mattheo gave him a hard shove in the shoulder blade.

“What?” You distractedly pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

He grimaced, a throbbing pain now settling in his upper back. “I said,” he forced out, “serves you right. Losing your guinea pig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charming as ever, Nott.”

You hurriedly placed a kiss on Ivy’s cheek, glowering at Theo as you walked off. Just as he opened his mouth to ask (yell) where his kiss was, Mattheo shoved a bun into his mouth.

"Real subtle, mate," he said sarcastically.

Theo shot him a glare, but the delicate flush dusting his face betrayed him. "Shut up."

Mattheo only smirked, taking a bite of his own toast. "Whatever you say."

Some nights, trouble had a face. Tonight, it was yours.

He saw you before you saw him - tucked inside an alcove at the far end of the corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of a lone torch. It was the late kind of hour when nothing good was bound to happen. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey dangled loosely from your fingers, the deep amber liquid catching the dim light as you swirled it absentmindedly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this - pushing limits just for the sake of it. It wasn't immediately apparent, but anyone who paid close enough attention would see you had a habit of toeing the line between reckless and untouchable.

He should have walked away. Should’ve let you self-destruct in peace.

But Theo was never that smart when it came to you.

"You’re not exactly being subtle," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

You didn’t jump, didn’t startle. Instead, you turned to face him with a slow, deliberate ease, like you’d been expecting him all along.

"Wasn’t trying to be."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Could’ve fooled me."

You smirked, raising the bottle in a lazy toast before taking another sip.

"What, you gonna tell on me?"

Theo scoffed. "If I wanted to get you in trouble, you'd know."

"Mm. So you’re just here to nag, then?"

"Not nagging," Theo said. "Just pointing out that if you’re going to break the rules, you should at least be smart about it."

You hummed, swaying the bottle between your fingers, humming poorly. You were definitely well past tipsy. "Smart’s overrated."

"Yeah? So’s liver failure."

That made you laugh, short and sharp, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.

He shouldn’t have cared about that. Shouldn’t have cared that his words - his stupid, judgemental, throwaway words - had gotten a laugh out of you.

But he did. And that was the problem.

You studied him for a moment before holding out the bottle. "Want some?"

He looked at it disdainfully. "Generous."

"Hardly," you said. "Figured it might loosen you up a bit. You’re wound tight, Nott."

Theo exhaled, crossing his arms. He knew all about being tightly wound when it came to you. "Right. Because getting pissed in a dark corridor is the key to inner peace."

"You should try it sometime."

"Hard pass."

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Then, just to be a menace, you took another slow swill, letting your lips linger at the rim of the bottle before licking a stray drop off the corner of your mouth.

Theo didn’t react. Wouldn’t react. You weren’t doing anything special. Just drinking. Just looking at him with that same lazy amusement, like you had him all figured out.

And maybe you did. Maybe that was what rattled him.

"You’re - " He started, but his tongue tripped over the word, catching slightly before he forced it out. "You’re d-drunk."

Your drooping eyes widened fractionally. Your lips parted in your efforts to concentrate as a slight frown creased your forehead, not all that different from the one at breakfast a few days ago,

Theo felt the heat crawl up his neck before he could stop it. His mind scrambled for damage control, but the way you were watching him - head tilted, intrigued, like you were piecing something together - made it worse.

"You good?" you asked, something teasing yet concerned in your tone.

Theo cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of his rogue tongue. "Obviously," he muttered, shifting his weight.

You let the silence stretch a beat too long before raising an eyebrow.

"You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, you almost sounded - "

"Drop it," he cut in, swiping the bottle from your hands before you could protest. He took a slow sip, letting the firewhiskey burn its way down, using it as an excuse to steady himself.

You watched him succumb to the buzz of the drink. "You’re changing the subject," you noted, smirking.

"Yeah?" He felt less wired, less sober. "You’re still an idiot for doing this in the open."

You watched him lean against the wall opposite yours, eyes gleaming in the dim alcove. You let him have that one. But just as he thought you were letting it go, your gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing.

"Don’t act like you’re any better," you mused.

Theo frowned. "What?"

You nodded toward his pocket, where a cigarette pack was sticking out slightly. "Don’t you go through, like, three packs a day?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. You had him there. "That’s not the same."

You widened your eyes mockingly. "No, you’re right. I might get liver failure in thirty years. You’re aiming for lung failure by, what - next week?"

Theo clicked his tongue, tucking the pack deeper into his pocket. "Cute."

"Not as cute as you stuttering over your words a minute ago."

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," you murmured, grinning as you took back the firewhiskey.

The Slytherin common room was empty when you both stepped inside, drenched from head to toe. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing to dry the water you trailed in as you stalked toward it.

Theo watched you try to wring out your sleeves with an air of great suffering, muttering something about "bloody weather conspiracies" under your breath as you peeled off some of your outer layers.

"This is all your fault," you grumbled.

Theo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah? How’s that?"

"You control everything else," you shot back, flicking a few stray drops of water at him. "Figured you had a deal with the bloody sky, too."

He smirked. "Don't give me ideas."

You rolled your eyes, crouching slightly to warm your frozen hands by the fire. Your clothes clung to your frame, and Theo forced himself to look away before his thoughts could wander into dangerous territory. Instead, he shrugged off his soaked sweater and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"Relax. You’ll live," he said idly.

"You better hope so," you threatened. "If I don’t, I’m haunting you forever."

Theo snorted, undoing the cuffs of his shirt.

"I don't think you have the attention span for that."

You shot him a look. "I'd find a way," you said darkly.

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically.

You huffed, standing up straight again.

"And here I was, thinking you actually liked me."

The words were meant to be teasing, flippant, meaningless. But something about them made his pulse stutter.

Maybe it was the way you said it, light and careless, like the idea was so ridiculous it wasn’t even worth entertaining. Maybe it was the way the firelight flickered against your golden skin. Maybe it was the way a stray droplet trickled down your throat, inch by agonising inch, before disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt.

Maybe it was the fact that he did actually like you.

Theo didn’t know what made him say it - either the warmth from the fire or the cold still clinging to his skin or the fact that he could feel the exhaustion of restraint pressing against his ribs. But before he could stop himself, he was opening his mouth, lips forming words he had barely formulated.

"You look - " he started, then faltered.

Shit.

His tongue tripped, his brain suddenly too slow to catch up. He could feel the syllable stuck in his throat, unable to escape, the word stuttering into nothing.

"Y-you l - l -"

Silence.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, slow and smug, realisation dawning on your face.

Theo exhaled sharply, his stomach twisting as he tried to force his expression into something impassive, something cool, something...unaffected. In short, he tried attempting what was an impossible feat when your very features were enough to leave him dizzy.

A wicked smile unfurled across your face. He wasn’t getting out of this alive, was he?

"Do you not know how to talk?" you demanded, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth. "Is this your first day on planet Earth?"

Theo clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in a futile attempt to feign indifference. "Shut up."

You refused to let up. "No, really. What was that? You looked - what? What do I look like, Theo? Enlighten me."

He forced himself to roll his eyes as his fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re insufferable."

"J-j-j-j - " You stuttered mockingly, eyes alight with mischief. "What are you, an idiot? Does your tongue need rewiring?"

Theo should’ve turned away, should’ve thrown himself onto the couch and forced himself to think about literally anything else. But he couldn’t help it.

He watched you - watched the way you grinned to yourself, watched the way your fingers twisted in the fabric of your damp clothes, watched the way you were so completely and utterly oblivious to the way you made his mind unravel.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just the heat in his chest or the feeling in his bones or the fact that his name sounded so damn good dripping off your honeyed lips while you teased him.

It was everything.

It was the way you filled every empty space like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. It was the way your laughter lived in his head rent-free, the way you made even the most infuriating drivel you spouted feel like something he couldn't bear to go without. It was the fact that no matter how much you poked and prodded, no matter how ruthlessly or relentlessly you mocked him - he still wanted you. Desperately.

He should be embarrassed. The Theo of a few years ago would have been - would’ve burned with the humiliation, would’ve clenched his fists at the reminder of all the times he’d stood in front of his father, struggling to string together a coherent sentence under the weight of that unimpressed gaze.

But you were different. He could hear it in your voice, buried beneath the teasing - the unmistakable warmth, the absolute delight you took in making fun of him. Not because you wanted to humiliate him, but because it amused you. It endeared him to you. Because you liked getting under his skin.

And, Merlin help him, he liked that you liked it.

"Go on," you continued mockingly, roughly drying your hair with a towel, still oblivious to Theo watching you like you hung the stars and moon. "Careful with the big words, now."

Theo just stood there, staring at you, utterly gone. He wasn’t even trying to school his expression anymore.

When you finally looked up from drying yourself, your teasing faltered ever so slightly at the look in his eyes.

You blinked. “What?”

Theo shook his head, leaning against the wall thoughtfully.

“Nothing.”

You stilled. Because for the first time, you actually noticed. Theo wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t enduring your teasing with quiet exasperation.

He was watching you with something softer - something warmer, something dangerously close to adoration. It lingered in the lines of his face, in the almost-smile playing at his lips, in the flicker of fondness he couldn’t quite suppress fast enough before your eyes met his.

You stared back, speechless. Theo swallowed, tearing his gaze away, turning sharply as if shaking himself out of it.

"You should dry off before you actually get sick," he muttered, forcing his voice into something steady.

You stared at him for half a second longer, something unreadable in your expression.

"Right," you finally said, clearing your throat.

Neither of you acknowledged the moment for what it was. But the resurgence of Theo's stutter remained a secret kept only between the two of you.

[stxxrlights]

𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

here you were stuck in an estate as his new loyal servant. you didn't want any of this. your parents were killed during one of his impulsive massacres and for whatever reason, he had to take you in. he didn't murder you.

you hated emperor!sukuna. he was never nice and always ordered you around a bit more than the others, but you had to endure. you didn't want to end up like the countless servants who were beheaded after making simple mistakes. emperor!sukuna was ruthless.

little did you know he had taken interest in you. he had no idea why, but he found you so interesting. he would catch himself following your every move as you tended to his garden while he was meditating or when his concubines were feeding him fruits and what not.

you never dared looking him in the eyes as you served him and that slightly bothered him. he knew he was your king but to him that rule didn't apply to you. and how would you know if he hasn't told you. he started making you perform more tasks for him, much to your displeasure so that he can stare at you for as long as you were there next to him. when he wasn't around the estate, he had uraume report your moves to him.

he started spending less time with his concubines, his mind invaded with thoughts of you. how dare you! but he wasn't exactly mad at you. how could he be when you were so pretty when you served him.

after a while had passed, he decided to make a move. he didn't outright tell you that he wanted you even though he knew that he could, like how he did with his concubines, but he wanted it to be different. you were called into his chambers and there you saw him standing next to his bed in all his height. you hated him but where afraid of him. who wouldn't be afraid of a being with four arms, a mouth on their stomach and who's height was competing with that of a tree.

you bowed down and greeted him. he hummed and nodded at you then started taking off his robe. you quickly looked down as a man had never before undressed infront of. he stared at you as he took of his robes and he was now standing there with all his glory.

"i want you to bathe me", he said and headed into the bathroom and sat on the stool made especially for him. water was already ready for him.

"i'm sorry... but i'm not the one who normally does this-"

"i don't care. i need a bathe and i called you hear. so do it", he said in a menacing voice as he narrowed his eyes at you.

"yes master", you bowed and got to work. you poured water on his chiselled body and then lathered him with soap. you had to clean him properly and so you took your time unwillingly as he just stared at you the entire time as you avoided eye contact. he hated this. he hated the fact that you didn't want to look at him.

"face me", he startled you as you stopped your actions.

"i'm sorry my lord"

"look at me", he said and you hesitantly looked at him all his four eyes focused on you. you felt a drop of sweat roll down the side of your face but he didn't seem like he had any ill intensions. you broke eye contact and rinsed off the soap off his body.

