#just sits there with his mouth hanging open

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[bluecookies02]

Sub!Viktor x Reader

content warnings: NSFW, choking & edging (Viktor receiving), oral (reader receiving), he whines until you sit on his face basically.

very romantic and intimate despite a person literally being choked but yk its rly not my fault, it's his. [established relationship]

word count: ~1.5k

"You're being too loud Vik...can't keep it down hm?"

"Please....if we get another noise complaint I'm never ever gonna forgive you." he begs as you pause to let him talk.

It's an empty threat, but you need to take some accountability for your cruelty. You've been toying with him for ages at this point, reducing him to surprised yelps and desperate whines that are truly a symphony to your ears. To your neighbors? Not so much.

And you're everything if not merciful. Depending on who's asked of course.

You place your thumb across his chapped lips and dip the soft pad of your finger inside, dragging it gently across his teeth and gums before he gives you an appreciative hum, opening his mouth and nestling his tongue in place.

The adoration in your eyes is beautifully suffocating, his hips trashing against your other hand, chasing it, running away from it...all at once. He has been at your will for this whole night. He might die...at least that's how it feels.

You start up again, with no rush, often stopping to glide your hand and mouth across his freckled skin, soothing his trembles with sweet and mellow words whispered into his ear.

He feels...indecent. Drooling around your hand like that, muffling his moans with your thumb, biting and nibbling on it. You just sway it with the eager suckles of his tongue, sometimes even pressing on it firmly, letting his mouth hang open, spit smearing across his face.

He's teary eyed, overwhelmed yet hungry. Your voice pelts off of his sensitive neck...trails down his spine and spreads through his ribcage.

Warmth swirls inside his stomach, and for a moment it's scorching hot until he himself melts with it, pushing your pruney finger to the corner of his lips...he whines.

His face falls to the crook of your neck, burying itself there. You carefully lace your fingers through his soft hair, your pace on him just a fraction quicker.

You place a kiss to the shell of his ear, nuzzling the side of his head.

"You're right there aren't you...Need a little more?" you ask, your voice laced with affection, your movements consistent and precise.

"No-ah, no...just like this. Please...please just..." you nod, shuddering at the gentle bite on your shoulder.

"Allright, I've got you. Whatever you need..."

"Keep talkinghh."

It's a bossy demand, muffled because it's quickly cut off by another bite into your skin. The sunlight that peeks through the blinds paints his pale body in liquid gold, a pretty shade a fraction lighter than his eyes.

"You're so precious to me Vik...made for me are you not?" You can feel him throb, you can feel the heat of his body...ears dusted red, fingertips scraping down your back. Your heart hammers in your chest, anticipation building as you watch him.

"Show me how beautiful you are for me...Can you do that?" you ask in that honeyed voice of yours, raspy with your own greedy desire.

You tug on his hair, and he lets you pull him out of his hiding, your faces now close. He can feel your breath tickling his face.

"Let me see..." and when you ask so nicely, so honestly...how can he deny you anything, how can he doubt anything when the emotions that surge through him as your eyes lock leave no room for such a silly thing.

So he lets himself unfold, lets you see him in his most vulnerable, eyes clouded with unshed tears, brows furrowed and mouth agape.

You place your hand on his bared throat, squeezing around it, firm and practiced, holding it there until his eyes become slightly unfocused and wide.

He falls apart for you, gasping and chocking up on his words as he starts spilling onto your hand, curling in on himself in ways he can't be convinced are attractive.

"Yes precious, just like that, don't be shy" you encourage, letting him fuck your hand thoroughly, giving every last ounce of his strength to you, for you.

You let go of his throat then, just a second before he's about to tap your wrist.

He has to slap his hand over his mouth instead, and then the other, shuddering and crying into it as he rides out the last waves of his release, his tummy clenching and flexing as his whole torso heaves.

"You're fucking perfect..." you mumble, as if in trance with every tremble of his lithe body.

He finally stills, now fighting for air and clutching at his chest as he urges himself to calm his breathing down. You sooth him, moving your hand to pet at his back, quickly wiping the other before using it to push the strands of sticky hair out of his face.

His ears are buzzing for a moment, before he finally sighs and then gulps a big breath. He tries to speak up but his sore throat doesn't let him, voice cracking.

"Do you need a drink? Or do you need to cough? Please don't be embarrassed" you say this as you pet his cheek, searching his face.

He shakes his head no before he clears the lump from his throat, finding his voice again.

"No...I'm allright , thank you." he gets off of your lap slowly, stretching his legs before repositioning himself on the pillows, pulling you by the hand to follow him.

When you crawl with him...on top of him, he has to swallow dryly again, eyes eagerly eating at you, at every curve of your body that he hasn't seen for a hot second there.

"You have a way with words dear..." he complains, smoothing his palms over your hips.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Makes me feel all exposed...It's not fair...Especially when you don't give me a fighting chance."

You hum.

"Outside of this, you're the more eloquent one, I think the dynamic is quite balanced"

"Hmh...If you say so." he pretends to glance away, but his arm wraps around the small of your back, making you sit higher on his chest.

"Maybe my words are excessive in this part of our 'dynamic'...l have other redeeming qualities I hope."

You chuckle, looking down at him, his dark, hungry eyes piercing yours, cheeks still a tiny bit flushed under your attention.

"Absolutely..." you confirm, yet you refuse to fall under the faint pressure of his arm on your back.

You are playing coy, and his mouth is already salivating. How cruel.

He rolls his eyes, scoffing.

"Let me show you anyways…” he says, soft yet bashful.

"Maybe if you say please one more time for me, I'll indulge"

"I think I begged enough, no?" he concurs, spreading his hands over your thighs, squeezing briefly before he slides a skilled hand between your legs. He spreads your soaked folds apart, marveling at the sheer amount of wetness that leathers his palm.

"Gave you everything you asked for...let you ruin me however you desired..." he trails off, slowly becoming a tiny bit frustrated.

You stammer as his long fingers easily glide inside you with little to no resistance. Your clit throbs as he bends to give it a quick, wet kiss, peering up at you expectantly as he fills you with slow, deep strokes.

"Come here.” he whispers, adjusting himself under you, a firm arm pulling you down on his pretty face. You let him.

There's a sigh of gratification at the first thick taste he swallows down, coating his throat with you, tongue nestled in with his digits and then he laps.

Loud and filthy. Like you've starved him for months.

You admit defeat, grabbing at the roots of his messy hair with your hand.

You bear down against his mouth, nice and slow until you have almost all of your weight on him. Just how you know he craves it.

His lashes flutter and his eyes roll to the back of his head, legs bending at the knees.

A stifled hiss comes from under you and then a barely coherent blasphemy reaches your ears.

"Ushg my face. Pleahse…"

And how can one refuse...

Posts this draft and runs 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

Might make a sequel if I get bullied enough. But i might not resist smushing my man jayce in here. Thread carefully.

Hope you enjoyed. Mwah🩵

[tasteracha]

a/n: when my angel @astraystayyh asks me for something i deliver. or make an attempt to. anyways please watch this before reading. warnings: subby hyunjin, mentions of alcohol, smut - MINORS DNI.

you loved all the colors of hyunjin. how could you not?

the deep shaded power with which he dances, sweat dripping off his temples and a fierce look in his eyes that only show when he’s on stage or pounding into you late at night. the carefree pastels that breeze through his hair when he has a day off, spending all his spare time with you with your fingers interlocked like he would lose his way otherwise. the soft mauves and grays of his sleepy eyes in the morning while you draw your fingers across his scalp, tracing along his nose down to his lips to feel the plushness underneath your skin. 

but the one that holds a fonder space in your heart was the one you were looking at now. his face is painted with the brushstrokes of a glass of wine, redness on his cheeks and stained across his lips. he’s warm, you know he is, even if you haven’t touched him yet. your own half full glass sits forgotten on the nightstand, the heat from the alcohol just enough to burn at your stomach and scorch high on your cheekbones. 

he’s talkative, speaking about everything and nothing while he holds you in the palm of his hand with just his eyes. soft giggles escape his lips, given to you freely despite how precious every sound that comes from his lips are. you take his hand in yours, finally drinking in the warmth of his palm as you hold it to your lips for a chaste kiss. it was innocent, a helpless motion that you don’t even realize you’re doing, but the look he gives you in response is anything but that. his eyes darken for a moment before he groans, sliding onto his back and stretching out his tired limbs. his cardigan rides up, exposing a sliver of his shoulder, taught skin over hard muscle, and you can feel your mouth begin to water. 

he’s left with his head tilted back, his neck a blank canvas begging to be colored by you, and your heart begins to beat faster. 

“god, i love you,” he turns his head towards you, letting his hand fall onto his stomach right above the waist of his pants. his legs are spread, beckoning you to fill the space between them. “did you know that?”

he’s not drunk, at least not from the wine. he’s drunk off of you, the mere presence of your body in bed with him is enough to make him lose a bit of his sanity. 

it’s not as if you’re any better with the way your body is singing for him. 

“yes, silly boy,” you smile, leaning over him to brush your lips against his jaw. “you only tell me every day. it’s not as if i could forget it.”

you throw your leg over his and slot yourself into the space that he left for you, and for the first time in the night he is silent. he watches your every move and his breath hitches when you place your hand next to his, ghosting across the muscles rippling on his stomach. 

“i love you, too,” you lock your fingers with his, squeezing them together. “do you want me to show you how much?”

he barely gets time to breath out a yes before you’re leaping forward, kissing him with a passion that never depletes no matter how much time passes by. he opens his mouth for you and you take the invitation, sliding your tongue against his. you can’t get enough of his taste, wine and his cherry lip balm and him. you move your lips down to his neck, biting sharply then soothing the spot with a lick. his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, but before he can get too far you take his wrists into your hands and pin them to the mattress at his sides. 

“keep these here, okay?” he nods so quickly that his hair shakes with the movement. satisfied, you sit up and slide down, dropping to your knees in front of him. freeing his cock from his pants comes more easily to you than breathing, the movements committed to memory like the way his feet move when he’s dancing. you leave his pants hanging off of his knees, too impatient to maneuver them off of him. 

you take his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly and hollowing out your cheeks. you look at him through your lashes, and the innocent look paired with the obscene sounds coming from your mouth making him growl fiercely. he reaches his hand towards your head, moving to card his fingers through your hair.

“darling, you’re so-” he cuts off when you pull away, fixing him with a look. 

“what did i say?” you move your eyes to his hand, still hovering in the air by your head, and he drops it back to the bed with wide eyes. 

“good boy,” you smirk when he shudders, giving him a moment to adjust before going back down on him. you lick a stripe up your hand to ease the slide of your hand on his cock, pairing it with sucking and licking at his head. you take him a bit deeper and you can feel his hips shift. the muscles on his stomach ripple in restraint, and you feel a swell of pride at him doing what he’s told. 

he’s so good to you. 

