#if you want me to come up with a deep meaning behind this on the spot:

[kageyuh]

nerd! | ☆ nerd!armin arlert x reader (nsfw)

cw: nerd!armin, nsfw, smut, pwp, college au, exhibitionism? p in v, slightly public sex, sex in library, armin is mean, riding, spit, tutor? armin secret sex pro, lowk just pure smut in the library bc nerd armin has taken over my brain

nerd!armin has you bouncing up and down his cock. tucked in the corner of the library that no one visits, where no one can hear your muffled cries.

drool hangs out the corner of your mouth, soaking the fabric of the pink, lacy panties you had put on just for him, the same ones he had ripped off of you.

just moments before, you had innocently asked him for help on an assignment...before purposely dropping your pencil to show off your new pair.

armin wasn't well known to others, but he had been your secret obsession the whole semester. but while everyone else was out partying, he was studying, meaning that you had to resort to... alternative measures in order to see him outside of class.

"you just had to show off, didn't you?" he grunts, lifting your hips before slamming them down brutally. "wanted everyone to see what a little slut you are, hmm?"

you can only stifle a moan in response, tears pooling at your eyes as you clutch onto his shoulders. the fabric of his shirt is soaked by your fluids. the plap! plap! plap! of skin against skin is loud and audible, but the sound is the least of your worries as armin stills his grip on you, all movement coming to a halt.

you whine pathetically, squirming in his arms to attempt some form of relief.

a slap! rings through the library, and the stinging sensation on your left asscheek leaves you whining and rutting for more.

"stupid slut." he growls, fogged up glasses slipping down the rim of his nose. he slaps you again, before lifting your hips and thrusting up into your, hard.

"ah!" you crumble, face burying into his neck. he lifts his hand from your ass to tangle it into your hair, pulling your head to face him. "fucked so dumb you can't even look at me anymore?" he snatches the panties out of your mouth. "let me hear you moan."

you obey, letting forth your cries as he resumes his thrusts, pounding into your poor, abused pussy like it's his last race.

"a-armin, wait, i'm 'bout to--!" you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your moans as the dam breaks. wet, erotic squelches continue as he fucks you through your high.

suddenly, you're flipped onto the desk, study materials flying onto the floor as he pins your stomach to the brown hardwood. he presses down on your back, leaning over you to lick a stripe up your ear. "who said you could cum without permission?"

you hear a rustling behind you. in your fucked-out gaze, you see him pulling off the rubber that is soaked with your fluids. he catches your stare. a grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "bad girls deserve to get fucked raw."

raw? a shiver runs down your spine. "wait, armin, it's a bad day for me--ah!" you're silenced as he rams into your pussy, bottoming out in one deep, brutal thrust. you're a moaning mess, fingernails etching into the wood as you're slammed back and forth against the table. "n-no, i'm gonna get preg-ah! pregnant..."

he scoffs, pushing you down harder. "even better."

armin presses against your back, snatching your jaw to slam his lips against yours.

his glasses press against your nose, and he squeezes your cheeks to grant himself entrance into your mouth. As your tongues collide, you feel the cool metal of his tongue piercing scrape against the roof of your mouth. you moan into him, heated pants stealing your breath as your walls squeeze around his cock involuntarily.

"you like that?" he chuckles darkly, pulling away to stick out his tongue. "got it just for this."

he lifts you by your hair, forcing your back to arch as he bullies his way into your core. he pulls you into a kiss again, before mumbling a quick, "open," and spitting into your open mouth with a splat!

you take it, swallowing obediently and sticking out your tongue to show him your work. he groans filthily, and you feel his cock pulse inside you. he roughly slams into you, a grin erupting onto his face, and you see his tongue dart out to catch the drool at the corner of his mouth.

he flips you over with a grunt, slamming your back into the table as he begins pummeling into your core. "cum again f'me." he mumbles, wiping the fog off his glasses. he's reaching down to rub circles on your clit. "cum. now."

with his words, you come undone on his cock, legs spasming as you clutch at his wet t-shirt. you're shaking as his thrusts slow, before he gives you one last thrust, bottoming out to shoot ropes of cum into your womb. with a low, "fuck..." he's pumping for at least a minute, and you can feel the hot spurts painting your insides white as he stills inside of you.

he's panting, face buried into your neck, glasses pushed up into his hair. you both lie there for a moment, savoring the post-nut bliss before he slowly pulls out of you, bringing a moan out of your mouth. you feel the sliding of his cock as he taps it on the head of your clit, admiring his handiwork. he whistles, taking out his phone to snap a picture of your cum-filled hole, the white fluids dripping down onto your thigh.

you're too fucked out to care as he records your sorry state, giving your cunt a few slaps, even pushing a finger into your hole to plug his cum back in, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. he's stuffing his cock back into his pants, but you can barely move, still twitching and panting on the table from your high.

he's about to leave when he gives you a once over, then takes off his plaid flannel to wrap you in it carefully. he sits you down carefully, brushing your hair from your face, leaving a soft peck on your temple. he slides your used panties up your legs, making sure to carefully keep his seed inside, then smooths out your skirt, tucking a business card into your waistband. he's cleaning off his glasses before bidding you farewell, leaving you in the library to collect yourself.

you were definitely going to schedule another session.

"call me if you need another lesson."

you slowly pull out the card, eyes skimming the letters on the cardstock and fingers quick to save the number in your phone.

Armin Arlert, Tutoring Services, XX university, (#).

[cheftsunoda]

reckless — ln4, op81

smau/real life

lando norris x !ex singer reader

oscar piastri x !singer reader

y/n and lando had been inseparable since they were nineteen, building a life together through the highs and lows. but lately, something felt off. as lando grew distant, yn’s suspicions quietly grew—until the truth unraveled…he’d been cheating with magui. instead of confronting him, yn poured her heartbreak into a song—one that ended their relationship for the world to hear. in the aftermath, she found comfort where she least expected it… in the arms of lando’s own teammate.

fc : stassie karanikolaou and various pinterest gals

special request from my love @cmgmikealson 🧡

i am legit posting heal your heart right as we speak so part 4 is posted if you’re looking for it

—

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55, mclaren & 1,294,389 others.

yourusername : life’s been pretty good to me lately<3

—

username00 : so pretty love

username7 : no lando like?

username15 : he usually is first comment 🤨

username5 : im so confused where is her man

username8 : guys he is in the dump relax

alexandrasaintmleux : god you are so beautiful

liked by yourusername

yourusername : come smooch on me pretty

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc : what did I walk into?

alexandrasaintmleux: look away cha

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 : Miss you yn!

liked by yourusername

yourusername : miss you carlitos! golf with papà soon?

liked by carlossainz55 and carlossainzoficial

carlossainzoficial : Sí!

liked by yourusername and carlossainz55

kikagomes : my stunning girl

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you to the moon and back

username10 : where tf is lando?

—

‘This chapter's about

How you said there was nobody else

Then you got up and went to her house

You guys always left me out’

—

He grabs his keys from the counter, barely glancing in my direction.

“I’ll be back later,” Lando says, voice flat.

“Where are you going?” I ask, keeping my tone light—casual, like I don’t already feel the distance growing between us.

He shrugs. “Just out.”

No name. No place. No explanation.

I nod, pretending not to care. “Okay. Be safe.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and silence floods the room. I sit there, staring at the space he just walked out of. My chest feels heavier than it should. I could’ve asked again, pressed for an answer—but what would that change? I already know the truth, even if I’m too scared to say it out loud. Something’s wrong. I feel it in the way he doesn’t look at me the same. In how he only kisses me when he thinks I’m not paying attention to the way his mind is somewhere else. Maybe I don’t argue because deep down… I’m tired of fighting for someone who’s already gone.

—

f1gossipgirls

457,296 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Rumors have been swirling for weeks about F1 driver Lando Norris and model/influencer Magui Corceiro, and it looks like things just heated up. The two were seen leaving Magui’s apartment early Tuesday morning, looking very cozy—and definitely not like just friends. Sources say Y/N, Lando’s longtime girlfriend, was not around at the time. The pair kept it low-key, both wearing sunglasses and casual fits, but witnesses couldn’t help but notice the chemistry (and the fact that lando was spotted there overnight).

—

username00 : yn deserved so much better. she gave that man years of loyalty and he gave her betrayal in return. i hope she writes a whole album about this.

username10 : lando leaving his apartment with Magui like we wouldn’t notice?? men have no shame.

username22 : you mean to tell me lando threw away 5 years with yn (the most stunning person on the planet) for felix’ sloppy seconds?

username30 : yn’s silence speaks louder than words.

usernameeee : lando FUMBLED.

—

‘When you told me that I was the only girl

You'd ever want in your life’

The post sits on my phone screen, still open. Lando and Magui, walking out of our apartment like it was theirs. Like I didn’t exist. When I hear the front door open, I don’t move. Just stare at the screen until it turns black. I lock it and set it face down.

Lando walks in, running a hand through his hair like he’s exhausted. “Hey, I’m back,” he says softly.

I look up, trying to sound casual. “Were you with Magui?”

He pauses in the middle of the room. Not long, but long enough.

Then he walks over slowly, kneels in front of me, and rests his hands gently on my knees. “Yeah,” he says, voice calm. “She needed someone to talk to. She was going through something, and I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“There are pictures,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs. “They look worse than it was. I swear, Y/N. Nothing’s going on with her. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

His eyes search mine like he’s begging me to believe him. He squeezes my hands. “You’re the only one I want. You always have been.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Okay.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

But I still don’t believe him.

Because love shouldn’t come with this much doubt.

And the part of me that used to feel safe with him… doesn’t anymore.

—

‘Each day goes by and each night, I cry

Somebody saw you with her last night

You gave me your word, "Don't worry 'bout her’

The room is quiet except for the occasional sniffle I try to stifle into my pillow. The sheets are pulled up to my chin, but they don’t feel warm—just heavy. Like everything else. My phone is beside me, screen dimmed, waiting for a notification that won’t come. No apology. No explanation. Just silence. I open my Notes app instead, the cursor blinking back at me like it knows what’s coming. I start typing, barely able to see through the blur in my eyes. The words hurt. But they feel true. They feel like mine. I let out a shaky breath, backlit by the soft glow of the screen, when a buzz cuts through the stillness.

Max Fewtrell :

Hey. I know Lando is my best friend but what he is doing to you is so wrong, yn. You’ve been loyal to him for so long. I saw him out with magui again. I wanted you to know. I’m so sorry.

My heart drops. Max never texts me like this. Not unless it’s something important. Not unless he feels like I deserve to know. I stare at the message, my fingers trembling. He lied. Looked me in the eye and told me she just “stopped by.”

I feel something crack quietly inside me—not loud or explosive, just the kind of break you can’t come back from.

—

‘How could you be so reckless with my heart?’

I lie in bed for a while, Max’s message burning a hole in my chest. I keep hoping—praying—there’s a reasonable explanation. That I’m overthinking. That he’s telling the truth. But something inside me shifts. That quiet voice that’s been whispering doubts for weeks gets louder. I can’t ignore it anymore. So I get up. I move through the apartment on autopilot, careful not to make a sound, like I’m trespassing in a home that used to feel like mine. Lando’s bag is by the door, half-zipped, carelessly tossed like everything else in this relationship lately. I kneel beside it, heart pounding. I don’t want to be this person. I never wanted to look. But he made me. Inside, I find his phone charger, his sunglasses… and then a second phone. One I’ve never seen before. It’s not locked. My hands are cold as I scroll through the texts. Her name is right there—Magui—bold and glowing like a warning.

“Miss you already.”

“Last night was everything.”

“Don’t forget your hoodie. I kept it.”

Photo attachments. Her in our kitchen. Her in his hoodie. The same one he wore when he left that day. The same one I folded and left out for him the night before. My breath catches. I can’t cry. Not right now. My body won’t let me. I set the phone down on the counter and stare at it, like it’s some kind of weapon. Because it is. Proof of betrayal. Of everything he swore wasn’t happening.

And suddenly, I’m not heartbroken.

I’m done.

—

‘You check in and out

Of my heart like a hotel

And she must be perfect, oh well

I hope you both go to hell’

I don’t rush.

There’s a strange calm that settles over me as I fold my clothes, one by one, placing them carefully into the suitcase I bought on our first trip together. I don’t slam drawers or throw things. I just… let go.

Piece by piece.

Everything that once felt like home now feels like evidence. The framed photo of us at Silverstone. The hoodie he gave me when I first stayed over. The mug with my initial that he always filled before his morning races.

I don’t take them.

He can have the memories.

I zip the suitcase slowly and glance around the apartment one last time. It looks the same. But everything’s changed.

On the counter, I leave the second phone. Unlocked. Open to the last message from Magui.

And next to it, I place a folded piece of paper.

‘i trusted you. i loved you. she must be perfect, oh well. i hope you both go to hell.’

—

‘Hey, this is a story I hate

But I told it to cope with the pain

I'm so sorry if you can relate’

yourusername

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri & 4,379,275 others.

yourusername : i got cheated on so alex got me this shirt, we went to ibiza to party and i released my new single reckless out now 🗣️

—

username00 : alex is the best ever

username10 : this is so iconic. the shirt. the cig in ibiza. im in tears.

alexandrasaintmleux : i love love love you- the trip was so fun

liked by yn_ln

charles_leclerc : Glad you girls had fun! Hope you’re feeling better, yn:)

liked by yn_ln and alexandrasaintmleux

yn_ln : thanks for letting us borrow the jet Charlie;)

liked by charles_leclerc

kikagomes : so iconic FUCK HIM

liked yn_ln

oscarpiastri : Glad you’re healing, YN. He did you wrong.

liked by yn_ln

kikagomes : or fuck his teammate??

liked by yn_ln & oscarpiastri

username17 : OH MY GOD

carlossainz55 : glad to be your tour guide :)

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : 10/10 would recommend

username000 : oh so she won everyone in the breakup

—

36 missed calls from Lando

115 messages from Lando

—

The Monaco streets are quiet this early—just the soft hum of waves below and the rhythmic slap of my sneakers against the pavement. The city’s waking up, but I’ve been up for hours. Running clears my head in ways sleep can’t lately. I round the corner near Port Hercule, pulling my hoodie tighter around me as the breeze cuts through. Just as I hit the incline by the marina, a familiar figure jogs past in the opposite direction—then slows down and doubles back.

“Yn?”

I pause, pulling out one earbud. “Oscar?”

He jogs up, slightly out of breath, curls damp with sweat, that easy smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know you were back.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to steady both my breathing and the sudden flutter in my chest. “Just got in a few days ago.”

He nods, studying me for a beat. “You alright?”

I give a tired smile. “Getting there.”

He doesn’t push. Just offers a quiet, steady presence, the kind I didn’t know I needed until now.

“I was gonna grab a coffee and walk the market after this,” he says, shifting his weight slightly. “You feel like company?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is this a pity invite?”

He grins. “Only if you say no. Then it’ll definitely be pity.”

I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in days. The air feels lighter somehow.

“Alright,” I say. “But I’m picking the playlist next time we run into each other.”

He falls in step beside me. “Deal.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, kikagomes, carlossainz55 & 2,278,245 others.

yourusername : never been happier <3

—

username00 : new man??! bets??

username10 : better not see any “you moved on quick” comments because he moved on while they were still together

username5 : what if it’s Oscar???

kikagomes : you’re so cute omggg ily

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux : my angel deserves to be happy 🦋

liked by yn_ln

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc & 1,238,255 others.

oscarpiastri : Been pretty productive lately.

—

username00 : mans is soft launching and is so nonchalant

carlossainz55 : Hell of a season for you so far amigo!

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri : My good luck charm definitely helps

liked by carlossainz55

username10 : call me delulu but that’s def yn

hattiepiastri : who? what? when?

oscarpiastri : you could’ve just texted bro

hattiepiastri : you never answer your texts

nicolepiastri : or calls

—

The Monaco sun hits hard, even in the morning, but the buzz of the paddock is electric as always—cameras flashing, engines humming in the background, and whispers floating like static. This time, though, it’s not the usual chaos that turns heads.

It’s me.

Walking beside Oscar.

I’m wearing sunglasses, a soft black cap pulled low, and an oversized McLaren hoodie. Not just any hoodie—his hoodie. The number 81 stitched on the sleeve in that unmistakable papaya orange.

Oscar doesn’t say anything when the photographers start snapping. Just glances sideways at me with a small, knowing smile like he expected this.

I shrug. “It was the most comfortable one I had.”

“Sure it was,” he says, gently bumping my shoulder with his.

We pass a few crew members. They nod politely—but their eyes dip to my sleeve.

The whispers start instantly.

“That’s Piastri’s number, isn’t it?”