"i want you to be mine", you stopped in your tracks again, clearly startled. there was absolutely no way this was going to happen.

"i'm sorry my lord but i don't... feel the same way you do", you said your heart pounding worried that something was going to happen to you. he narrowed his eyes at you and looked away. you were done bathing him and went back to his room where his robes were already set for him on his bed.

you helped him get dressed and bowed as you were done. "i'll be taking my leave now my lord", you said and walked out. he felt angry but his chest felt kind of weird. it hurt for some reason. he had wanted to kill you, but how could he have someone who was already dead. he clenched his fist angrily.

"you will be mine..."

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[randomfandomisuppose]

Custody battle for the ages thought dump:

-Selling your soul USED to mean that you had to do whatever the person who bought your soul wants you to, but after the defeat of Pariah Dark the Ghost Zone had some massive judicial reforms. Danny isn’t the Ghost King but that’s because he was like “Uh, what? I’m 14 why don’t you guys have an election or something?”

-Pandora is the current prime minister of the Ghost Zone

-I am not coming up with an in depth system of government for a silly idea but I see them as having a parliament and local governments for different parts of the ghost zone and working on a judicial system and all that fun stuff.

-I’m not sure who exactly Danny’s “Ghost Parent” would be but I think it’d be fun if it was Pandora

-Constantine sold his soul to her after the reforms and she’s just like “Ah a little brother for my halfa son how lovely”

-Younger ghosts acknowledge the fact that Constantine is a grown ass man (and a kinda terrifyingly powerful one at that) but the ancients think he’s adorable

-“Awwwwww baby’s first immortality spell 🥺”

-They think him doing magic is cute the same way little kids making mud potions is cute

-Constantine hates it but will also take any advantage he can get, sometimes they’ll do magical favours for him

-Danny calls him baby brother specifically to piss him off

-Danny has been learning ghost magic but isn’t that good at it yet, Constantine mostly only really knows non ghost magic but is slowly picking it up through osmosis

-Danny gets the Fenton tall gene and grows up to be slightly taller than Constantine (To Constantine’s absolute dismay and displeasure as the baby brother jokes increase in frequency)

-Danny just randomly starts showing up at the watchtower whenever Constantine is there to bother him

-The JL is just like “whose lost sassy floating child is this and how the fuck did they get here?”

Bonus:

The bat siblings: “There’s no fucking way they’re siblings they look and sound nothing alike.”

Danny and Constantine: (Have a full blown magical duel because Danny hid Constantine’s cigarettes, Constantine accidentally lands a hit on Danny and immediately regrets it.)

Danny: I’m gonna tell mom!

Constantine: (Panicked English bargaining)

The bat siblings: “Oh, nevermind.”

[starryjake]

revenge | s.j

in which you get your revenge on jake after the time he overstimulated you with a vibrator.

pairing: jake x fem!reader

includes: sub jake, use of sex toys (vibrator), overstimulation, drooling and crying kinda, cumming multiple times, kinda bondage (lmk if i missed anything).

jake was so pretty. absolutely exhausted jake who just wanted to cuddle with you and go to sleep was too, too pretty.

you just had to have your fun with him.

besides, he should’ve seen it coming. he’d done the same thing to you last week.

you were tired from a long day of work and classes and jake thought it was the perfect time to absolutely torture you with a vibrator. he made you cum so many times, you’d lost count, but you were so oversensitive that it hurt.

that night, you couldn’t wait to get your revenge.

and then it was time: when jake was so sleepy and dazed, bound to go along with what you say until he would realize what was happening.

“baby,” he said softly as you started nipping his jawline, clearly trying to get his attention. “i’m too sleepy.”

“i know,” you mumbled, your lips pressed against his neck, “but i wanna have some fun.”

jake looked down at you, his sweet, sweet girl. he never wanted to deny you of the things you wanted, even when he was as tired as he was.

“i just don’t know if i can do anything, sweetheart,” he said. “you can hump me or ride my thigh if you want. just don’t be mad if i fall asleep.”

“no, jake,” you whined, trailing your hand down his bare torso. “you need to have some fun with me too.”

you grabbed his cheek and attached your lips to his before he could even realize you were doing it. he instantly melted into the kiss, sighing against your lips and bringing his hands up to your hair.

“so needy,” he mumbled against your mouth.

he couldn’t see it since his eyes were closed, but you rolled your eyes. you were needy, sure. needy to see him get what was coming for him.

testing, you dragged your hand down to cup his bulge, feeling if he was hard yet. you weren’t surprised to find that he was. it never took him very long, even when he insisted he was too tired.

you stroked your hand up and down his clothed erection for a minute, getting him worked up enough that he would actually want to cum and take back what he said about being too tired.

you knew he was at that point when you pulled away from him entirely and he pouted at you, his facial expression asking why you stopped.

saying nothing, you reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out the fully charged bullet vibrator he’d used on you last week. jake’s face remained expressionless, not catching on to what was going on. he really was tired.

you set it on the bed and went back over to jake, pulling his pants down to his knees. he’d forgone underwear since he was just going to sleep, his cock springing out and slapping against his stomach. he was fully hard, his tip a light pink color and drooling a bit of pre cum.

for a moment there, distracted by the sight of his dick, you forgot all about your plan for the vibrator. you wrapped your hand around his shaft and started slowly jerking him off, watching his face contort with pleasure.

it was only when you felt him twitch in your grip that you remembered your mission.

you let go of him, much to his displeasure, picking the vibrator back up. he watched you turn it on, the humming sound of it suddenly filling your shared bedroom.

“what are you doing?” he whined, lolling his head to the side. “just make me cum and let me go to sleep.”

you scoffed. he was such a brat, it only made you want to use it on him even more.

“i will make you cum,” you assured. “just close your eyes.”

“i’ll fall asleep if i close ‘em,” he said.

“you won’t,” you assured him.

he sighed and closed his eyes, immediately becoming more relaxed. his shoulders slumped and his facial features softened.

you didn’t waste any time and brought the little pink vibrator right to the tip of his leaking cock.

jake jolted in shock, his eyes flying open.

“what the hell?” he almost yelled. “what are you doing?”

“having fun,” you answered.

he reached out to grab your wrist but you stopped him with a menacing glare.

“try to stop me and i’ll tie your hands up,” you warned.

“y/n, please,” jake huffed, staring down at you running the vibrator around his tip. “you’re not using your vibrator on me.”

“you did it to me first,” you reminded him. “you used it on me until i was shaking and begging you to stop. and i’ve been thinking about getting back at you everyday since.”

“i’m sorry!” jake cried out, tossing his head back in either frustration or pleasure, or both.

he couldn’t deny that it felt good. for such a small vibrator, the pressure was there. he could feel it intensely pulsating against his tip, pushing out more and more beads of clear precum. you’d only just begun and he was already so messy.

“i’m sure,” you mumbled, gathering some of the precum with your other hand.

jake bit his lip, feeling a warmth spread in his stomach and he knew he was already close. it hadn’t been very long but his sensations were heightened from his exhaustion.

“i’m close,” he told you.

you didn’t stop or slow down. in fact, you ran the vibrator down from his tip to his shaft and back up, his balls tightening from the unfamiliar sensation. his back arched in a way that was so pretty, your eyes widening from how affected he was by the vibrator.

“go ahead,” you said. “go ahead and cum for me.”

with that, his jaw fell slack and he groaned loudly as ropes of cum spurted out from his tip, which was a slightly darker pink than it’d been when you started.

“mmm, fuck,” he moaned, head tossed back and hips thrusting up slightly to ride out his high. “oh, yeah.”

a sheen of sweat covered his chest and his rosy cheeks. his chest rose and fell rapidly with little gasps of air. he came for longer than you imagined he would considering you’d only just started, but you assumed it was because he’d never had a vibrator used on him before.

you turned the vibrator off for a moment, taking in the state of jake before you. a puddle of his cloudy cum coated his stomach and his eyes were shut. his chest rose and fell less rapidly, telling you that he was finally calming down.

“jake?” you said after a minute.

he hummed, his eyes still closed. it was clear he was right on the brink of falling asleep.

to keep him from doing so, you turned the vibrator back on and held it against the underside of his cock below his tip, his most sensitive spot.

he jolted, eyes flying open like they had before.

“oh, fuck,” he moaned, grabbing your wrist to try and stop you again. “please. i can’t.”

“you can,” you assured him, holding the vibrator and his cock all in your one hand.

“please,” he cried. “it’s too much. i’m too sensitive, y/n.”

“you’re okay,” you responded, thinking about how sensitive you were when he did the same thing to you.

“oh my god,” he nearly sobbed. “‘m cumming.”

it was so, so quick. only a minute in and he was already shooting out more ropes of cum, landing on top of the puddle that was already there, creating an even bigger mess of himself.

he whimpered, entirely shoving your hand off of him to give himself a break.

“what’d i say?” you asked, demeanor darkening.

“you’re not tying me up,” he declared, like he was in charge.

“wanna bet?”

jake’s big brown eyes widened, watching as you reached into the drawer again to pull out the silk rope. you certainly weren’t afraid to use it on him, especially if he was going to be pushing your hands off.

“don’t,” he begged. “please.”

“then stop trying to push me off,” you said sternly.

“but it’s too much,” he whined.

he was already keeping a close eye on your hand gripping the vibrator, weary for when were going to bring it back to his cock again. it almost made you want to laugh.

“you can do it,” you said. “you can be good for me, yeah?”

he bit his lower lip, hanging his head.

you brought the vibrator back to his cock, turning it onto the next highest setting from before. his poor cock jake gasped, instinctively grabbing onto your wrist again despite what you’d just told him.

“jake,” you sighed, growing frustrated.

“i’m sorry!” he said, immediately retreating his hand.

you set the vibrator aside and grabbed the silk rope. you grabbed his hands and pushed them together, tying the rope around them tight enough that he wouldn’t be able to touch you again.

jake had a little pout on his face like a child who’d just gotten scolded after getting in trouble. it filled your body with warmth, how cute he was.

“i just wanna make you feel good,” you reasoned, pressing the vibrator onto his slit.

he hissed, pushing his hips up. his abs clenched, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face from the intensity of the vibrator and from already cumming twice.

“i know, baby,” he said while exhaling shakily. “it’s just…a lot.”

“but i know you can do it,” you cooed, dragging the vibrator down a vein on his dick.

he clenched his jaw, the mixture of pain and pleasure so overwhelming that it was clouding his mind, slowly turning him dumb.

“i can’t,” he mumbled pathetically. “it feels so fucking good though.”

“i know, honey,” you cooed softly.

you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him prettier. his eyes were glazed over, his cheeks and ears a bright pink, and completely covered in his own cum. you wanted to ruin him, make a mess out of your tired boyfriend.

he tried to squeeze the bedsheets, but he was so weak. he couldn’t express his pleasure other than desperate moans.

he didn’t even warn you the next time he came. it just started coming out out his red, used tip, drooling out slowly in comparison to the sharp ropes that were spurting out before.

you were were pretty sure you saw a tear a slip down his face and were certain that he was drooling. he moaned shamelessly, so out of it that he felt like he was dreaming. he’d never felt so fucked out in his life.

you kept the vibrator pressed against him while he came and didn’t remove it this time to let him calm down.

“oh my god,” he slurred. “baby, pl—oh fuck. i’m cumming again.”

less than 30 seconds than cumming before and he was already cumming again, which you didn’t even know was possible.

his load was smaller, but his reaction was bigger. he threw his head back, exposing his pretty neck. his entire body tensed and the prettiest, most desperate moans and whimpers came tumbling out past his lips, swollen from biting and drooling.

