#let's see if I can get these all in order (left to right going down)

[moody-alcoholic]

✨Freaky Friday✨

This week we've got some 141 ✨ brat taming ✨ I hope you enjoy this because I'm not 100% happy with it. Well I guess thats what freaky Fridays are for - experimentation.

Loosly based on THIS

Summary: poly 141 x reader, brat taming. WC: 3.3k CW: +18 content MDNI. Sex, dom/sub dynamics, edging, cum play, spanking, oral (M receiving), fivesome - MMMMF, sex toys, overstimulation, anal sex, orgasm denial.

Enjoy ya fility animals <3

___

“Right, power in numbers. They can’t pin us all down.” Johnny says, it’s like a weird pre-game huddle, only the game is being a brat and getting away with it. 

“I think they can.” Kyle replies, Johnny tuts landing his hand on Kyle's shoulder. 

“You’re such a pessimist.” Johnny says shaking his head, you giggle looking between them. “We need to teach them a lesson, or they’re going to have us running drills for the rest of our lives.” 

“I mean, that is their job.” Kyle says. 

“I know but they’ve been extra tough lately, I think they’re getting bored.” Johnny says. “We’ve been stuck on this base for months.” 

“They have been working us hard, my legs are still sore.” You add. You all look between each other for a few seconds.

Kyle sighs. “Okay, what's the plan?” He asks, crossing his arms. 

“I’ll deal with Simon, you two take care of Price.” 

“Thats a terrible idea.” You say.

“Why?” Johnny whines. 

“You’re already a brat Simon’ll sniff you out in seconds. I’ll take Simon.” You explain, he presses his lips together you can see the frustration in his face. 

“Okay, fine. But remember, we’re teaching them a lesson. Don’t get distracted.” Johnny says, landing a hand on each of your shoulders. You and Kyle both nod. 

There’s no way this ends well.

…

It starts slow. 

You’re laid on the couch with Simon running your hand over his chest. Kyle and John started making out on the other sofa, Johnny’s sitting on the floor but has slowly started moving his hands over John’s body. Simon hasn’t shown much interest but you know he’s seen what's going on. 

You hear John moan and both of you look over to see Johnny running his hand up John’s top. You can already see the bulge in John’s pants and Kyle grinds against it causing John to moan again. You swallow the lump in your throat and you push your hand up Simon’s shirt brushing over one of his nipples. 

He looks back at you and turns his head to kiss you, you press your tongue in his mouth and feel his hands run up your body. 

“Easy.” You hear John say. You chuckle watching Johnny’s head buried in John’s neck. 

“C’mon.” Simon says sitting up. He walks over to Johnny pulling his head off John’s neck, you can see the red mark he’s left. 

“Aww, let me at him.” Johnny whines moving back to John’s neck. You’re supposed to be distracting Simon, but he seems too interested in trying to get you all to move upstairs. You hop off the sofa pulling your top over your head. You see John’s eyes land on you and Kyle's hand goes down to grip John’s cock over his clothes. 

“Johnny.” Simon says, pulling him back again. Simon leans down and kisses him, it’s hot and sloppy it makes your pussy throb. You walk over to Simon gripping the bottom of his top and pull it up. Simon breaks from the kiss cupping Johnny’s chin. 

“Be a good boy, Johnny.” Simon orders, his voice low, it's almost a growl. You watch Johnny’s eyes glisten as Simon lets his face go and pulls his top off turning to look at you. His hands run up your side to cup your breasts, he runs his thumbs over your nipples. 

“You’re going to be good for us right?” He asks, you feel heat rush to your cheeks. 

“Maybe.” You tease. He hums trying to get a read off you as he leads you over to the sofa sitting down while you stand in front of him. You’re not quite sure what Johnny and Kyle are up to but you can hear John’s frustration rising. 

You know Simon wants to kneel down between his legs, take is cock out and suck it. Fuck, you want to do that too, then you remember why you’re doing this, you can’t falter now. Simon reaches out to grip your waist pulling you closer to him. 