“Since when are they a thing?”

“I thought she was with—”

“Not anymore.”

Somewhere across the paddock, I catch a glimpse of Lando.

He’s mid-conversation but freezes for a split second when he sees us. His eyes drop to the hoodie, and I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens.

I don’t look away.

Oscar doesn’t either.

He simply says, “You ready?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He grips tightly onto my hand as we walk through.

—

The podium celebration is chaos—in the best way. Champagne rains down like glitter, the crowd is deafening, and Oscar’s smile is wider than she’s ever seen it. There’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. A quiet, humble pride. He climbs down from the stage, face flushed with adrenaline and joy, and immediately scans the crowd.

And then he sees me. Standing just behind the McLaren garage barrier, still wearing his hoodie, tears in my eyes and the biggest grin on my face.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He pushes through the crowd—crew members cheering, pats on the back, cameras chasing him—and walks straight to me.

“You did it,” i breathe, eyes shining.

“I told you I would,” he says softly, almost in disbelief.

And before either of us can talk ourselves out of it, he leans in and kisses me.

Not rushed. Not messy. Just sure.

The kind of kiss that says finally.

Around us, everything blurs. Reporters stop mid-sentence. Phones come up. Paparazzi lenses refocus. Someone gasps—someone else screams.

It’s official. Public. Real.

When we pull apart, Oscar rests his forehead against mine.

“I wanted to do that for a while.”

I laughed, still a little breathless. “Figured. You did win, after all.”

“Yeah,” he grins. “But I think you’re still my favorite part of today.”

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc & 10,279,255 others.

yourusername : finally got a man who can handle having a baddie

—

charles_leclerc : the cutout picture has me rolling

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : he told me to leave it out

oscarpiastri : i know how lucky i am to have pulled you;)

liked by yn_ln

oscarpiastri : my pretty girl

liked by yn_ln

alexandrasaintmleux: my loves!

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

carlossainz55 : oh this is the good luck charm, huh?😉

liked by yn_ln and oscarpiastri

—

☘️🌿🌎☁️🍃🌱🐢

[momotonescreaming]

8x18 coda, set post episode . Bucktommy. No character bashing, but I wanted to explore Buck and the 118's strained dynamic a little.

"Hey! Buck!" Chimney calls — Captain Han now — lightly jogging across the station floor towards him. "I haven't seen anything come across my desk, but I need something in writing that you're not transferring anymore soon, or it'll be too late."

He looks lighter. Happier. Starting to settle into the role of Captain, into the shoes Bobby left behind. Figuring out the paperwork, his legacy, how to run a team. He's doing well, Buck has no problem admitting. He'll be a good Captain. Just maybe not for Buck.

He takes a deep breath.

"I-I'm not rescinding my transfer request." Buck says, trying to keep his voice steady and not to waver. He tries to remind himself that he's not being selfish. That he isn't being mean. That this isn't a personal attack. That he's not taking this back just because Chim gave a speech. "It was a nice speech, but, uh, I need to do this."

He adjusts the weight of his duffel bag on his shoulder, breath stuttering in his chest, and tries not to falter.

When Chim gave that speech, addressed to everyone but very pointed at him and a little bit at Eddie — he felt guilty. That sickly coil of guilt and shame writhing in his gut. He was making everything about him again. He tried to follow Bobby's last wishes for him — look after the 118 — but it turns out they didn't need him. They didn't want him. And only now, once they're healing and piecing the crew back together that they need him to fill the gap.

But he stays strong. The 118 is just a number, it's just a station. Chimney will always be his brother-in-law, he just won't be his captain.

He's not going to rescind his transfer request.

"Buck, c'mon," Chimney starts, sighing, gesturing with his hands. "We're a team, we can honour his legacy together, all of the 118. Together means everyone."

"Sure hasn't felt like it," Buck mutters, low enough that he doesn't care if Chim hears him or not. He barrels on, voice louder. "I've made my decision Chim, so don't try to change my mind."

"What's this really about, Buck?" Chim asks, exhaling. Buck's fingers fidget and tap against the strap of his duffel bag, and he hopes he doesn't look as uncomfortable as he's starting to feel. That Chim can see him struggling against retreating into himself. "That we didn't do your little grief assessments? That Eddie left? That we were grieving? Come on, what happened to being a team sport?"

"Me?" Buck replies, the word falling out automatically. His heartbeat starting to race, brow furrowing. "I tried to be there for you all because Bobby told me to. Down there in that lab, he said the 118 would need me."

He can feel his face heat, anger lacing his words. He doesn't want to do this, but first they don't want him around, he's exhausting — and now they won't let him leave. Buck takes a deep breath, and a step back. Lets himself calm. "But apparently Bobby was wrong. You don't need me. So I'm doing what's best for me. The 118 will never be the same, I-I'm not stupid, I know without Bobby things have changed and have to change. But I want a fresh start."

Buck takes another deep breath. "So thank you, Cap. I expect to hear back about my transfer soon."

And then he ducks into the locker room.

---

"Do you think I'm making the right decision?" Buck asks, voice slightly muffled from where he's pressed into Tommy's side. Tommy, his not quite ex, not quite boyfriend, but one of the only people who's been there for him. They're talking, working towards something, both in agreement about where they want to head. So Buck's curled up on Tommy's plush couch, leaning into his side, crocheted throw blanket over their legs. "About transferring?"

"I can't tell you what to do, or what to think," Tommy starts, and Buck's stomach sort of drops before Tommy starts absently rubbing his thumb in calming little circles. He shifts — only slightly — and rests his head on top of Buck's. It's nice. He takes a slow breath, breathing in the scent of Tommy's detergent and that daily cologne he wears. "But do I support it? Of course I do."

And oh, Buck didn't realise how much he needed — or wanted — to hear that until he did. He was always going to transfer, once he set his mind on it, once he put through the request that was it — but it's nice to be supported so outright. Tommy says it so casually, so plainly, as if supporting Buck is the best and easiest thing he's ever done.

"The 217 was my fresh start, maybe this will be yours." Tommy says with a small shrug, trying not to jostle them too much.

Buck turns, and presses a gentle kiss to Tommy's clothed chest. He feels, more then he hears — Tommy's breath hitch. He hopes Tommy gets what it means. Thank you, I love you, I needed this. Thank you for letting me be selfish.

"Did you miss it?" Buck says, turning back and adjusting his hold in Tommy's arms. "The 118?"

"I did, yes. Bobby had started family dinners, had started to open himself up a bit and bring us all closer together." Tommy starts, sounding a little wistful. "And I knew no other station would have that. But I knew before I left that it already wasn't the same."

And oh, doesn't that sound familiar.

"My partner had been suspended and reassigned to another station — he's captain of the 122 now, by the way." Tommy continues. "—and I was coming to terms with the fact that I was gay, and I was trying to be less of an asshole. In the end it felt like I had too much baggage there. I needed a fresh start. So I asked for a transfer. I also wanted to fly again, so it worked out well."

"Thanks for telling me," Buck starts, voice low as he gently squeezes Tommy's side. They've been doing a lot of that now too — opening up, acknowledging it, thanking the other for it. It was working for them. They didn't want to rush it. "It helps. I-I'll always miss the 118, what Bobby built, but I think I need to do this. I want that fresh start, where people don't have the image of probie-Buck hanging over their heads."

"Exactly," Tommy says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, lips soft against his curls. Buck relaxes into it.

[misctf]

Safe Space Spray

Owen picked up his phone and dialed Jake's number as he drove along the winding country road leading to Jake's family cabin. The warm southern sun beat down through the windshield while classic rock played softly from the speakers. After a few rings, Jake answered.

“Well hey there partner!” Jake's cheerful voice came through the speaker. “How far ya'll out?”

“Not too much longer now,” Owen replied, his deep southern drawl rolling through each word, “I reckon 'bout thirty minutes tops. That fishing hole better be swimmin' with catfish like you said!”

“My mama didn’t raise no liar.” Jake replied, his hearty laugh echoing over the phone.

Owen smiled. This was gonna be the best fishin’ trip yet. As the call continued, Owen kept his eyes on the road ahead, the vast expanse of rural landscape stretching out before him. Suddenly, something caught his eye- a small figure standing beside a broken-down vehicle on the shoulder.

“Aw shucks, looks like some fella's car done gone and quit on 'im.” Owen muttered to himself as he slowed his truck, “Jake, I reckon I’ll be by later. I’m gonna see if I can lend a hand.”

Owen pulled his pickup truck over onto the gravelly shoulder behind the stranded vehicle. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his short brown hair and approached the man hunched over the open hood.

“Howdy there! Looks like you're havin' some trouble with your ride. Name's Owen, I'm pretty handy with fixin' things if you need a lendin' hand.” He called out in his friendly drawl.

The stranger, a slender young man with styled blonde hair, whirled around. His eyes widened in surprise and apprehension as he took in Owen's appearance. The twink's hands shook slightly as he reached into his pocket and aimed what looked like a small spray bottle directly at Owen.

“I-I don't want any trouble!” the blonde stammered, his voice high-pitched with anxiety.

Before Owen could react, the twink pressed down on the trigger, unleashing a fine mist across his handsome face and chest. Owen blinked and coughed, shaking his head slightly as droplets hit his face and clothes. It didn’t sting or burn. It felt like water.

“The hell was that for?” Owen demanded, his brow furrowing in confusion and annoyance, “I ain't here to cause you no harm, bud. Just tryin' to help.”

“I-I'm sorry!” The twink squeaked, “Around here, you don't know what kind of people you'll run into.”

Owen sighed heavily, wiping his brow, “Listen here, I understand yer cautious. But I promise you, I mean no ill intent. Let me take a look at yer car, see if I can get 'er runnin' again.”

The blonde hesitated briefly before nodding, “Okay... I guess that would be okay. Thank you.” He stepped aside, allowing Owen access to the vehicle.

As Owen popped the hood, he furrowed his brow in concentration, his large hands working deftly under the hood. However, he found himself growing increasingly clumsy and uncoordinated, fumbling with tools he'd handled with ease a hundred times before.

“I swear...” he muttered, his words coming out slightly slurred, “This oughta be a cinch for me...”

He fumbled with the engine components, his large hands suddenly feeling clumsy and unfamiliar. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to focus. Just then, the twink appeared at his side, holding out a bottled water.

“Here, you must be thirsty after all this work.”

Without thinking, Owen took the bottle and chirped in an impossibly high, effeminate voice, “Thanks sis!”

Owen froze, his eyes widening as the words left his mouth. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he gripped the edge of the car hood for support. Shaking his head, he tried to push the strange moment from his mind.

“Uh, thanks kindly.” he mumbled, taking a long swig of water to cover his embarrassment.

He turned back to the engine, determined to finish the repair quickly so he could be on his way.

With renewed focus (and a touch more difficulty), Owen worked to diagnose and fix the issue. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stepped back as the engine roared to life.

“There ya go, as good as new!” He grinned at Paul, wiping his hands on a rag.

As Owen straightened up and turned to face Paul fully, he couldn't help but really notice the younger man for the first time. Paul's delicate features, stylish hair, and slim physique suddenly seemed incredibly appealing. Their eyes locked- Paul’s deep blue captivating Owen’s. Owen felt an unfamiliar flutter in his chest and his dick stir ever so slightly in his increasingly tighter jeans.

“You've been an absolute lifesaver.” Paul gushed, flashing Owen a dazzling smile. He stepped closer, the two now the same height. Owen could’ve sworn he had been taller, “If you ever find yourself in the city, call me. I'd love to thank you properly.” He slipped a piece of paper into Owen’s pocket with a playful wink.

Owen felt a flush creep up his neck at the suggestive tone. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure despite the odd sensations still tingling through his body.

“Ah, well, just doin' what any decent fella would do.”

Owen watched as Paul slid gracefully into his car, the movement highlighting the pert curve of his ass. He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn't quite explain. As Paul drove away, Owen looked down and saw the discarded can that Paul sprayed him with earlier.

“He must’ve forgotten it.” Owen frowned inspecting the strange bottle, “Safe Space Spray... what in the world...” He chuckled, “I reckon I’ll get it to ‘em when I see ‘em next.” He paused, “What the hell am I thinkin’. I ain’t seein’ him again...”

But he wasn’t sure he could even convince himself. He wanted to see him again... Owen shook his head and placed the can in his pocket before climbing back into his own truck. With a sigh, he reached for the ignition but recoiled at the sight of his hand.

“What in the...”

Owen stared at his hand in shock, noting the slight tremor and how it almost seemed to have lost some of its natural ruggedness. His callouses... gone. His nails... well-manicured. Alarmed, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and peeled out, speeding towards Jake's cabin with an urgency he couldn't explain. As he drove, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noticed his hair looked shaggier, his facial features softening.

“What in tarnation is happenin' to me?” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. He tried to rationalize it, blaming stress or exhaustion, but he knew it was something more.

Just then, he squirmed in his seat as his ass inflated, his previously snug jeans straining against the growing mounds. And with each bump in the road, Owen stifled a moan as jolts of unfamiliar pleasure rushed through his groin.

“No, no, no... Oh my GAWD!” He whimpered, cringing at the loss of his rich Southern drawl- replaced now by words colored by a nasally, high-pitched timbre, “Like... this is totally not okay!”

Owen finally arrived at Jake's cabin, tires screeching as he parked haphazardly. He stumbled out of the truck, trying to balance himself given his now fat ass. He can hear Jake outside, gathering wood for a bonfire and he bites his tongue before sauntering towards the door.

“I-I have to get inside... hide this from Jake...” He whimpered, “How... why is this...?” His eyes widen, “The spray!” He squealed, “I need to like... totally wash this off!”

Owen practically sprinted to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. With trembling hands, he began tearing at his clothes, buttons flying as he stripped. He stood naked in front of the mirror, hardly recognizing the reflection staring back at him.

His once broad shoulders had narrowed, his pecs shrinking into perky little mounds with cute pink nipples. Below, his six-pack had melted away, leaving behind a smooth, hairless torso. And between his legs... Owen gasped, covering his mouth as he saw the nub that had once been his proud cock.

“Oh em gee...” He whined, “I'm like... a total twink now!” Tears pricked at his eyes as he reached for the shower knob with slender fingers. Steam billowed out as he stepped under the hot spray, hoping the water might somehow reverse these changes.

Owen lathered up a loofah, scrubbing at his skin vigorously. To his horror, he watched clumps of any remaining dark body hair rinse away down the drain, leaving behind silky smooth flesh. Scars and rough patches vanished, his complexion becoming flawlessly soft and clear.

“Eep!” He yelped as his hands brushed lower, encountering the plush globes of his ass. They seemed to swell and expand with every passing second, growing rounder and fuller until they were each easily a handful. Owen couldn't resist giving them a tentative squeeze, marveling at their suppleness- imagining another man playing with them.

A breathy moan escaped his increasingly plumper lips as he kneaded the doughy cheeks, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through his core- thoughts of muscular men squeezing his ass filled his head.

“Oh fuck yes.... I wonder...” Curiosity got the better of him as he inserted a digit inside his virgin hole. It stretched deliciously around the intrusion and Owen saw stars, his neglected cock weeping steadily. He pumped the finger faster, soon adding a second, then a third, “Oh.... Ohhhhhhh....” He moaned, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, “I'm... I'm gonna... cum!”

Owen let out a long moan as his entire body seized and his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. He slumped to the shower’s floor, his eyes half-lidded and glazed over. After a few moments of basking in his post-orgasm bliss, the new twink slowly stood up and exited the shower. He walked over to his bed and collapsed- the day’s events exacting their toll on him.

“What the hell!?” Owen looked up- a shocked expression gracing his cute features.

“J-Jake! I... um...It’s me! It’s Owen!” Owen stammered, his voice pitching higher than normal. He made no attempt to cover himself, proud now to flaunt his assets. And besides, why had he never noticed how sexy Jake was before?

Jake's jaw dropped, his eyes bulging as he took in the shocking sight before him. There were few, if any similarities between him and his friend. But there were enough.

“Holy shit, Owen?! What happened to you?”

Owen's eyes lit up as a mischievous grin spread across his glossy lips, “Oh sweetie, you wouldn't believe the wild ride I've been on!” He giggled.

Reaching over to the pile of discarded clothes, he fished out the mysterious spray can. Jake looked at his friend, and then to the can, and then back up to his friend.

“Wha...”

Without warning, Owen pressed down on the trigger, unleashing another fine mist straight into Jake's stunned, handsome face...

[brokenmenswhore]

a proposition: it’s getting serious | poly!marauders

#7

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius, featuring alecto, dorcas, evan, lily, and mary)

warnings: not proofread, smut (MDNI 18+), angst, fingering, rough sex

a/n: do you guys like the title of this one because i truly think im so fucking funny

a proposition: masterlist

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He was avoiding you. It was obvious to everyone.