“fuck, i can’t stop,” he moaned.

you watched him, feeling the wetness pool in your panties from how beautiful of a sight it was.

the veins in his body throbbed, his muscles clenched, and he just a beautiful mess. his cock was drenched in his own cum, the vibrator slipping against him.

you caressed his leg, removing the vibrator from his spent cock. he let out a groan of relief from you finally pulling it away, of giving him a moment to breathe.

his eyes were closed, his entire body limp. you lifted his hands in order to untie the silk rope, setting his hands free.

you sat up on your knees, caressing his face until he opened his eyes again, looking up at you.

“you okay?” you asked, your thumb brushing his cheek.

“mhm,” he mumbled, even more tired than he was before. “that was fucking…insane.”

“was it too much?” you wondered, grabbing some tissues from the box on the nightstand to start cleaning him up.

“yeah,” he said, “in the best way possible.”

you chuckled, running your fingers through his sweaty hair, pushing it out of his face.

“go to sleep, okay?” you said.

“but can we cuddle?” he asked sweetly.

“yes, we can cuddle,” you responded.

“and can i be little spoon?” he asked.

“yes, jake.”

-

screaming. shoutout to the anon who requested this, i loved the idea so much! sub jake just….don’t get me started actually!

[uvobreakmylegs]

We'll Never Know the Place

title is from a Fever the Ghost song that felt appropriate for this piece

Part 2 (Phinks x reader)

Chrollo x Cute Hunter!reader

Warnings: death, torture, gore, body horror, mentions of captivity, implied kidnapping

Word Count: 7.9k

“You don't need me for this.”

Chrollo paused in his step, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder as he looked back at you. Feitan halted as well, having been making his way out of the room, and you felt the way he watched you, his expression no doubt turning to one of concern and displeasure at the fact that you were already kicking up a fuss.

Despite having both of these particular men staring at you, you didn't meet the gaze of either; your attention was on focused solely on the unknown male in the chair that sat in the center of the room.

He was slumped forward, his short, dirty blonde hair covering his face somewhat while the blood that had dripped down from his neck stained the bare skin of his torso. It had gone on to soak into the material of his pants before it ultimately created a puddle on the seat of the chair beneath him and dripped off the edge as it continued to pool below. He was only able to lean forward to a certain extent as his wrists were firmly secured to the arms of the chair by way of two pieces of thick rope that kept him firmly attached and thoroughly unable to get away from whatever he had been put through. Which had undoubtedly been a lot, based on what you had heard before and from what you could see now. There were several fingers missing on both of his hands, you noted, as well as something that was off with the skin of his left bicep that appeared to be blackened. A glance at his legs revealed that one of them had been broken severely as it was bruised and bent beyond belief.

There was more damage – there was always more damage with the things Feitan did to people – and while you didn't want to know what it was, the things you could smell clued you in to what he had done to this man. A distinct burning smell, combined with an odor so foul that it made you want to vomit.

The man was dead. Obviously, as you wouldn't have been brought in otherwise.

You had known this was coming, too. After hours of hearing him scream and cry and beg for the pain to cease, you knew what would be happening once Feitan stepped into the main room where the troupe was gathered and whispered something into Chrollo's ear. That had been followed by a quick nod of acknowledgment by Chrollo before he ordered the torturer to end the man's life. You knew that, not long after, the head of the troupe would stand and tell you to follow.

You knew what he expected from you, and there was absolutely no part of you that wanted to go through with it.

“You don't need me for this,” you repeated.

Chrollo stared at you over the fine white fur that lined his coat, his gaze unyielding and his presence as oppressive as ever.

Then he spoke your name, his tone stern.

“I would have thought by now that you knew how useless of an effort it is to try and get out of this,” he continued.

“Insisting on using my ability is stupid,” you argued. You stepped backwards despite knowing Feitan was right behind you. He was watching you carefully as well, likely poised to grab you if you made any attempt to run.

You weren't going to do that. But you would argue with Chrollo.

“Shizuku is right outside,” you continued, “Blinky is better suited for this. It'll take literally a second if you have her do it. Just use her and leave me out of it.”

Chrollo observed you silently, his gray eyes watching as you tried to convince him that Shizuku was the better option for what he wanted. Your argument wasn't just a way of a bullshitting to get out of what you didn't want. You knew that you were right. More importantly, he knew you were right.

But those cold eyes remained impassive no matter what you said.

“I brought you here for a reason,” Chrollo told you, “now I need you to do your part.”

His tone was a tad more dangerous that time, and that was enough to put the fear into you as you tore your gaze away and looked to the side, your fists clenching hard enough that the way your nails were digging into your palms was starting to cause you pain.

“….. I don't want to,” you answered.

“That's a shame,” he said.

He then turned so he faced the body of the man as he said “but I'm afraid this is the last chance you'll get to do it of your own volition before I'm forced to make you do so.”

“……”

There was little other choice than to do it before it got to that point, you told yourself. Otherwise he would give that order, and a sharp pain would form in your skull, getting worse and causing you absolute agony until you did as he had told you. Nor would it end there, as your defiance going that far would mean trouble for you once the troupe's business had finished and you were left alone with Chrollo again. You hated the way he was able to control you, but there wasn't anything else you could do. It was a lose-lose situation.

With a frown on your face and your eyes cast downward, you steeled yourself before you began approaching the man's body, your clenched fists shaking ever so slightly as you made your legs walk you forward.

I hate this

You kept your gaze downwards as you walked by Chrollo, keeping your eyes only on what was directly in front of your feet, not wanting to make more eye contact with him than was necessary. A small bit of defiance that did little to affect him, you knew, but it was all you could do.

How childish, you could hear him say in that subtly mocking tone that you were all too familiar with.

I hate you

After a few moments, you heard Feitan's footsteps walking out of the room before growing quieter. He had stayed when you had spoken out, his warning gaze heavy upon you as you had felt him silently urge you to do as Chrollo had said. Now that you were getting down to business, he was gone, having returned to that main room to sit with the others.

He knew what Chrollo was making you do, as did the rest of them.

I hate every last one of you

They were aware of those feelings of yours as well, and for certain members, it bothered them deeply. They didn't like how upset you became with them, nor how emotional you would get when Chrollo put your abilities to work. But no matter how much it bothered those members, all of them were in support of their boss.

None of them would ever come to your aid. All because in their minds, you were the one who was in the wrong.

The burnt odor coming from the man was stronger when you moved closer to him. Once you were standing directly in front of him, you were able to confirm that the darkened mark on his bicep was, in fact, a burn mark. The sight had you biting your lip in disgust as you thought of the agony he had gone through at the unfortunately creative hands of Feitan and the wide variety of pain he had no doubt experienced before his throat was finally slit wide open.

Hopefully with everything else that had happened, that final slicing of flesh wouldn't have been as painful.

Hopefully.

A cursory glance about the room revealed the moderately sized wooden box that Feitan had been using as a table that was stuck in the corner, as his tools were lined up neatly on top of it. Almost all of them were covered in blood. When you narrowed your gaze, you saw bits of flesh that were still stuck to the metal.

Chrollo already knew what you were thinking.

“Take care of whatever is left over of him over there,” he began, “but you're to do nothing that alters Feitan's tools.”

…. Damn. It looked as though that stunt of yours from last time really was a one time only thing, much to your disappointment. But it wasn't that surprising.

If Chrollo was ever to make a mistake, he only made it once.

Turning your attention back to the man's body, you kept your focus on him while Chrollo stood behind you, watching your every move as you prepared to use your nen. Thoughts of what would work best in the environment and how much you needed to alter came to mind, but first….. First was to make him more presentable. To give him at least a little bit of dignity in death. Because at the end of the day, he was a person who had a life, goals and ambitions, all of which had been snuffed out for the sake of whatever it was the troupe was up to now.

Was it possible that he had been just as bad as Chrollo and the others? Or potentially even worse? Yes.

But you still wanted to show some kindness.

You began by undoing the ties around his wrists, and immediately you found that the rope had been wrapped so tightly that the skin in that area was raw and bleeding, some of it even scraped away against the harsh material that bound him. How much had he attempted to break those bindings while Feitan was removing his fingers?

It didn't matter, you told yourself, because you were undoing them now. Once both pieces of rope were untied and laying on the ground beside him, you placed his hands upon his lap which allowed you to hide the stumps of his fingers somewhat. Though that action caused him to lean too far forward and you were forced to adjust him before he fell over onto the floor. You quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him so he would lean back, and that made his head roll backwards as it followed the pull of gravity.

Now not only did you have a good look at that awful gash in his throat, but also the lifelessness in his unblinking eyes and the way in which his slack jaw hung open.

…. You could fix this. While you couldn't do anything about his throat, you could fix the way his expression looked.

Placing both of your thumbs over his eyelids, you gently pulled them shut. Then, while you kept your thumbs pressed over his eyes, you exerted a tiny bit of your nen that spread over the lids. When you pulled your hands away, his eyes stayed closed. You did the same with his jaw, locking the joints in place so his mouth would no longer hang wide open. When that was done, you stepped away, and the nen you had infused into those places on his face stayed strong. With his face looking like that, it was as though he was sleeping.

Even though that illusion was quickly shattered with one glance towards his throat, that felt better to you.

The other person in the room was clearly of a different opinion.

“You're wasting effort, love. No one who cared for him will know what you did,” Chrollo told you.

You frowned.

“He was a person; he deserves respect, even if it's just this much,” you answered.

“He was a person who existed outside of the troupe,” Chrollo corrected, “therefore he isn't important.”

“Maybe not to you.”

Damn it. Your voice was already starting to crack.

Chrollo noticed that as well and wasted no time in pouncing on your vulnerability.

“You haven't even begun and you're ready to shed tears?” he asked.

“With the things you make me do, what do you expect?” you responded bitterly.

“I expected that you would have grown used to this.”

“Maybe if being involved in this awful shit was something that I actually wanted,” you said, “but I still don't, and I never will.”

He didn't respond that time. Instead, as you were looking at the body of the unknown man and trying to figure out if there was anything else you could do for him, you heard movement coming from behind you as Chrollo walked to the side of the room. What he was doing was obvious when you heard the sounds of chair legs scraping against the concrete floor before they were lifted into the air, and then again moments later, when they were placed a few feet from where you were standing and directly in front of the dead man. An aged chair creaked as Chrollo settled down upon it, and suddenly the full intensity of his gaze was upon you once more.

“Whenever you're ready, love.”

“….”

There was no more stalling to be had, then. Nothing more you could do to put this off. Chrollo probably felt as though he'd been generous in allowing you to take your time and do what he felt were pointless actions in rearranging the man's body. After all, the troupe was still in the middle of a job, and he wanted you to get on with it so they could continue with the current loose end being fully tied up.

If you took any longer he would invoke that pain on you again.

With a deep sigh, you activated your hatsu.

Revival Gardener

In moments, your nen had conjured up your watering can. Moderately sized and brightly colored, it stood out among the gray rock and rotting wood of the abandoned room. The can itself was a pastel yellow and adorned with pink accents, topped off by the two handles that were shaped to resemble cartoonishly cute hearts. It was very likely that if there was ever a magical girl character with abilities that were focused on gardening, your watering can would surely be in her inventory. The light purple packet of seeds that was also adorned with hearts fell into your palm after the watering can, and you figured that would likely also be something she would use, though you wondered how her abilities might differ from yours.

Maybe she would've been smart and would have some sort of ability that was more effective in combat.

As interesting as it might have been to consider the show about a hypothetical magical gardening girl, you couldn't focus on that forever. Definitely not with Chrollo staring down your back. Placing the empty watering can on the floor next to you, you adjusted the packet in your hand, both sides of which were left blank, and reached into your pocket for a pen as you looked to the man again.

His body, his clothes, the chair, and the blood that had been dripped and spattered across the floor. Four things to make note of. Another glance over at Feitan's tools and the blood and gore that covered them, not to mention the blood trail that led from them and back to the body. You would need to make sure you covered all of that area as well.

With all that Revival Gardener was capable of, it sadly wouldn't be a difficult task.