“where do you want to come?” you move away, leaning your head on his inner thigh as you lazily pump your hand along his shaft. he’s been so good, he deserves to make this choice. 

“i- what?” his eyes are hazy, your words not registering in his pleasure soaked brain. 

“on my face? in my mouth?” your breaths his hit exposed skin and he twitches, his bottom lip capturing between his teeth. “it’s your choice, baby. your reward, for being so good.” 

in truth, he’s barely done anything to deserve a reward, but the fondness you feel for him makes you want to praise him over and over. 

“in-” he clears his throat when his breath catches. “in your mouth, darling, please.”

you run a soothing hand down his thigh but it does nothing to calm him down. you shake your head fondly before taking his cock into your mouth for the last time. you speed up, sucking harder than before, going deeper, moving your hand in a flurry. the sudden change of pace makes him release a series of noises that make your head spin. little whimpers mix with soft moans, and he throws his head back as his entire body goes taut. strands of white paint the inside of your mouth, and the taste doesn’t bother you because it’s him.

you keep him in your mouth, swallowing his release around him and suckling him clean until he starts to whine in sensitivity. he releases his hands from their invisible prison and pulls you up and close to him, tucking your head into his neck and wrapping his arms around you. his hold is so tight, like he’s afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you in a death grip. 

“you?” he whispers, stretching his languid body underneath you and sliding one hand down to cup your ass. 

“i’m okay, you can pay me back later,” you giggle against his neck and he sighs, his entire body going slack as he lets himself relax in his post-orgasmic bliss. 

“did you know that i love you?” he says against your hair, and you snort out a laugh. 

“do you want to do this again?” you roll your hips against his softening cock and he squeaks, tightening his arms around you even more than they already were. 

the sound of your shared laughter echoes through the room, taking the shape of affection that doesn’t need to be spoken.

[love44lew]

everywhere, as long as its with you

彡drivers franco colapinto

彡genre spanish speaking reader! x franco colapinto, fic/smau

彡summary your boyfriend became an f1 driver, now you travel the world with him

彡notes im still pretty new to making smaus so please excuse the lack of order ToT.. i was also thinking about turning this into like a mini series since i ended up liking the plot more than expected while wring. let me know what you guys think!! other than that, thank you for reading ♡︎

you’re sitting on the knitted hanging chair outside your boyfriends argentina home, the sunset view was always so beautiful from this view—especially because he lived in the mountains where you could see everything. theres not a place in the world you would rather be. with your digital camera you snap a photo of the sunset, the quality of the camera giving the view a nostalgic feel. you close your eyes and take in the breeze brushing past your skin.

———

yourusername

location: puerto iguazú, argentina

yourusername digital camera in 🇦🇷❣️

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francolapinto ahh taking pictures behind my back !?

yourusername @/francolapinto sorry baby 🤫❤️

———

then you hear loud heavy footsteps scurrying from inside the house, causing you to open your eyes open again, glance around, roll them and then close them again. you sat peacefully for a total of five seconds before a frantic franco screams your name from inside the house, causing you to wince at the sudden noice.

“come!! quickly!” franco rushed you into the house. the two of you sat at the dinner table, you still didnt know what was happening but franco was getting a phone call and his leg was bouncing anxiously. “que??” you questioned, he quickly shushed you as he picked up the phone. you rolled your eyes, why did he call you all the way here if he was just gonna want you to be quiet. but also if he did, it must be a really important call.

he put the phone on speaker and placed it down on the table.

“is this franco alejandro colapinto?” a calm soft voice spoke from the other line.

“yes, this is him” franco said in his best english he can muster.

“you are being summoned by williams to attend the british grand prix, you will be driving in fp1.” franco silently looked at you with complete and utter shock in his eyes.

“are you available to attend?” the person asked from the other line in contrary to francos silence.

he searched for reassurance in your eyes, you nodded your head at him pointing to the phone.

“uh.. y-yes!—mm” he cleared his throat “yes, i am” he rephrased in a more collected tone. he couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything he’d gone through—everything he’s sacrificed, everything his family sacrificed, to get to this point. he’d finally made it, even if it was just for fp1, it could possibly lead to him being in a seat one day. franco finished up the phone call, his composure holding on to a thread the whole time until he finally hung up.

immediately he stood up and scooped you into his arms. he tightly held you, taking in your scent and everything you are. he’d finally done it, and he couldn’t have without your help and encouragement. when times got tough, when it felt like he’d never make it, there you were to push him on and make him feel good about himself again. he genuinely doesn’t know what he’d do or where he’d be without you. he cupped your face, his lips clashing with yours into a passionate and loving kiss. the way he kisses you always sends tingles down your spine—the softness of his touches compared to the way his mouth moves against yours. you could feel how much he loves you in every kiss, touch, or words he speaks. his love for you is only in the purest form.

“té quiero, mi amor” his eyes gazed lovingly into yours as your lips detached from each other, his thumbs softly caressing your face, taking in every feature that he loved so dearly.

“im so so proud of you papasito” you wiped the incoming tears that dared to flow down his rosy cheeks. your heart has always been with him and his goals, to see him succeed like this—even if its as little as free practice, it was another door opened for your talented man.

“venga conmigo” franco proposed, the heat of the moment seeming like a perfect time. he couldnt just leave you behind, after everything you’ve done?? he’d want you to be there the most.

“wh- what!?? thats crazy!!” you halfheartedly giggled, only response you could muster from how insane his suggestion was.

“why not? you’re always there for everything else, why not be there for the most special moment? cmon.” his puppy dog eyes are ones you could bear to refuse, his cheeks and nose reddened from all the excitement and happiness he feels. so, you agreed to go. youre his rock in all this, his biggest supporter. why wouldnt he want his favorite cheerleader to go and continue to push him on? plus, youve never been to london.

———

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—

franco went on to place p11 in his first race after london, which you were extremely proud of him. to be so close to points in a backmarker team was, to say the least, impressive. you always knew he had it in him but for his first time ever racing as an f1 drivers against the other 19 best in the world? a blessed experience.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ski trip

full req here | requested by anon

warnings: awkward reader, ntm tbh!

MASTERLIST

A three day skiing trip, where students from all ages and grades would be. 200 people. It sounded chaotic to you, but, your friend had been pushing for you to go, practically begging. It took her a while, but eventually, you crumbled.

Before leaving, you searched the resort up, sighing softly as you clicked and read through the website. You noticed that it said there was a hot tub, your eyebrows raising.

That’s what led you to pack your bathing suit, as well as the warmest clothes you owned. You grabbed your backpack, as well as a cup of coffee, before leaving and meeting up with your friend.

“We are gonna have so much fun.” She told you with a squeal, you nodding at her with a small smile on your face.

At the resort, you were paired up into groups of 8. With 2 people in each room, you and your friend decided to sleep in the same room, obviously. The first night was for unpacking, the second night, skiing.

As soon as you stepped outside, the frigid air enveloped you like a blanket would. There was the trees standing tall, their branches laden with glistening white snow. You wrapped your arms around yourself, a rather futile effort to stave off the shivers that threatened to creep in, despite being bundled up in thick layers of your clothing.

Your breath created soft clouds in the air as you chatted with your friend. With every step toward the rental shop and the slopes ahead, a surge of excitement bubbled within you, making your heart race in anticipation.

After renting the skis and walking to a slope, you and your friend both put the goggles on your heads before rushing down the slope, laughing together.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon and the light disappeared, the of the skiers slowly faded as they began to gather their gear, ski poles clinking and boots crunching on the icy ground.

One by one, people made their way inside, seeking the warm refuge of the lodges.

You and your friend took off your boots, sighing and flopping onto the couch with the rest of the group, everyone chatting about their experiences.

You had another idea in your head now that your limbs were sore and you were spent. You glanced outside, and at the hot tub outside.

You threw off all the layers you had on, and put on your bathing suit instead. You grabbed a towel, wrapping it over your body and quietly sneaking out of the lodge, pulling the sliding glass door behind you closed.

You took a sigh of relief as you stepped into the hot tub, your towel hanging on the edge of a rocking chair nearby. You had your knees pulled up to your chest, closing your eyes, you felt at peace.

Your peace and silence was interrupted by the noise of the boys sliding glass door opening, making you shoot your head up to look up.

You were met with the sight of Zach Maclaren, famous soccer superstar at the school. You swallowed, and your first instinct was to get up and run before he could see your face, but, before you could do that, he had turned around with a shocked look on his face when he saw you.

“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was out here.” He spoke with a raspy laugh, your cheeks already burning up. You just gave him a small smile and nod.

“Is it uh… cool if I get in with you? It’s cool if not, but-“ he scratched the nape of his neck, a friendly smile remaining on his face as he spoke.

“No, no, you’re fine. I don’t… like own the hot tub.” You said with a small awkward laugh, him laughing along with you while he took off the towel that hung around his hips.

You stared at him, your mouth going slightly agape as you realized just how buff he was. His abs, and the way his biceps flexed with every small movement he made.

Zach Maclaren was hot.

He looked back up at you, now in only his swim trunks. He got into the hot tub, sitting on the other side of you.

"I'm Zach." He spoke, you staring back at him.

"Y/N." You replied.

He cast occasional glances in your direction every once in a while. As he sank deeper into the cool depths of the water, you felt an instinctive urge to look away, to avoid the weight of his gaze.

He cleared his throat, “So, uh, what brings you here, at this hour?” He asked you, you finally looking at him. He looked into your irises, a small smile making its way into his face when you began to speak.

“Oh, I just- you know, wanted to get away…” you stammered out, him nodding. “What… what about you?” You asked, unconsciously sinking into yourself even more, your arms and your legs hiding your stomach.

“Me too.” He nodded, his arms folding over his chest. “It’s nice out.” He murmured, finally tearing away from your eyes and looking at the stars behind you, you glancing behind you.

“It is.” You spoke quietly, feeling his eyes back on you when you were looking back. Your heart was in your stomach, your mind racing. You just cast your gaze downwards, turning your body to face forward again. You stared at the ripples in the water as if they were the most interesting thing ever, staring down at your legs and the way you hugged yourself.

"I've never... seen you around." He told you, you looking up at him, wondering what he was getting at. "What's uh... your major?"

"It's... embarrassing." you started.

"It can't be that bad."

"It's creative writing." You said with a small shrug, him smiling at your answer and the way you were slowly warming up to him.

"That's not embarrassing at all." He assured, a toothy grin making its way onto his face. "I think that's actually cool."

"Thanks." You felt warm at his compliment, you genuinely smiling back at him. You both stared at each other for a moment with smiles on your faces before you shook yourself out of it. "What... What about you?"

"It's not nearly as cool as creative writing... but, business. I'm only in it because I needed to major in something to play a sport."

"What do you mean?" You asked with a laugh, him quirking his eyebrows. "Business is cool. There's nothing wrong with that."

He didnt expect that reply, his lips forming a slight pout as he thought, he looked down now. You felt regret when you saw him look down, wondering if what you said had made him feel awkward.