It wasn't like Sirius was your best friend in the world, but you were still close. Then he kissed you. You hadn't heard from him since.

After everything Remus had told you before you and Sirius had kissed, you knew that something was up. It was the only explanation. You knew you hadn't done anything wrong. Whatever this was, it was all Sirius. You didn't want to pry, so you decided to let him come to you whenever he was ready.

But it had been weeks.

In the meantime, you had your fair share of fun with Dorcas and Mary. You told them it was unfair that you had sex with a woman alone once and that it was Marlene, and they worked to rectify it.

Evan was still ravenous any time he was near you, and spent five full days seeking you out between every period, after class, and even sometimes first thing in the morning. You sometimes returned the favor, but only when he wanted it. He was happy to stay in between your legs for hours.

And of course, there was Remus. He hadn't been elaborate about pursuing you, but you oftentimes went to him first when you were feeling experimental or particularly needy. Remus was your first, and you were tethered to him in a way you couldn't explain.

But even he couldn't justify Sirius's avoidance. You could tell that something caused contention between the two of them, but they were best friends, and Sirius hadn't pulled away from him.

You felt like you ruined the group. Like you caused the drama- like you were the problem, no matter how many people told you that wasn't true.

What bothered you the most, other than Sirius avoiding you, was the fact that everyone acted as if they knew why, and just didn't want to tell you. You had interrogated Remus quite a few times, but he acted nonchalant every single time. Any time you asked someone how he was doing or why he was still not talking to you, they would just shrug and change the subject.

You had had enough.

You sat cross-legged on Sirius's bed, making sure your skirt still covered you. He took significantly longer than you anticipated to get back to his dorm, since he had last-minute Quidditch practice and you had no idea. But you knew that he had to come back to his dorm. Eventually.

The moment the door swung open, James spotted you on his bed, and immediately turned around. He pushed past Sirius as Sirius noticed you, and tried to do the same.

James, now behind him, pushed him into the dormitory and slammed the door shut.

Sirius tried to pry it open, but James was standing on the other side, pressing it shut. Sirius took a deep breath and dropped his head before walking over to his desk and dropping his Quidditch bag, completely ignoring you.

“Be back in like an hour!” James called, giggling as you heard his footsteps dissipate.

You waited for him to turn to you, but he never did. He just pretended to go through his bag for a frustratingly long time.

"Sirius?"

No response.

"Talk to me, Sirius."

No response.

You shot upward and got in his personal space.

"Sirius."

"What."

"The fuck do you mean what? You haven't spoken to me in weeks."

"Whoops."

"Siri, c'mon." You dropped the nickname, hoping it would help your case.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not, Siri?"

"Stop."

"Then talk to me, Siri."

Sirius took a deep breath and flared his nostrils, turning to you and looking at you for the first time. "What."

You threw your hands up. "You've been avoiding me, as you know."

"Mm.”

"Don't you think I deserve to know why?"

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Yeah, okay," you rolled your eyes.

"Okay," he repeated in the same tone you used.

You were frustrated, and annoyed, and your confidence faltered as your voice cracked in sadness that you ruined something as you asked, "did I do something wrong?"

Your vulnerability shone through, and it caused Sirius's features to soften. He watched your eyes soften as you nearly cried. You had spent weeks mulling over why Sirius was avoiding you, and you couldn't think if anything wrong that you did, unless maybe you really were that bad of a kisser. Yeah, you had gained a ton of confidence recently, but you weren't made of steel all of a sudden. Around Sirius, you were still that younger little girl who blushed whenever he looked in her direction.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong, shit," Sirius said, running his fingers through his hair.

You sniffled to hold back the tears. You were fighting with every cell in your body to appear strong. "Then what is it? Please tell me. Please."

Your voice completely broke on the final word, and tears spilled from your eyes, despite your refusal to acknowledge them.

Sirius immediately pulled you into his arms, holding your head against his chest. "You did nothing wrong," he assured you, "nothing at all. I did."

You pulled away to look up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I fucked up."

"No you didn't," you sniffled, "because we kissed? Why would that be bad?"

"It wasn't, it wasn't," he said, lightly stroking your hair, "that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" your anger was coming back a bit, "because I seem to be the only person you're avoiding, and that's the only thing that's happened between us."

Sirius let out a deep breath. "Y/N, please."

You stepped backward and pulled away from him. "Do you regret inviting me in? Is that what it is? Are you guys planning on kicking me out or something?"

"No, we would never-"

"Or maybe you're just upset about Remus. Is that it? You acted weird when I came to breakfast with bruises. Are you just jealous of Remus and taking it out on me? Huh?"

"I am jealous of Remus," he admitted.

"And you're punishing me for it?"

"I'm not jealous of Remus because he's Remus," Sirius said, "I'm jealous of Remus because of how you are with him."

You knew what he meant. You weren't stupid enough to not acknowledge or know that you had one hell of a connection with him. "So you're mad at me because you wish you had someone to give you what Remus and I have?"

Sirius stared you dead in the face. He was so tired of fighting it.

"I'm mad because I want what you and Remus have, with you."

"All you had to do was say so, and I would have fucked you. That's, like, the whole point of this."

"No-" Sirius threw his hands up and paced. He was trying to figure out how to say the words he'd never thought he would have to, or want to, say.

You watched him run his fingers through his hair again as he looked at you and forced himself to speak. "I don't mean I want you just to fuck you, Y/N, I want you."

You blinked rapidly as you stared at him. His eyes were almost pleading, hoping that he wouldn't be facing rejection.

"Oh," was all you could say. You were in shock.

"Yeah."

You both just stared at one another. Each moment felt like an eternity. Neither of you knew what to say or do.

"How long?"

"What?" Sirius asked.

"How long have you been feeling like this?" you asked, your voice small and quiet.

Sirius shrugged, "in sixth year, well, fifth year for you, James was trying to show us someone in Hufflepuff he hooked up with. It wasn't you, obviously, but we thought you were who he was pointing at, cus the actual girl was like two seats to your right. You looked up and caught me looking at you, and you turned bright red."

You nodded your head slightly and chuckled in disbelief. "Are you fucking with me?"

"No."

Your laugh of disbelief died there.

"You mean to tell me you've been noticing me this entire time?"

"Mhm."

"So- but you signed me up to fuck your friends?"

"I still wanna fuck you, don't get it twisted,” he chuckled. That was the Sirius you knew.

"But-"

"I noticed you before this, Y/N, but it's different actually knowing you. I didn't think you fucking Remus would make me feel like this until I actually met you and got to know you."

"So this is all because I'm fucking Remus?" your heart still couldn't process what your brain understood.

"No, Y/N, for fucks sake, this is all because I've never fallen for somebody before and I don't know how to fucking act. I don't even know how to fuckin' be around you."

Sirius seemed to immediately realize what he said, because his breathing hitched in his throat as he stared at you.

You couldn't breathe.

After what felt like an eternity, Sirius pleaded, "please say something," so quiet that you almost didn't hear it.

"I don't know what to say," you admitted.

Sirius sighed in disappointment, assuming he was getting rejected. "I'm sorry, forget I said anything-“

He turned to try to leave again, but you said "Sirius, wait," and ran up to him, grabbing his arm and trying to spin him back toward you.

He turned to face you, but kept his head up, looking forward instead of at you. He couldn't handle looking you in the eyes as you rejected him.

"Sirius, look at me."

He refused. You touched the side of his face, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb. "Please look at me."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No, Y/N, you don't get it, I can't just fuck you and leave it there, and that’s how this is supposed to work, but I just-“

Sirius sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

You knelt down in front of him. You gently moved his hands away from his face, and he looked at you, eyes glassy as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“There’s this tether between myself and Remus that I don’t think I can ignore,” you said. You knew it might hurt him, but it was better to be honest if things were hard already.

Sirius interpreted your words in his own way. “Is that what’s holding you back?”

You paused for a moment. “Holding me back from what?”

“Could I have you if I shared you with Remus?”

You were visibly taken aback by his question.

“I can see it in your eyes, Y/N, you can say whatever you want, but you can’t lie to me, not really. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You couldn’t.

He knew you couldn’t.

“I’ve liked you forever,” you admitted.

“You still blush when I look at you,” he smiled.

“You’ve never looked at me the way you are right now.”

“I have. You just didn’t know what it meant until now.”

Your breath hitched in a light gasp. “Sirius-“

“Please just tell me how you feel,” he said, “and if you say you feel nothing, even if I know it’s not true, I’ll shut the fuck up and leave it be.”

You had to be honest with yourself, and with what you’ve always known and always felt. “I have feelings for you.”

Before Sirius could smile too big, you said, “but I can’t ignore whatever this connection is with Remus.”

Sirius took a deep breath to contemplate his words. “I can share. Remus and I share everything anyway.”

“What about the rest of the group?”

“I really don’t care about the rest of the group.”

You took a second to contemplate your next move. Having Sirius Black to yourself seemed too good to be true. Sirius was always the one you assumed you wouldn’t have a shot with, but if your conversation with Remus taught you anything, it was that Sirius’s reputation wasn’t all too accurate.

Remus. What would he think? You wouldn’t be exclusive with him, but would he get bored of you? Would he be angry that you and Sirius broke the rules, and not want you anymore?

“We have to talk to Remus, obviously,” you said.

Sirius’s head shot up as he looked to your face, contemplating the weight of your words. We. His eyes flickered back and forth between yours desperately as he studied your face. “Are you saying yes?”

Your train of thought was going too far off the rails to even comprehend what he said. “Then we’d have to tell everyone else, but definitely Remus first. And-“

Sirius grabbed your face, his hands on either cheek as he shook your attention back to him. “Are you saying yes.”

You took a deep breath. You’d gotten the sexual experimentation you’d needed. You cared for the rest of the group, but definitely not the way you cared for Remus or Sirius. Sitting there, Sirius holding your face, eyes glassy thinking you didn’t want him, you knew you’d be a fucking idiot to deny him. This is all you’d ever daydreamed of when he would catch your eye from the corner of the room.

“Yes.”

Sirius took one quick moment to smile before he pressed his lips against yours, pulling you closer to him. Your knees shifted against the carpet as you held onto Sirius’s arms. He moved a hand to the back of your head, holding you even closer to him as his lips molded with your own.

You pushed yourself off of your knees, maintaining the kiss as you stood in front of him, his legs spreading apart as he moved to grip your waist.

He pulled away briefly. “I really, really want you to know how much you mean to me,” he said through static breaths, “but I don’t think I can be gentle with you right now.”

You pushed a piece of his hair behind his ear. In a near whisper, you said, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me. We have time.”

“We have time,” he repeated, more to himself than to you, so quiet that you almost didn’t catch it.

You waited for him to process before you made another move. He searched your eyes with his own.

Seemingly in an instant, Sirius realizes the emotional strife was out of his system, but the physical wasn’t. His demeanor shifted as he saidX “I wanna fuck you so hard that you forget Remus exists.”

You felt your core pulse at his words. He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you onto his lap. He moved his lips close to yours, but instead of kissing you, he continued to whisper, “you wanna be mine? I’m gonna fucking make you mine.”

“Sirius-“

He didn’t let you speak. He pressed his lips to yours in the most intense kiss you’d experienced yet, his dominant hand gripping your jaw to hold you in place. His other hand grabbed your ass, pressing you down into his lap as he bucked his hips lightly.

Your skirt fanned out onto his stomach, meaning the bulge in his pants pressed directly against your underwear. You could feel yourself soaking through them as the lengthy bulge bucked between your folds.

Sirius’s fingers were so tangled in your hair that you didn’t think he would be able to ever let go. He groaned as he slapped your ass harshly, and you felt the intensity of the moment, taking a chance to gently catch his lower lip between your teeth.

You pulled away lightly, releasing his lip as he looked up at you with lust-blown eyes. “Now where did my innocent little Y/N learn to do that, hm? Remus?” he smirked.

“I’ve never done that to Remus,” you shrugged as if the conversation was casual.

“Oh really?” Sirius smiled, gripping your face with both hands and pushing you even harder onto his bulge, “savin’ some things just for me? Wish you saved yourself for me,” he admitted.

“You kinda scared me,” you admitted back.

Sirius tilted his head like a puppy. “I scared you?”

“Mhm.”

“How so?”

You flushed with embarrassment. “Thought you’d be too rough with me. Didn’t know how much I’d want that.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Too rough, huh? Is that what you want?” He slapped your ass again, moving your hips against him, causing you to gasp, “you want me to be rough with you, huh? Show you what I’ve been wantin’ to do to you this whole time?”

“Please,” you pleaded.

“Again,” he demanded.

“Please, Siri, be rough with me.”

Sirius harshly pulled your face down to his, kissing you again as he, without warning, ripped the fabric of your underwear to expose where he was grinding against.

You squealed and pulled away. “Sirius!”

“What?” he shrugged like nothing had happened.

You stood up, and he pouted, but you could see the concern in his eyes. You quickly pulled your skirt down and discarded the ripped fabric of your underclothes, taking residence on top of him again. You saw his breathing relax when you returned. “I had to get up and take my skirt off anyway!”

Sirius threw his hands up next to his head. “They were in my way.”

“You literally still have your pants and boxers on.”

Sirius smirked. “Y’know, you could help with that, babydoll.”

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness, but you couldn’t deny him- he was just so charismatic. Even painfully horny and having just confessed his romantic love for someone for the first time, he laid there with his hands behind his head as you unbuttoned his pants as if he was the sexiest being alive. He kinda was.

You knelt in front of him, trying to unclothe him. You, of course, nervous from trying to maintain the intensity of the moment, could not get his pants fully unbuttoned. Your fingers fumbled with the final button.

“Fucks sake,” Sirius said, doing it for you and removing both his pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free directly in front of your face.

You choked on a gasp and coughed.

Sirius didn’t move, he just sat up on the edge of the bed and looked at you. Your eyes were transfixed on his leaking cock, your brain wondering how the fuck you were possibly supposed to suck him off without suffocating.

“Remus is bigger, hun, if you can fit him, you can fit me,” Sirius assures you, worried that you were panicking.

“Remus is… skinnier,” you said.

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

You looked up at Sirius, then back to his impressive length. You wrapped your hand around him, and he bit his lip to keep himself from losing control immediately. You began to stroke him, looking up at him through hooded lids as you licked his tip.

He threw his head back, but quickly reset, not wanting to miss a moment of watching you take him in your mouth.

You sank down onto him, doing your best to keep your cheeks hollow to accommodate for his girth. You gave yourself a few moments to adjust to his size and the feeling of a comfortable rhythm, before you began to move at a steady pace, using your hand to cover any ground thag your mouth couldn’t.

You gazed up to Sirius, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes fixed directly on you. You fought to maintain eye contact, even though the angle he was sitting at made it difficult to look up so far.

“Fuck, dollface, just like that,” he moaned, using one hand to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He began to stroke your cheek with his thumb as you sucked him, the gesture so intimate and sweet during such a filthy act. You moaned in surprise at the contact, and Sirius growled in response.

“Shit, can I fuck your mouth?” he asked.

You pulled away, still stroking him with your hand as you said, “You can do whatever you want with me.”

The noise that came from Sirius’s throat was purely primal.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail, holding tightly as the other hand positioned himself in front of you.

“Open.”

You opened your mouth and he immediately pushed himself in as far as he could, his tip hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled back out, and said “easy, bunny, relax,” before pushing back in again.

You clenched the muscles in your throat as he did it again, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You coughed and moaned around him, but kept your composure the best you could.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, “that’s it, that’s it.”

With him stilled, you were able to adjust to the feeling of him at the back of your throat, and adjust to comfortably breathing through your nose. You slackened your jaw, hollowing out your cheeks. You got yourself in a position comfortable enough that you didn’t have to move- Sirius could just fuck your mouth as he pleased.

You looked up at him and moaned around him, signaling that you were okay and he could move.

He began to push your head down, your hands bracing yourself against the mattress as he moved your head via your ponytail.

You fought like hell to look up at him, having been told several times by everyone in the group that boys liked eye contact during head, and they were right. The moment your eyes met Sirius’s, he began to fuck your mouth even faster, his pupils blowing and growing darker at the sight.

“Fucking hell, fuck,” he moaned.

You were so ridiculously turned on by the sight and sounds of Sirius, and felt confidence build from your core upwards. You reached a hand up and gently cradled his balls, squeezing ever so slightly as he continued to fuck your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, extending the word as he finally gave in and his back slammed against the mattress. His hand never left your head, but it did loosen, and you took the opportunity to take control of the pace.