Holding the pen to the packet, you began to write:

Male human body

Adult's clothing

You were about to write down shoes when you stopped to double check yourself. It turned out he wasn't wearing any shoes, so that wasn't something you needed to bother with. You continued with the list.

Wooden chair with rope

Human blood

….. That was it. After double and triple checking what was before you and what you had written down, that was all you needed to change. You flipped to the other side of the packet which had yet to be filled in, and you paused a moment as you decided what you would write.

During that time, you didn't hear anything from Chrollo. He stayed silent as you wrote on the packet, but you could tell that his gaze was still on you. You didn't need to turn your head to confirm that.

After a moment of pondering, you decided to write the word “lavender”. The area the building was in was appropriate for it, with dry temperatures and lots of sunlight. That would grow well here.

With the decision made, the pen went back into your pocket, and you ripped open the packet before dumping the entire thing into the watering can. The seeds, the packet and the words you had written all broke apart within the space of the can, transforming into liquid that began to swirl about within your conjured creation, emitting a soft purple glow as it filled the can to the brim.

When the water stilled was when you could begin, and now with the can in hand, you looked again to the dead man. Exhaling a shaky breath as you clenched the the handles tightly, you took a few more moments before lifting the can above him, and with a tilt of your hands, you proceeded to pour the contents upon the poor man's body. He was quickly soaked from the water while the blood was washed down all over him, pooling in that same place in the seat of the chair. The chair was soaked as well; you made sure of that as you walked around it to make sure you covered every inch.

The body, the clothes, the chair, the blood. All of the blood. You needed to take a few steps back as you covered the floor in the unending water, making sure that you got every last stray drop.

All of it needed to be changed.

The man still looked as though he was sleeping as the water ran down his face and caused his hair to stick to his forehead. The blood from his neck washed down fast, however, joining the growing puddle beneath him that now had the water mixed in.

You then walked over to where Feitan's tools sat and poured the water over them. Though the box and the tools were quickly soaked as well, those items would remain as they were once this was over.

The last thing to be done was to cover the floor where the blood had dropped between the tools and the chair, and just like everything else, the water soon engulfed it.

When you returned to the body to make sure you had gotten everything was when the conjured water finally ran out.

With that, the first part was done.

You took a step back, staying behind the body while your watering can vanished. The second half of the process was going to begin soon, and you needed to watch all of it.

Chrollo chose then to speak once more.

“Come sit with me, love.”

You looked over to him and frowned when you found him motioning to an empty chair that sat beside him. The temptation was there to refuse and insist that you would stand for the rest of it. But just like everything else, this wasn't something you could get out of no matter how much you protested.

You remained silent as you walked around the body and took your place by Chrollo's side, your eyes immediately going back to the man while you gripped at your knees while you desperately hoped that, just once, Chrollo would refrain from saying anything further. Even though you knew that was incredibly unlikely, both due to the fact that there was a fair amount of time that needed to be filled out before you could leave this room, and because there was no way Chrollo would overlook your continued resistance.

Still, you dared to hope that he might, just this once, keep quiet while you suffered.

But of course that didn't happen.

“You know that it doesn't need to be this way, love,” he began.

You frowned again.

“You're right; it doesn't,” you agreed, “and yet you're dead set on forcing things to be this awful.”

You then cut him off before he could speak, saying “don't bother telling me that I'm the one making things difficult. I'm sick of hearing it.”

Chrollo let out a hum in response. Hearing that only had your frown deepen while your hands clutched at your knees harder, all the while you kept your gaze focused on the body. There was no change to be seen as of yet. But that would take a little while, as it always started internally before spreading out beyond.

Right now the man still looked like he was sleeping.

“Have our discussions become so stale that you immediately know what I'm going to say?” he asked.

“They only ever go around in circles. Honestly, I would've thought you'd be sick of the same conversations over and over,” you said.

“Be sick of them? Never.”

Chrollo leaned forward on his knees as he gazed at you, and from your peripheral vision, you saw the serious look on his face as he told you “if it's a chance to help you, then I'll gladly have the same conversation tens of thousands of times.”

“You're not helping me.”

“I am, love. You just aren't able to see it yet.”

“Because kidnapping me and making me dispose of your victims is such a great way to help someone,” you sarcastically answered.

The man's body shifted somewhat as he slouched back in the seat, though even now he still appeared to be asleep.

“I'm putting your abilities to good use,” Chrollo countered, casting his gaze towards the body as well.

“They weren't meant for this.”

“And yet they work quite nicely.”

“Shizuku's ability is more effective.”

“So you've said.”

Chrollo leaned back in his seat as he continued “but Shizuku isn't the one that I'm worried about.”

You scoffed.

“You're trying to say that you're worried about me?”

“I am.”

You shook your head.

“That's a lie. You're not worried; you just want to control me,” you said.

“That's not true.”

“How is it not? You took me away from my work when I didn't want to go with you and you used one of your stolen abilities to make me do what you want. How is that anything other than you controlling me?”

“Because it's for your own good,” he answered.

“I think I know what's good for me.”

“And I say that you don't,” said Chrollo, “the others are in agreement with me.”

Because all of you are monsters

You couldn't say that part. Because even though you knew it to be true, there was no way you could bring yourself to voice such a thing. You had grown up with Chrollo and most of the others, after all. All of you living together and finding those little scraps of happiness within that city of junk and decay.

Even though you hated the people they had become and you made that feeling of them clear, there was still some affection you had for them, for the children they had once been and who were now nowhere to be found.

The man's body twitched, arms and legs moving in response to your nen.

Already there was bile building up at the back of your mouth. You hated how you now recognized that as being a sign that his nervous system was in the process of changing. Just how many times had you been made to do this now? You could count them if you really wanted to, but once again you kept yourself from doing so. The exact number didn't matter. The fact that you were being made to do this at all was awful enough.

Chrollo had paid no attention to the current condition of the body, his focus back on you as he asked “have we already reached the point where you ignore me? I thought we had a bit more banter to go through before that happened.”

Your scowl remained on your face as you replied “for someone who claims to be worried about me, you sure do take a lot of time to mock me.”

“I'm afraid that can only be blamed on you, love. I care about you deeply, but you make it difficult when you kick and scream at me in an attempt to test my patience.”

Hearing that made you bite your lip in frustration; he was making it sound like you were a child throwing a tantrum. That alone was enough to make you want to hit him. Not that it would do you any good, even if, in the moment, it might have been slightly satisfying.

But just like you had told yourself before, the repercussions of such an action would come fast and harsh once the troupe dispersed.

…. Maybe that was pathetic of you. That you, a Hunter, would allow something as simple as pain be enough to give him leverage over you. Weren't you supposed to be stronger? After passing the trials of your exam, how was that enough for him to control you?

Then again, you hadn't taken the exam in the hopes of proving your strength or even in the hopes of becoming stronger. Getting that license was simply the easiest way to achieve your goal.

The chair beneath the man groaned and the legs began to buckle, bending slightly forward while green began to appear in the blood soaked wood. The ropes that had been left on the floor were also being overtaken by the green color, and upon the surface of the floor that was marred by his blood, small sprouts were starting to appear.

With the way the front legs had bent forward, the man's body lurched over, his upper half leaning against one of the chair handles. Despite the change of position, his face was still largely facing towards you, and the sense of peace you had tried to grant him by shutting his eyes and mouth was still there somewhat, even with the awkward position his body was in.

You hated this. You hated that you needed to watch the body of this unknown man being slowly taken over. If you tore your eyes away for too long, the change would stop and you would be stuck in this place with Chrollo for that much longer, which he would definitely chide you for.

Though you doubted he would mind all that much.

“Who was he?” your voice whispered, your nails digging into your hands again as you were having a difficult time with the sight before you.

“No one of importance,” was his response.

“I want to know anyway.”

“You don't need to,” Chrollo said firmly before he added “if you wanted to know his name you should have made that a condition for your hatsu.”

“I didn't make it a condition because Revival Gardener wasn't meant for things like this” you replied.

“I know. Your reasons were far more pointless.”

That last part stung.

“It wasn't pointless. I was helping people,” you said.

He had the nerve to sigh deeply at that.

“Love,” he began, “you chose to become a Cute Hunter.”

“I was helping people,” you insisted.

“What were you helping with? The official role of a Cute Hunter is to maintain the beauty of people and keep them looking younger. Was helping others maintain their vanity so rewarding?” he asked, the disdain slowly but surely creeping into his voice the longer he spoke.

“You know what I was doing. You know wasn't anything like you're saying and you know how much it meant to me,” you said.

You turned your head so you could give him the full extent of your glare as you again insisted “I was helping people.”

“You were growing flowers out of trash,” Chrollo said, “such a thing is hardly life changing and I guarantee there were few who even noticed what you were doing. All of us agreed that it was a waste of your talents.”

“But it wasn't. It isn't.”

He was wrong. The troupe was wrong. It wasn't a waste. They were simply incapable of understanding because of the path they had chosen.

Chrollo shrugged at your response, saying “feel free to cling to those beliefs of yours while you still can.”

“You say that like you think-”

The words coming from your mouth were lost when the man's body moved again, this time in the way of a full body jerk as something inside him gave way to the life growing within him. Whether it was because of that movement or simply something you had done wrong when you had applied your nen earlier, you couldn't say.

But regardless, his eyelids and mouth snapped open, and with him still facing towards you even now, you were greeted with a horrific sight.

His eyes were gone.

All that stared out at you through the empty sockets were the green of the leaves and the soft purple petals of the lavender flowers that continued to grow and fill the space within the man's head. His tongue was gone as well, though his teeth still remained, sitting among the stems and leaves while his gums were being consumed, slowly but surely revealing the bone of his jaw that sat beneath.

Now with his mouth once again hanging slack and open, the flowers began to make their way out into the open, the plant life now poking out at the edges of his mouth. That seemed to have caused a chain reaction, for the plants began to make their way out of his injuries as well. The stems and buds were now hanging out of his neck wound, reaching down his bloody torso where they were met by the ones escaping through the cavities left by his missing fingers, all mingling together as the flower buds grew rapidly. Lavender was blooming in that burnt section of his arm and on his broken legs and spreading out just like the rest of the plant that had found its way to the open air.

Empty sockets continued to stare at you as the flowers continued to grow, reducing what once had been a man into nothing more than a human shaped terrarium.

All the moisture had left your mouth as you stared back. You were left unable to speak as you began to tremble within your seat.

Mercifully, Chrollo remained silent during this time.

When the change began to affect his bones, his neck was fast to break. His head quickly bent over to the side as his skull began to lose it's shape.

And upon seeing that, the horror of it all overwhelmed you.

With a hand over your mouth, the floodgates of your emotions opened wide and you began to loudly sob.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to be.

A woman in a sharp business suit and her long hair tied up in a bun looked about the trees that surrounded her in bewilderment, her mind clearly racing as she wondered how this forest had come from nowhere and if she had somehow gotten lost on the way to her intended destination.

“Are you alright?” you called out, causing her to jump as she turned to face you.

“Ah – yes! I just…..”

The woman looked about again as she said “I got mixed up somehow and ended up here. I must not have been paying attention when I was driving.”

“Where were you trying to go?” you asked.

“The abandoned strip mall,” she told you.

“The one that was built on a former garbage dump?” you clarified.

She nodded.

Your hand went to the back of your neck as you said “well, most of it's gone now, but I can take you to see what's left of it, if you want.”

The woman's eyebrows furrowed, but she followed anyway when you beckoned her. Through a moderately sized collection of trees, bushes and a few open glades filled with wildflowers, you led her to the other end of the newly formed forest, and the both of you were greeted with a mound of dirt, concrete and aged garbage, most of which had fossilized. It was large, standing high over both of your heads. That was more in line with what the woman had expected, but she again looked behind herself to see the lush greenery that was clearly present in a place that it shouldn't have been.

She looked to you as she began with “you said… You said that this was what was left of the hill?”

You nodded.