He hums against your skin, gripping your pants and pulling them off. You step out of them as he continues to press kisses across your hips.

“Jesus Soap, let Kyle have a turn.” John grunts. 

“Make me.” The words roll off Johnny’s tongue with a low growl. You look down at Simon, you see his lips twitch into a smile. He’s going to enjoy this, you can tell already. Johnny was right, they need to get some of their energy out. 

“Being a little brat today Johnny.” Simon says he stands up giving you a quick kiss before stepping past you over to the others. “Do You need a quick lesson in respect?” 

Johnny slips into the role of being a bratty little shit too easily, it almost annoys you. Simon’s hand grips his mohawk pulling him off John's cock and Johnny turns, pressing his face against Simon’s crotch. Simon doesn’t have to say anything, Johnny’s already pulling the rest of Simon’s clothes off. 

“Come here.” John says looking over at you. 

“You come here.” You reply walking backwards over to the sofa and sitting down spreading your legs for him. You see Kyle smile while he’s taken over the role of playing with John’s cock. John raises an eyebrow looking up at Simon. 

“Let me fuck her Si.” Johnny asks enthusiastically, looking over at you and winking. 

“No, she’s mine.” Kyle says jumping off John and coming over to you, pulling his clothes off as he does. You watch John look up at Simon again then start to sit up. Johnny whines trying to make his way over to you but Simon keeps him in place. 

“You plannin’ on leaving your captain all by himself?” Simon asks, turning to look at you both. Kyle’s hand is already between your legs. 

“I’m sure you can handle it LT.” Kyle says, it makes you chuckle and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself. Simon sighs and you see a little smile form on his lips as he leads Johnny over to you. 

“C’mon then.” He says gesturing for you both to get on the floor. Johnny sits on the floor with his back to the sofa, you and Kyle look at each other before sliding down to the floor too. 

“You’re really going to push our buttons today?” John asks standing above you all.

“What do you think we should do with them?” John asks, looking over at Simon who's pacing with his arms crossed. 

“I think they need a reminder of what they’re missing.” He says moving one of his hands down to stroke his cock. 

“Up against the sofa.” John orders, you all follow shuffling back until you can’t anymore. Simon and John both step towards you cocks in hand, they look over you all smiling. John comes over to you stroking himself, his cock stops a few centimeters away from your lips. 

“You’re going to get me nice and wet, right sweetheart?” You swallow the nerves nodding and opening your mouth. 

“You too Johnny.” You hear Simon say, in the same position as John. John presses his cock in you mouth and it fills with saliva as you press your tongue on the underside the way you know he likes it. You’ve got to give them a little bit right? Can’t be a brat all the time, you’ve got to give them a little something.

You hear Johnny moan as Simon presses his cock into Johnny's mouth, you turn your eyes to try and see, it almost makes you choke on John’s cock as he pushes it in deeper groaning. 

“Eye’s up here sweetheart.” John says, you hum and look back up at him as tears form in your eyes. 

“Hands off Johnny.” Simon snaps, his voice makes you shiver. “Put them on her.” A second later you feel fingers on your clit, you squeeze your eyes closed moaning. 

“You too, Gaz. Make yourself useful.” John says, your eyes snap back open and you look up at him. Kyle’s fingers fight with Johnny’s and eventually one of them moves down to your entrance. You moan around John’s cock as presses into your mouth deeper, hitting the back of your throat. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” Kyle says. It’s his fingers thrusting into you. John pulls out your mouth as saliva starts to run down your chin. 

“Perfect,” John says, reaching down using his thumb to wipe the saliva away, he then presses it in your mouth and you suck on it. 

“Hum, you ready Si?” John asks. You look over at him, his cock fully in Johnny’s mouth, his balls resting on his chin. 

“Of course.” He says pulling out, Johnny sucks in a long breath. 