You didn’t let up, but rather tried to push yourself as much as you could, sinking yourself as deep as you possibly could on Sirius. You fought through the gags, and your nose grazed Sirius’s lower stomach.

“Fuck, fuck, don’t do that or I’m gonna fucking come down your throat,” he said.

So you did it again.

“Shit, please, I need to be in you to come,” he pleaded.

You liked hearing him whiny and desperate for you, so you held him in your throat and swallowed, constricting around him.

Sirius bucked his hips involuntarily, pushing himself to the absolute limit. It was too much for you, and you pulled away to catch your breath.

Despite his leaking cock and evident need, Sirius took the opportunity to hook his arms under yours, hoisting you up to a stand.

“But-“

“I am so not ready to be done with you yet,” he said.

Sirius stood and traded places with you, forcing you onto the mattress and standing between your legs.

He pulled your shirt upwards, and you raised your arms to allow for him to remove the garment and throw it off to the side. He skillfully unclasped your bra blindly, throwing it in the same direction he had your shirt, leaving you bare naked beneath him.

“Merlin’s fucking beard,” he said, his hands roaming the newly exposed skin.

You felt yourself stiffen underneath his touch, the direct attention on your exposed body causing you to be nervous.

“Oh, baby, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice full of adoration, like you were the most ethereal being he had ever seen, and he couldn’t comprehend that he got to see you like this.

“You called me baby.”

Sirius met your eyes in concern. “Is that okay?”

“I like it.”

Sirius smiled and resumed staring at you, studying every curve of your body like he would never get to see it again.

As much as you appreciated the adoration, you needed some part of him inside of you, and you needed it now. You knew of one surefire way to pull Sirius back into a rough, possessive headspace. It was playing with fire, but fuck you liked the heat.

“Only Remus calls me baby.”

Sirius’s hands stopped. He slowly looked up to your face, surprise at your confidence evident on his face.

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, running a hand down your entire torso, not even bothering to prep you before he roughly inserted two fingers into you, “is that right?”

“Mhm,” you moaned as Sirius began to viciously scissor and pump his fingers in and out of you, your wetness enough that you didn’t need any extra preparation.

Your hips began to swirl beneath him, and Sirius pressed his palm to your clit, adding to the immediate intensity of the stimulation.

“Only Remus calls you baby, huh?” he said, his own anger working himself up to fuck his fingers into you rougher and rougher, faster and faster, “then I guess only Remus can make you come like this too, huh? If Remus is so fucking special.”

“Fuck,” was all you could cry out.

“You’re mine, you understand that? I can call you whatever the fuck I want, baby. What are you gonna do, go cry to Remus about it? Would you rather have his fingers inside of you? Huh?” Sirius was seething as he gripped your jaw and forced you to look at him with his unoccupied hand, “would you?”

“N-no,” you gasped out.

“Oh, but you seem to be so fucking obsessed with him, don’t you?” His pace was fucking ruthless, and your entire body was writhing and convulsing beneath him as you instinctively tried to escape the intensity, but he wasn’t letting up. His face was mere inches from yours, and he watched you come undone as he spoke, anger mixing with lust. “You only ever wanna have Remus make you come, huh? Don’t even know what you’re missing. You like this? Does it feel good? Because if he’s so great, I’ll just go get Remmy and he can bite you some more.”

Sirius was angry beyond the point of coming back. He needed you to disagree; he needed you to want him so bad and come so hard that you couldn’t even consider Remus.

“So good, please, I want you, just you-“

Sirius moved his hand to your throat, applying light pressure, mostly to hold you in place, rather than cut off air flow.

You knew Sirius’s anger was not only from a place of lust and longing, but a place of hurt. Sirius was never needed or wanted, and you knew he compared himself to Remus relentlessly.

“I only want you, Siri, please, wanted you for so long-“ you could barely get words out through the strangled moans and gasps, “it’s always been about you, fuck- fuck, I’m gonna- fuck, Siri, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah? Didn’t know you could come for anyone but Remus.”

Tears were threatening to spill from your eyes as you writhed uncontrollably under Sirius’s harsh grasp. He curled his fingers as he pumped, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Please, please, Siri, come- gonna come- please-“

“Should I just go get-“

You cut off Sirius’s sassiness before he could say the name again. “Fucks sake, Sirius, please,” you gasped, his grip on your throat loosening when he heard your tone, “I only want you, I don’t fucking care about Remus right now, please make me come, Merlin- fuck- I need you-“

Sirius pulled his fingers out of you entirely.

Your breath was erratic and quick as you looked up at him, almost in disbelief that he had just done that. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your core ached and clenched around nothing.

“W- wh- I-“

Sirius dipped his head into the crook of your neck, his body shaking slightly, and you heard his sniffles and gasps from beside your head. In an instant, the walls crashed down.

“Siri?” you asked, your voice gentle and calm.

Sirius lifted himself on his arms and looked down at you, a tear still falling down his cheek.

You wiped the tear away and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek with your thumb, as he had done to you earlier. “You okay?”

“Just worked myself up a little too much, ‘m sorry,” he sniffled, “‘n you said you need me.”

“Mhm,” you smiled, “you can’t compare yourself to Remus all the time, Sirius. Two completely different relationships.”

“But you always went to him, and you never came to me, it was always him-“

“Sirius, you said it yourself, we can’t just fuck around and call it a day. It’s always been different with us, you know that,” you spoke.

“I’m just always second, and I just-“

“I shouldn’t have said only Remus calls me baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to work you up that much,” you said.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he took a deep breath, “‘m sorry. I’m good, I’m sorry.”

“You’re not second, Sirius. Who’s been making me blush all this time? Take it easy, breathe. Can you lay down?” you asked.

Sirius laid out on his back next to you, and you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him despite your aching core.

You toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “Can I?”

You could see that he was about to cry again.

“Sh, sh, easy,” you said, leaning down to kiss him sweetly, “you’re beautiful, Sirius, I just wanna see you.”

Sirius didn’t fight you as you unbuttoned his shirt, your lips attached to his neck so that he didn’t have the added nerves of knowing you were watching his chest and stomach become more and more exposed each second.

You pushed his shirt open, and slowly kissed down his collarbone, then his chest, and then his stomach, lifting just before where his cock was still hard and leaking onto his lower stomach.

You looked up at him, and realized his eyes never left you.

“Are you okay?” you checked in.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, wiping his eyes one final time before he was able to pull himself back to earth, “nothing ruins the mood like my insecurities.”

You kissed him again. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still in a mood. You stopped touching me at the worst fucking moment.”

Sirius snickered. “Next time, don’t be so fucking needy.” He was baiting you. You were happy to bite.

You ran your fingers across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles. “Can’t help it,” you said, touching him softly and nonchalantly, “I need you bad.”

“Yeah?” he asked as you lifted your hips, positioning yourself directly above his aching cock.

“I need you so, so bad, Siri,” you said, slowly sinking down onto his length.

His hands gripped your hips violently, his knuckles nearly going white from the strength of his hold. He had been imagining what you would feel like around him for what felt like an eternity. As you sank fully down, Sirius couldn’t help but hold you there, barring you from movement.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your forehead pressing against his.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Sirius chanted like a mantra.

“Please let me move, Siri, I need to feel you so bad,” you spoke quietly in his ear.

“Fucking hell,” he said, releasing his grasp on your hips and allowing you to bounce up and down.

You still hadn’t nailed your riding technique, so it took you a few tries to get your balance right. You knew you had it when Sirius grabbed for your arm, a low moan escaping his lips as he pulled you to him.

He kissed you harshly, taking a moment to relish in the feeling of you fucking him. As good as it felt, Sirius was not okay with you servicing him and doing all the work, when all he wanted was to wreck you.

Sirius held the back of your head to maintain the kiss as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your torso to his as he began to snap his hips upward. You whined into the kiss at the sudden new angle.

“Heard you like being manhandled baby, is that right?” he spoke into your ear, your head falling into the crook of his neck, “you like it rough, huh?”

You moaned in response as Sirius snapped his hips even faster, holding your waist down so that you stayed in place for him.

“Liked you ‘cus you were so fuckin’ innocent,” he began, your entire body jolting with each thrust of his hips, “could tell from how easily I made you blush. Knew it’d be fun to wreck you. Never dreamed you’d like it so fucking much,” he slapped your ass hard, causing you to cry out into his shoulder.

“Been-“ you could barely speak, “thinking about this, you- so long.”

Sirius fucked into you faster. “Keep talkin’.”

“Siri, please, don’t make me.”

Sirius slapped your ass, not letting up on his pace at all. “Please, baby, keep fuckin’ talking.”

“Not fair,” you struggled out.

“What’s not fair,” he shot back, “is making me wait this long to feel you. Fuckin’ hell, angel, you feel so fucking good.”

Sirius slowed down, almost fully stilling before he flipped your two bodies over. He then grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips upward to meet his.

You went to hoist yourself up on your arms, but he grabbed your wrists, connecting them behind your back and holding them with one hand. “Down.”

“I’m not a dog,” you challenged, “unlike some people.”

Sirius smiled, a genuine smile. You were joking with him in the middle of intense sex. It just kept getting better and better.

“Oh, shut up,” he replied.

“Are you fluffy? Like what color are you? Do you know tricks?” you taunted.

Sirius growled, leaning over you and shoving a finger into your mouth. “I said shut up.”

You sucked on his finger obediently as he rolled his hips and entered you again.

“Good girl,” he said, breathy, “you’re taking me so well.”

You whimpered into the pillow as Sirius rutted your hips into the mattress, his thrusts not fast, but hard.

“I’m gonna-“

“Not yet.”

“But-“

“Don’t you fucking come yet, you understand?”

“I don’t know how to-“

Sirius gripped your jaw, holding you down as he leaned further and further onto you, “don’t fucking come until I say so. You’re mine, listening is the least you can fuckin’ do to show it. Unless you’re not mine.”

Hook, line, and sinker. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Siri, all yours, I need you, only you-“

“Fuck,” he cried out, the loudest he’d been yet.

You fought like hell not to come, but it was difficult when the boy you’d been fantasizing about forever was fucking you ruthlessly from behind and moaning your name.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

Your name sounded so sweet coming from his lips.

He smacked your ass again, watching the way the flesh moved when touched. He watched himself enter and almost exit you time and again, admiring how fell you fit together.

You felt his eyes travel up your back to your face again, where you lay wrecked, burying your face in the pillow to silence yourself.

“Uh uh uh,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hair so that your face was pressed sideways into the pillow, “let me hear you.”

“Siri-“

“Just like that, baby, sounds so pretty when you say it.”

“Please let me come, Siri,” you begged.

“Fuck, lay down,” he said, pulling out of you and tapping your hip to alert you to turn around.

You laid on your back and Sirius immediately re-entered you.

“Wanna look at your pretty face when you come for me,” he explained, leaning down to kiss you.

Despite the harsh snapping of his hips, Sirius kissed you gently, a reminder that he was still him, and you were still you, and this was still real and safe.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as your body fought, and was denied release a third time. “Siri, please, I’m gonna come, please-“

“Not until I say so, babydoll, you can do it,” he groaned, “need to come with you. Need it so bad.”

“Need you,” you said, “I need you to come in me, please.”

“You need me to come inside you? Hm? You need me?”

“I need all of you, please, Siri-“

Sirius moved a hand between your bodies, rubbing circles on your clit as he fucked you.

Your back arched as you whimpered, the sudden contact too much to hold back anymore.

“Wanna feel you, baby, come for me.”

That was all it took.

Your high crashed over you violently, your walls squeezing Sirius intensely as you, for lack of a more descriptive term, screamed.

The constriction of your walls sent Sirius over the edge. He could have come the second you touched him, but he wanted to wait for this moment, and it was sweeter than he could have imagined.

You pried your eyes open to watch Sirius as he came, but he was focused completely on you, his pleasure being achieved from seeing yours. He leaned down to kiss you as you both caught your breath.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as if he would leave without you holding on. After a few moments, he had to physically pry your arms apart.

“Gotta pull out sometime, babydoll.”

You stuck your lower lip out in a hyperbolic pout. “Why?”

“Merlin, you are everything,” he said, smiling and kissing you one more time before he pulled himself out of you. He gazed to where your bodies had just met, and watched as some of his come spilled out of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he said, so quiet it was nearly a whisper.

You pushed sweat-slicked hair away from your forehead, stretching out your sore legs and instinctively closing your legs.

“No, no, no,” Sirius said, pushing your legs apart again, “the show isn’t over.”

You giggled as you watched him, so consumed in the sight that he was trying to not even blink.

“It feels messy, let me clean up a bit,” you said.

“Sh, I’ll obviously clean you up,” he protested, “just let me make the moment last a little longer.”

When Sirius was satisfied, he looked at your sweaty, fucked-out frame, and decided normal aftercare wasn’t enough.

“We need a shower,” he laughed.

“I don’t-“ your cheeks flushed as you weighed what you were about to say, “I don’t think I can stand.”

Sirius grinned wide, leaning down to kiss you before scooping you up into his arms. “You don’t have to,” he said, carrying you toward the bathroom.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @riddlemenottsluttyslytherin @hcqwxrtss123 @prongs-wolfstar-marauders @flowersarcute @remussbitch @alwaysanundertone @urfavhanna @donovorita28 @randomcreator-09 @joey-hoey @chronically-sh-ana @pinksmellslikelove @blvebanisters @aaronhotchswife @roseblack1864 @chaevvonders @champomiel @the-flaminhos @ilovesugurugeto69 @sammyreid @treefairy-28 @aza-writes @made-for-oliverwood @kaileygirl444 @livslifeonline @hi172826 @greyeyedmockingbird @prettylittlewrites @st0rmzi3 @butterchicken06 @yarri0 @camslut7 @ilovewhiteboysforlife @moonyxstars @charlxzagzy @maxinehufflepuffprincess @maverickgalathynius @bmyva1entine @hizzielover @hoe-for-sukuna @panhoeofmanyfandoms @psychobitchsthings @lily-mylove @squirreljoe @5implyd1vine @prongsvids @starrystormwritings @sunshineangel-reads @your-good-girlll

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[sunshinesfreckless]

His Spoiled Bunny

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Seo Changbin x fem!reader

Summary: No one spoils their girl like Changbin does. No one eats like he does either.

Warnings: Oral fixation. Gym sex. Tiffany. Dolce. Strength kink. Breeding Kink.

A/N: THERE YOU GO CHANGBIN GIRLIES PLEASE BE HAPPY. HAN WILL BE THE FINAL SPOILED PART !

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Jeongin

୨ৎ Seungmin ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Han

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

He liked her pretty.

Not just in the way other men meant it. Not in the bare-minimum, tight-dress, perfect-lips sort of way. Seo Changbin liked her cute—bows in her hair, soft ruffles on her sleeves, frilly collars, little heart buttons she thought no one noticed. But he did. He noticed everything.

He’d buy the bows himself—silk, velvet, ribboned in his favorite colors. He’d frown if her hair wasn’t pinned back just right. He’d adjust it with careful fingers, always murmuring, “There. My pretty girl.”

And when he shopped, it was never random. Never thoughtless.

He didn’t just spoil her. He curated her.

A body-hugging Dolce & Gabbana dress for her wardrobe—he’d had it delivered with a handwritten note: Wear this for me next time we fight so I can forgive you faster.

A silk robe, pale pink with “Bin’s Bunny” embroidered in champagne thread across the back—she wore it when waiting for him to come home from practice, curling up on the couch with his cats.

Two floors of her apartment slowly filled with handpicked things—ruffled skirts, lace-trimmed blouses, designer slippers, glass teacups shaped like blossoms. Things he’d never seen on anyone but her, things he wanted only her to wear.

Even her favorite rose tea wasn’t safe from his affection.

She’d mentioned it once—once—and now, every Thursday, a box appeared. New blends from quiet Parisian brands. Seoul boutique exclusives. Ones with handwritten notes from the tea house owners addressed to Mr. Seo’s fiancée.

But her favorite gift?

The necklace.

He hadn’t said a word when he gave it to her.

Just placed the blue box in her hands one soft evening, while she was sitting cross-legged on his bed in one of his old shirts.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid.

Inside—simple, but so intimate—a fine Tiffany gold chain, so delicate it shimmered with every breath. At its center, two tiny initials, crusted in diamonds: S.C.

He took it from her before she could speak, hooked it gently around her neck, then tilted her chin up with one strong finger.

His eyes were soft. Melted. Full of something heavier than lust.

“Now they know who you belong to.”

She didn’t even get the chance to answer.

Because he kissed her.

Slow. Deep. Like he meant it. Like he’d always mean it.

And later, when he pulled away, her bow had come loose and his name sparkled at her throat—and he looked at her like he was never letting go.