“The same one that used to be a dump that was covered over and had built the mall on top?” she asked again.

Again, you nodded.

The woman looked to the greenery and then to the remains of the old dump site before she looked at you again.

“How?” was her bewildered question.

You nervously clasped your hands together as you began to answer.

“I'd heard about it not long ago,” you told her, “that the structure was abandoned years ago because of the methane coming from the ground and the way it had been sinking, and that it was still sinking into the garbage underneath it. When I learned that nothing was being done about it, I thought I could help.”

Realizing that you hadn't actually answered her question, you added “I'm part of the Hunter Association, and I figured that my skills would be able to fix this place. So I changed the buildings and what was underneath it to this.”

You gestured to the forest as you explained “it took a long time, but I think it's turned out well.”

The woman didn't look any less shocked after you finished speaking.

“You can just….. Do that?” she asked.

You nodded.

The woman continued to stare at you in disbelief, and the longer she looked at you like that, the more you began to worry that she was upset.

Then she spoke again.

“Can I hug you?”

The request was unexpected, but you smiled as you nodded to her. The woman quickly pulled you into a hug, and she held you tightly.

“Thank you so much,” she said, “I've been trying for so long to get the city to do something about that place but they always put it off, saying there were more important things they needed to take care of. They were content to let that place rot and fall apart, and I didn't think anything would ever be done.”

“Thank you so much,” she said again, “you don't know how much it means that you've gotten rid of that junk hill.”

You smiled again as you hugged her back, and a warmth bloomed in your chest as you heard her words of thanks. What you wanted most was happening: this had been your most ambitious project in your role as a Hunter, and before you were even finished, it was making a difference.

If you could do that for this woman, then the thing you wanted most could surely happen:

You could change Meteor City.

Your sobs continued to wrack your body as you watched the man's skin fall limp, held up only by the lavender flowers inside of him. He had been reduced to a skin suit, an unnatural looking thing that few would guess had ever been a real, living and breathing human. The chair he sat on was now beginning to lose it's shape as well, and slowly, the suit of skin began to lower further and further onto the floor as the wood of the chair was also absorbed and transformed.

Once all of the bones had been completely taken over, the skin began to do the same. It started in the areas where the skin was already broken, spreading from there like a disease. You watched helplessly as the last of that unknown man was eaten up by your hatsu, as his skin was broken apart and changed from flesh into plant.

You couldn't help but cry as the thought repeated in your head: this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Your hatsu was never meant to be used in such a way, never meant to be perverted like this. All you had wanted when you became a Cute Hunter was to help people by way of giving them small pieces of joy as you turned trash into something as simple and beautiful as a flower. Even if it was something small, it was worth it to you.

Why did Chrollo find that so objectionable?

The pieces of the man's skin that still remained reached lower to the floor as the chair gave away completely. His blood soaked pants were vanishing quickly, the rope that had once sat by his side was long since gone, and the trail of blood that had led up to the box with Feitan's tools had been replaced by a long and scattered line of flowers.

It wouldn't take long now until everything about the man – his actual body and the things done to him – would be gone completely. No one who hadn't been here would be able to guess as to what had actually happened.

All they would see was a large patch of lavender growing within the abandoned building.

Though the man was nearly gone now, it didn't make it any easier on you, as your tears still fell as you focused on the parts that were still there: the last remaining bits of his skin and his dirty blonde hair that still stuck out at the edge of the growing patch of flowers. It had spread out far enough that it had reached where the two of you sat, and when you felt the petals brushing against the edge of your shoe, you pulled up your feet.

As much as you wanted to console yourself by saying that there was some comfort in the man's body not being allowed to decompose or rot, you knew it would do little to ease your distress. You weren't a good enough liar to convince yourself of that.

Chrollo's feet had stayed where they were when the flowers had extended out towards him, drawing his gaze down to the floor. After a moment of consideration, he reached down to the space in front of him, finding a stem of lavender and grasping at it. Then without even the smallest ounce of force, he plucked it. Sitting back up, he examined your creation, twirling it as he did so and causing the flowers to spin in his fingers.

“The end result is beautiful, love, I will give you that,” he told you, “but ultimately your reasons for your ability are far more superfluous than I know you would ever want to admit.”

You had bitten your lip to keep your mouth shut, though it didn't stop the way you sniffled while you continued to cry as you watched the last of the man's strands of hair turning green and sprouting up flower buds.

“One day you'll see that it was a good thing that I stepped in.”

Again you didn't respond, but you stiffened when you felt him lean towards you and felt his fingers tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. The apprehension of feeling his touch turned to disgust when he placed the flower he had pulled into your hair, tucking it in with the hair he had so gently moved only moments before.

Cruel.

That was all he was.

When the last strands of dirty blonde hair were gone and all that sat before you was the lavender, you knew it was finished. Just as Chrollo had wanted, you had done 'your part'. With no trace of the scene of bloody torture from before, you could now leave the room.

You attempted to do so without another word, but no sooner had you stood up, Chrollo ordered you to sit.

With no other choice, you did just that.

Chrollo's hand traveled to your lap in order to clasp yours, and the squeeze he gave you felt like it was meant to be encouraging, though you knew it was performative. Just like everything was with him.

“I know you think that I enjoy seeing you in distress, love,” he began, “but I need you to know that it couldn't be further from the truth. Your well-being is something that I care about deeply.”

“…. You have a funny way of showing that,” you mumbled, not having the strength to speak louder.

“Think of it as rehabilitation.”

“It's not, though,” you said, shaking your head, “I don't need to be fixed.”

“And once again, you're simply wrong, love.”

“…..”

When you pulled your hand away from his, he chose not to react. Nor did he say anything when you pulled the bit of lavender out of your hair and tossed it to the floor where it was quickly hidden among the rest.

“Can I go back to the other room already?” you asked bitterly.

Chrollo hummed as he took a moment before answering you, as if to rub more salt into your wounds by treating you like a child that needed to ask for his permission before you did anything.

You had pointed that out, once, calling him out on how degrading it was as well as insulting.

“Well, you aren't much different now than how you were as a child, are you?” he had spoken in response.

“Even now, you haven't grown past clinging to your princess dresses and playing make believe that you can force the world to match your idealized fantasy.”

You had slapped him for that. Hard enough that there was blood that dripped briefly from the corner of his mouth and a bruise that had stayed for several days after.

He didn't do anything to you for that. Not immediately.

It was when the job was over and the two of you were left alone in a location of Chrollo's choosing that he retaliated, using that ability that made your head feel like it was splitting in two as he forced you into doing things that you didn't want to do.

Again, the question surfaced: what kind of a Hunter were you that you allowed pain to keep you from fighting back?

…. One that had decided that 'Cute Hunter' was the direction to go in.

The slight self-deprecation of that thought wasn't lost on you. And it wasn't lost on you that it had come from Chrollo, his opinion sneaking its way into your brain without him needing to say anything or even knowing your own internal dialogue.

I hate this, you told yourself again.

It was the only thing you could say because it was the only thing you could do.

“It seems as though we're finished here, so I suppose you can leave,” Chrollo finally told you.

Without another word you stood and all but ran out of that room, having no desire to ever enter that place again and not wanting to risk Chrollo giving you more orders while you were still within earshot.

Chrollo himself remained seated, again gazing at the miniature field of lavender.

It wasn't right, you thought as you wiped away more tears.

Things shouldn't be this way.

Heading back to that main room where everyone else was gathered – because you'd be brought back there anyway if you went somewhere to be alone – your return was noted by all of the troupe, questioning eyes going to your form as you entered and made your way back to the spot in the corner you'd been occupying for the majority of your time here. Those questioning gazes didn't stay that way long, as one look at your tear stained face told them all that they needed to know as to how your corpse disposal had gone.

You had completed it. Everyone knew Chrollo wouldn't have let you leave without doing that. But as they continued to watch you, seeing the way you curled in on yourself and held your knees to your chest after you had taken a seat on the floor, all of them could tell that it hadn't been easy for you.

They couldn't understand it.

As they watched you obsessively and angrily wipe away the tears that you didn't want them to see, those members who had grown up with you were again at a loss as to why you cared so much about someone you didn't know. That, after the things you had experienced alongside them with your childhood in Meteor City, you had somehow managed to turn out so differently from the rest of them.

A few moments passed before Phinks got up from where he was sitting, and with his hands in his pockets, he began to walk towards you, no doubt with the intent of offering some kind of comfort. The harsh glare you sent him when he came close had him stopping in his tracks, and he floundered for a moment before turning around and returning to his seat, the awkward and disappointed look clear on his face as he did so.

You didn't want their pity or their comfort. You didn't want to be around them at all. No matter what they said, the childhood friends you had once had were nowhere to be found, not here or anywhere else in the world.

It was easier to tell yourself that the day Sarasa had been murdered, all of them had died along with her.

For the rest of this job, not another word would be said to you. You had done what was wanted of you, and so your role ended there. All you had left was the end of the job when Chrollo would force you to leave with him, making you follow him like a puppy. The troupe would part ways and then you might see a few of them sporadically between heists, but the majority of your time would be spent with Chrollo, and the head of the spider would return your reality to the one where your world revolved around him and him alone. Your abilities that you had wished to be shared with the world would be only for him, and again you would be forced to languish while you remained in his company, feeling a bit of yourself breaking apart day by day.

Maybe one day he would be successful.

Maybe one day he would manage to brainwash you and you would no longer find what they did so objectionable. Maybe a new version of yourself would emerge, one that had died just like they had with Sarasa, and you would walk around with them like a zombie, committing the same foul acts they did and feeling nothing while doing them. Maybe you would tell yourself the same things they must have, that all that mattered were those within the troupe, and in that way you could callously disregard the lives of others.

That wasn't today, though.

Eventually Feitan would return to where the body had been, no doubt needing to take a bit of time as he pulled the purple flowers that embraced his tools off one by one.

Eventually Chrollo would return to that main room and give instructions to the members that he had deemed necessary for the current job, and he would do so without casting a single glance in your direction.

The rest of the troupe would follow his lead, continuing with the job. Business as usual.

But at the back of their heads, they would remain hopeful for you.

Because if there was anyone who could fix you, it was Chrollo.

[p1astr81]

Hello!

Have you ever thought about making a part two of oscar × reader (with sexually pressuring ex) when they start getting intimate and he's all reassuring and gentle and just pure love...

Thanks in advance and a lovely evening!😊

smut 18+, soft sex, piv (use protection guys🙏)

“You’re okay?” He whispered the question, his forehead rested against yours.

You nodded.

A kind smile stretched at his lips. “I want words, love.” He encouraged with a small squeeze to your side.

“Yes.” Your fingers twirled in his hair at the back of his neck. His gentleness was so adorable, but the ache between your thighs—despite already having came on his face—was too unbearable to ignore. “And I need you really bad.” You confessed quietly.

He didn’t make a show of it. Didn’t even flinch. Just a careful, “are you sure? We don’t have to.”

A nod, and the you remembered he wanted words. “Yes I’m sure. I want to and I trust you.”

Trust. That meant everything to him. “Okay. You’re in control here. If you want to stop at any point just tell me.” He nodded, your face cradled in his palm like a fragile piece of porcelain art. He adjusted his position in order to take his dick in his hand. He noticed your gaze. “I’ll go slow.” He reassured. “If at any point-“

“I know. I’ll tell you.” You nodded, head tipped back in anticipation.

His thumb stroked your cheek. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You shifted your hips toward him. A mewl. “I want you.”

He let out a shaky breath. “Shit, okay,” he breathed, tip poking between your folds. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Slow, yeah?”

You hummed and nodded, eyes bouncing from his to where he was guiding himself into you. You gasped as the tip breached your hole, sliding slowly in.

Unsure, he paused.

“No, keep going.” You urged before he could ask.

And he did, slowly, centimeter by centimeter until he was fully inside of you. He sighed. “You’re in control here. So whenever you want me to move, just say so.”