"Yeah, it can be cool." He mumbled.

"Yeah." You nodded.

"So, uhm," He started, looking back up at you now. "What made you choose writing?"

You and him both talked for what felt like hours, conversation flowing naturally as if you'd been friends for years. It was refreshing for him, to have a real, meaningful conversation with someone despite just meeting them not too long ago.

"I gotta say," you spoke while you both laughed together, "you are not how I expected you to be. Like at all."

"Really?" He hummed. "How did you expect me to be?"

"Honestly? Kind of douchey. Sorry."

He laughed, smiling. "Yeah, I get it. Popular, hot, soccer superstar? Totally douchey sounding." He replied in a joking tone.

You had to laugh at that. He watched as the corners of your mouth lifted up and he swore he could go insane at just the sound of your voice.

He never thought he would have this reaction to a girl he just met, he never thought he would feel connected to someone so quick, but something about you was having him replay the sound of your laughter and the soothing song of your voice while he laid in bed later that night.

Zach Maclaren knew he had to have you that night, he knew he had to hear that sound again.

[fluffylino]

sucking him off

he's tired and he can't seem to sleep. still high on adrenaline so you decide to ease his body...

-contains mature themes (this is very fluffy and hyunjin is so babie)

touring around different countries, across continents and having to perform for 3 hours nearly every two days was exhausting.

watching as hyunjin plops on the bed after reaching the hotel after the macau concert. seungmin and jeongin deciding to go live while hyunjin makes an appearance. staying for some time before he returns back.

sitting on the edge of the bed, quietly watching you cook some instant cup noodles for y'all.

he sniffles, sighing loudly and you can't help but laugh at his almost puppy like behaviour. turning around to see him flat on the bed. laying on his back with his legs spread apart. bathroom slippers hanging off his feet funnily.

"m'tiredddd" he groans, stretching his arms up. rolling his head around in the soft pillow.

bringing his hand down to pat his tummy. making all sorts of disgruntled noises while he lifts his legs up and drops them down. letting out another sigh.

continuing to press his lower abdomen with a firm hand. breathing slowly. he looks so calm, it makes you want to give him the world.

he's exhausted. but he can't fall asleep. adrenaline still rushing in his veins. still hyper from the concert yet too tired to even have energy to get up.

"..jinnie"

you mumble sweetly, deciding to give him something to relax. or maybe you just needed to calm yourself down after seeing him lay down in such a seemingly sexy way.

"mh- MH?!" he hums. going higher in pitch when you sit between his legs.

pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. taking him by surprise. neverthess he stays still, sinking deeper into the mattress. pressing kisses over his covered crotch.

"b-baby" is all he whispers, lifting his hips up for you to tug his tracksuit pants down just enough.

the cardigan he had on, exposing the tank top he was wearing underneath. exhaling as you fiddle with his waistband.

pulling it down to wrap your fingers around his hardening length. never failing to always surprise you with how pretty his dick looked. (i believe hyunjin has the prettiest most beautiful elegant dick and you cannot convince me otherwise)

smiling to yourself at how he pats his stomach in anticipation. cardigan sleeves so long that only the tips of his fingers stick out.

placing a small kiss to the tip, tasting his slick on your lips. so you sweetly circle your tongue over his weeping slit. body tingling with how loved you were feeling.

"m-mh babyyyy"

hyunjin drawls. voice cracking ever so slightly. absolutely strained after singing. you glance up at him. only seeing the underside of his chin and his heaving chest.

sticking your tongue out to lick a long stripe from his base all the way up to his tip. taking him in your mouth with a relieved sigh.

god, you loved thus man so much that you dreamt of doing this just to ease your mind.

"s-shit just like that"

moaning softly. goosebumps rising on his skin when you slide your hand underneath his tank top.

earning a surprised little squeak at your cold fingertips. thoughtlessly you suck on him. eyes closing with the pleasant weight on your tongue. warm and heavy.

breathing out shakily from your nose. his bigger hands sliding on top of yours. interlacing your fingers while you place wet sloppy kisses all over his dick.

looking up to see his chest heave. throwing his head further back and whining.

"cumming! c-cummi..."

hyunjin groans. squeezing your hand. feeling him twitch in your mouth and you take him deeper.

moaning your name sweetly while he cums harder than ever. legs closing around you. arching his back with a long drawn out whine.

you swallow. tasting the thick white slick that fills your mouth. sqeezing his hand reassuringly.

when you do lift your head up. his eyes are struggling to stay open.

making grabby hands at you sleepily.

"hold me, baby"

he whispers, grinning happily when you lay on top of him. kissing him on the cheek.

.

.

.

.

.

.

i love this liddol dumpling

[amirasainz]

https://www.tumblr.com/amirasainz/768246287260942336/i-have-a-request-for-lando-norris-x-sisterreader

if you would could you write a part two?

like she really leaned on lando but also ollie and ollie was serious when he could he her bf …. and they get together

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Part 1

Big Brother to the Rescue Part 2

The following months were a whirlwind for Yn. Since that difficult weekend at the Grand Prix, Lando had made it his mission to bring her along to as many races as possible. At first, she’d been hesitant, worried about being a distraction. But Lando insisted.

“Come on, Yn,” he said one evening over dinner. “I drive better when I know you’re there. You’re like my good luck charm.”

Yn snorted. “You can’t use me as an excuse for a bad weekend, you know.”

“Never,” Lando said with a grin. “So, what do you say? Come to the next one?”

She agreed, and soon, race weekends became a regular part of her life again.

---

At first, Lando kept a close eye on her. He’d constantly check in—asking if she needed anything, cracking jokes to make her laugh, and making sure she wasn’t overthinking about her ex. But as the months passed, Yn’s laughter returned, and her smile became brighter.

Lando couldn’t help but notice the change. She seemed genuinely happy again, which filled him with relief. But something gnawed at him. Why?

---

It was during a particularly busy race weekend when Lando finally got his answer. The McLaren garage was bustling with engineers, mechanics, and team members preparing the cars for qualifying. Lando had just finished a debrief and decided to swing by the garage to check on Yn.

As he stepped inside, he froze.

There she was, standing off to the side with Ollie.

They were deep in conversation, their faces lit up with wide smiles. Yn’s laugh echoed softly over the hum of activity, and Lando narrowed his eyes. Why is he making her laugh like that?

Then he saw it.

Ollie leaned in, saying something that made Yn blush and look down shyly. And before she could tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Ollie gently did it for her.

Lando’s jaw tightened.

Oh no, no, no.

He started striding toward them, fully prepared to put an end to whatever this was. But before he could take more than a few steps, a hand caught his arm.

It was Oscar.

“Where are you going?” Oscar asked, his tone calm but firm.

“To remind Ollie that he’s not allowed to flirt with my sister,” Lando said through gritted teeth.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Why?” Lando repeated incredulously. “Because she’s my little sister. That’s why.”

Oscar glanced over at Yn and Ollie. They were still talking, completely unaware of Lando’s growing frustration. Yn laughed again, her eyes sparkling in a way Lando hadn’t seen in months.

“Look at her,” Oscar said, nodding toward them.

“I am,” Lando snapped. “That’s the problem.”

“No, that’s the solution,” Oscar replied. “She’s smiling again, Lando. She’s happy.”

Lando hesitated.

Oscar continued, his voice softer now. “You’ve been worried about her for months, and now she’s back to being herself. Don’t ruin that because you’re being overprotective.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue but stopped. He looked at Yn again—really looked at her. She was radiant, her cheeks flushed from laughter as she teased Ollie about something.

And Ollie...

Lando hated to admit it, but Ollie looked at Yn with genuine affection. The way he leaned toward her, hanging on her every word, and the tenderness in his gaze—it wasn’t just flirting.

It was something more.

Oscar gave Lando a pat on the back. “Think about it,” he said before walking away.

Lando stood there for a moment, torn. His instincts screamed at him to protect Yn, to pull her away and remind Ollie who she was. But Oscar’s words lingered in his mind.

She’s smiling again.

With a heavy sigh, Lando took a step back. He turned and walked out of the garage, leaving Yn and Ollie to their moment.

---

Later that evening, Yn found Lando sitting outside the hospitality area, staring at the sky.

“Hey,” she said, sitting beside him.

“Hey,” he replied.

She nudged him with her elbow. “You okay?”

Lando glanced at her, noticing the contentment in her expression. “Yeah. Are you?”

Yn smiled softly. “I am.”

They sat in silence for a while before Yn spoke again. “Thanks for bringing me to all these races. I needed this.”

“You needed more than that,” Lando said, his voice teasing but warm.

Yn tilted her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Lando said quickly, shaking his head. “Just...I’m glad you’re happy.”

She studied him for a moment, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “I have the best brother in the world, you know that?”

“Obviously,” Lando replied with a grin.

They stayed like that for a while, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background. And though Lando still had his reservations about Ollie, he decided he could live with it.

As long as Yn was smiling, that was all that mattered.

[ponderingmoonlight]

kny men saving you

Pairings: Sanemi x reader; Obanai x reader; Rengoku x reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Warnings: near death experiences but your knights in shining armor have your back hehe, pure fluff in every part, there might be some spelling mistakes here and there, my heart is in pieces bc I deleted Rengoku's part and had to re-write it and now it's bad

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The moon hangs low tonight, its pale light pooling in the dark grooves of the forest. You always loved how tender the night looks when the full moon is out, especially during summer. It dapples your path, just barely enough to see the worn trail beneath your feet. Your sandals whisper against the ground as you clutch the heavy clay jar in your arms. It’s not far now - you know the stream is just a little farther ahead. The thought of your mother, feverish and frail in her bed, keeps you going despite the nervous twist in your stomach. You hate walking out here alone. Because even though the night looks peaceful, it certainly isn’t.

Those past nights, a lot of innocent people disappeared during night. The elders talk frequently about creatures called demons who lurk out in the shelter of the dark in order to take lives. Your mother was very clear when telling you more than once that you aren’t allowed to go outside when it’s dark, that you have to stay inside at all cost.

But does that include her being so sick that she’s barely able to move? You can’t just sit there and watch her suffer, right? You can’t just wait for something that might never happen-

A twig snaps in the distance.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. It’s probably nothing - you hope it’s nothing. But the hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and the oppressive weight of the dark seems to grow heavier with each passing minute.

The stream, you remind yourself. Get the water. Get back home.

Then the smell hits you.

It’s foul, coppery and rancid, and so wrong that your guts turn. You stumble, the clay jar nearly slipping from your grip. You freeze. There’s something ahead. No, someone.

But the silhouette isn’t really human. Too tall. Limbs too long. The gleam of sharp teeth is the first thing you make out, the grin stretching across its distorted face.

Your legs refuse to move. The demon lunges.

A demon?

Is this…what your mother always talked about, what everyone at the village warned you about countless times? Demons really do exist, that demon right in front of you is the ultimate prove for that.