  ────୨ৎ────

He loved the way she fit against him. Small, pliant, perfect. Like she was made to be lifted.

And in his private gym, no one could see them. No cameras, no mirrors except the full-length one bolted to the wall. Just him, her, and the sound of skin meeting skin.

“1… 2… 3—good girl.”

He had her hoisted up, legs locked around his waist, her back pressed to the mirror hard enough to fog the glass behind her. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, Dolce lace panties long discarded, and her heels still dangling prettily off her toes. She’d gasped when he lifted her—by now she knew the routine—but the way he moved inside her still left her breathless every time. Deep, controlled, possessive.

Sweat glistened on his temples, dripping down the curve of his neck, his chest flexing with every thrust. She whimpered when his biceps tensed, his grip tightening just a little more under her thighs as he slammed her down on his cock, hard enough to make her cry out. The weights on the floor clinked as he stepped back, bracing her against the wall like she was nothing.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice low and ragged. “You look so good like this—look, baby.”

She forced herself to look. In the mirror, it was obscene: her hair a mess, her lips smeared with Chanel gloss, her body trembling from the force of each roll of his hips. But there was also Changbin… thick arms around her, his other hand sneaking down between her thighs���greedy, relentless. The sight of him—sweaty, flushed, thick cock splitting her open while he held her up like she weighed less than a barbell—it pushed her right to the edge.

“You gonna come, bunny?” he panted, his breath hot against her neck. “Come with me, yeah? Show me how good I spoil you.”

And she did. Shaking. Eyes locked on his. A doll for him to play with, and he loved her just like that.

  ────୨ৎ────

But none of the gifts compared to this.

Not the limited edition handbags.

Not the Tiffany diamonds.

Not even the gym.

Because nothing could beat the way Seo Changbin ate.

He loved food. The whole world knew that.

But only she knew how much he loved her.

He had her laid out across sheets he had flown in from Italy—deep red silk that pooled under her like wine. Candles flickered in the corner. She was bare, thighs already trembling, chest rising and falling too fast as he pulled her knees over his broad shoulders and looked up at her like she was dessert.

“Stay still,” he whispered, voice rough, almost reverent. “Be good and let me taste.”

And then his mouth was on her.

His hands stayed firm on her hips, fingers digging into her like he was afraid she’d float away. He groaned into her pussy like he was fucking starving, tongue lapping at her in slow, deliberate strokes that made her eyes roll back. She was soaked—dripping for him—and he loved it. Loved how she squirmed. Loved how she tried to clench her thighs around his head and he pushed them wider.

“I want it all, bunny,” he murmured. “Every sound, every drop.”

Sometimes he moaned louder than she did.

Sometimes his cock was so hard it throbbed untouched.

But he wouldn’t stop. Not until she came all over his tongue—once, twice, again. He knew her body too well. He tasted every twitch. He knew how to ruin her.

“B-Bin—ah—don’t stop—”

“I won’t,” he growled, lips dragging up her inner thigh. “I’m starving.”

And then he buried his face deeper, like he could live there.

  ────୨ৎ────

Later, she couldn’t move.

Not even enough to lift her head from the silk pillow. Her lips were puffy, her eyes dazed, thighs sticky and open beneath the crumpled sheets.

Changbin came back from the kitchen, shirtless, with a tray in hand.

Strawberries.

Warm cream-filled bread.

A bowl of soup, still steaming.

He placed the tray beside her, and knelt at her side like she was royalty and he the most devoted servant. She made a soft, sleepy noise—but her mouth didn’t open.

He smiled. Picked up a spoon.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She obeyed. Bite by bite. Spoon by spoon.

And when he fed her the first strawberry—held between his fingers, gently pressed to her lips—he kissed the juice from her chin and whispered, “You know I’d give you the whole world, right?”

The necklace glittered against her collarbone. Her bow was still crooked in her hair.

And in his arms, she looked like the only thing he’d ever chase.

 ────୨ৎ───

She’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

Half on her side, one leg dangling off the edge, the throw blanket barely covering her thighs—and not the fluffy blanket he told her to use either. The TV was still on, some rom-com playing in the background, and her phone lay face-down on the floor like it had slipped from her hand mid-scroll.

He sighed softly. Then smiled.

“You’re gonna get a cramp like that, bunny…”

But he didn’t wake her.

He set down the bag—the bag, the one with the fluffy pink cardigan she mentioned once in passing while shopping. He’d had it sent from Japan because they sold out in Korea. The matching slippers were in his backpack. And tucked in the crook of his elbow: her favorite dinner in takeaway boxes, still warm.

Carefully, like he was lifting something sacred, he scooped her up. Thick arms around her back and knees, her head naturally tipping into his chest. She stirred but didn’t wake, just blinked blearily and hummed, nose nudging into the soft black fabric of his shirt.

“Smells like gym,” she mumbled.

He chuckled. “Rude.”

But his voice was so gentle. So stupidly soft for her.

He carried her into the bedroom like nothing. His arms didn’t even shake. Laid her down on the duvet and pulled the cardigan from the bag, helping her into it like she was made of glass. She blinked again, eyes sleepy-sparkly, lips pouty.

“Were you out?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Got your stuff. Dinner too.”

“…You’re always buying me things.”

“Because I love spoiling you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “And you always look so cute in the things I pick.”

She tried to argue, but her yawn cut her off.

So he sat at her bedside, opening the boxes and gently scooping up a bite of warm rice, lifting it to her lips.

“Eat for me, pretty girl.”

She blinked, took the bite. Then a second. And a third.

“You didn’t eat yet?”

“I’m eating now.” He smiled. “Watching you counts.”

And later, when she was full and warm and fuzzy in her new cardigan, she laid against him, one palm on his chest, fingers tracing his muscle like it soothed her.

“You’re so big,” she mumbled.

He grinned, cocky—but his voice betrayed how shy he got when she touched him like that. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Feels safe…”

And he tucked the blanket tighter around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m never letting you go.”

 ────୨ৎ────

She was already breathless, legs trembling around his thick waist, hands gripping the slope of his shoulders like she could hang onto sanity through him.

Fuck he made her a fan of Missionary. He Loved gift giving, even if it was just his cum.

One hand beneath her thigh, the other braced beside her head, all of him wrapped around her. His biceps caged her in, his chest pressed firm to hers, and his voice—deep, wrecked—growled right into her ear.

“You feel that, baby?” he whispered, thrusting up again. “How deep I am?”

She whimpered, back arching.

He was so strong like this. Like she weighed nothing. Like her body was made for this—for him. Every movement made her feel owned, spoiled, ruined by the boy who treated her like treasure in daylight and like his personal plaything at night.

“You take me so well, always do,” he murmured, kissing down her jaw, her neck. “Fuck—I might just give it to you for real.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Bin—”

“You want it, don’t you?” His hand slid between her thighs, rubbing gently where she needed him most. “You want me to fill you up, make you mine forever.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could only nod as he grinned, so smug, so in love.

“My pretty little wife,” he breathed, kissing her again, messier this time. “Gonna look so good with a bump. All soft. All mine.”

She moaned, clinging tighter, and he laughed—ruined and breathless himself.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Like I always do. You won’t lift a finger. Just let me love you, spoil you, fuck you full.”

And when he finally came—deep, with a gasp of her name—he didn’t move. Just wrapped her tighter in those stupid, beautiful, strong arms of his and kissed her forehead like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

Because she was.

And even if she never did end up full of him, he’d still treat her like she was carrying his whole world in her belly.

 ────୨ৎ────

But it wasn’t just that he gave.

It was how much he loved.

He never let her walk on cold floors.

He kept a box of warm socks just for her in his car, in case she forgot hers.

He called her bunny all the time.

He picked her up from every schedule with her favorite snacks in the cupholder.

He massaged her legs when she was tired, made her protein smoothies, ran her bubble baths. He was softer than he looked.

And when he was tired—really tired—

She took care of him too.

She tucked him in when he fell asleep on the couch. She kissed his calloused hands and told him he was the best man she’d ever known. He never said much when she did that, only blushed, blinked, and held her tighter.

He came home once, late.

And there she was, curled up, waiting for him in one of his old shirts.

“Binnie,” she whispered sleepily.

His chest cracked open with warmth.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“You really are my best gift.”

[vaginalvr]

Love a desperate and needy Spencer. I was wondering if you’d be down to write about post prison Spencer being needy for his partner, but like, in a soft way? I mean they fuck nasty but emotional too.

hi!! yes!!

cw: Intense emotional vulnerability, soft dom!Spencer, desperate and tender sex, praise kink, light begging, tears, clinginess, creampie, mild possessiveness, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, post-prison trauma themes.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The door closes behind him with a soft click, and that’s when it hits you—he’s really home.

Spencer just stands there for a moment in the entryway of your apartment, his go-bag at his feet. His posture’s too stiff, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

You don’t speak.

You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his waist. You press your face into his chest and hold him tight, and after a long moment, you feel him exhale.

He breathes in again, this time deeper.

Then he crumbles.

He pulls you into him like you’re the only thing keeping him upright. One hand fists in the back of your shirt, the other slides into your hair. He doesn’t cry, not really—but you feel the shudder in his chest, the way he breathes like he hasn’t tasted fresh air in months.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he says, and his voice is so small.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you more than I can say.”

You pull back to look at him—and your heart breaks.

There are faint circles under his eyes. His hair’s longer, messier. He looks thinner. But it’s the way he’s looking at you—like he’s not sure he deserves to—that guts you.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” you tell him softly.

“I just want to touch you,” he whispers. “Please. Can I—can we…?”

You nod instantly. “Yes. Anything you want.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not smooth or practiced. He’s not suave or cocky or charming. He kisses you like a man starved—like someone who’s been denied everything that makes life worth living.

He kisses you like you’re air and he’s drowning.

You barely make it to the bedroom.

Clothes come off in a mess of frantic hands and whispered apologies—“Sorry, I just need to feel you—God, I missed this—I missed you—”

When you lay back on the bed, Spencer just stares for a moment. He kneels between your legs and runs his hands slowly down your thighs, eyes glassy.

“You’re real,” he murmurs. “You’re here.”

You reach out, thread your fingers through his curls. “So are you.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then the soft skin of your stomach, then your chest—like he’s trying to memorize you again.

When he slides his fingers between your legs, he groans at how wet you already are.

“For me?” he whispers.

“Always for you.”

He leans down and presses his mouth to your pussy like it’s sacred. Gentle at first—slow, careful licks, his fingers digging into your thighs like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

You gasp when his tongue finds your clit, and he moans like the taste of you hurts him.

“I dreamed about this,” he murmurs between strokes. “I thought about you every night. Touched myself to the memory of your sounds. The way you taste. The way you fall apart.”

You arch under him, thighs trembling. “Spence—”

“Let me make you come,” he begs softly. “Please. I need to feel you come on my mouth.”

And you do—shaking, gasping his name, thighs wrapped around his head as he groans against you like a man possessed.

He kisses your pussy through it, then rests his forehead on your hip, panting.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You pull him up, cup his face in your hands, and kiss him again—deep and messy and raw.

“I want you,” you say. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

He slides in slow, his eyes locked on yours the whole time.

And when he bottoms out, you swear you see tears in his eyes.

“You feel like home,” he says, voice cracking.

Then he starts to move.

It’s not hard or rough—at first. It’s deep. Emotional. Like he’s trying to bury himself so far inside you that nothing—no one—can ever take you away again.

“I missed this,” he groans, hips snapping harder now. “Missed the way you feel around me. Missed how you moan my name. Missed how good you are to me.”

“You have me,” you gasp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Say it again,” he whispers, fucking you harder now, each thrust deeper, more desperate.

“I’m yours, Spencer,” you pant. “Always.”

He cries out, forehead dropping to yours, and you feel him trembling.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks, broken. “Please. I need—fuck, I need to fill you. I need to feel you take it.”

“Do it,” you beg. “Come inside me. Mark me. Show me you’re home.”

That’s all it takes.

He comes with a hoarse cry, hips stuttering, hands gripping your thighs tight. You feel him spill into you, his whole body shaking.

But he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside you. Wraps you in his arms. Kisses your face. Holds you like he never wants to let go.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispers.

“It doesn’t have to,” you whisper back. “I’m not going anywhere, Spence. I’m right here.”

You feel him soften inside you, but he still doesn’t move.

He just holds you.

And in the quiet, you feel his body relax for the first time in months.

[moondustbaby]

In the Worst Way

blue collar!Rafe x wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

cw: smut, oral (m rec), piv, unprotected sex

mdni 18+

summary: It’s Friday night and Rafe’s had one hell of a week. You? You’re the cure. He walks through that door looking like sin, and you take it upon yourself—devoted wife that you are—to wreck him in the worst (best) way.

⸻

The screen door creaks before you even hear the rumble of his truck engine shut off.

Heavy boots on hardwood. Keys thunking into the bowl. A sigh—long, low, bone-deep. You know that sound. Rafe’s had a long week.

You peek your head around the kitchen doorway, and there he is—hat turned backwards, jaw rough with stubble, hands dirty with the kind of grit that doesn’t come off even with soap.

“You look like hell,” you tease, leaning against the counter with a slow smile.

He drops his tool bag by the door and just looks at you for a second. Quiet. Eyes burning with something you recognize immediately—something he doesn’t say but always means.

“I missed you today,” he says, voice rasped and worn thin.

You smile, but it’s the kind that trembles at the edges. “Long week?”

He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Just closes the distance between you in three slow steps and cups the back of your neck like he’s grounding himself. Like he doesn’t want to speak because if he does, he might break.

And you—well, you know exactly what he needs.

So you slip your arms around his waist and press your lips to his neck, soft at first. His breath catches.

“You need me to take care of you, baby?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Fuck. In the worst way.”

⸻

The bedroom light stays off. You tug him by the belt loop down the hallway, into the dark like it’s sacred, like this quiet space is yours and his alone. The hum of the old AC unit, the creak of floorboards, the sound of him breathing ragged behind you.

You sit him on the edge of the bed and kneel to untie his boots. He watches you in silence, his chest rising and falling faster than before. Your fingers work slow, tugging laces loose, slipping leather free from his socks.

“You don’t have to—” he starts.

“I want to.”

Boots thunk to the floor. Then socks. Then his shirt—damp with sweat, clinging to his chest, and you pull it over his head, dragging your nails down his torso as you do.

He groans, low and guttural. Hands twitch at his sides like he wants to grab you but knows better. He’s letting you lead.

You kiss down his chest, tracing the dust-and-sunline of his skin, down to the waistband of his jeans.

Your fingers make slow work of the button. Zipper. Tug.

He’s already half-hard, cock straining against the fabric of his briefs. You look up at him through your lashes.

“Bet you were thinkin’ about this all day,” you murmur.

Rafe’s jaw ticks. “Baby. Don’t play with me.”

But you do. Just a little. Mouth brushing over the bulge in his briefs, tongue dragging over cotton. He groans and fists the bedsheets.

“Take it off” he grits. “C’mon, baby. Please.”

You do. Slowly. Dragging his briefs down and watching his cock spring free—thick, heavy, flushed with heat. You wrap your hand around him and stroke once, just to watch his head drop back and his thighs tense.

“I love your cock,” you whisper.

And he moans—needy, ruined already.

You flatten your tongue against the tip, licking up the bead of precum, then slide your lips over him, slow and deep. You hollow your cheeks, bob your head, take him until your eyes water.

“Fuck, that mouth,” he groans, one hand tangling gently in your hair. Not pushing. Just holding. Grounding.

You work him slow, savoring it, letting him melt for you. His legs tremble. His abs twitch. His voice breaks when he says your name.

But you don’t let him come. You pull off with a slick pop and wipe your mouth, standing up to straddle his lap.

“You gonna fuck me, Ray?”

He looks up at you, dazed, desperate. “Hell yeah, I’m gonna fuck you.”

You tug your dress over your head—no bra, no panties. His breath stutters. Hands grab your hips like he’s starving.

“Jesus, baby. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You kiss him—messy, wet, full of teeth and tongue. He grinds up against you, cock trapped between your bodies, leaking against your stomach. You shift your hips, drag your soaked folds over him.

“Feel that?” you whisper. “That’s what you do to me.”

He growls and flips you beneath him in one rough motion, arms braced on either side of your head.

“Fuck this,” he mutters. “Need you. Now.”

You spread your legs wide, tilt your hips. He sinks into you in one slow, deep thrust.

You both groan. Loud. Filthy. Like you’ve been waiting all week to feel this.

And maybe you have.

⸻

He fucks you slow at first hips rolling deep, dragging his cock along every nerve. Your nails dig into his back. Your breath comes in gasps.