Your chest heaved, eyes closed. You waited for the pain of the stretch to settle, and then you had to remind yourself that Oscar wasn’t your ex. You’re in control. He didn’t shift his hips. Not even a twitch. The only part of his body that moved was his thumb on your hip, soothing, gently reminding you that you were safe.

Finally, you nodded. “Okay,” you sighed.

“I need more than that, love.” He encouraged softly.

You opened your eyes, finding his brown ones. You melted under his warm gaze. “I want you to move.” You nodded.

He smiled. “There we go,” He encouraged, his voice low.

He started with small rolls of his hips. He watched your face for any sign of discomfort, strained his ears for any sound that could be mistaken for displeasure. When nothing came, he moved to slow thrusts.

A moan cracked through your throat and your hand gripped his bicep.

He paused. “Are-“

“Fuck, Oscar don’t stop,” you sighed, your voice walking the line of frustration.

Your body became a song to him, like one of those that instructed you through a line dance. The buck of your hips instructed him to speed up. The subtle shake of your head told him it was too much, not so hard. The increasing frequency and pitch of your voice told him you were nearing the brink, aided by a small squeak of, “close,”

Your orgasms came in tandem. Your silent moans and his high pitched whine of your name.

When it was all settled, and after a trip to the bathroom, he pulled you into his arms. “Was that okay?” He asked quietly.

You smiled up at him and pecked his lips. “Absolutely. Thank you for doing that.”

His smile mirrored yours. “Don’t thank me. I’d do anything for you.”

[nottslove]

BLOODY KNUCKLES

Pairing: mattheo riddle x slytherin fem!reader 1.8k words

Warnings: 18+, smut under the cut, mdni, a little angst, established relationship, slight choking, dubcon if you squint, heavy cursing, mentions of blood, bloody knuckles, violence, degrading, praising, porn with minimal plot, fingering, slight edging, semi-public, lowercaps intended.

Summary: a guy flirted with you, and you gave him your number, only for your boyfriend mattheo to beat him up until he was barely breathing and teach you a lesson— that you belong to him, and only him.

Author's note: had this idea, and decided to write. special thanks to @ur-local-wizard for being an absolute cinnamon roll and giving me motivation. you guys should go follow them. enjoy!!.

HE was fucking pissed. You could tell just by the way he sat there before the fireplace, in the empty Slytherin common room hours past curfew, with his jaw tight and his fists clenched, staring venomously into the flames with the utmost displeasure.

You were cautious as you approached him, getting down on your knees and kneeling beside him on the floor, whilst he sat in the armchair, back hunched, his dark eyes wide and unblinking as they caught a reflection of the flames in the black windows to his soul.

You held a washcloth and a bowl of warm water in your hands, and your fingers slowly grasped his bruised knuckles and completely bloody hands, before you slowly began to wipe away the blood on his hands.

However, the moment your hand made contact with his, his dark, soulless eyes bore into yours, giving you a sharp, venomous glare.

"Don't," he growled, tugging his hand away, shrugging you off completely, gaze piercing through your soul with a glare so lethal, it caused you to allow the washcloth to slip through your fingers and drop to the floor.

You didn't know why he was mad at you, usually he allowed you to clean him up whenever he got into fights.

At the cold, dismissive rejection you faced, you felt your eyes well up the slightest bit, trying so hard not to cry, or let it show on your face.

"But—"

You quickly shut your mouth the moment you spoke, realizing that you did not want to stir the waters of a tide that was already far too strong.

But it was too late. Mattheo had caught your slip up.

"But what?" he scoffed, mocking you, his voice rough and raw, the displeasure that laced his voice almost palpable, causing another whole load of feelings to wash over you in the form of tears that you managed to hold in once again.

Usually, the simple sight of your glazed eyes alone was enough for Mattheo to instantly shower you in affection and cheer you up. You were his princess, his precious darling.

Now, however, he seemed unaffected, slightly amused even, letting out an emotionless scoff at your silence.

"But what, Princess? Fucking spit it out," he demanded, voice low and gravelly, large hand coming to rest around your neck, exerting the slightest bit of pressure and asserting his clear dominance over you, a silent warning for you to continue.

You didn't know why he was being like this, so darn mean. His fingertips were cool against your throat, and would no doubt leave traces of blood against the pale skin of your neck.

"Why are you mad at me?" you whispered, averting your gaze to where your knees rested on the carpeted floor.

Once those words were spoken, it was as if the entire air in the common room shifted, and everything became dark and eerily dangerous.

"Why am I mad at you?" he crooned, mocking you as he repeated your question right back at you, his other hand slowly coming up to your face, the back of his fingers brushing against your cheek as he pressed a little harder into your throat before releasing it. "I don't know, Princess, you tell me..."

"I didn't do anything, Matty, I was just making friends, like you told me to—" you protested, blinking back the unshed tears that clung to your lashes, your wide, doe eyes staring up into those of your boyfriend.

It was no surprise that you weren't exactly a social butterfly. Far from it, actually. Known as the quiet, and shy bookworm from Slytherin, you usually hung around in the library or in quiet places, and it was only a matter of time that Mattheo's eyes fell on you, and you became his latest prize to conquer.

At first, it was merely watching from afar, noticing you, and all the little things you did. From always needing a lollipop whilst writing, or constantly running your middle finger across your brow when reading, Mattheo noticed everything.

Then, it became an obsession.

Then, it became a desire for possession.

And when he finally fulfilled this desire, and you were his, and his alone, the more he got to know you, the more he noticed how introverted you were.

You had no friends, and instantly shied off whenever anyone approached you, and Mattheo decided that he would help you grow more confident.

And today, when some older Slytherin approached you, Mattheo instantly noticed and chased him away, instantly dragging you away to the library.

"Friends, huh?" he seethed, a dry scoff full of irony slipping past his lips. "Oh, Princess, that fucktard didn't want to be your friend... He wanted to be more."

Your mouth opened like a goldfish, and you swallowed as you tried to understand what he had just said.

You hadn't noticed anything about that guy; he had seemed genuine

Before he could explain further, he had already stood up, leaving you alone to ponder his words, and was walking towards the steps that led to his dorm when you stood up and trailed after him, your hand grasping his elbow softly, pulling him towards you.

"Where are you going? What did I do? Why are you mad at me?" you asked, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks at the casual dismissal in his body language.

At his words, he spun around, his gaze sharp, piercing, his eyes blacker than ink as they bored into you with conviction.

"Because you're mine!" he growled, possession dripping from his words as he spoke, the vein underneath his jaw pulsing as his blood pumped through it rapidly. "Solely... mine!" he hissed, his voice low and rough as he leaned to speak into your ear, the heat of his breath warming your ear. "Is that clear, or do you need more to understand?"

Your expression was blank, and you wiped your tears, yet you made no show to indicate you had understood his statement, only angering him further.

"Looks like you need reminding, who you belong to," he tutted, his bruised hand grasping your shoulder and holding you mounted against the wall, his other bloody hand yanking up your skirt and exposing the delicate, sensitive skin on your thighs.

You gasped audibly at the adrenaline rush that filled you when you realized that anyone could walk into the empty common room and see you like this. You tried to protest, to say something, anything, but words failed you as soon as you felt the cold brush of his rings against your skin.

You whimpered softly

His index finger slowly raked across the damp lace of your panties, a dark chuckle leaving him as he flicked your folds through the fabric, causing you to whimper at his touch.

Hi dragged his hand across your inner thighs, painting them red, smearing the blood from his bruised and bloody knuckles all over your thighs, a visual reminder of the guy he had just beaten up for you.

"Matty— what.. what are you doing?" you finally got the courage to whisper, your throat tight, and your voice low. "A-any-anyone can walk in—"

He didn't answer you, ripping your panties off in one move and shoving them into his pocket— he would most definitely jerk off with them later on.

The cool air hit your sensitive folds, sending a jolt of arousal through you as you let out a sharp cry when you felt Mattheo insert a finger into your tight, little hole, his ring adding a cool splash to the slightly stinging flesh.

It was only when he grunted slightly, in pain, that you realized he was doing this with his bruised knuckles and broken fingers, the ones he had used to beat up that other guy.

Your eyes widened and you gasped, and a cry ripped from your throat when you felt him shove two fingers into your slick heat, your juices dripping down his fingers, mingling with the blood and sliding down to curl around his wrist.

"F-fuck, M-matty," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you, your knees buckling and threatening to give way, if it weren't for his other hand that held you up.

He hiked one of your legs to wrap around his waist, his fingers curling and scissoring inside your heat. You nearly exploded with pleasure when he added a third finger into your pussy, but he quickly retracted his fingers before you could reach your high.

"This pretty little cunt belongs to me," Mattheo declared, shoving them back in roughly and pumping his fingers in and out of your hole, your walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers involuntarily. "Is that clear?"

Your moans echoed in his ears, and you nodded, your back pressed against the cold stone of the wall as your hands found a position in his hair.

You were completely gone, lost in the delicious way his long fingers penetrated your tight hole, in the way they curled around just the right amount to reach that fleshy spot that made you see stars.

You could feel the pressure buildup, and you could hear the sounds of your slick walls clenching pitifully around his fingers, as his eyes bored into you like a man possessed, taking in every bit of your reaction.

"That's it, make a mess on my hand, Princess— so fucking needy..." he muttered, bringing his mouth down to gently bite into your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"I know you're so fucking close, do it— I want to feel you clamp around my fingers, so it— cum all over them..."

And God, with a shattering cry, you did. You tugged at his hair as your orgasm crashed through you, and your vision blackened, the surroundings replaced with colored dots.

You could barely hear your own cries, you had no sense of what you were saying or doing.

And all throughout your high, his fingers didn't relent, until your breathing slowed.

Mattheo brought his fingers to your lips, shoving them onto your tongue and forcing you to suck, giving you no choice in the matter.

"Lick it, every, single drop," he ordered, his dark eyes staring at you with amusement, watching your tongue trace all over his fingers as you lapped up your release and a mix of the blood that coated his fingers. "Don't you dare waste any..."

"Good fucking girl," he muttered, once his fingers were clean, retracting them from your mouth. "Next time, think carefully before giving your number to any Tom, Dick and Harry, alright?"

You nodded, too dumbfounded to do anything else.

His expression softened, and he slowly dropped a kiss to your forehead, smoothing down your skirt and patting the tiny bulge in his pocket, where your crumpled up panties rested.

"Goodnight, Princess."

And then he was gone, and when you slipped out of your daze, you caught sight of his dark curly hair as he ascended the stairs, before he disappeared out of sight.

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while working on the case and watching a certain profiler with pretty eyes and a well-tailored coat, you overhear some local cops badmouthing him — and before you know it, you decide to put them in their place.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, unpleasant comments about spencer’s looks and behavior, diva is so diva he should marry her right now fr and hold my hand while i say this and don’t panic joke about morgan's baldness...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8k

𝐚/𝐧: request | i was too much of a lazy bitch to make a header sorry i hope his pretty face makes up for it xx

“How are you feeling out in the field?”

Morgan addressed you with his arms loosely crossed over his chest and a slightly teasing expression on his face. You slowly shifted your gaze to him.

“Absolutely fantastic,” you replied flatly, adjusting your grip on the handle of the umbrella resting against your side. Through the tree canopies spreading above your heads, patches of gray clouds broke through, now and then releasing a few drops as a warning of the real downpour to come. “I love nature.”

He nodded ironically, clearly unconvinced.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you love the mud on your boots too?”

Almost exactly as those words left his mouth, several large raindrops tapped against his FBI jacket, followed immediately by more, falling with even greater intensity. Your friend raised his eyes to the sky, pressing his lips together in displeasure. Rainy weather always made working at a crime scene harder—securing the body and protecting biological and chemical evidence. And collecting the latter was already challenging given the location: a truly remote, densely overgrown spot in the forest, impossible to access by police vehicles. Those had been left at the end of the forest path, as far in as they could get, and you’d been led to the exact place where the latest victim of the serial killer had been found by local officers.