“Okay, love. They’re going to make you feel good, and you’re going to make them feel good.” There’s a cheeky grin on John’s face as Simon comes over and wraps his arms around John’s waist, John reaches down to stroke Simon’s cock. 

“You better not come.” Simon orders. You reach over to each of them, wrapping a hand around each cock.

“Or what?” Johnny asks. You squeeze him and grit your teeth, there’s no way he’s still being this bratty. Simon smiles, chuckling and shaking his head. 

“You don’t want to find out.” Simon says darkly, it makes you shiver and you feel Johnny’s cock twitch. You moan as Johnny focuses his attention on your clit. Kyle’s fingers haven’t stopped but as you watch Simon and John fall on the sofa together he curls his fingers up inside you. 

“Fuck.” You can’t help it slipping out and you clench around him. You speed up your hand to try and throw him off. Johnny has the same idea as you, his fingers pressing onto you harder. Your eyes flick over to see Simon with his face pressed into John’s ass.  

It makes your pussy throb and Kyle reaches over, pressing his mouth against your neck. You close your eyes squirming in their grip. John click his tongue, your eyes snap over to him and Kyle pulls his mouth off your neck. They want you to keep watching, you’re not allowed to stop watching or try to look away. 

Fuck, their fingers are relentless, it doesn’t help when Simon eases himself into John and the sound of their moans start to fill the air. You need to focus, focus on not coming and focus on trying to get Johnny or Kyle to break. Unfortunately They have the same idea, Kyle’s fingers are hitting that perfect spot inside you and he curls his fingers making you grind against him.

You think Johnny might be the easiest to break so you focus on him, speeding up your hand and pressing your thumb in the under side. He grinds his teeth and it makes you smile, John and Simon seem too invested in each other to keep checking on you all. 

“So much for sticking together.” You say as low as possible. Johnny giggles and you squeeze around the base of his cock. He likes that letting out a low moan, you’re almost neglecting Kyle and you can tell he’s frustrated by the way he slams his fingers into your cunt. 

You turn your attention back to him smearing the dribble of pre down his cock. 

“Christ.” He moans, you look over at John and Simon so you can have something other to focus on, it does not help at all. Listening to them moan, watching as Simon presses John’s head down into the pillows makes your pussy flutter.

You’re all squirming and moaning now, you watch Simon speed up and John starts to pant into the pillow. 

“Fuck, John. So fuckin’ tight.” Simon says, digging his nails into John’s hips. Johnny moans and you feel fresh pre com drip down his cock. You speed up on both of them. Lucky Johnny’s so cock drunk he can barely move his fingers on your clit. Kyle seems to be in the same position as his fingers also falter. You smile using the break to work them harder. 

“Fuck - John.” Simon calls. He grunts as he comes, his hips stilling as he spills into John. You see John come too, his spend coats the sofa as he grinds his cock against it riding himself through the orgasm. Simon hops off the sofa as John pants through the overstimulation. 

He turns to look at you all, a smile grows on his face and he comes over. He paces in front of you all for a second almost like he’s trying to decide who to torture first. He lands on Johnny bending down in front of him and reaching out to grip his cock. 

You move your hand, stretching your wrist. Simon takes over using both his hands to pump Johnny’s cock. 

“Ready to apologise?” Simon asks, his voice grumbling. 

“Don’t fall for it Tav.” Kyle calls, you smile as you see John come over too. He stops and kneels in front of Kyle. You move your hand again getting the idea. 

“Don’t stop.” John says, looking at you. You nod moving one of your hands down to your clit. At least this time you can control the speed. You look back over at Johnny, his hair is stuck to his face.   

“P-please.” Johnny wimpers squirming and arching his back. 

“You going to be good?” Simon asks, he’s almost growling. 

“Ye-s. So, so good for you sir.” Johnny cries, for a second you think you can see tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Good boy.” Simon says, taking his hand off Johnny. “Turn over, lean against the sofa.” 

“God damn it Soap.” Kyle whispers, fuck he’s not going to last either. John’s hand speeds up.