You won’t be able to tell anyone the truth, though. Those sharp teeth that draw closer and closer, aiming for your neck. This is how you’ll die. Alone in a forest like so many people before you. Tears start stinging in your eyes, your throat so tight that you can’t catch breath.

Before you can even scream, there’s a flash of silver and a roar that shakes the trees. It takes you a moment to register what’s happening - the demon is on the ground now, twitching and headless. The stench of blood intensifies, and you realize it’s not just the demon’s. Your knees wobble.

And then he’s there.

The man who killed it, a whirlwind of pale scars and wild hair, is in front of you before you can blink. His blade gleams in the moonlight, still dripping. His eyes, sharp and livid, pin you in place.

“What the hell are you doing out here?!”

The force of his voice slams into you like a physical blow. You flinch, the jar slipping from your arms and shattering against the ground.

“I-I was just-” you stammer, words tumbling over each other, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Do you have a death wish?” he snaps, taking a step closer.

“Are you stupid or just suicidal? Do you know how many of those things are out here? You’re lucky that was only one!”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You can’t even bring yourself to speak now, your throat tightening with every harsh word he throws at you.

Are you…crying? Sanemi’s eyes narrow, mouth opening to yell again, but something shifts in his expression when he sees the tears spill down your cheeks. Fuck, how is he supposed to scream when you’re looking at him like that?

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, looking away like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Shit. Stop crying.”

You hiccup, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to bubble up. To his own surprise, he kneels down, so suddenly and close that it startles you. His hands hover awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do with them. His voice, though still gruff, softens ever so slightly.

“Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? Just…stop crying already.”

You nod weakly, wiping at your face with trembling hands. He sighs again, this time more resigned.

“Look,” he grumbles, reaching out hesitantly,

“I didn’t mean to scare you. But you shouldn’t be out here. Not alone.”

His hand, rough and warm, settles lightly on your shoulder. It’s surprisingly steadying, even a little bit soft. You nod again, this time more firmly.

“I…I was getting water. For my mother. She’s sick.”

He frowns at that, eyes flicking to the broken jar on the ground. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You were out there to get some water for your mother. How absolutely fucking stupid. But on the other side…he can’t help but admire your courage the slightest bit. Given your pretty weak frame and haunted eyes, you aren’t really experienced when it comes to combat. It’s obvious that you’re nothing but an ordinary villager, a girl who just tried to save her mother without having a single clue about the shit that awaits her.

Enough of that sentimental bullshit. If he looks at you one more second…

With a rough huff, he stands and turns his back to you.

“C’mon.”

You blink, trying to understand the meaning behind his rough words.

“W-What?”

“I’m taking you back. You’re gonna get yourself killed if I leave you out here.”

Before you can protest, he crouches slightly.

“Get on.”

“Wh-What?” you stammer again, heat flooding your cheeks.

No, you can’t do this. Not when he’s a stranger, not when he already saved you. He glares over his shoulder.

“Do I have to spell it out? You’re too slow, and I’m not dragging you the whole way. Now get on before I change my mind.”

Swallowing your nerves, you shuffle closer, hesitantly placing your hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he hooks his arms under your knees and lifts you like it’s nothing. You’re startled by the steadiness of his grip, the surprising warmth of him despite the chill of the night. This is…the first time a boy ever touched you like this.

The walk back is quiet save for the crunch of his boots against the forest floor. You cling to his haori, your earlier fear slowly ebbing away. His presence, though sharp-edged and intense, is strangely comforting now.

When you finally see the soft glow of your village lights through the trees, relief washes over you. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the edge of your house, where he kneels to let you down.

“You’re lucky I came along,” he mutters, his voice still rough but quieter now.

“Next time, think before you do something stupid.”

You nod meekly.

“Thank you.”

He grunts, straightening.

“Get inside. And stay there.”

But before he turns to leave, he hesitates. His hand lingers for a moment, brushing against your shoulder again, almost absentmindedly. Then he steps back, his expression unreadable under the moonlight.

“Take care of your mom,” he says gruffly, before disappearing into the night.

Your heart feels a little fuller, even as your legs wobble carrying you inside.

Iguro Obanai

The wind howls against your ears as you step cautiously closer to the cliff’s edge, the jagged rocks below barely visible through the mist. It’s a beautiful view - almost ethereal. You should stop here, you know you should, but something about the sheer drop pulls you in. Just a few more steps, you think. A little closer and you’ll be able to see that gorgeous field of tulips your friends told you about.

The world seems quieter here, the rush of blood in your ears louder than the rustling trees behind you. You feel weightless, suspended between the earth and the empty sky. It’s thrilling, in a way. Comforting in depressing times like these.

You don’t notice the loose gravel underfoot until it shifts.

Your breath catches as your sandal slips, toes curling desperately to hold onto anything solid. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, there’s nothing but air beneath you, and you’re falling straight towards the tulips, straight towards certain death-

Until a strong hand clamps onto your wrist and yanks you back.

The force sends you sprawling onto solid ground, your heart hammering in your chest. You barely have time to register what happened before a familiar voice cuts through the panic, sharp and laced with fury.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You look up to find Obanai crouched in front of you, his mismatched eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. His hand is still gripping your wrist, tight enough that it’s almost painful, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I-I didn’t mean-” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You didn’t mean what? To nearly kill yourself? To fall off a cliff like it’s nothing?”

His voice rises, each word sharper than the last.

“Do you even realize how close you were?!”

Tears well up in your eyes, hot and stinging, as his words hit you like a physical blow. You hadn’t meant to be careless - it wasn’t like you wanted to fall. But hearing the raw frustration in his voice, seeing the way his knuckles are white from gripping your wrist too tightly, makes you feel like you’ve done something unforgivable.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I didn’t-”

He cuts you off again, though this time it’s not with words. He pulls you into his arms so suddenly that you barely have time to react. His embrace is firm, almost desperate, and the tension in his body makes it clear that he’s holding on more for himself than for you.

“Don’t do that again,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your hair.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Your tears spill over, and you nod against his chest, your hands clutching at his haori as if letting go would send you tumbling back over the edge. He’s warm, solid in a way that grounds you, his presence filling the air with something that feels like safety.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, the wind swirling around you but never quite reaching where he holds you. His hand moves to the back of your head, cradling it gently, and you feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again, your voice barely audible.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sighs, the sound heavy but softer than before.

“You didn’t just scare me,” he says quietly, his voice steady now.

“You almost—” He stops himself, shaking his head.

“Just... be more careful. It’s not like I’m able to be around you all the time.”

You nod, pressing closer to him. The anger in his tone has faded, replaced by something warmer, something that feels like relief. His grip loosens just enough for you to breathe, but he doesn’t let go entirely.

After a while, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders. His gaze, though still stern, is no longer angry. Instead, it’s filled with something you can’t quite name, a mix of worry and something softer, something more fragile.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again.  Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He studies you for a moment longer, as if trying to determine whether you mean it, before nodding.

“Good.”

And then, to your surprise, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, visible through the bandages that cover his inviting lips. It’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, but it’s there, and it warms you in a way that nothing else could.

“Come on. Let’s get away from the edge.”

You take his hand without hesitation, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip is steady, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary as if to reassure himself that you’re really there.

“But…Why were you here in the first place?”

Obanai can’t help but get lost in a wave of coughing, his cheeks turning bright pink. Maybe, just maybe because he has his eyes on you since he can remember and never misses the chance to be around you when he’s home.

“Just…because”, he mumbles.

And as the two of you walk back toward safety, his hand never quite lets go of yours.

Rengoku Kyojuro

The festival is alive with the hum of happy chatter and flickering lanterns, their golden glow dancing across the busy streets. The air is thick with the scent of grilled skewers and sweetened rice cakes, and laughter echoes around you like a warm embrace. You pause at a stall, admiring the delicate charms on display.

You've been in love with those annual festivals since you were young, always admiring the different stalls with all the goos from far away while wearing your best kimono out.

But today was even better with that tall stranger wearing that elegant red kimono and those beaming eyes. Even though he talked louder than everyone surrounding him, you never got tired of listening to his food advice.

Maybe you should really try the sweet potatos he mentioned earlier. You lean in closer, trying to decide between a bento box and a side of sweet potatos when a scream cuts through the noise like a blade.

It’s sharp, raw, and sends a chill down your spine.

The joyous energy of the crowd fractures, shattering into chaos as people scatter. The street that had been so full of life mere moments ago is now a stampede of panicked footsteps. Vendors abandon their carts, children cry out for their parents, and the cheerful festival music grinds to a halt.

You hesitate, your instincts screaming at you to run, but your feet refuse to move. You can’t see what’s happening yet - the crowd is too thick - but the smell of blood is unmistakable, metallic and sickly sweet, twisting your stomach into knots.

And then you see it.

A demon emerges from the shadows, its grotesque face twisting into a wide, terrifying grin as it prowls forward. Its claws are long, sharp, and dripping with fresh blood. It locks eyes with you—a predator that has spotted its prey.

You freeze.

You’ve heard stories about demons. You know they’re real, but knowing something and facing it are two very different things. Your legs tremble, your heart slamming against your ribs, but you can’t make yourself move. It’s as though the world has narrowed, the monster at the center, everything else falling away.

It lunges.

A blur of orange and red streaks through the air before it can reach you.

"Do not dare to touch this lady!"

The voice is booming, confident, and electrifying. The demon’s attack is intercepted, its claws clashing with a nichirin blade that burns like fire. You gasp as your rescuer appears, his haori billowing around him like flames brought to life.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

“Do not fear!” he declares, his smile broad and reassuring even as he pushes the demon back with a powerful swing of his sword.

“You are safe now, young lady! I will not allow harm to come to you!”

He is...The stranger from before, the man with the elegant kimono!

The demon snarls, lunging again with feral speed, but Rengoku meets it head-on. His blade flashes, and sparks erupt as the demon’s claws glance off his sword. He’s a blur of motion, his strikes precise and devastating, and yet there’s something graceful in the way he moves, as though the fight is a choreographed dance he has perfected.

You watch, rooted to the spot, as he delivers the final blow. Flames erupt from his blade.

"Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flame Tiger!"

A fiery streak takes the shape of a roaring tiger, consuming the demon in one final, dazzling strike. Its body disintegrates into ash, leaving nothing behind but the acrid smell of death.

The silence that follows is almost as shocking as the chaos that preceded it.

Rengoku turns to you, lowering his sword but keeping it at the ready. His golden eyes scan your face, his expression softening into something kinder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice warm, though tinged with concern.

You nod shakily, though you’re not entirely sure if you’re alright. Your knees feel like jelly, and your heart is still racing, but his presence alone feels like an anchor.

“Y-Yes. I think so,” you manage to whisper.

He steps closer, his towering frame somehow not intimidating but comforting.

“You were very brave to stay so calm,” he comments, his smile returning, this time gentler.

“But next time, it’s best to run. Demons are relentless creatures.”

“I-I couldn’t move,” you admit, shame coloring your voice.