“So good,” you whimper. “You feel so good, Rafe.”

He buries his face in your neck, breathing hard.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “This pussy’s mine.”

You nod, moaning as he fucks into you harder. “Yours, baby. Always.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

“Say my name.”

“Rafe—fuck—Rafe, I love you.”

That breaks something in him. His rhythm stutters. He grabs your thighs and pushes your knees up, deeper now, rougher.

The headboard bangs against the wall. The mattress squeaks.

You’re soaked. Wrecked. Your orgasm builds sharp and tight and mean. You can barely breathe.

“Gonna come,” you cry.

He grabs your face. “Look at me.”

You do.

And when you come—legs shaking, back arching, voice wrecked—he’s right there with you, fucking you through it, eyes locked on yours as he spills inside you with a strangled groan.

⸻

He collapses on top of you, breath hot and heavy against your skin. You wrap your arms around him, fingers tangling in his sweaty hair.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Eventually, he props himself on one elbow and brushes your hair from your face.

“I missed you this week,” he says again. Softer this time. “Every damn minute.”

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

His hand slides down your side, over your hip, resting low on your stomach.

“You’re everything, you know that?”

You nod, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You are too.”

He rolls over, pulling you into his chest. You lay there together in the dark, tangled and sticky and spent—but full. Full of love. Full of each other.

And it’s only Friday night.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: i heard one guitar twang in “worst way” and suddenly i was barefoot in the kitchen begging my blue collar husband to break the bed. no further questions. thank you for the req @raegan07 !! 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

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𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@lolabunnyworldss @superlegend216 @bonjourjiminie @rafesbabygirlx

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I’m not completely sure how requests work but I NEED a fic where the reader like gets into an argument with the winter soldier about something small or big like how he never opens up to her (whatever you prefer) and then some HATE sex after (not really hate just frustrated yk)

disconnect - nsfw winter soldier

I received a few asks that inspired me to develop a story combining them. this is my interpretation of them.

pre-established relationship. if you're new here, there's a mention of a prior event.

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. dark/sad themes, similar to depictions of depression. read at your own discretion.

~~~

it's stupid, really.

the mud boot tracks all over the entryway when you get home. the huge disaster area the kitchen is.

is it really that difficult to not leave a mess everywhere?

you make your way to the bedroom and drop your bag somewhere on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed to chuck off your shoes and jacket.

you sit there for a moment, head buried in your hands.

the weight of your situation gets to you more often than not. a lot of those thoughts in your head go unsaid for a number of reasons, particularly because he doesn't have the emotional capacity to care, in your opinion.

is this really the life you thought you'd end up living?

if you wanted to quit working, you could. he brings in more than plenty.

and you'd never have to worry about being sexually frustrated a day in your life.

is that really the sum total of your relationship?

you let out a sigh.

you feel stuck.

~~~

he comes into the bedroom ten minutes later, fresh out of the shower, covered in water from head to toe minus the towel wrapped around his waist.

he goes straight for the bed, lying down on the fresh sheets, soaking them.

"seriously?" you ask, looking up at him, exasperated at this point.

he tilts his head in your direction and gives you a blank stare as though he has no clue what you're talking about.

you take a deep breath and shove down your anger. he's been gone for a week, cut him some slack, you tell yourself.

"everything go okay?" you ask.

you don't want to know the gory details, and he wouldn't tell you, anyways. his face contorts, giving you a disgusted look as though you're crazy for even asking.

he proceeds to shove his hands behind his head, closing his eyes to get some rest.

another deep breath.

"are you hungry?" you offer. the mess in the kitchen tells you that he's not, but you're seriously trying here.

he lets out a low grunt, which you take to mean 'no.'

"can you stay awake for five minutes to fucking talk to me?" you say, anger rising in your chest as you struggle to keep your head straight.

"not talking to you about work," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"clearly, you're not talking to me at all! fuck, I mean, when do you ever?" you yell, standing and walking over to the side of the bed next to where he's laying.

in your anger, you grab his arm and roughly yank it out from under his head, surprising him. his eyes shoot open and he glares up at you as though you've just personally offended him.

"you never fucking talk to me! I- I don't even know if you like me! it's like you just live in my apartment so you can fuck me whenever you want!" you yell at him. your emotions are getting the better of you, your insecurities and your anger twisting in your head. you're completely helpless to stop your mouth from speaking them into reality.

not a word in response. his face is completely devoid of any emotion.

"I don't even know why I expect anything different from you," you scoff. "you're a heartless motherfucker. you don't even care about me."

you feel so empty inside. all the sacrifices you've made, all the times you've cried over the fact that you can't just be normal, all because of what he does for a living, who he is.

all while having to stomach the nausea of simply knowing why you have to keep him a secret.

it's too much to deal with anymore.

he watches as you drag an empty duffel bag out of the closet and begin throwing various items of clothing inside it. it takes a few moments, but it finally clicks in his head: you're leaving. and he doesn't know when, or if, you'll be back.

he stands, grabbing your arm as carefully as he can, stopping you from continuing to pack. "no. stay," he tells you. he sounds so calm, his voice is void of its usual sternness.

he's only calm because he's panicking inside.

you take his calm demeanor to mean that he genuinely does not give a fuck.

"get off me. I'm leaving," you tell him, pulling your arm away from his grasp. that's all you can say, because that's all you know right now. you have no plans for where you're going or when you're coming back.

if you're coming back.

you shove a few more things in your bag as your eyes tear up.

what has your life come to?

~~~

the door slams behind you on your way out, shaking the whole apartment. eerie silence follows.

no sounds of pans clattering in the kitchen. no music blaring while you shower. no keyboard clicking while you work. no more of your laughing as you watch videos on your phone.

no more you.

all there is is dead silence.

he used to live in the silence. he took comfort in it; he'd be able to hear a threat coming from a mile away as long as he lived in the silence. it was his way of protection, his entire way of life.

it doesn't have that comforting effect anymore.

because now?

he's alone.

now, alone, in the silence he once reveled in, he roams the apartment in contemplation. he sees everything he didn't see before.

the mess he left everywhere, destroying the effort you put in every day to keep a tidy home.

but more importantly? he sees the disconnect. the stark contrast between your carefulness and his tendency to act as a bull in a china shop opens his eyes to reality.

he always saw you as a team.

but now?

he realizes that you're not.

you're normal. he isn't.

he never could be.

~~~

your best bet for now is to go to a friend's place, you think. you sob your eyes out as you sit in the driver's seat of your car, and you come up with a lie that's at least semi-believable.

you take a few deep breaths as you click her contact on speed-dial.

"hey, so you'll never believe my luck," you begin, trying to hide your sniffling from the microphone. "my building is infested with rats. I don't know how long it'll be until they've dealt with it. at least a week, probably. do you think I could spend a few nights at your place?"

your voice is choppy as you speak, and it's clear you've been crying, but she doesn't question it. she gives you the 'okay' to come over, and you hang up quickly before the tears start again.

that's how you end up sleeping on her couch that night, sobbing silently into your hoodie as you try to determine what the hell you're supposed to do now.

for so long, you've put up with his bullshit, kept his secret, kept your mouth shut, all for one reason: you love him.

but he's not capable of loving anyone.

~~~

for a while, the feeling of isolation doesn't bother him. all he feels is indifference.

yet as he finally cleans up after himself, the ache in his chest begins. he almost wonders if he's having a heart attack; he's never felt this before.

yes, he has.

he freezes in place, the memory coming to him. he injured you, once, purely by accident. that's when he's felt this helplessness, this emptiness, this deep-seated pain in his chest.

guilt?

he's not sure.

he kneels on the cold hard tile of the entryway, not bothering to put on longer pants or a towel to protect his knees as he wipes up the mud he tracked inside. he doesn't deserve that comfort.

he lays in bed alone that night, mind empty. sleep never finds him.

the following morning, before the sun has risen, he makes a decision.

he opens his bank account and navigates to the most recent transfer, forwarding it back to the sender with one message: deal's off. busy.

~~~

the next morning, you wake up, still feeling terribly nauseous. you look in the bathroom mirror to find your eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying.

you never should've gotten involved with a cold-hearted killer.

every bone in your body is saying to leave. get out of New York, quit your job, leave him and this whole life behind.

instead, you make a cup of coffee and force some yogurt down your throat before going to work.

you're up early, and don't care to deal with the traffic driving further into the city, so you might as well take the train.

~~~

he has absolutely no clue where you are.

he knows none of the addresses of your friends where you might have gone, not even a single one of their names.

if you didn't have to work, he wouldn't even be sure that you were still in the state.

work.

he doesn't even know the address of your workplace. he has a vague sense of the name of the company, how hard can it be to find?

so that's where he starts.

he camps out down a side street near your office, giving him a narrow field of vision to the entrance while staying hidden. it's the end of the workday, you should be coming out soon.

normally, scouting out a target is easy. he takes a short amount of time to watch them, determine their routines, and find the best course of action to take them out in the most efficient way possible.

there's always a plan, an end goal there. here?

he has no plan. there is no end goal.

for now, he needs to know where you're staying. so he watches and waits for you to come out of the one place where he can count on being able to find you.

he's not prepared for the pang of some unfamiliar emotion that he feels when he sees you come out of the building. you look exhausted; clearly, you didn't sleep last night, same as him.

you still look perfect.

he assumes you're heading to the parking lot, and he realizes he didn't think this far ahead. he doesn't have a fucking car, how is he supposed to follow you to find out where you're going?

he would never make this kind of bullshit mistake on a job.

he's scanning the area, trying to find the most inconspicuous car he can find that he thinks he might be able to hotwire-

you walk right past the parking lot.

he begins to trail you from across the street, mind working through all the possible answers as to where you're going. for now, his focus is keeping his eyes on you at all times.

he refuses to acknowledge the way his chest hurts even more as he follows you down the street and into the train station.

he hates when you take the train, hence why you always drive. to him, the train isn't safe. there's too many variables, too many things could go wrong. today, though, it works to his advantage.

all he can do for now is get on the train car behind you and wait to see where you get off at.

~~~

you're so tired, it's probably for the best you didn't drive today, lest you wanted to accidentally total your car by falling asleep at the wheel.

you want nothing more than to go home to him.

you don't. you get off the train and walk into the first bar you see.

it's after the workday, just past 6pm on a Tuesday, so it's packed, full of both blue- and white-collar workers in need of a drink.

you sit at the bar with the rest of the men as you all contemplate your life choices. you drink way too much, consuming more alcohol than is safe for you to have in your system while walking back.

oh well.

as you walk in the darkness, your head feels heavy, your body warm from the alcohol. you're being reckless, you know you are.

you don't have it in you to care. you feel like your entire life is being ripped apart at the seams, and it's all your fault. you're aware of the reality; you shouldn't ask for more than he can give. that's not fair to him.

no. this isn't fair to you.

~~~

he hates every fucking second of this. you're acting stupid, putting yourself in danger, getting drunk in public while operating under the assumption that you're all alone on these dark streets.

is this how you feel every day? do you feel alone even when he's there?

is he nothing more than a nuisance to you, a reminder of all your fears and all your lost dreams rolled into one?

at least he knows he's there to protect you.

to him, you were his savior.

but to you, he's nothing more than a ball and chain around your ankle.

his chest grows even tighter.

once you get inside the place you're apparently staying at, he relaxes somewhat. you're inside, you're safe.

that means nothing to him. to him, you're only safe within the confines of your own home. you're only safe when you're with him.

does he make you feel unsafe?

he finds another dark alley to hole up in. he's not going anywhere, not going home, not sleeping until you've got this figured out.

~~~

days go by. he learns your friend's schedule, learns the area, learns that you're drinking every day after work.

he knows he doesn't have the right to approach you. he'd lose you for good if he did, he thinks.

except on the fourth day of you being gone, after all these sleepless nights of him sitting on the cold, hard ground, you don't go into work. he watches your friend leave, but not you.

something's wrong.

in the back of his head, he hears your voice from your fight, if he could even call it a fight, saying,

"I don't even know if you like me!"

"you don't even care about me."

the words float around his mind, amplifying the tightness in his chest by 100 times.

that's it. he's done waiting, done watching you like you're a target, done pretending like you're both not miserable. he's done pretending he doesn't care.

~~~

you don't go into work on Friday.

you've spent all week ignoring your problems, ignoring the nausea in your stomach, drinking so much alcohol that you're lucky you don't pass out in the street, alone.

it's time to make a decision.

you don't get up from the couch until mid-morning, getting up to take a shower before heading to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

as you finish preparing your drink, staring down into the mug, you think you hear something in the distance. but the noise is so faint, you attribute it to your lack of sleep and food. you're fine, there's nothing there.

you hear it again, louder this time, and you turn towards where you hear the noise coming from-

from behind you, a hand slips over your mouth, and an arm wraps itself around your waist. you're about to panic when you hear the figure speak,

"it's me."

you let yourself relax against him. he scared the absolute shit out of you, making you fear for your fucking life, but you don't care. he's here.

but then your anger returns with a vengeance.

you put all your weight into throwing yourself forward, out of his grasp, and he lets go.

"how dare you!" is the first thing you say, and then you turn to face him.

woah.

if you thought you looked like shit from lack of sleep, it was nothing compared to how he looked.

you pause your yelling at him for a moment to take in the fact that he looks so tired he might be ready to collapse, that he looks like he hasn't showered or eaten in days.

you push past your worry and begin again, your anger boiling over as you continue yelling.

"how do you know I'm here? have you been fucking following me?"

he forces himself to speak.

"yes."

you scoff. of course he has.

"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown adult, James!" you yell.

"then why the hell have you been acting like you're a goddamn child?" he yells back.

you've never heard him raise his voice like this before.

"you could have gotten yourself killed. you're lucky I was there. you did everything wrong, against how I taught you to keep yourself safe!"

your entire body is vibrating with the range of emotions you feel right now. you're so pissed off at him, but you've finally gotten him to speak to you. you hate that he's been watching you like his prey all week, but it means that maybe, in his eyes, you're worth losing sleep over.

you both stand there for a minute as you delay responding. your hair is soaking through your pajama shirt, which you realize as you stand there, is one of his t-shirts. your coffee is spilled everywhere from when he startled you, the mug flipped on its side on the counter.

you try to gather your thoughts to respond. you end up coming back to the one thing that you haven't been able to forget about all week, the one thing that breaks your heart more than any of it.

"you didn't even fight for me," you say quietly. you do everything in your power to take deep breaths, blinking your eyes quickly to stop the tears in their wake. "you didn't even fight for me to stay. you just let me go."

you give him the benefit of the doubt when he doesn't respond immediately. you know he needs to gather his thoughts.

you wipe your eyes a few times, listening to the silence, just praying that you mean enough to him that he'll respond.

"I'll never make that mistake again."

you've missed him so much, even in your rage and despair, that those words are all the reassurance you need to hear from him. he steps closer to you, slowly, waiting for your permission to approach.

you take in his appearance once more. he clearly hasn't eaten or slept in days, and he looks dirty. you connect the dots in your head: he hasn't even gone home, hasn't left your side once all week.

the idea of him following you all week pissed you off only minutes before. but now?

your tears spill from your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, embracing him as though he's your entire world.

he's never felt as relieved as he does when you cling to him. the aching in his chest finally begins to dissipate for the first time in a week.

you may be in some random apartment, but he's finally home.

he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up. you get the hint and wrap your legs around his hips, holding onto him as he walks you over to the couch you've spent the last few days crying on.

he lays you down and begins to peel his shirt from your body, revealing every inch of your beautiful skin to him.

he knows has to show you how sorry he is, the only way he knows how.

he adjusts your positioning so you're sitting face forward on the couch, legs dangling over the edge, and he spreads your thighs as he gets to his knees in front of you.

it about takes your breath away.

this man, who is so possessive over you, so afraid of showing even a sliver of weakness or vulnerability, so against the idea of giving up any form of power, is on his knees for you in apology.

you know this isn't easy for him. this is the biggest display of trust you think you've ever seen from him, and your fears about not meaning anything to him begin to disappear.

you're the most important thing in his life. he wishes he had the words to tell you that.

he wraps his hands around the back of your knees, bringing you closer to him, and he pushes his tongue between your legs so softly.

his mouth is wet, and warm, and he hasn't eaten in days, but he'd rather you be the only thing he tastes for the rest of his life, anyways.

a few more involuntary tears spill from your eyes as he laves his tongue over you. you feel so sensitive, the combination of lacking his touch for so long and the emotion behind his actions is making you so much more conscious of his every movement.

he buries his tongue in you over and over again like it's his only mission in life.

he feels the entire lower half of his face, having gone unshaved for the last week, is soaked, covered in you. he hopes he leaves you with a mild rug burn between your thighs so you feel him for days afterwards.

you're so perceptive to his every move, you feel it distinctly when he begins to trace shapes over your clit.

A, E, S is all you make out.

James.

he's writing his name on your skin with his tongue.

you let out a whimper when you realize it, and your gentle hold on the back of his head tightens, pulling his face closer against your cunt.

"James," you whisper as he begins to work you faster, "please."

that's all it takes for him to push you over the edge. your thighs close on either side of his head, and he can mostly hear the way you whine his name as you come for him.

you barely have a second to relax your muscles before he's crowding you on the couch, repositioning you so you're laying underneath him.

his mouth begins to attack your neck, your rules against him putting hickeys on your neck be damned. and you gladly let him, you don't care right now.

he takes no time at all to shove the fabric of his pants out of the way, wrapping your legs around his hips once more, pushing himself down into you.

"fuck," you whisper at the stretch.

he continues his assault on your neck, marking you up and down all the way to your breasts, anywhere he can reach.

he bites back a groan every time you moan so perfectly, filling his ears, repeating his name every few thrusts.

but there's still something in the back of his head he needs you to know.

he doesn't stop, doesn't quit fucking you so beautifully as he brings his mouth to your ear.

"of course I like you," he admits so quietly, and his tone makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world. you're brought back to the other night when you expressed your deepest vulnerabilities to him, and now, he's making up for what he should have told you then. "and of course I care about you."

you clutch him against you as tight as humanly possible until you're both letting yourselves go, feeling the comforting warmth as he releases inside you.

his body gives out, collapsing on top of you, exhausted from the physical and emotional toll of the week.

you finally feel tired too, more so than you have all week. it's as though your body is finally poised to truly rest now that he's with you again.

you can't sleep yet.

"take me home, James," you whisper, and he doesn't hesitate.