“What about you?” John asks, his voice low and soft as he leans over pressing a kiss on Kyle’s lips. “Want Johnny to suck you off?” 

“Fuck.” Kyle says squeezing his eyes closed. John grips his chin with his free hand. 

“Eye’s open Garrick.” He demands. Kyle's eyes snap open, John smiles. “See, you can follow directions.” 

“Say you’re sorry and you’ll get his soft mouth on your cock.” John says, speeding up his thrusts. “You’d like that wouldn’t you MacTavish, you’d make him feel so good.” 

“Yes.” Johnny says, you look over seeing Johnny gripping the sofa while Simon fingers him. Each time he curls his fingers Johnny moans out.

“Christ.” Kyle says as his toes curl. 

“Three little words, Garrick. You can do it.” John says, you watch as John’s thumb presses over the top of Kyle’s cock. He throws his head back shaking. 

“Sorry.” He pants. “I’m sorry, sir.” 

“What the hell happened to power in numbers?” You ask, John and Simon chuckle. 

“C’mon Johnny, get on your hands and knees.” Simon orders taking his fingers out so he can move. 

“Sorry, love. They’re real persuasive.” Johnny pants as he gets into position hooking his arms under Kyle’s legs pushing them up. John comes over to you with a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. 

“Come on, you wouldn’t want to miss out.” He says, his fingers gently travel up your thighs, the light touch makes you shiver. 

“God forbid you’re ever caught by the enemy if this is all it takes to break you.” You say locking eyes with John whose smile gets bigger. Now it’s a challenge. 

“Now, now, love. Don’t you want to have fun, relax and let me take care of you.” His fingers press on your clit, it’s like a jolt of electricity shoots through your body. Johnny and Kyle’s moans are not helping, Simon has lined his cock up with Johnny’s hole. You hold your ground even as he starts to circle your clit. 

“Fuck, Johnny.” Kyle calls, John’s head snaps to him. 

“Nope, don’t you dare cum Garrick.” John orders. “Not until she’s appologised.” 

“Love, please-” He whines before gritting his teeth. Johnny takes his mouth off Kyle’s cock as Simon eases into him with a long moan. 

“Christ.” Johnny calls, squeezing his eyes closed. 

“Gonna cum already Johnny? That fucked out already?” Simon taunts him. 

“P-please, sir.” Johnny begs. 

Simon lets out a low laugh. “You heard Price. Not till she says sorry.” Johnny lets out a groan as his face falls next to Kyle’s cock. 

“Are you going to make them suffer?” John asks, his fingers have been slowly speeding up, you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek so you don’t squirm against his hand. 

“It was all Johnny’s idea.” You say. 

“Of course it was.” Simon says between thrusts. Poor Johnny’s not getting any rest bite, good he apologised first so he should suffer for the longest.

John hums and his fingers leave you. It gives you a few seconds to steady your heart rate but it doesn’t take long for him to come back. This time with a new weapon, a small pink vibrator, not much but enough to have you gritting your teeth already. 

He shuffles over to you pressing the small vibrator on your clit. There’s a cheeky smile on his face. The rapid vibrations instantly cause you to squirm and try to back up away from him but you can’t. 

“All I need is a ‘sorry, sir.’” He says, moving his other hand up the inside of your thigh. 

“Love,” Kyle calls, you look over to see Johnny’s mouth slopply sucking Kyle off. It shocks you when John presses his fingers into you. You almost come right there, crying out through gritted teeth and bending your knees.

“Fuck.” You say as his fingers curl up into you rubbing against your g-spot. “F-fuck.”

“Oh love, you’re so close.” John says, it doesn’t slow him down. “How long are you going to last, hum?” You want to reply but it’s taking all your energy not to come. You’re not going to give up yet, you’re grinding your teeth. You want to hold as long as possible then you look over at Johnny and Kyle.

Their moans and calls fill your ears. Simon’s hips move at a steady pace whereas Johnny’s mouth can barely keep up, Kyle’s squeezing his hair so tight his knuckles are turning purple, and Johnny’s not much better digging his nails into Kyle’s hips. 