“I froze.”

His gaze softens further, and he crouches slightly, bringing himself more to your eye level.

“That’s natural,” he replies, his tone soothing.

“Fear is not weakness. It’s what reminds us to protect what’s important.”

He tilts his head, his smile growing.

“But you’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, the overwhelming relief hitting you all at once. Before you can say anything, his warm hand gently pats the top of your head, his calloused fingers light but grounding.

“Good work holding on,” he says quietly.

“You did well.”

Your breath hitches at the kindness in his words. He straightens then, offering you his hand.

“Shall I escort you somewhere safe?” he asks, his voice as bright and steady as the flame he wields.

“There’s no need to fear - I’ll protect you.”

You take his hand, its warmth seeping into your skin, and nod. Somehow, with him beside you, the world doesn’t feel so terrifying anymore.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @sanemifucker @blunderland

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[samandcolbyownme]

Can we get birthday smut with Sam for his birthday tomorrow!!! Please

I think I got this request yesterday, so that would make today Sam’s birthday! 🖤

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, kissing, hair pulling, biting, scratching, unprotected sex, creampie, fluffy filth

Word Count: 1.8k | unedited

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“Don’t sweat it okay?” Sam assures, “It’s okay. Your job is.. complicated sometimes.”

You let out a sigh, “I know, but tomorrow is your birthday Sam.. I just.. I hate to miss it.”

“Listen.” Sam pauses, “The only person I really care about spending my birthday with, is you. And if I have to celebrate it another day, that’s fine by me. I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, y/n.” He chuckles, “I’m sure.”

“You’re sure you’re sure?”

“Y/n.”

“Okay.” You laugh, “I’ll let you know when I land in Florida. We’re about to take off here soon, so..”

“Safe travels. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I love you.”

“I love you.”

You hang up and look at Tara, “He’s going to be so mad at me for lying to him.” She shakes her head, “I don’t think he’ll be mad. You’re lying for good reason.”

“Yeah.” You nod, “I think you’re right.”

You rest your head back, staring out the window as you see people move down on the ground by the plane. You felt bad, but also, you felt proud.

You managed to get out of work early enough to make it home for Sam’s birthday, but you, Tara, and Colby managed to keep it under lock and key the last few days.

You knew Sam sounded sad, but he was trying to be happy for you.

You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he seen you, specifically on his birthday.

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“So he doesn’t want to do anything?” You look at Colby and scoff, “I know I didn’t.. ruin it.. but I feel like I did.”

Colby shakes his head, “He just misses you. You’ve been gone a week, and it’s not your fault that you had to be away when it was his birthday, he knows that.”

You sigh, “I know, but I just hope that me coming home actually helps.”

“Oh it will.” Colby chuckles, “He spent hours last night rambling on about how he feels bad for being sad, but I told him the same thing as I told you, don’t feel bad. It’s normal.”

You take a deep breath as you see the house come into view and you can’t help but shake a little with excitement, “So where is he?”

“Upstairs. He chose to edit our video. Jake wanted to take him out but he refused.”

“I’ll get him out of the house.” You smirk at Colby, “Don’t worry.”

You get out, stepping back to the back passenger door and Colby walks around, talking quietly, “Go. I’ll bring them in.”

You nod, looking towards house, and you can’t help but smile. You walk to the front door, quietly sneaking inside and looking around.

You hear music playing from upstairs, and you make your way towards the steps. You tiptoe to Sam’s door, peaking around the opening.

His back is facing you, laptop on his lap as he clicks away.

“How are you going to celebrate your birthday if you’re too into that video?”

Sam whips around, laptop falling to the floor as he stands up, “Oh my.. god. How are you-“ he rushes over to you, wrapping you tightly in a hug, “How are you here!?”

Your arms wrap his neck, “I just am.”

“What about work, you won’t get-“

“Sam.” You lay a hand over his mouth, “I took care of everything..” you raise your brows, “okay?”

He nods and tilts his head back to get his mouth uncovered, “Fine, then give me a kiss.”

You smile, leaning in to press your lips to his.

It instantly deepens.

Sam reaches behind you, pushing his door closed as he walks backwards towards the bed. He sits down, your legs on either side of his hips and you grind down.

He lets out a low groan against your lips, “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

You kiss back his jaw, “I’ve missed you, too, birthday boy.” You nip his ear with your teeth, “since that’s what you are, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”

You feel his body tense at your words, his hands tighten their grip on your hips, “Oh, really?”

You lean back, your hands sliding down his chest to grip the hem of his shirt, “oh really.” You smirk, pushing his shirt up his chest and pulling it over his head, “Anything you want.”

He bites his lip, tilting his head as his eyes trail down your body on his lap, “I can think of one thing.”

You reach down, gripping your shirt to pull it up over your head, “Ooh, do tell.”

His hands slide up and down your sides, “Mm, in a minute.” He pulls you back in, leaning back to lay down as your lips meet his.

His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tightly.

He rolls over, his hand sliding around your hip to slip his fingers into the band of your leggings, “I think..” he bites his lip, eyes meeting yours as he slides his hand in to press his fingers to your clit, “I want to fill that perfect little pussy of yours.”

You let out a quiet moan, “Yes.”

“Yeah?” Sam raises his brows, his fingers adding pressing as they circle, “You alright with that?”

“So alright with that.” You pull him in to close the space, biting down on his lip which earns a gasp from him, “Can I do something first?”

“Of course.” Sam pulls his hand out, moving to sit up, but you stop him with a hand on his chest, “Lay back.”

He smirks, knowing exactly what you’re about to do.

“Just lay back, and enjoy this.” You look up at him, “Birthday boy.”

“I’ll do anything for you.” He smiles and you playfully roll your eyes as you shrug his pants and boxers down his thighs.

You were gone a week, but it felt like years.

Your lip pulls between your teeth as your eyes scan up and down his hard cock that springs free from its hold, “I’ve missed you.” You look up at Sam and he nods, “I can agree to th-“

He gasps as your lips wrap around the tip of his cock, tongue swirling over it, “F-fuck.” His hand moves to lay on your head, “That’s it.”

You take more of him in, tilting your head forward as your tongue flattens around the underside.

Your hands press to his thighs as you work your head in a steady rhythm.

“Oh shit.” He groans, “So good at this, baby. Fuck.”

You hum slightly, sending pleasure to radiate through his lower half. He moans louder, bucking his hips as he holds your head still, “Just like that, sweetheart.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, moaning around him as his fingers tangle your hand around them, pulling hard.

He lifts your head up, pulling you towards him with the grip on your hair. His lips connect to yours as your hands move to push down your pants.

You lean back, kicking them off before straddling his lap. His lip pulls between his teeth as he watches you line yourself up with him, “God you are so beautiful.”

You smirk, jaw falling slack as you sink down onto him slowly. A long moan leaves your lips as your nails dig into his shoulders, “Fuck, Sam. I’ve needed you so bad.”

He nods, “I’ve needed you.”

He reaches up, pulling you down to kiss you once more, “You feel so fucking good.”

You move your hips up and down, rolling them forward and back, moaning with each movement.

Your hand slides up to his hair, tugging to tilt his head back as you kiss down his neck. He groans lowly as you bite and suck a mark into his neck, bucking his hips upward which earns a moan from you.

Your pace quickens, slamming down onto him as your nails drag down his chest.

He groans, gripping your wrists and pinning them behind you to your lower back. He holds you in place as he thrusts upward into you.

Your moans ring through his ears, causing him to moan, “You sound so beautiful.”

“I love making you feel good.”

“I love making you sound like this.”

“Your pussy is going to look so pretty with my cum dripping out of it.”

His words make you gasp, “Fuck, yes Sam. Please.”

He groans into your neck, letting go of your wrists before rolling you over onto your back. His thrusts pick up, hard and fast, “Yes what, baby?”

Your back lifts off the bed, pleasure radiates through your body as you approach your peak, “F-fuck, Sam.” You moan out loudly, “I want you to fill my pussy.”

He groans at your words, “They’re so much hotter when you say it.”

His lips attack yours, quickly moving down to litter your skin with purple marks. Your nails drag up his back, leaving red lines in their path, “Fuck, fuck don’t stop, don’t stop!”

You cry out repeatedly, your legs tightening around his hips as he guides you through your high.

“That’s it, baby.” Sam groans, “You feel so good, look so pretty when you cum.”

You whimper at his words, your body jolting with each thrust of pleasure that enters your body over and over again.

All you can do is moan.

“Right there with you.” Sam moan, “Fuck, fuck.”

He pushes his weight up, holding himself up with his arm by your head. His hand lays on your cheek as his eyes lock onto yours.

His thrusts grow sloppy, slowing down as you feel his cock start to twitch inside of you.

This was something you and Sam were always so careful about not doing, but you had a feeling that this was the first day of something that wasn’t ever going to end - and you didn’t want it to.

You moan at the feeling, biting down onto your lip as his slow thrusts come to a stop.

He sits up, staring down as he slowly pulls out of you.

He smirks, biting down into his lip, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks turn warm and you laugh slightly as he gets up, “Was it everything you’ve ever hoped it would be?”

“Oh baby.” Sam walks back over with a towel, “It was everything and more.” He leans down, pecking your head before he lets you wipe off.

You watch as he looks around for his pants and you tilt your head, “Ready to celebrate your birthday now?”

Sam shrugs, “I mean.. what do you have in mind because it’s probably something a lot different than what’s in mine.”

You smirk, getting up onto your knees, “I mean.. I want to take you out.. but..” you reach out for him, “Another round couldn’t hurt.”

Sam smirks and drops his pants, “Maybe you can read my mind.”

.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Thank you so much for being patient. I kind of rushed through this one so my apologies if it seemed that way. I love you so much, thank you for reading my work! I’ll catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[wheels-of-despair]

Moment of Truth Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman Summary: Eddie is forced to have a terrifying conversation. Contains: Awkwardness, unnecessary panic, family fluff. Words: 1.4k

Eddie Munson lifts his fist to a familiar door and hesitates before knocking on it. Is he really doing this? Does this even need to be done? Can't he just…

He can feel Wayne glaring at him from across town.

He sighs and knocks gently, scrunching his eyes shut and bracing himself. He hears footsteps approach. The click of a lock. The creak of the door opening. He feels the warmth from within.

"I'd ask what you're doing up this early, but it would appear you've fallen asleep on my doorstep," an amused voice says.

Eddie opens his eyes, so nervous that he can't give that excellent greeting the smile it deserves.

"What's wrong, honey?"

It's just Mary. His girlfriend's mom. A person who feeds him multiple times a week. Keeps the cabinets stocked with his favorite snacks. Has never yelled at him or told him to get out of her house. Has declared him her favorite child, even though he's not really hers. Made him a Christmas stocking and a dang Easter basket. Why is this so hard? Why is Eddie Munson, loud-ass Eddie Munson who never shuts up, suddenly unable to form a single word?