~~~

(guys as I'm writing this I'm about to cry)

yeah so I think I spent about six hours on this total y'all

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list: (send an ask or dm to be removed)

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially @shereadzzz @flow33didontsmoke @blaineandergel @iiamlynn @tellybearryyyy @belovedmoony @doilooklikeagiveafrack @analovesmarvel @izzy698 @ketchumid24 @annabethboleyn @luv4koo @uh-buckybarness @buckyseternaldoll @planetzeidy @thegirlfatherr @mandoloriancookie @cieraboobear @k1gi-3 @wint3rbarnes @quinnofdrama

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Maybe some Keigo/Hawks headcanons :>

I love your writing >v<

Keigo Takami - Hawks

1. he flirts like he fucks, playful, cocky and smooth as silk

Every wink, every teasing touch? It’s a promise. “You’ve been staring at my hands all night, pretty bird,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your lips. “Want me to show you what they can do?” When he does, it’s slow, precise like he’s playing an instrument. One that moans for him.

2. bedroom voice = panty dropper

His voice drops low when he’s inside you, rasped and delicious, breath brushing your skin like a secret. “You like that?” Thrust “Say it again, baby.” Thrust “I wanna hear you scream my name with that pretty little mouth.”

3. wing kink and I mean wing kink

They twitch when you kiss him. Shiver when you strip. You tug a feather and his hips snap into yours “You gonna lose control, baby bird?” and he’ll fuck you through the mattress just to prove a point. He loves when you touch them. Worship them. But more than anything? He loves when you earn the chance to.

4. he’s dangerous when he’s quiet

Sometimes he doesn’t speak. Just watches you undress like a starving man, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. He’ll push you up against the nearest surface and take his time with deep hard strokes. The silence? It’s just the calm before the moan-ripped, feather-ruffling storm.

5. oral fixation king

He loves his mouth on you. Everywhere. His tongue works your clit in slow, devastating circles while his eyes never leave yours. “Don’t you dare look away,” he mutters against your heat. “I want you to watch me ruin you.”

6. feral when you ride him

He pretends to be relaxed, hands behind his head and cocky grin. But the moment you sink onto him? That control shatters. Veins bulge in his neck, fingers dig into your hips, wings flare out. “F-fuck, you’re tight. You wanna break me tonight, huh?”

7. fast hands, fast reflexes

He’s got you on the bed before you blink. Legs spread. Hands trapped above your head with one feather. “Stay there,” he purrs. “Be a good girl, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

8. a dom with a praise kink twist

He’ll call the shots. Tease you until you cry and whisper what a dirty little thing you are while he’s deep inside you. But when you moan “Keigo, please, I want all of you,” His breath catches and rhythm stutters. “You want me that bad? Fuck… I love you.”

9. spends more time giving than taking

He doesn’t care if he comes. What makes him crazy? You. Your thighs shaking, voice breaking, nails clawing down his back as you scream his name like a prayer. “I’ve got you, baby bird. Come for me. Let me feel it.”

10. post sex god, feathers everywhere

He wraps you in his wings after. Brushes sweat-damp hair from your face and kisses you like you’re made of light. “You good, angel?” He holds you like he’s afraid to let go. Because you? You’re the only place he ever wants to land.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ CLOSE, D.W

summary. although Dean acts like it’s a nightmare, one bed instead of two might not be the worst thing ever.

now playing ↬ Close-Nick Jonas & Tove Lo

⭑.ᐟ Oh hello! I’m back with some dean content🤭ONE BED TROPE I REPEAT ONE BED TROPE! slight mention of smut but none really! He drives me insane?!!!! Interact and send requests if u have any:) let me know if you’d like a part two w fluff!!!

word count. 798

Supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ are the first words to leave dean’s mouth the second you both enter the room.

You look up at him in disbelief, surely sharing a bed with you isn’t the worst thing ever, right?

‘Don’t sound too excited, jeez’ you mumble under your breath enough for Dean to hear as you lay your bags on the floor, still staring at the single bed sitting in the middle of this cold, dark room.

You don’t see it, but you know Dean enough to know he’s just rolled his eyes.

‘I’ll go check with them if they can change the room.’ Dean leaves before you have a chance to answer.

He might just be the most confusing man you’ve ever met.

Because he was all over you just a couple of days ago. His hand laid on your thigh the whole ride making you grow hot only for him to retract it when he felt the heat.

There’s no in between with Dean. Either he wants it, or he doesn’t, and sometimes you’re not really sure where he stands.

You sit in silence as you unpack, pretty sure that if they gave you this room, it’s because none other was available.

The moment the door opens and you hear a deep, loud sigh from behind you, you know you’re right.

Dean doesn’t speak. Instead of speaking, he walks directly into the bathroom, barely laying an eye on you as if you don’t exist.

It’s quick before you get under the covers, your mind slipping between consciousness and slumber. Your eyes open for what feels like the thousandth time when the door of the bathroom creeks open, his footsteps getting closer.

You feel his eyes on you for the first time.

Your back faces him, your eyes barely move, your breath still as if you’re scared he’ll know you’re awake the moment he hears you breathe.

There’s another sigh, then he slouches on the bed, you can almost hear his heartbeat.

When Dean turns the lights off and lays down next to you, the world is still. He hasn’t said a word, neither have you. You’re scared you might break if you dare to speak up, he might too.

It feels like a lifetime before Dean speak up.

‘Are you asleep?’ His voice is deep. His voice sounds like he hasn’t spoken in years. Like he’s scared to say another word.

It’s a couple seconds before you find the courage to turn around instead of answering. Dean’s on his back, he still doesn’t look at you.

‘I’m an asshole,aren’t I?’ He questions, although you’re not sure if it’s rhetorical, you answer.

‘I mean, yeah. Maybe a little.’

Only then does he look at you. He sees the little smirk tugging at your lips, and he lets out a laugh before going back to staring at the ceiling.

‘Why won’t you let me in?’

You regret it the moment it comes out. Maybe because you don’t want to know the actual answer. Or maybe because you know he might go back to giving you the silent treatment.

He doesn’t.

‘I’m scared, I think.’

Your eyes grow bigger, because you never expected him to admit something like that.

Dean doesn’t do feelings, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them.

You stare at him almost in shock, maybe waiting for him to say something else.

You stare at him until eventually he turns to his side to face you.

His hand hesitantly drags itself to your hip, as if gravity doesn’t want it there, but he does.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s barely audible but you’re almost sure you heard a crack in his voice.

‘I know.’ you slide closer to him, your legs stick to his, your chest feels the warmth of his. Your hands move up to his cheeks and before you know it, it’s stronger than the both of you, your lips attach.

Your lips move in synch like you’ve been starving for years.

Like he hasn’t touched you in years.

You’re hungry, you upset, your core’s suddenly hotter than ever while thinking about how he was inside you less than a week ago.

‘I love you.’ He tries to mumble in between kisses, his hands travel up, they travel down, they explore as if they’ve never been there before.

‘You have no idea what you do to me.’ His words echo in your mind like fire burning. Like sparks colliding causing massive heatwaves. Your body’s already shaking begging for him.

All of him.

Your mind should probably wander to how messed up he is. How much he’s hurt you already, but there’s this tiny bit of hope that maybe this is the last time he pushes you away.

This time he’ll really let you in.

He’ll really care.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

Guys please English is not my first language and although I’m a bilingual queen sometimes I have sentences that come out when I write and I look at them when I’m done I’m like what the fuck does that mean?? But I leave them anyway cuz they sound good are some of these weird be honest thanks love u 😭(wtf does ‘His words echo in your mind like fire burning. Like sparks colliding causing massive heatwaves’ mean dude)

[riddleswhcre]

I’ve been thinking… Joel Miller who can read his girl like a book and can tell when she’s feeling needy even though she doesn’t want to say anything ^_^

────۶ৎ he knows when you need it

you try to act normal, but joel knows better. he can read you like a fuckin’ book—and tonight, you don’t need to say a word. he already knows how badly you need him.

warnings: smut, dom!joel, old man filth, spanking, degradation + a lil praise, tip play, creampie, needy!reader, mean!joel

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: he knows. he sees you squirming and he’s already got you bent over the couch. no thoughts just old man dick. hope this ruins your life in the exact way you wanted

ᖭ༏ᖫ

he’s watching you from the kitchen, thumb hooked lazy into his belt, jaw ticking like he’s chewing on a thought. like he already fucking knows.

you’re trying so hard to sit still, act normal, legs crossed on the couch like you’re reading—like you ain’t been clenching around nothing for the last twenty minutes, soaked through your panties and too fucking proud to say anything.

but he sees it. of course he does.

he comes over slow, boots heavy on the wood floor, stops right in front of you. your breath catches before he even touches you.

"you really think i don’t know when you’re needy, baby?"

his voice is low, lazy, but there’s a sharpness behind it. a warning. like he’s holding back.

you try not to squirm, but his eyes drop to the way your thighs twitch. he smirks, cruel.

"you sittin’ here pretendin’ like you’re not drippin’ through those pretty little panties, wigglin’ around like that’s gonna help. fuckin’ pathetic.”

your cheeks go hot, but your thighs clench again and he sees that too. his hand comes down, rough fingers sliding beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“look at me,” he says.

and you do. of course you do.

“go on. tell me what you need.”

your lips part, but nothin’ comes out.

his grip tightens.

“uh-uh. you want me to touch you? say it.”

“joel, i—”

"don’t mumble. want my cock that bad and can’t use your fuckin’ words?"

you whimper.

“need it,” you whisper. “need you, joel.”

he hums low, pleased.

“you need me to fuck you so bad you couldn’t sit still, huh? got that needy little cunt squeezin’ round nothin’, beggin’ for it. didn’t think i’d notice?”

he presses a knee between your thighs and your hips move before you think—chasing pressure, chasing him.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, dragging you up off the couch like you weigh nothing.

he’s got you bent over the armrest in seconds, big hand flat on your back, other already shoving your panties down. they’re soaked—he grunts when he sees.

“fuckin’ knew it,” he says again, low and rough. “could smell it on you.”

you try to look back at him, try to say something, but the tip of his cock is already sliding through your folds and it knocks the breath outta you.

"quiet now,” he mutters, leaning over you, cock barely pressing in. “you got me hard watchin’ you squirm like a desperate little thing, now you’re gonna take all of it.”

he pushes in slow, brutal—thick, stretching you till you’re gasping.

“this what you needed?” he growls in your ear. “old man stuffin’ you full?”

you nod, dumb, already clenching around him like your body was just waiting to be filled.

joel fucks you hard, rough, hands bruising your hips, panting against your back. he pulls out just to slap the tip against your cunt, sticky with slick, then slides in again—deep enough it knocks your thoughts loose.

“you’re gonna cum on me just like this,” he says, voice like gravel. “gonna make a mess all over my cock like the filthy girl you are.”

and you do. clenching tight, crying out his name, losing it while he pounds through it.

“good girl,” he groans, holding you still while he fucks you deep. “fuckin’ take it. take my cum.”

and when he fills you up, thick and hot, you swear you can feel it drip down your thighs before he’s even pulled out.

ᖭ༏ᖫ

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[snottyped]

behind enemy lines

simon ghost riley x female reader nsfw

The mission ended hours ago.

You’re still flushed from adrenaline—sweaty, tense, heart pumping through your ribcage. But it’s not the firefight you’re thinking about. Not the intel, not the exit route, not even the fact that you nearly got yourself killed covering Ghost’s flank.

It’s him.

The way he grabbed your vest when the dust cleared. The way he looked at you—through you—like he was about to either about to yell at you or fuck you raw.

Now you’re in the weapons room, alone. Organizing gear. Trying to breathe normal.

Then the door clicks shut.

You freeze.

“Turn around.”

That voice—gravel soaked in gasoline. You’d know it anywhere.

Ghost.

You turn slowly. He’s already pulling off his gloves, eyes locked on you through the skull-stamped balaclava. His stare is molten.

“You want to tell me what the fuck that was out there?”

You swallow. “I did my job.”

He steps forward—silent, slow, predatory. Until your back hits the table.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” he growls. “Put yourself in the line. My line.”

You look up at him, chest heaving. “I knew you’d cover me.”

His hand wraps around your throat—not choking, just holding—ordering. His body presses into yours. Hard, heavy, and unmistakably harder beneath his tactical pants.

“You're real fuckin’ cocky for someone who's about to get bent over a steel table.”

You gasp, but he’s already turning you—palming your lower back, pushing you down. Your face hits the cold metal. Your hips arch back on instinct.

“There she is,” he mutters, dragging your pants down. “Fucking soaked. Knew you liked it when I’m mean.”

You moan as his fingers tease between your thighs, sliding slick over your folds.

“Dripping for me,” he murmurs. “Tell me that’s not pathetic.”

“It's not,” you breathe. “It's yours.”

That earns a grunt—and the sound of his zipper.

You don’t see it, but you feel it.

His cock—not just thick, but huge presses against your entrance, slow at first. Then he slams in all at once. His dick getting squeezed and sucked by your cunt.

You cry out—stuff your fist into your mouth to muffle it.

“Quiet,” he hisses. “Door’s not locked that well.”

The stretch is kinda painful, and lewd. He’s deep in seconds, fucking into you with brutal efficiency—no sweet nothings, no mercy. Just Ghost. Just need.

“You like this?” he snarls. “Like being used where anyone could walk in?”

You nod frantically, sobbing into the table.

He leans down, his masked face beside your ear.

“Bet you think about this in your bunk. Think about my cock when you're supposed to be sleeping.”

You clench around him—he laughs, dark and low.

“Slut.”

His pace picks up. You feel everything—his hands gripping your hips, his thighs slamming into yours, his cock driving up into you like he's trying to carve his name in your cunt.

You’re close. So close.

“Don't you dare come yet,” he hums. “You come with me.”

You whimper, trying to hold it in.

“That’s it. Good girl. You listen so well when I’ve got my cock in you.”

The table creaks beneath you. His rhythm gets rougher—possessive. His fingers dig into your flesh like he’s trying to brand you.

Then he slows. Deep thrusts. Intentional.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he breathes. “Every drop. You’re gonna walk out of here leaking me.”

That’s what breaks you.

You come hard, crying out his name, legs shaking as he keeps fucking you through it.

And then he follows—burying deep with a low groan, hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you. He stays there, breathing ragged, holding you still as he finishes.

Silence, heavy and soaked.

You twitch when he finally pulls out.

“Messy,” he mutters. “Good.”

You’re limp. Fucked stupid. But you can still hear him zipping up, adjusting his gear.

Then his hand slides under your chin—tilts your face up to his.

“Next time you want me this bad,” he says, “ask. Don’t get yourself shot.”

You nod, dazed.

He opens the door, glances down the hallway, then looks back at you.

“Clean yourself up, soldier.”

And then he's gone.

But his cum is still leaking down your thighs.

[autrytonic]

big strong cowboy arthur can't get enough of his little wife?