“Fuck!” You call, frustrated you’re giving up. “I’m sorry, sir!” 

You see a smile on John’s lips and hear a sigh of relief from Kyle. 

“Good girl.” He says.

“C-can I come? Pl-please.” You beg relaxing your body. You barely hear him say yes before you cry out gripping Kyle’s arm as you come. Your whole body throbs, John doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers and pressing the vibrator hard on your clit. You feel it deep in your stomach as you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

“John.” You call, he chuckles, slowing down his fingers and removing the vibrator. You’re panting as he pulls his soaked fingers out bringing them up to your mouth. 

“Open,” He orders. You open your mouth and he presses his fingers in. You move your tongue around them, licking his fingers clean. He hums smiling at you before pulling them out and leaning over to kiss you.

Kyle rests his head on your shoulder, you break from the kiss. You look down at Johnny, he’s laid down his head resting on Kyles thigh.

Simon slaps his arse causing him to jolt up. John chuckles leaning in close to you again. 

“You’re not done yet.” He says. You swallow hard nudging Kyle who lifts his head up. 

“How’re your legs?” Simon asks. You look up to him and sigh. 

Fucking hell. You’re never letting Johnny talk you into anything ever again.  ___

[her-mortal-projections]

something to show that you're mine

S4!Steve x fem!reader (18+)

This is a continuation of 'hot for you,' but can be read as a standalone

You dramatically collapse on the couch next to Steve, with a huff. He smiles, playfully rolling his eyes while sliding his arm around you. The worst heatwave to hit Hawkins in thirty years has thoroughly worn you out. Although you did spend most of the day in the pool, your time didn't solely consist of lounging on a float. Steve was proving to be insatiable, seemingly needing to make up for lost time.

It's exhilarating feeling so desirable, as a simple glance from him is never just that. There's always an underlying need hidden in his warm, inviting eyes. It's actually been there the whole time, you just didn't notice it until now.

You curl into him, your eyes briefly closing as you bury your face in his old t shirt. You smile into the worn cotton, as he still smells like sunscreen and some expensive cologne you can't place. The biggest lovesick smile then spreads across his lips as you nuzzle into his chest. He's glad you can't see it because he knows you'd tease him about it all night.

"So, what do you wanna do tonight?" He asks, gliding his fingertips down the side of your arm.

"Stay just like this," you reply, snuggling closer to him.

His heart melts at your response. He holds you closer, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of your head.

"But we have to eat at some point..." he reminds while you sigh.

"I'm open to suggestions," you say, lifting your head to meet his soft gaze.

"Well, we still have some movies left over from last night, so how about I order us a pizza and we can have a little movie marathon?" He offers, with his hand gently cupping your cheek.

"I like that idea," you smile, leaning into his touch.

"I thought you might," he smiles in return before kissing you sweetly.

"Can you order it now?" You ask, abruptly breaking the kiss. "Because I'm starving."

"Absolutely," he replies, giving you another peck on the lips before getting off the couch.

-

A large, empty pizza box and Diet Coke cans cover the coffee table as the second movie in your marathon plays on the big screen TV. It goes unnoticed as soon as it begins, when Steve pulls you into his lap. The skirt of your floral dress bunches at your waist as you grind your clothed core against the strained bulge in his shorts.

You take turns panting into each other's mouths as each kiss is more desperate than the last. He whimpers when your lips leave his, with you trailing kisses along his jaw to his neck. He sounds so pretty as you try to kiss as many freckles as you can. An idea then pops into your head, making you smile against his skin.

"Remember earlier today, when you said I should wear your initial on my necklace?" You ask, nuzzling your nose right under his strong jawline.

"Yeah," he shakily replies, with his hands dropping to your hips.

"Well if I have something to show I'm yours, what will you have to show that you're mine?" You continue, as he curses under his breath.

"What do you ha- oh, fuck..." he breathes when he feels you suckling on his skin.