"Do you want me to go get--" Mary gestures vaguely behind her, but Eddie shakes his head quickly. She tilts her head to the side, analyzing him. Probably seeing right through him. He's doomed. He braces himself when she opens her mouth to speak again, but what comes out is, "Will you at least come in before you catch a cold?"

Eddie stands there for a few seconds, stunned. When he comes to his senses, he nods once, and she stands aside to let him into the kitchen. Once he's inside, his body leads him to the table. To his chair. He's here so often, he has his own spot at the table. He stares at the wood grain and focuses on his breathing, trying to gather his courage. This should not be so fucking hard.

A cup of coffee slides into view. The one with the Garfield comic on it. His favorite. He reaches for the cup and takes a drink, hoping it will give him the jolt he needs.

The woman even knows how he takes his fucking coffee.

Eddie blows out a long breath and looks up at her, sitting across from him. Still in her bathrobe. Hands around her steaming mug. A curious look on her face.

"I love your daughter," Eddie finally gets out.

"I've always suspected," Mary says, trying to hide her smile behind her coffee cup.

Eddie feels a little less nervous and a little more at home with each passing second. Maybe the coffee warmed up whatever part of his brain froze on the way over here.

"I've been talking to Wayne," he explains, the words finally coming to him. "And he says you have to get the father's permission to ask a girl to marry you. I told him it was an old and outdated tradition and she'd probably kick my ass and lecture me about women's lib or something, but he insisted. 'That's the way we do things, boy'," Eddie says in his best Wayne impression. He looks up for a reaction, but there isn't one. He clears his throat and continues. "And I know she doesn't give a flying… crap about her old man. She'd die laughing if she thought I asked Gareth permission for anything. So can I ask you?"

Mary takes another sip of her coffee and appears to consider it. That's good, right? She puts her cup down and leans forward, lacing her fingers on the table. He's dead, he's so dead.

"Edward?"

"Yes, ma'am?" he asks, trying not to tremble.

"Are you asking for my permission to ask me a question?"

Eddie feels his face flush, but he nods.

"Proceed," she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair with a smirk that she definitely passed on to her daughter. Of course she's not going to make this easy on him. He gathers his courage. Moment of truth. Now or never. He can do this.

"CanImarryyourdaughter?"

Eddie's world stops as his words - or is just one big word? - hang in the air. He can't breathe. He can't blink. All he can do is watch the face of the person who will decide his fate. She considers it for what feels like ages, but eventually, a twinkle in her eye gives him hope.

"Eddie?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What took you so damn long?"

Eddie lets out the breath he's been holding all morning, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. That's a yes. They laugh together and sip their coffee quietly for a moment.

"You know," she says softly, "I put on a brave face for the kids, but I was so nervous about moving here. Starting over is terrifying. It really could've gone either way. Those first few weeks weren't great. The kids didn't know anybody. Couldn't even get them to leave the house. Hawkins felt so different from home. I was starting to think we'd made a huge mistake... and then, school started. Gareth came home rambling about joining a real Dungeons and Dragons club with his new friends. And you know what my daughter said to me, after her first day at her new school? Something she'd been dreading and griping about for months?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"She said, 'Mom, I'm gonna marry the guy I sat next to in homeroom.'"

Eddie's eyes fill with tears. Mary reaches across the table and puts her hand on his.

"You've been a part of this family since the day my kids met you, Eddie," she smiles. "So yes. Yes, you absolutely have my permission to make it official and marry my daughter."

"Thank you," he whispers, wiping his stupid eyes with his free hand. Stop leaking! This is a happy occasion!

"After you both graduate," she says firmly.

Eddie nods his head in agreement.

"Why are you here?" a sleepy voice asks from behind him. Eddie whirls around in his chair and spots his future wife standing in the doorway in rumpled pajamas and messy hair. He'll never love anyone else. "And more importantly, why are you crying?" she asks, suddenly more awake.

"I'm not crying," he argues.

"Mom, what'd you do to him?" she accuses, coming to stand behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "You know I'm the only one allowed to make him cry!"

"I'm not crying, dammit!" he insists, wiping his eyes with his fists.

"Who's crying?" Gareth yawns, appearing in the doorway.

"All of us, now that you've cloaked us in that cloud of toxic fumes you call morning breath," the Evil One snarks. Gareth sticks out his tongue and breathes at her, and she pretends to stagger and faint, landing in the chair next to Eddie. She smiles and reaches out to move a stray strand of hair out of his face.

"I'm making a breakfast casserole," her mom announces, getting up from the table.

"That takes forever," Gareth whines.

"Then go back to sleep 'til it's ready," she answers, opening a cabinet and pulling out a mixing bowl.

"Do you need help?" her daughter asks dutifully, while her son drags his feet into the living room and collapses on the couch with a grunt.

"Nope," comes the answer. "Go back to bed, you sad excuses for teenagers are all up unnaturally early."

The love of Eddie's life looks at him with tired eyes and nods her head toward the bedroom. Taking the hint, Eddie gets up and pushes his chair in. She leaves the kitchen, yawning as she goes, knowing he'll follow.

"Hey," Mary says quietly, before Eddie disappears from sight. He slowly turns to face her. She crosses the room quickly and pulls him in for a hug. "You can call me Mom if you want to."

"Really?" he whispers. Mom. That's going to take some getting used to.

"Yeah," she says, pulling back to give him a meaningful look. "But I'd rather not be Grandma just yet, if you catch my drift."

"Yes, ma'am," he says quickly, feeling his face go red again.

"Go take a nap, favorite child of mine, I'll call you when breakfast is ready."

"Kay," he grins, spinning around and heading for bed with his future fiancée.

[sturn777]

How would fb!chris react to dealer!reader mentioning another guy casually??

dealer!reader mentions another guy to fb!chris . | ( female!reader ) wc ?? ( masterlist ) + ( request )

lana's note : i hope u guys enjoy this ! and pls keep on sending reqs or js anything to my inbox, i rlly appreciate it <3 .

you’re sprawled out on chris’ bed, your phone in one hand, the other resting lazily on your stomach. the glow from your screen is the only light aside from the warm lamp on his desk. he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, hoodie loose, blunt dangling between his fingers. the window’s cracked open, letting the cool night air mix with the thick haze of smoke. it’s quiet except for the occasional sound of chris inhaling, the low hum of a song playing on his speaker in the corner.

“so,” you start, eyes still glued to your screen, voice laced with something casual but calculated. “you know austin?” chris doesn’t look at you right away. he exhales a slow stream of smoke, head tilted back slightly, his posture as relaxed as ever. “nah,” he says after a beat. “who’s that?”

“just this guy,” you say, biting back a grin. “met him at a party last week. he’s kinda cute. funny, too.” his head turns slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of irritation in his eyes before he looks away again. “cute, huh?”

“yeah,” you say, rolling onto your side to face him, your phone abandoned on the mattress. “he asked me to hang out sometime. i might.” chris snorts, flicking ash into the tray beside him. his tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it. “yeah, sure. sounds like a real good time. bet he’s one of those nice guys, huh? the ones that’ll buy you flowers and all that corny shit.”

you raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smirk. “what’s your problem?” you tease, leaning up on your elbow. “you mad or something?”

“mad? nah,” he says, but the sharp way he takes another hit of the blunt says otherwise. “just funny. you don’t strike me as the flowers and hand-holding type.”

“oh yeah?” you challenge, your voice a little softer, more dangerous now. “and what type am i?” he turns to you fully then, his eyes dragging over you in a way that makes your skin heat. he’s taking his time, letting the silence stretch before he answers.

“you’re the type that likes it messy,” he says finally, his voice low and gravelly. “you like the fights, the drama, the shit that keeps you on your toes.” your breath catches, but you won’t let him see that. instead, you lean back again, smirking. “so, what? you think you’re the only one who can handle me?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he stubs out the blunt, his movements slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. when he looks back at you, his eyes are darker, heavier. “nah,” he says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “i don’t think. i know.”

before you can respond, his hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss that’s anything but gentle. it’s all teeth and tongue, and it knocks the air out of your lungs. your phone tumbles off the bed as you grab at his hoodie, pulling him closer, like that’s even possible.

“you’re such a dick,” you mutter against his mouth, your words barely audible.

“yeah?” he murmurs back, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. his hands are already under your shirt, his palms rough and warm as they slide up your sides.

you don’t argue. instead, you tug at his hoodie, frustrated with how much space it’s putting between you. he helps you pull it off, tossing it somewhere onto the floor before pressing his weight against you, his mouth finding yours again.

his hands roam, and it’s not long before your shirt joins the pile of clothes on the floor. his lips are everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the soft curve of your shoulder. every kiss, every bite, feels like a claim, like he’s reminding you exactly who you belong to, even if neither of you would dare say it out loud.

“austin, huh?” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with amusement now, but there’s still that edge of irritation underneath. you laugh breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling, just enough to make him groan. “forget austin,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“yeah,” he mutters, his lips brushing against yours. “that’s what i thought.” and then there’s no more talking, just the sound of breathing and the rustle of sheets as he shows you exactly why no one even comes close to him.

taglist : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @flouqissss ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel )

[noctuaism]

(cw: periods, reader is afab) I’m not exactly happy with this but I haven’t posted in a while so here it is

as much as gojo is playful, immature and altogether childish there is nothing he prioritizes over your well-being. it’s the one thing he never compromises on, even with you. he hates seeing you sick or in pain of any sort, always going out of his way to always make sure you’re always taken care of. this time is no different.

you find yourself in the bathroom, throwing up what you just ate and a stabbing like feeling in your stomach. you groan feeling another wave of nausea wash over you. with no energy to get up and find your pain meds, you sit there on the bathroom floor waiting for the nausea to end. sitting up against the bathroom wall hoping you’ll finally have the energy to move at one point. so that’s how gojo finds you, miserable looking and on the bathroom floor. he’s by your side immediately, helping you to the sink so you can wash your mouth at your request.

gojo knew what was happening the moment he found you on the bathroom floor, he also knew how much you struggled during this time of month. it was distressing to see you in pain and so he always made sure to find ways to help you alleviate it. whether it was getting you the things you needed like pain meds and food or giving you massages for your aching stomach and back. it made your heart swell because gojo is always so good to you. when you tell him you need more pads, he only nods with a soft kiss to your forehead. he helps you to your bed before he warps away. you settle in the bed, not at all surprised by him suddenly warping away, already missing your very large and very warm boyfriend.

the moment you open up your phone you’re getting a array of texts from him. he’s already at the convenience store and you see the selfie of him standing in the pad isle (he has the pads you buy in his hand) with it captioned “what size pussy you wear, babe?” he does this all the time and it never fails to make you laugh no matter how stupid it is. it’s almost enough to make you forget the cramps that feel like little knives in your belly. it leaves you with a soft, warm feeling because gojo always manages to make you laugh no matter how awful you feel. his care for you and your well being always made you feel so very safe.

when he gets back he’s warping right back into your room, a bag with your pads and a variety of snacks hangs off his arm while he holds what you recognize as your pain meds in his hand. his other hand holds a glass of water. and it’s little things like this that make you so very happy. a reminder that gojo is always thinking about you and your needs. he hands you the glass of water, setting the bag on your bed, before he’s handing you the meds insisting you take them. he joins you in your bed, still wearing his jujutsu uniform, pulling you into his lap and holding you against him. he speaks to you softly, asking what you need and if he can do anything more for you. in moments like this there’s no teasing from him. just him making sure to put your comfort and well being above all else. because to gojo there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than taking care of you.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Prompt 5 from the Christmas prompts is the story of my life 😭 I swear I’m sick every Christmas

I feel like Remus would be the perfect caregiver though! Bringing you cocoa and giving you lots of snuggles to keep you warm, not worried at all about you getting him sick just trying to make you feel better.