“I’m about to have mud on my boots,” you remarked, already imagining what would happen to the already damp ground after even just a few minutes of such heavy rain. The conditions you encountered had been predictable, so you had chosen footwear suited to them—stylish boots that also perfectly complemented the rest of your outfit. But then again, that was nothing unusual. Even if you had to evacuate during a volcanic eruption, you’d grab something you wouldn’t be ashamed to have melted into your skin by lava.

You opened the umbrella, which had until then been resting with its tip on the ground. Derek took a step toward you, premature gratitude written all over his face—so you stepped back instead, the corners of your mouth curling up mischievously.

“What? Worried about your hair?”

Morgan shook his bald head from side to side, sighing.

“You little witch—”

“Morgan!”

Hotch’s voice called out to you from a not particularly great distance. Even he—who normally never parted with his suit—was now wearing a brown fleece with a high collar and was currently overseeing the setup of a police tent over the recovered body to protect it from the rain.

Derek gave you a nod in farewell, ending the brief chat, but you didn’t even follow him with your eyes. Your gaze remained fixed in Hotch’s direction—or more precisely, on the member of his team who had just approached him. What immediately caught your attention was that Reid was wearing a very well-tailored coat (a detail that made you purse your lower lip in approval, because well tailored coats did have something about them), and he had just begun explaining something, as usual gesturing animatedly with his hands—now covered in blue rubber gloves, lightly dusted with dark soil.

Focused on whatever fascinating theory or analysis he was sharing, he seemed completely unaware of at least half of his gestures, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with the dirty glove in concentration—naturally leaving a mark on his skin.

You rolled your eyes at the sight, but there was something surprisingly gentle in that gesture. You turned the handle of the umbrella in your hand, which also rested on your shoulder—and then the corner of your ear caught a scrap of conversation happening behind your back. Even without turning your head, just by slightly focusing your hearing, you could tell it was coming from two of the local officers also present at the scene.

“Where do you think they even dug him up from?” asked the first male voice mockingly.

“Which one?” the second sounded confused, but a moment later let out a derisive snort. “Alright, don’t even tell me. I already know who you mean.”

Laughter. Real kings of comedy, truly.

“I wonder what he’s even doing in the FBI. I mean, they’ve got to have some kind of fitness tests, right? What’s a beanpole like that even good for?”

“I’ll tell you what he’s good for—pissing everyone off with his babbling. Just look at the other guy’s face.”

Following the suggestion, you looked at the other guy’s face. That, of course, meant Hotch’s face—there was no doubt who the first part of that pathetic, taxpayer-funded conversation had been about. You studied the BAU chief’s expression more closely and didn’t detect a hint of irritation or weariness at whatever Spencer was explaining to him. Hotch simply looked like Hotch.

Your observation was interrupted by the approach of one of your team members, the hood of her raincoat pulled tightly around her head and her glasses nearly completely covered in rain.

“We’re going to have to go back to the car for the equipment,” she informed you, adjusting her glasses on her nose with a sigh the moment she looked toward the path you had come from earlier. That meant quite a bit of walking through muddy terrain, carrying rather heavy items—always packed in sturdy cases for safety reasons.

A certain thought popped into your head, and with a smile creeping onto your lips, you calmed Olivia with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. The woman frowned suspiciously as you turned over your shoulder toward the two men behind you. “Gentlemen, could I ask you for a favor?”

They stared at you for a beat too long, then at each other—and then eagerly stepped forward to fulfill the favor, whatever it was.

“Of course...”

“Anything you wish...”

You cleared your throat.

“You’ll go and bring back the case with number two on it,” you instructed.

Olivia furrowed her brows and parted her lips to protest, but you silenced her with just a look.

“But you need to be extremely careful,” you continued smoothly, “so, very slowly. Ideally, carry it together—for stability.”

The men listened with rapt attention and visible determination to follow your directions. Which, of course, were nonsense—one person could easily carry it alone. But trying to do it as a pair would stretch the trip out nicely in all that rain and mud. Then, well, they were gone, like children you’d promised candy to.

It was so very typical of the kind of men you made use of—just as typical as their pitiful little sense of being useful, irreplaceable.

You watched them vanish between the trees, and when your gaze met Olivia's again, her face showed both surprise and a certain intrigue.

“But we need case number three,” she pointed out, correctly.

You opened your mouth in exaggerated disbelief.

“Really…? Oh, Olivia, why didn’t you say so earlier,” you sighed, making it clear that the whole thing had been a game from the start.

The woman stayed silent for a moment, genuinely trying to figure out your intentions. She gave up shortly after, shaking her head with a sigh.

“And what kind of sadist are you playing today?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” you assured her.

The officers returned, lugging the wrong case and looking like wet dogs, their hair plastered to their foreheads from the rain, which had only intensified since they’d left. They set it down in front of you and Olivia, both sheltered under the umbrella you were holding, visibly relieved they hadn’t dropped it.

You waited a few seconds, during which they stood silently, clearly expecting some kind of eternal gratitude, before raising an eyebrow.

“I said case number three.”

They exchanged a look.

“Um, I’m pretty sure you said the one with number two on it.”

“Um, sounds like you’ve got a hearing problem,” you snapped, sharper than you’d intended, the words slipping out before you could stop them

It wasn’t something you’d planned from the start, and for a second, you were secretly surprised at yourself. But since sharpness and spite had apparently chosen you today, you decided to stick with that version of events and made sure your face reflected the proper level of displeasure.

Olivia glanced sideways at you for a long moment, then nodded with faux certainty.

“Yeah, she definitely said case number three. You must’ve misheard. Not your fault, maybe it was the rain,” she offered in a more sympathetic tone, though still fully backing your story.

The men exchanged confused looks, now with a flicker of doubt that maybe it had been their mistake. So, off they went again—to return the wrong case and fetch the correct one. When they finally disappeared, you gave Olivia a small, grateful smile.

Only to immediately wipe it off your face as the dumbasses reappeared, and declare:

“And what about my handbag? I told you to bring that too.”

And what amused you the most was that the two of them only started showing any suspicion or doubt after their third trek through the rain and mud. Frustration flashed in one of their eyes as he handed you your handbag.

“Was this really necessary for working the case?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Unbothered, and with their eyes still on you, you calmly reached into the bag for your compact mirror and lipstick, touching up your makeup with the faintest swipe.

“No,” you replied, snapping the mirror shut. “But at least you were useful for something. There’s no intellectual work here for two such empty heads, so you might as well make use of those muscles.” You gave them a critical once-over with that last word—because honesty, their physiques weren’t all that impressive either.

They stared at you in complete stupefaction before walking off, muttering something under their breath about a crazy bitch. Well, you had no intention of wasting another word on them. Another thing you had no intention of doing was explaining the entire ordeal to the clearly intrigued Olivia. And the main reason for that was the fact that you hadn’t fully rationalized it to yourself. Maybe you were just running on a higher than usual dose of spite that day.

Maybe there was another reason entirely.

Shortly afterward, Reid approached you, preoccupied with peeling off his latex gloves, only glancing at you with brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Is it just me, or did you send these guys to the cars three times?” he asked.

You merely gave a slight shrug.

“That’s what happens when you have trouble following instructions,” you remarked simply.

And before walking off to rejoin your team, you reached up and wiped that smudge of dirt from his chin with your thumb—the one you'd spotted earlier—leaving him, to put it mildly, completely stunned.

[baelarys]

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣

Aemond targaryen x Reader wife Velaryon

Word count: 1779

Warning: Fluff

Pt2 pt3 pt4

"Mommy! Vaera has my dress," little Vaerys complained, clinging to your skirt with the determination of someone seeking justice in her small, childish world.

"That's not true," Vaera retorted, her tone indignant, her voice reflecting the restlessness she also showed in her constant fidgeting as you tried to braid her hair.

"Vaera, stay still," you ordered her softly but firmly, your skilled hands deftly moving through her golden locks. Despite her agitation, your skill did not waver, and soon an impeccable braid began to form.

"Sweetheart, what you're wearing is very pretty too," you tried to negotiate with the little platinum-haired girl who was still clutching your dress.

"But I want it to be pink," insisted Vaerys, her lower lip trembling in a pout you knew all too well.

You sighed, knowing there would be no peace until the little one's wishes were fulfilled. "Alright," you relented, gesturing to one of your ladies-in-waiting. She hurried to tend to the twins, swapping their dresses with the efficiency born of routine. Meanwhile, your hands briefly rested on your swollen belly, caressing it with deep, protective love.

The sound of the doors opening behind you interrupted the moment, and you turned just in time to see Aerion, your only son, standing in the doorway. "Mommy," he called softly, almost hesitantly.

A gasp escaped your lips at the sight of your son. Your hands flew to your mouth, trying to contain the shock. The beautiful platinum and golden hair that used to fall in soft waves to Aerion's shoulders had disappeared, crudely cut. His face was smeared with smoke and dirt, as if he had been in the midst of a battle.

“Aerion, for the love of the gods, what happened?” you exclaimed, crossing the distance between you in an instant. You took your son by the shoulders, examining his face with concern as you searched for answers in his eyes.

One of the knights who had escorted Aerion to the room remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the shame was a weight he could not bear.

“What happened?” you insisted, your voice firm, seeking answers in the knight’s face.

The knight cleared his throat before responding, his voice full of a mixture of respect and concern. “Prince Aerion decided to escape from his training and ventured into the pit where Vhagar and Silverwing rest. We managed to pull him out of there before the dragon’s fire consumed him, but his hair caught fire in the process, and the maester decided to cut it to prevent further damage.”

He finished speaking with his gaze once again fixed on the ground, as if each word added more weight to his shoulders.

Before you could respond, Aerion quickly intervened, noticing the displeasure forming on your face. “But the maester said it will grow back!” he exclaimed with the desperation of a child seeking absolution, his large, anxious eyes searching yours.

You gestured for the guard to leave, and he obeyed with a bow before exiting the room. Then, you pressed your lips together, trying to stay calm as a storm of fear and anger swirled within you. The danger Aerion had exposed himself to was no small matter; the fact that he had emerged practically unscathed was a miracle. However, his recklessness could not be ignored or overlooked.

You took Aerion’s face in your hands, gently wiping the dirt from his cheeks, your gaze firm and worried. “Aerion,” you began, trying not to let your voice tremble with emotion, “we’ve talked about this before. Dragons are not pets. You cannot approach them as if they were dogs.”

“But I just wanted to see them,” your son responded in a whisper, his eyes fixed on the ground. Guilt weighed in his voice, and yet there was still a trace of his childish stubbornness. “I’m sorry, really,” he added, stepping forward and wrapping his small arms around your waist, seeking comfort and perhaps a way to avoid the punishment he feared.

You sighed, feeling the warmth of his embrace, but not letting it distract you from what needed to be said. “I know, my love, and I believe you. But you must understand that you cannot do this again. Dragons are powerful and dangerous creatures. I don’t want to lose you to a mistake.” With tenderness, you tilted your head and placed a gentle kiss on his head.

With the same softness, you pulled away slightly from him. “Now, go clean yourself up,” you ordered in a tone that left little room for objections.

One of your ladies-in-waiting approached and took Aerion’s hand with the usual deference, guiding him to the bath to prepare him for cleaning. As you watched them leave, you let out a slight groan of pain as you felt the baby in your womb give small kicks, reminding you of their presence with an energy that could not be ignored.

The door opened again, and as you looked up, you saw your husband, Aemond, who gave you a warm smile upon seeing you. There was a familiarity and affection in his gaze that always managed to calm your spirit. Carefully, he placed his sword on the table before approaching you, his presence filling the room with a tranquility only he could offer.

“Daddy!” Vaerys exclaimed with excitement, breaking the brief moment of silence. Without hesitation, the little girl jumped into her father’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck with the absolute confidence of a child who knows they will always be received with love.