He tightens his grip on your hips, and moves his upward. Getting this reaction makes you feel so powerful, knowing the hottest guy in town is whimpering just for you. You pull away to admire your work before glancing up at him. His hand instantly cradles your jaw, guiding you in for a heated kiss. It's almost sloppy with how desperate he is to feel your lips on his.

"Honey," he breathily begins against your lips, "I need to be inside you when you do that."

"That really turns you on that much?" You ask, teasingly.

"Yeah, can't you feel it?" He counters, raising his hips again and causing you to gasp. "That's what you do to me... fuck, I want you so bad..."

"Lets go upstairs then-"

"No," he interrupts, "I wanna stay right here. Want you to ride me."

"Really? On your parents ridiculously expensive couch?" You question, grinding down again, earning another whine from him.

He nods. "Been wanting to fuck you on it since the first night you came over."

He pulls you in for another kiss. It's so rough and passionate, it has you dizzy with lust.

"You wore that blue skirt..." he continues, between softer kisses.

"The denim one?" You ask, remembering the exact outfit you wore but wanting to hear more.

"Yeah, that one," he smiles. "It made your ass look incredible... I wanted to tear it off you..."

"I wish you would've," you whisper into a kiss.

"Wasn't the right time. Wanted to be a gentleman," he replies, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"One of your many redeeming qualities," you breathe, with your lips curling into a smile.

He laughs under his breath before kissing you again.

"Lift those gorgeous hips for me, angel," he purrs.

You eagerly comply, lifting up just enough for him to pull his shorts down. You quickly realize he isn't wearing any underwear and whine when he pulls you back onto his lap. He captures your lips for another kiss as he moves your panties to the side. You instinctively raise your hips again, helping him ease inside you. You gasp into his mouth as you lower yourself onto him.

Despite having had sex with him a few times, you weren't used to the stretch just yet. Once you feel how deep he is, pleasure soon takes over. You start to rock your hips back and forth when he stops you.

"I'll do all the work, angel," he smiles. "You just focus on making me yours."

His words have you blushing for the first time that night as you nod your head. He rewards you by kissing you deeply before slowly thrusting up, into you. You sigh into his kiss relishing in how you're making one of his fantasies come true.

The burning in your lungs makes you pull away and turn your attention back to his neck. The thought of giving him multiple hickies actually has you salivating. Not to mention him going out in public with them on display for everyone to see. Your arousal grows as you feel him twitch while pressing tantalizing kisses to his golden skin.

Pretty whimpers and whines fall from his lips as you leave several marks of your affection. You watch how his Adam's apple bobs when he tries to keep from moaning too loud.

"Its okay," you soothe, with your face still buried in his neck. "I want to hear how I make you feel."

He breathily curses again before throwing his head back, against the couch.

"Fuck, this is so hot... you're so hot..." he pants, his hands squeezing your hips.

This new angle gives you better access to the column of his throat, and you instantly take advantage. You lick and kiss your way up to his jaw while he shifts underneath you. With a whine of his name, you lay your head on his shoulder and lazily kiss his newly bruised skin. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly as roughly thrusts into you.

The obscene sounds of skin on skin echo in your ears before you hear his gutteral moan as he uncomfortably squeezes your body against his. After you each catch your breath, he tenderly runs his fingers through your hair, while still holding you to his chest.

"Wanna go upstairs now?" He softly asks, prompting you to raise your head.

You meet his equally soft gaze and smile.

"Yeah," you reply, while leaning in to kiss him.

-

The shrill beeping of his alarm clock wakes you from possibly the best sleep of your life. You groan while Steve reaches over and shuts it off.

"Why did you set the alarm?" You sleepily ask as he snuggles closer to you.

"Because I switched shifts with Rob so I have to open the store," he explains, before pressing kisses to the nape of your neck. "I meant to tell you last night, but forgot. Sorry, honey."

"Its okay," you reply, while turning to face him. "I just wanted to spend the day with you... again."