It's so overdone but I cannot stop reading and writing this trope over and over again.

Content below the cut (18+/MDNI)

The Exception

Arthur is a big man.

You’ve known it since the moment he first stood over you with those storm-colored eyes and that low, gravel-scraped voice.

But being his wife? That’s when you truly start to feel the weight of it.

The way his broad chest wraps around your back at night, how his hands span your waist like you’re something delicate and warm he don’t ever want to let go of.

Sometimes, while you’re just going about your day—folding shirts, sweeping the floor, tending to stew—and next thing you know, he’s sliding up behind you, palms already spread over your hips, voice thick with heat as he says, “Ain’t a damn thing in this world as pretty as the sight of you just bein’ mine.”

He’s addicted to how petite you are against him. The way your head fits right under his chin when he pulls you in close. How your thighs fall apart with the slightest nudge from his knee.

He teases you sometimes; pulls you up off the floor like you weigh nothing, tosses you over his shoulder just to hear you squeal, but there’s nothing mean in it. It’s reverent. You’re his, and Arthur don’t take that lightly.

When you sit in his lap, he wraps his arms around you like he’s shielding you from the whole goddamn world. He kisses your temple, your neck, your shoulder, even the tips of your fingers if he’s feeling tender. “Ain’t never get tired of this,” he mumbles into your skin. “You feel too good, darlin’. Too goddamn sweet.”

In the quiet hours, when it’s just you and him and the rustle of canvas around your tent, Arthur becomes a man of fewer words, but a hell of a lot more feeling.

He strips you soft and slow, calloused hands glidin’ over your curves like he’s afraid you might vanish if he’s too rough. Not that he always holds back. Not when he’s buried deep and groaning your name against your throat, saying how tight you are, how good you take him.

He’ll press your wrists into the mattress, kiss the corner of your mouth, then look you straight in the eye and murmur, “You were made for me, weren’t you, pretty thing?”

He’s not shy about how much he wants you, either. Sometimes he’ll come back from a job dirty and bruised, still pull you into his lap like you’re the only thing that’ll make the ache go away. You’ll straddle him, lips barely grazing, and he’ll say it with a growl, “Don’t care how tired I am. I need you. Just like this.”

And when you give in, when you start to grind, when you whisper his name and tug his shirt off over that broad back; he’ll lift you up and carry you to bed without so much as a breath between. Like having you is as natural as drawing breath.

Arthur don’t worship nothin’. Not money, not a god, not Dutch Van der Linde’s dream. But you? You, his sweet, fierce, little wife? You’re the exception.

[pazzi5351]

1,119 miles for you

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.3k

AN: based on this prompt!! Hope yall like🙀

————————————————————————————

Paige was laying on her bedroom floor in Minnesota, scrolling through TikTok with the kind of boredom only summer break could bring. The warm breeze of late afternoon flowed through her open window. She was just about to send a stupid TikTok to Azzi when her phone buzzed with a text.

Katie Fudd [1 New Message]

Weird. Paige sat up straighter.

Hey sweetie. Just wanted you to hear it from me. Azzi tore her ACL playing pickup tonight. We’re on the way to the ER now.

Everything stopped. Paige’s stomach dropped. Her vision blurred for a second before she was hitting the FaceTime button with shaking hands. Katie answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Paige,” she said gently.

“Wait—wait, what? No, no, no. She tore it? Are you sure? That can’t happen to Azzi. No. Are you sure?” Paige was already crying, tears brimming her eyes like she was the one hurt. “Katie, is she okay? Like, really okay?”

Katie gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Physically, she’ll be fine eventually. Emotionally… she’s gonna need some time. You know how much basketball means to her.”

Paige nodded, swiping tears off her cheeks. “Can I—would it be okay if I came? Like, to stay with you guys? Just for a week or something. I just—I don’t want her to feel alone after surgery.”

Katie’s expression softened even more. “Of course, Paige. I think she’d really like that.”

Paige didn’t even say goodbye. She dropped her phone onto the bed, the FaceTime call still open, and sprinted down the stairs.

“Dad!” she called breathlessly, already fumbling on her words. “Dad, Azzi—Azzi tore her ACL, she’s in the hospital, and I really wanna go see her, can I fly to Virginia, please?”

Her dad blinked at her from behind his laptop. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down, kiddo.”

She exhaled hard and started again, voice trembling but steady enough. “Azzi got hurt. She tore her ACL. I want to be there. Just for a week. I’ll do all my summer workouts when I get back. But I need to see her. Please let me go see her.”

He hesitated. “You’d be flying alone.”

“I don’t care,” she said, snapping slightly, voice suddenly fierce. “I don’t care if it’s scary. I just need to be with her.”

There was a pause. Then, a sigh.

“Alright,” he said finally, pulling up flight information. “I’ll book you a flight. Two days from now.”

Paige nearly tackled him in a hug, then bolted back upstairs, spewing a series of ‘thank you’s. “Katie!” she gasped into the phone, which was somehow still connected. “I’m coming in two days—I’m booking the flight right now. Gotta pack—bye!!”

The airport was still a blur in Paige’s mind. She’d somehow survived security, found her gate, and now sat in a window seat with her hoodie pulled over half her face. Her leg bounced nonstop. She couldn’t stop refreshing her texts, even though Azzi hadn’t messaged her in hours. Even though it was on purpose.

Because Paige had put her phone on Do Not Disturb.

Because she was trying to surprise her.

She almost threw up from nerves.

“First time flying alone?” a gentle voice asked beside her.

Paige turned to find a woman in her mid-sixties settling into the aisle seat, her floral scarf bright against her sweater. She had a travel pillow around her neck and a kind, weathered smile was plastered on her face.

“Uh… yeah,” Paige admitted.

The woman gave her a nod of understanding. “I still get nervous, and I’ve flown dozens of times. Deep breaths help.”

Paige smiled a little. “I’m not really nervous about the plane, I guess. Just… everything else.”

“Oh?” the woman asked, sliding a paperback into her seat pocket. “Something, or someone waiting for you at the other end?”

Paige hesitated. Then she nodded. “My best friend. Azzi. She uh… she tore her ACL a couple days ago. She doesn’t know I’m flying out to see her.”

“Oh honey,” the woman said, her voice laced with sympathy. “That’s tough. Knee injuries can take what feels like forever to heal.”

Paige’s throat tightened and her chest ached. “Yeah. She’s… taking it really hard. Basketball is her whole life.”

There was a pause, then the woman tilted her head, studying Paige. “And you’re going just to cheer her up?”

Paige nodded quickly, almost defensively. “Yeah. I just wanna be there for her. You know, help her feel a little better.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “She must be a very special young lady.”

That stopped Paige cold.

She glanced down at her hands, cheeks pink. “She is.”

“You love her?”

Paige blinked, startled by the question. Her voice came out quieter. “What? I— I mean, I dunno. Maybe. Probably.”

The woman chuckled, but it was gentle, not teasing. “You remind me of my granddaughter. She flew across the country once for a girl, too. You’re doing the right thing.”

Paige let herself smile, warm and shy. “Thanks.”

The woman leaned back in her seat. “Just wait until you see her face. That’ll be the moment worth every bit of turbulence.”

Paige pressed her forehead to the window, heart fluttering. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I hope so.”

Tim picked her up at the arrivals gate, waving casually. “Hey, Bueckers.”

“Hey, Mr. Fudd,” she said, pulling her suitcase along.

“We didn’t tell Azzi you were coming,” he said as they headed to the car.

Paige froze. “Wait, really?”

Tim just smirked. “Thought it’d be a good surprise. Plus, you’ll love her reaction.”

Paige grinned to herself, lightly whispering. “I’d thought you guys would’ve told her.”

Halfway to the house, Paige turned to him nervously. “Would it be okay if we stopped to get her Nutella and strawberries? Y’know— cause it’s her favorite. And maybe flowers? Those little yellow ones she likes.”

Tim gave her a side-eye smile. “You’re something else, kid. Of course.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Paige shyly picked out sun-colored daisies and grinned when she found heart-shaped strawberries. She even checked expiration dates on the Nutella jar like it mattered.

Tim teased her just a little on the ride back. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were really into my daughter.”

Paige turned beet red. “I—uh—I mean—she’s just—um—important to me.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, laughing quietly.

—

The house was warm and familiar. Paige stepped quietly behind Tim as they walked in.

From the living room, Azzi’s voice carried.

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe she’s mad at me or something. Her phone’s been on Do Not Disturb for two days, and her location’s off. She’s never like that.”

Katie murmured something back, but Azzi kept rambling.

“I mean, she didn’t even send any TikToks today. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

Paige smirked from the hallway. “Wow. Two days without TikToks and I’m suddenly a villain.”

Azzi’s head whipped around so fast it startled Katie. “PAIGE?”

Paige stepped into view, arms full of daisies, strawberries, and Nutella. “Hey,” she said softly.

Azzi blinked like she couldn’t believe it, then gasped. “You’re actually here? You came?”

“Course I did,” Paige said, setting the things down and walking over slowly, careful of Azzi’s knee. She leaned in for a hug, holding her tight. “You think I’d leave you alone to be all sad and dramatic without me?”

Azzi laughed, already tearing up. “Shut up. I’m gonna cry.”

Katie and Tim stood in the kitchen doorway, watching them with quiet smiles, sharing a knowing look.

That night, the girls were curled up on Azzi’s bed. They’d talked about everything—basketball, rehab, Paige’s awful flight snack—and now they were quiet, the quiet of the room wrapping around them.

Azzi turned slightly toward her. “Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you came here.”

Paige smiled, her heart aching, but in a warm, full way. “I’m really glad I came here too.”

Their eyes met, soft and sleepy, and before either of them could talk themselves out of it, they leaned in—slow and certain. The kiss was gentle, a little shy, but perfect. When they pulled back, Azzi was smiling, cheeks pink. Paige tucked her face into Azzi’s neck.

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled carefully, holding on like they never wanted to let go.

[neonbonded]

Oops! All edging

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: edging, mouth covering, overstimulation, crying, possessiveness, 18+ ♡ a/n: five different flavors of filth, one shared goal — break you slowly and make you love every second. if anyone knows the source of the pic I used, please dm me so I can credit! it’s been sitting in my phone for years now 🥺

Xavier — Quiet hands, loud need

It starts slow. It always does with him. Soft kisses. Patient fingers. A murmured “lie back for me, sweetheart” in that low, tired voice like he has all the time in the world.

You try to stay still. You do. But his fingers stroke deep and slow—two, then three—and your hips lift off the mattress like they’ve got a mind of their own.

“Xav—” “Don’t talk.” “But I—”

He cuts you off with his palm. Gentle but firm. Hand over your mouth, thumb dragging over your cheek as his pace slows even more.

“Too loud,” he murmurs. “What if someone hears you like this? All soaked and begging for it?”

You whimper. Your walls flutter. You clench around nothing when he pulls his fingers out again.

He does it four times.

Four times he brings you to the edge of orgasm and then stops—pulling away, watching your lip tremble under his hand.

“You’re so close,” he breathes, kissing your temple. “But I want you to feel it mean something.”

Your eyes fill with tears. Not sad ones. Desperate ones.

“One more,” he says. “Give me one more cry and I’ll let you fall apart.”

And when you do?

He slides inside you so slow, so deep, your back arches off the bed. His hand stays over your mouth. Your scream gets swallowed.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Just like that.”

Zayne — The doctor will see you now

You were the one who started it. Straddling him while he worked, rocking your hips against his thigh like a brat, whispering “you’re always so calm, doctor. don’t you want to ruin me?”

He lets it go. For a minute.

And then?

He grabs your waist, flips you onto the exam table, and slides your panties down with slow, surgical precision.

“You want ruined?” he says, expression unreadable behind those glasses. “You’ll wait for it.”

And you do. For so long.

His fingers are relentless—pressing into you slow and deep, curling with clinical focus, rubbing your clit just enough to make your breath catch—only to stop when your legs start to shake.

“Too soon,” he mutters, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You cry so easily. So messy already.”

You sob. His hand moves up. Covers your mouth.

“No one wants to hear how needy you are,” he says, voice low. “Be good. Be quiet. You wanted this.”

He holds you there—pinned and pulsing, trembling on the edge again and again, his palm muffling every whine and gasp as your body begs to come.

You nod frantically. Tears spill down your temples.

“That’s better,” he whispers, finally pressing his fingers just right, just fast enough. “Now stay quiet while I let you fall apart.”

And when you do? When you scream against his hand, hips stuttering, whole body arching off the table?

He finally groans.

“That’s my girl.”

Rafayel — Cutie, you’re gonna cry for me

“You’re being dramatic,” you snap, panting, legs trembling.

“You’re being loud,” he purrs.

Rafayel’s got you on your back in his studio chair, legs thrown over the armrests, shirt bunched under your arms, face flushed from the third time he’s pulled his fingers away just as you were about to fall.

“Just admit it,” he says, painting lazy circles around your clit. “You love when I tease you like this.”

You glare. He leans in. Grins.

“You gonna cry about it?”

You open your mouth to argue—he covers it immediately, palm pressed over your lips, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s drawing you in charcoal.

“No, no, cutie. You don’t get to be loud when you’ve been so bad.”

His fingers thrust back in—deep, slow, curved just right. Your scream gets muffled against his hand. He moans.

“That’s it. That’s the sound I wanted,” he groans. “You’re such a mess for me.”

You squirm. Your hips twitch. You’re begging behind his hand.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he whispers against your neck. “Then let me hear that gorgeous cry one more time. Just for me.”

You do. You break like wet paint, sobbing into his hand as your orgasm finally slams through you—shaking, twitching, ruined.

He kisses your forehead like you didn’t just scream his name into his palm like a prayer.

“You’re my favorite masterpiece.”

Sylus — You were warned to stay quiet

“Keep your voice down.”

That was your only warning.

But now? Your back’s arched off the bed, thighs trembling around his hips, and you’re moaning loud enough for the entire Onychinus compound to hear.

Sylus tuts above you, voice low and dangerous.

“Didn’t I say be quiet?”

You open your mouth to answer—his hand clamps over it.

Not gentle. Not sweet.

Firm. Inevitable. His.

“No,” he growls. “You don’t get to talk. Not after you’ve been whining like a needy little brat every time I pull away.”

Because he has. Again and again. Thrusting deep just until your eyes roll back—then stopping. Fingering you slow, soft, cruelly perfect—and then pulling away when your whole body tightens.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, palm muffling your gasps as his fingers return—slow and steady, curling inside you, thumb working your clit like a weapon. “Getting edged like a toy. Crying for it.”

You sob into his hand.

He grins. Leans down to whisper against your ear.

“You’re going to cum when I say so. Not before. Not after. And you’re gonna take it like the filthy little thing you are.”

You nod, frantic.

“Good girl.”

And when he finally lets you go? Lets you come with his hand still over your mouth, your scream breaking behind it— He doesn’t stop.

He just keeps going.

“I warned you,” he pants. “Now you get all of me.”

And you do. Again. And again. And again—until you’re boneless, wet, ruined, and trembling in his arms while he kisses the tears off your cheeks like they belong to him.

Caleb — You sound too good and it’s making him crazy

He didn’t mean for it to go this far. It started slow. Sweet. His hands on your thighs, his voice soft, coaxing you open under him.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, kissing your knee. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh?”

You were. And now you’re loud. Arching off the bed. Whining. Begging.

“Caleb—please—Caleb—”

And that’s when he loses it.

“Baby,” he groans, voice tight. “You’re too loud.”

He covers your mouth with his hand—not to tease. Not to shame. But because if you keep saying his name like that, he’s going to break.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck. “You’re driving me crazy.”

And then he starts edging you.

Not on purpose. At first.

He thrusts slow. Deep. Pulls back when you tremble. Stalls when your breath catches.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I need you to hold it. For me. Just a little longer.”

But it happens again. And again. He keeps pausing. Letting you almost tip over the edge, only to slow it back down, kiss your neck, murmur sweet things with a voice so soft it makes your heart ache.

You cry against his palm. Tears spill.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he says, panic flaring in his eyes. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here.”

You whimper again. Try to speak.

“What? You wanna cum that bad?”

You nod, frantic.

He exhales like he’s the one falling apart.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he breathes. “All ruined. All mine.”

And then he moves—harder, faster, still covering your mouth as you sob against his hand, your body coiling so tight it hurts.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Come and show me you’re mine.”

And when you do—shaking, gasping, soaked and messy and clinging to him like you’ll drown—he kisses your cheek.

Then your jaw. Then your chest. Then your hands.

Still inside you. Still holding you close.

“You don’t ever have to be quiet with me,” he murmurs. “Just don’t ever stop saying my name.”