Ugh, being sick during Christmas is the worst! But you’re absolutely right—Remus would be the best caregiver. He’d make being sick almost worth it. Almost. 💛

remus lupin x reader who always falls sick on Christmas

The universe was out to get you. There was no other explanation.

Snuggled under a fortress of blankets on the couch, you sniffled, your glare fixed on the twinkling Christmas tree. Everything was perfect—crackling fire, stockings hanging neatly, a soft hum of holiday music in the background. Except for the glaring detail that you were once again sick on Christmas.

Remus entered, balancing a tray with a steaming mug of cocoa, a bowl of soup, and an annoyingly gentle smile. His cardigan was slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms. You could barely muster the strength to scowl at how calm and collected he looked.

“Of course I get sick on Christmas,” you lamented, voice heavy with misery. “Only me. Every year. It’s like a curse.” You punctuated your point with a long sniffle.

Remus set the tray down and perched on the edge of the couch, his hand finding your forehead to check your temperature. “That’s not true,” he said, voice soothing but suspiciously light.

You squinted at him, suspicious. “Yes, it is. This happens every year without fail.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he countered. “Last year, James was the one who got sick.”

You froze, mouth open in disbelief. “Excuse me? That’s a bold-faced lie.”

Remus chuckled, clearly prepared for this. “It’s not. He spent the entire day sprawled out on the floor, moaning about how he’d lost his sense of taste and dramatically declaring he wouldn’t live to see the new year.”

“That doesn’t count,” you snapped, sitting up straighter. “James is always like that. He stubs his toe and acts like he’s been mortally wounded. This is different.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Because I’m actually suffering,” you said, clutching your blanket tighter. “This is real pain, Remus. I’m a victim.”

He bit his lip, probably to keep from laughing, which only fueled your indignation. “A victim of… the common cold?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Wow. Nice to know where I stand in your priorities. Here I am, barely clinging to life, and you’re making jokes.”

“I’m not joking,” he replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m just saying, for someone who’s ‘barely clinging to life,’ you’re awfully chatty.”

“Oh, so now I’m annoying?” you gasped, clutching your chest as if he’d struck you.

He laughed then, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you were thinking it,” you accused, your tone dripping with dramatic flair.

Remus pulled the blanket tighter around you both, settling beside you and pulling you into his side. “You’re right,” he said solemnly. “You’re the picture of suffering. No one’s ever had it worse than you.”

“Thank you,” you sniffed, but the satisfaction was short-lived. “Wait, are you mocking me?”

“I would never,” he replied, though his grin betrayed him.

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m too sick for this,” you muttered. “Go mock Sirius or something.”

“But Sirius isn’t as cute when he’s sick,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You opened your mouth to argue but were cut off by a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Besides,” he murmured, “I’d much rather be here, taking care of you.”

For a moment, your indignation wavered, replaced by warmth at his words. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled, leaning into his side.

Despite the stuffiness in your nose and the ache in your head, you let out a soft laugh. “You shouldn’t be so close. You’ll get sick.”

He smoothed a hand over your hair, thumb brushing soothingly along your temple. His touch was so gentle, you wanted to melt into it, fever and all. “I’m not worried about you getting me sick, you know,” he murmured. “I’d rather stay here, risk it all, and keep you warm.”

The warmth of his words wrapped around you better than any blanket. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, the teasing edge in your voice softening.

“And you,” he replied, “are stubborn.” He tucked the blanket more securely around you, fussing like you were something fragile. “But I suppose you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t grumble a little.”

You huffed, nose scrunching in mock annoyance. “Grumble? I’m dying, Remus.”

His lips twitched, eyes sparkling with fond amusement. “You’ll survive,” he said, reaching for the cocoa. He blew on it gently before handing it to you. “Drink.”

“I know,” he said smugly.

“And if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you,” you added, taking a sip.

“Sure, you won’t.”

“I’m serious,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real heat. “I’ll fill your soup with glitter and make you regret everything.”

Remus chuckled, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. “Glitter or not, I’d still risk it.”

The fire crackled, the tree lights twinkled, and for all your dramatics, being sick didn’t feel so terrible—not with Remus by your side.

REQUESTED FROM : this post RELATED TO : this post

[warlocksoup]

SLEAZE ✶⋆.˚ MIYA OSAMU

CHAPTER ONE: locked out

SOUNDTRACK: i don't know you by mannequin pussy

cw: implied ed/unhealthy relationship to food

For breakfast, she cracks an egg onto a hot pan. She ignores it, and lets it crack and bubble, turning her attention to a cold clump of white rice she pulled from the fridge. She turns on the faucet of her kitchen sink and lets the water run into the bowl before she tosses it in the microwave. Two minutes. The eggs pop and crackle in the pan.

When the microwave beeps, she grabs the bowl with her bare hands and burns them. She mumbles curses under her breath and equips herself with a dishrag before she goes at it again. Haphazardly, she slips the egg out of the pan and onto the steaming bowl of rice. She sits down at her counter, remembers that she left the stovetop on, and stands to turn it off before she gets her first bite in.

The eggs are overcooked and tough, but she likes it that way, because if the texture is too runny, it makes her think of snot, and she gets too repulsed to eat anymore. The rice is gummy and sticky. She eats about half of the egg and a quarter of the rice before she gives up, and, when she documents this failure to empty her plate, she cites her inability properly prepare food that isn’t a hot. mushy, chewy mess as the reason. She dumps the rest of it in the trash.

✶⋆.˚

She’s technically unemployed. When her mother calls her to try and rectify this, she falls back on Kenma.

“-and if you want to start auditioning again, I can call my agent friend, and we can get you set up. It’s really no trouble at all. He’d really love to see you on screen again. We all would, sweetie. It’s been so long, and you’re just so talented. Doesn’t it seem like a waste to just rot away in that apartment of yours? With the connections that you have it seems an awful shame. There are a lot of people who would kill for what you have, honey.”

There’s an unlit cigarette in her mouth. Kenma reaches out and snatches it from her mouth before she can light it. He doesn’t even look back at her as he snaps it in half.

“No, Mom, it’s okay,” she says, phone pressed between her elbow and her cheek as she shuffles to grab her pack out from her sweatshirt pocket again. “I got a lot of stuff going on with Kenma and his Bouncing Balls thing,” she pulls out the carton and flicks the lid open, “I don’t think I have the time to even prepare for an audition, and even if I wanted to,” Kenma grabs at the entire carton and forces it out of her hand. She hits his arm.

Her mother sighs wistfully on the other line. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. It’d really make me happy to see you act again.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. From his spot on his couch beside her, Kenma removes one hand from his phone to place it on her knee. “I know, Mom.”

“Just let me know. I’ve got to go now. I have a dinner with one of the producers of Ripple Effect. I know you don’t want me to, but I’ll bring your name up just in case. They’re always looking for guest stars. You never know, you might change your mind.”

“Yeah, I might,” she agrees, knowing that she won’t. She looks at Kenma, like she’s begging to be saved, but he keeps his focus on his phone, indifferent to her suffering. “Have fun at your dinner. I’ll talk to you later.”

She doesn’t wait for her mother’s response before she hangs up, but before she can press that red button, she can hear her mother’s half-hearted ‘love you,’ come through the speaker. She pockets her phone.

“It’s Bouncing Ball,” Kenma says, still not looking up from his phone.

“What?” She leans back against the arm of the couch, and kicks her legs out, so her calves are resting on Kenma’s lap. He used to push her legs off of him whenever she did this, but now it seems that it’s not worth the effort to him.

“It’s ball, not balls,” he corrects, and it occurs to her that this is far from the first time he’s had to do so. She can’t ever remember the difference. Ball or balls. Makes no difference to her. “And what are you so busy doing here that you can’t audition for anything?”  

If it weren’t for Kenma, she’d have to get a real job. But she has Kenma, so she was able to dish out enough of her child actor savings to throw at him, and he took it and made it so she gets a healthy paycheck at the end of every week. She doesn’t know how it works. Kenma’s explained it to her before, but she’s never really listened. Matters of money bore her. Most things bore her.

She likes to pretend that Kenma just likes spending time with her enough to pay her for it. It’s more interesting than being an investor or partial owner or whatever the fuck she actually is.

She gives Kenma a bright grin. “Keeping you company, of course.”

“You should get a real job, instead,” he tells her, shutting off his phone and tossing it on the couch cushion. “It’s a better way of spending your time than bothering me all day.”

“Stop pretending you don’t like me,” she tells him. Kenma’s indifference used to eat away at her. In high school, she would obsess over earning his affection, and it drove her insane that he wouldn’t give it up. She used to think she was in love with him, but it turned out she had just tied in her self-worth to his approval.

Turns out she does that kinda thing pretty often.

And anyways, Kenma’s indifference was never really indifference. He just took a few years to get used to.

“It’d be good for you,” he says. “If not for money, then just so you have something to do. Maybe just something part-time.”

Her eyes roll, almost automatically.  All anyone ever does is complain about the job they’ve got. Even if they love it. Even if they’ve dedicated their life to it. She has plenty of unread texts in her phone from Kuroo to prove it. “I’m plenty happy without one.”

Kenma makes some noise in the back of his throat that comes across as half disapproving and half disinterested. And the conversation ends there.

✶⋆.˚

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The wind is whipping her hair in her face and blocking the view of the inside of her purse as her hands frantically push aside her belongings. Her lip-gloss and pepper spray and loose coins knock together as she tries to find her keys.

But no matter how much she moves around her purse’s insides, she can’t find them. And in fact, she can picture perfectly where they are: sitting on the edge of the counter in Kenma’s kitchen, next to her stolen pack of cigarettes and a half-empty can of an energy drink.

The wind is getting colder and she’s starting to shiver under her thin jacket. Just behind the locked door, there’s a faux minx coat hanging up above her shoe rack, and she’s fantasizing about its warmth.

“Fuck,” she grumbles again, eventually moving past denial and giving up her search for her keys in favor of her phone. Kenma’s the only person she ever calls, so she’s quick to find his contact. She calls his number, and steps away from her front door, one arm pressing her phone to her ear, and the other wrapping around her center, pulling the jacket tighter to her.