Aemond lifted her effortlessly, holding her against his chest as his face softened even more. “And how is my little warrior today?” he asked playfully, as Vaerys laughed, delighted by her father’s attention.

Meanwhile, Vaera, who had remained silent, looked at her sister with bright eyes, waiting her turn to be hugged. With a gesture that showed Aemond’s natural skill in handling the dynamics between his children, he extended his other arm to draw Vaera to his side as well.

“Look at my dress,” Vaerys exclaimed, raising her arms to proudly show off her pink dress, waiting for her father's approval.

Aemond, always attentive to the details that mattered to his daughters, smiled and nodded appreciatively. “It’s a beautiful dress, Vaerys,” he commented with warmth that made the little girl’s eyes shine.

Not wanting to be left out, Vaera quickly interjected, spreading the folds of her own dress. “Look at mine too!” she proclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of enthusiasm and expectation.

Aemond placed a loving kiss on Vaerys’s cheek, then another on Vaera’s cheek, making sure both felt his affection equally. The twins, satisfied with their father’s attention, moved away with playful laughter, their pink dresses fluttering as they disappeared into their own world of games and giggles.

Your husband approached you with a tenderness he only showed during the most intimate moments. Gently, he placed his hand on your swollen belly, caressing it with the same devotion he showed each day, as if already attuned to the new family member who was about to arrive.

“You look worried,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern as he pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture you shared when seeking comfort in each other’s closeness. “What’s wrong?”

The warmth of his skin and the familiarity of his touch reassured you, but the emotions you had been holding back began to surface. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting his presence calm your thoughts before you responded.

“It’s Aerion,” you confessed in a whisper, feeling the worry still weighing on your heart. “Today, he ran off and got too close to Vhagar and Silverwing. He almost… I can’t bear to think about what could have happened.”

“He’s a brave boy,” Aemond said, his voice soft but with the firmness of someone who understands the complex nature of his son. “I’ll talk to him.”

You nodded, knowing that Aemond, with his patience and wisdom, was the best person to guide Aerion in these moments. As the weight of your worry began to lift, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability, resting your head against Aemond’s chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a reassuring reminder of the strength and stability you always found in him.

Sensing your need for closeness, Aemond wrapped you in a warm embrace, his arms surrounding you with a tenderness that always surprised you, contrasting with his usual sternness. In that moment, the outside world, with all its worries and challenges, seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, connected in a silence full of understanding.

“You need to relax,” Aemond murmured, his voice caressing the air as gently as his hand moved up and down your back. The gesture was comforting, almost hypnotic, as if he wanted to erase the accumulated tension from every muscle in your body, leading you to a state of deep calm.

The warmth of his touch and the firmness with which he held you sent a wave of tranquility through you. You rested your head against his chest, letting yourself be carried by the steady rhythm of his breathing, which slowly synchronized with yours. You could feel his strength and protection enveloping you, offering you a refuge where you could rest without reservations.

“I’m here,” Aemond continued, his voice low, almost a whisper, resonating in your ear like an unbreakable promise. “You don’t have to carry all this weight alone. Together, we can handle anything.”

His words, laden with a love that didn’t need to be expressed with grand gestures, comforted you in a way that few things could. It was a reminder that, despite everything you faced, you weren’t alone in this journey. Aemond was by your side, sharing not only the joys but also the burdens that life imposed on you.

You felt his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back, a simple gesture that spoke of his desire to see you relaxed and at peace. Each caress seemed to take away a bit of the tension you had accumulated, and in response, you held onto him a little tighter, letting his presence envelop you completely.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely a whisper, but enough for him to hear. You lifted your gaze to meet his eyes, those eyes that always offered you the certainty that, no matter what came your way, you would face it together.

[saphiccarma]

- Cock Warming

Relationships - G!p Natasha x Reader

Summary - Natasha had sent you teasing photos while at work, filling you with the hope of getting fucked when she got home. You were sorely dissapointed to find her watching the soccer game.

Warnings: g!p natasha, bratty reader, mean nat, cock warming, explicit photos sent through text

Wood panels cool beneath your feet, you glide across the house to find your girlfriend. Even with socks on, you can feel the chill in the floor and shiver slightly, picking up your pace. Hair disheveled from your recent nap, you blink away sleep.

Natasha should be home from work now, and based on the soft sound of soccer playing on the TV, she was. Most of the time you greeted her by the front door with a bright smile while giving her a warm hug. It was practically tradition at that point.

The only reason you didn't today was because of a photo she sent you. And normally that wouldn't be a problem. The two of you sent each other photos all the time, sweet and fluffy ones just to say 'I miss you' - all of which got saved to your camera roll, much to Natasha's displeasure.

Out of the blue today, she sent you a photo. No text accompanying it. Sent in the middle of the day, while she was at work none the less, was a picture of her dick.

Based on the tile floors she was in the bathroom, business slacks pooled around her ankles and boxers tugged down. Her shaft was erect, standing upright and the faintest bit of precum leaking from the tip. Hand wrapped around the red and swollen base, Natasha held it upright while snapping a photo with her other hand.

The minute you saw it, you were left dripping, absolutely soaked after just a few moments of staring at it. Just when you were about to touch yourself, to soothe that ache between your thighs, a text comes in.

No touching yourself.

You groaned in frustration, tossing the phone onto the bed and settled for a cold shower. Unlike popular opinion, the cool water did little to calm your needs and only served to make you wish Natasha was here to fuck you stupid in the shower.

When you got out, you found another text waiting for you. This time it was a video, only five seconds long, but enough to make you horny. The camera shook as it was recorded, her hand flying up and down her dick at a pace so fast it was a blur. You could see the muscles in her forearm flexing, her fingers curled around her length.

A white spurt of cum shoots out and coats her veiny, throbbing tip. You can hear a muffled moan in the background, the sound of her ragged breathing before the footage is cut off. You were absolutely aching at this point.

A nap was your best bet to stay obedient and not touch yourself.

Now you wandered into the living room, panties covered in dried arousal, and heart pounding in your chest. Faintly you recognize the soccer game on the TV, but your eyes narrow in on your girlfriend. Red hair flowing over the back of the couch, her head tilted back.

Natasha had her legs spread, one arm thrown back and the other nursing a beer that was already halfway gone. You shuffle into the living room, wearing only an oversized shirt and panties, standing in front of the couch.

"Hi baby," she smiles up at you, taking a sip of the beer, "Have a good day?"

A small frown tugs at the corners of your lips at her casual demeanor, "Yeah. How was work?"

You hover awkwardly by the couch, waiting for her to acknowledge the texts from earlier, to initiate something. Instead, she just shrugs, eyes trained on the television and takes a sip of her beer. Her throat bobs when she swallows.

"The usual."

Anticipation coils tight in your stomach, hot and heavy as you shift on your feet. After a moment of waiting, swaying back and forth, you drop onto her lap. She raises an eyebrow at your boldness when you loop your arms around her neck and pull her in for a kiss.

"I'm trying to watch the game," she murmurs against your lips, pulling away and tilting her head so she can see. You huff in annoyance, glaring at her slightly, "What's wrong darling?"

There's a casual tone of indifference to her words, one that sends a rush of both frustration and arousal through you. It irks you how she can act so unbothered where as you were a flustered mess, cheeks a soft pink and cunt wet.

"Natty," you whine softly, shifting. And then that's when you feel it. The slightest firm length beneath you, pressing up against her leg and straining against the confines of her jeans. A small smirk curves your lips upwards, and you purposefully grind against it.

Natasha's hand snap to your hips, holding you in place, "Stay still."

Her words only spur you on and you begin to rock back and forth at a steady pace, trying not to come off as too desperate. You can see the way her jaw ticks, clenching almost imperceptibly, fingers tightening around her beer bottle.

Your smile widens and you lean in, dipping your head to press soft, open mouthed kisses her collarbone. Her breath hitches, another small thing, and you can feel her cock get harder beneath you.

"I need you," you whisper, voice breaking off into an exaggerated moan. "Please Daddy."

Natasha hummed softly and tapped a finger against your hip. Chest tightening you get off and watch as she sets her drink down on the floor. Shimmying out of her pants and boxers, Natasha frees her cock which springs up and makes your mouth water.

She pats her lap, a silent invitation and you waste no time in stripping your panties off, letting the soaked garment fall the floor. You kick them away before straddling her lap once more, lining yourself up before sinking down on her shaft.

A ragged moan leaves your lips and you tilt your head back slightly in pleasure. Using her shoulders as leverage you begin to bounce up and down, your arousal acting as a natural lubricant. The feeling of her cock sliding against your walls draws out another moan of satisfaction.

The feeling lasts for all of five seconds before her hands are gripping your hips again, holding you still. A frustrated whine leaves your throat as you stare at her in confusion. The corner of her lip is tilted up, the slightest indication she's enjoying this.

Natasha leans forward, grabbing her beer off the floor and taking a sip. Your brows furrow, frowning as you study her face. She's not even looking at you, completely focused on the game and that alone is enough to make you squirm. The small movement from you makes her dig her nails into your hips, eliciting a sharp yelp.

"Daddy..." you whimper, ducking your head to hide it in her neck. She releases your hips and rests her hand on the back of your neck instead, fiddling with the baby hairs.

She hums softly, jerking her hips upwards, "Daddy wants to watch the game." Her breath is warm on your ear as she kisses just below your earlobe, "So you're going to be a good little cocksleeve and warm Daddy up while she watches the game, hm? Then maybe I'll fuck you."

Unease churns in your stomach and you begin to move your head so that you can speak clearly and look at her. But she doesn't let you, instead guiding your face back into the crook of her neck, back into darkness.

With a frustrated huff that was filled with reluctant lust, you shift your hips, inhaling sharply when she swats your bottom.

"Stay still."

You try your best, you really do. For the first few minutes it's relatively easy, stay as still as possible, don't move and whine a lot in hopes she'll give up. She doesn't. Natasha never gives up. The game drones on in the background and you get increasingly bored as time passes.

Natasha shifts on the couch, her cock moving inside you and setting all your nerves on fire once more. You inhale sharply, eyes squeezing shut as you fight the urge to move, to roll with it. You're full, yes, stuffed to the brim, but there's no friction. No movement and it's driving you insane.

You're fairly certain she starts to do it on purpose after that, small jerks of her hips that changes the angle of her dick inside you and making your cunt all the more sensitive. Each time is worse than the last. You can feel the pleasure sharper and with every ticking second, you become more and more aware of the feeling of her buried deep inside you.

It gets to the point where if she even breathes too much, you whine and shift your hips. If you even dare to move, she slaps your ass, growls a warning in your ear and takes a swig of her beer. You can hear the game begin to close, the final scores being announced.

Hope begins to bubble in your chest, and you start to rock your hips, eager to get to the reward sooner rather than later. An amused scoff echoes in your ear and Natasha holds you still once more. This time, she grabs your hair after you stop moving and tilts your head back, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I say you could move?" The tone she uses is one of utter disapproval.

You frown and whine softly, "No." You almost forget to tack on a, "Daddy."

"Good, now stay still until the game is over." She guides your face back to her neck, engulfing you in darkness once more.

The game is drawn out to what feels like hours, but you know it's only minutes. You're absolutely aching, dripping wet and stomach tight with anticipation. It almost hurts, almost. But you sure are reaching your end point and you might just take what you want, consequences be dammed.

"Alright baby," she murmurs eventually, letting you sit up, "You want to get fucked?"

You nod eagerly, a soft little whimper leaving your lips as you shift your hips. Instead of giving you what you want, Natasha lifts you up by your armpits, dragging you off her cock. The feeling of being empty has you letting out a chocked sob, nose crinkling in displeasure.

"Go get dressed," She orders, slapping you on the ass as she deposits you on the floor, "We're gonna go for a walk."