The phone rings, and rings, and Kenma does not answer. She hangs up and tries to dial again but gets the same result. “Fuck, Kenma, I left your keys at my place and now I’m locked out. Call me back please.”

She hangs up, and scrolls through her notifications, hoping that there’s some text from Kenma saying he found her keys and is already on his way to bring them to her.

kodzuken has gone live!

She’s fucked.

Feeling defeated, she flops back against the door, and pouts. The solution to most of her problems. Kenma wouldn’t notice if she kicked down his door. She’s sure she could break in, if she tried hard enough. Though one of his neighbors might call the police if she tries to break a window in. And even if they didn’t, Kenma might not forgive her for that one. He’d probably give her a pay cut, if he could. Actually, she’s not sure he could, she’s not really sure how it works.

“Hey!”

She lifts her head. The Miya of Onigiri Miya is standing at the edge of the sidewalk, hands deep in his pockets. A car passes between them, and then it’s just the two of them. She swallows.  

She takes a step forward without really thinking about it. He looks cold, arms exposed by the short sleeves of his t-shirt, covered in nothing else but his store apron. He grabs at the brim of his cap, and then pulls it down firm. “Are you okay?”

✶⋆.˚

In front of her is her usual lunch, salmon onigiri, plated neatly on the counter of Onigiri Miya. She sits there, the restaurant’s only occupant, and keeps her arms by her side, staring down at the meal before her.

“Is everything okay?”

Her eyes flick up. Behind the counter, where he usually is, is the owner. The titular Miya. With the arms.

She looks back down at her plate. The idea of eating her lunchtime food at night makes her uneasy. There’s a cold plate of curry rice in her fridge she was supposed to be heating up instead. She doesn’t want to eat in front of Miya. She does usually, during lunch, but it’s different. He’s too busy then, hands full with tasks and customers, to notice her eating. Now, it’s like there’s a spotlight on her.

“I just made your usual lunch order,” Miya says, like he went too long without an answer and got nervous. He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you want, I just figured. If it’s not what you wanted, I can make you something else.”

“No,” she shakes her head, now feeling like she’s got no choice. “This is great, thanks.”

She smiles at him, and he smiles back. And he doesn’t look away as she tepidly lifts the onigiri to take a small bite out of the corner, feeling nauseous and watched as she does so.

This seems to satisfy him. “Good?” he questions.

She nods as she chews, smiling as she swallows. “Yeah, great as always,” she tells him, lying. It tastes like everything else does to her. “You make my favorite food, y’know.”

That’s at least true. It is her favorite food. She likes that he makes it, carefully, with his own hands.

He blushes at this. “Thanks. I, uh, I appreciate that.”

She’s spent a lot of time imaging him, thinking of scenarios like this one. The two of them alone, passing tension-filled words and blushing flirtations. He has been carefully constructed, pieced together in her mind.

Though, he’s not as forward as she imagined him to be, not as talkative. In her head, he is bold and gives her straightforward compliments and he fusses over her and he is smooth with his words. In her head, he feeds her with his own hands and wipes the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

But in real life, he’s reserved. Polite but not saying more than he needs to. He hasn’t professed attraction or begged her for a date or pressed her against the wall. He hasn’t done anything but give her a plate of food and a warm place to wait for Kenma.

Which isn’t as disappointing as she thought it would be. It just sort of makes her want it more.

Her phone buzzes on the countertop. She flips it over to see nothing from Kenma, but a generic ‘here’s what you missed’ Twitter notification. She hesitantly takes another bite from her meal, and it hits the pit of her stomach like a wet pile of mud.

In her seat, she feels awkward. She tries to think of something intriguing to say. Something that would make him want to see more of her. But all she can think of his how hot the lights of the store feel when he’s there, watching as she eats.

“Thanks for letting me wait here,” she says eventually. “I am sorry to keep you here past closing, though.”

Miya shrugs. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It got me out of making dinner for my brother, so it actually works out pretty great for me.”

Her phone vibrates again. Her mother this time.

Dinner went well! I got a good word in with that producer, so you might be getting a call soon!

She can’t help but make a face. She wipes it off as soon as she feels it grow.

 “Bad news from your friend?” Miya asks, reading the sourness of her expression.

“Uh, no. Just my mom,” she explains, and shifts around in her seat. “She’s trying to get me on a television show.”

Miya leans forward, resting his forearms on the counter in front of her. It makes her oddly nervous. “And it’s not going well?”

She snickers. “Actually, it’s going a little too well. I’m not really into acting. I retired when I was eight.”

“Yeah, I remember,” he tells her. “Me and my brother used to watch Family Sized with our mom every week. He had a crush on you, and he cried when you left the show.”

It’s weird for her to think that people just know. Especially him. That he can just look back at some of the worst years of her life as just as a collection of fond moments from his childhood. An hour to bond once a week with his brother and mother. To sit in front of the television and watch her suffer through her childhood.

Him, and everyone else in the goddamn country.

“Yeah, my mom too,” she says wryly. “She’s been trying to get me back in it ever since then. Unfortunately for her, I like my current job too much.”

“Yeah? What’s your current job?”

She smiles. “I’m unemployed.”

Miya laughs, dropping his head down as he chuckles, and she feels oddly proud for making him laugh. Even if it’s at her own expense. He straightens up and stands upright. “Well, if you ever do want a job, you can always try it out here.”

It’s not an invitation for late night drinks, but she takes it as an indicator that maybe he wouldn’t mind spending more time with her. She’s counting it as a win. “Yeah, if you ever want to give your customers food poisoning, I’d be a great hire.”

Another notification from her phone. This one’s from Kenma.

I sent an Uber back to your place. Just stay at my place tonight. I don’t feel great about you going back and forth this late at night.

She looks down at her barely eaten onigiri and then back up at Miya again. “Got an Uber coming my way,” she tells him. “I’ll go outside and wait for it. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“You sure you don’t need anything else?” he questions. “Do you want me to wrap up the rest of that for you so you can take it home?”

She says yes, because she thinks it would offend him if she said no. So he places the rest of it an a paper box for her and she says thank you as she takes it from him, knowing she has no intention of finishing it off.

A car pulls up to the outside of her apartment as she’s walking out the door. She turns back to Miya, and she says, “Tell your brother I’m sorry, by the way, for leaving the show and making him cry like that.”

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about him,” he tells her. “I’m hoping he’s over it, by now.”

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[missredherring]

I've Got You Babe

Moodboard made by @iamasaddie.

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Rating: T

Summary: There's no beer in the fridge.

Contents: Fluff. Silly goose behavior.

A/N: This is for @iamasaddie 24hr writing challenge. The flow of time is an illusion, Jen. Can you tell I wrote this after work?

There's no beer in the fridge.

He's been standing in front of the open door, but no matter how many times he blinks the contents don't change: the lunches you'd made for them on Sunday and a case of sparkling water.

So there's no dinner or beer.

He could go to the bar and kill two birds with one stone: dinner and a drink without any effort on his part beside getting his wallet out. The fridge starts to hum and his eyes land on the neatly stacked food containers again.

It's not just him anymore. Maybe he'd gotten too used to taking the easy way out in the time he'd been by himself between Sarah moving out and you moving in.

Joel sighs, closes the door, and shuffles off to find you.

You're washing your face in the bathroom and whatever he opened his mouth to say follows the water right down the drain. The way you're bent over the sink makes your ass that much bigger and his tired eyes can't look away until you turn to grab a towel hanging from the bar.

You raise your eyebrows at him when you see him leaning against the doorjamb.

"There's nothing for dinner-" he starts to say and regrets it when you freeze. The wheels are almost visible as they turn your brain around and around.

"Shit. I'm sorry- I was focused on lunch and didn't-" you start to say but he quickly straightens up and holds his hands out towards you to hijack that train of thought.

"It ain't a problem, sweetheart, you did good on that- trust me. D'you wanna go out to dinner tonight and then we can swing by the grocery store on the way home?"

"Yea. Let's do that," you look down at yourself and pluck at the wrinkled t-shirt. "I just need to change into something else and then we can go."

He thinks you look just as good in yoga pants and a t-shirt as you do in everything else, but Joel knows when to pick his battles and follows you into the bedroom to change himself. His collection of un-stained clothing has been growing since he started dating you, and now is as good a time as any to wear them.

Dressed in a green polo shirt and a newer pair of jeans, he waits for you to finish slipping on shoes before ushering you to the truck. With the way you smooth the fabric down he wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he watches the hem of your dress brush along the back of your dimpled thighs.

The keys are in the ignition and he grips them to turn and start the ignition when a thought occurs to him. He'd had to buy building materials earlier for his current job so he was lower on funds than he'd expected. Joel sits back and rubs at spot of dirt on the steering wheel. He turns his head towards you, looking at the soft curve of your jaw, unable to meet your eyes when he asks if you can cover dinner and groceries tonight.

You pause, doing some mental math of your own, and give him a smile. "I've got it, baby. Did Greg not bring everything you needed for the job again? I don't know why you still work with him if he keeps messing up like this."

Joel scoffs and starts the truck, choosing not to linger on how the relief spreads through him at your easy acceptance. "This is the last time. I've given him enough chances."

The sunlight is concentrated into the golden hue just before it starts to set and it bathes the cab of the truck. At a stoplight he glances over to see the way you squint against the light and when you finally turn your head the few grey strands of hair he can make out at this distance shimmer with the movement.

"Does that make me your Sugar Mommy? Since I'm paying for everything so you don't have to worry your pretty little head?"

"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," he says honestly and then goes on, curious now, "'That something you want? To be my Mommy?"

The laugh lines around your mouth deepen and twist as you cringe. "No- wait, say it again?"

"Mommy?"

"Yea, no, not for me. Nope."

"You sure? Maybe you just need to get used to it, Mommy. Mama?"

He's got you laughing and he sways easily when you push at his arm to stop him.

"What about you, Daddy?" You tease him in a sultry tone, but all he can hear is every time Sarah called him that before she grew up and started calling him "Dad" instead.

"No. That ain't bedroom talk for me."

"See?"

"I was a daddy; you don't have kids."

"Yes, and that has been a deliberate choice."

He grunts when you shove him again and then turns his attention back to the road when the light changes.

"Thank you," you say as the mirth settles in the cab.

"For suggesting dinner and then making you pay?" He jokes and is happy to find he doesn't feel bad about it.

When you reach over to take his hand Joel just switches his grip on the wheel to his left hand and locks your fingers together, resting them in your warm lap.

"More and more I understand why my mom acted as if doing anything after work was a huge issue. Most days all I'm focusing on is getting home and out of my bra." Yea, me too is on the tip of his tongue, but the tone of your voice stops him. He squeezes your hand in encouragement. "So thank you for reminding me that it's fun to go out and do things after work."

"You're welcome, honey," he says, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth for a kiss. "And if you ever want help getting out of your bra, I'm always happy to help with that too."