He smiles, moving closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.

"You can totally come see me and we can go to lunch or something," he suggests as your hand cradles his face.

"We'd just end up having a quickie in your backseat," you say with a laugh.

"Not necessarily," he defends. "I can behave myself until we're back in the privacy of my house..."

"Oh, can you?" You tease.

"Yeah," he smiles, his lips brushing yours. "I'll show you how good I can be."

"Promises, promises..." you also smile, before he kisses you.

-

Hours later and after a stop by your place, you stroll through the door of Family Video. You're still humming the last song you heard on the radio as you approach the counter. Steve immediately looks up to see you standing in front of him and smiles.

"Hey gorgeous," he greets, pressing his body against the counter.

"Hi," you reply, smiling in return.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna show," he adds, while you lean closer to him.

"Like I would miss an opportunity to have lunch with Steve Harrington..." you say with a laugh.

"Didn't know I was that important," he breathes, as your fingers curl along the edge of his green vest.

"I'm so sure," you say, before pulling him into a kiss.

You intended for it to be brief, but he reaches out and holds you in place before you can pull away. He slips his tongue past your lips, moaning lowly as he deepens the kiss. Your grip on his vest tightens as you temporarily forget you're shamelessly making out in the middle of a video store.

"I missed you," he whispers, after breaking the kiss.

"Obviously," you remark, unable to keep from smiling.

He sighs before cupping your cheek. "You're so annoying, you know that?"

"Only because I enjoy it so much," you reply, gazing into his eyes.

"I'll have to do something about that later," he begins, sultrily, "but right now, we have a lunch date."

"Yes we do," you smile.

He leans in to give you one more kiss before stepping out from behind the counter. He's able to see the rest of your outfit, as he follows you to the door and bites his lip when he sees you're wearing his favorite skirt. He resists the urge to put his hands on you, knowing he'll get to have you in a matter of hours.

Once outside, he starts to walk towards his car but you stop him, telling him you're taking him to lunch, not the other way around. He smiles, a familiar warmth spreading through him as he slides into your passenger seat. You drive to the diner down the street, remembering its one of his favorite spots left in town.

It's when you're seated across from him in a booth that you notice the little, purple hickies on his neck. He notices how your cheeks seem a little rosier as you struggle to maintain eye contact with him. He silently revels in the memory of you in his lap the night before. He's eager to make more of them with you later that night.

-

After driving back to the store, Steve leans on your center console, and caresses your cheek in an attempt to get you to look at him. You turn towards him, as his index finger traces along your jaw.

"I'm glad you came today. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it a whole day without seeing you," he then softly admits.

"I'm sure you would've survived," you reply, as he moves closer.

"I don't know, I've been pretty spoiled by spending so much time with you lately, that I don't think my heart could've handled it," he continues, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"I didn't know I was that important," you breathe, with your fingers brushing the back of his neck.

He smiles. "You are, honey, very much so."

He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. You watch as he takes his house key off the keyring and holds it up.

"I want you waiting at home for me," he adds, placing the key in your hand.

You just blink at him for a moment until you close your hand around it. He leans in again, with his hand cradling your face before kissing you deeply. You feel yourself melting into his touch, only ever feeling this way when you're with him.

"See you tonight, gorgeous," he breathes against your lips, before getting out of the car.

You watch as he goes inside, then look at his house key laying on your palm. You close your hand around it again, smiling to yourself, before dropping it into your cup holder. You then start the car and shift into reverse, while trying to decide where you want to be waiting when he comes home.

[lacedbykami]

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—𝐇𝐐 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐂𝐒! - multi!

⋆𖦹⋆ˎˊ˗ synopsis: what its like dating them, hcs, etc <3 [♡] including: suna, bokuto, suga, oikawa, kenma; cute hcs, might make some parts to this

SUNA RINTARO.

╰┈➤ what its like dating him- slow makeout sessions in the dark, sharing playlist while talking shit about weirdos at school, going down random fight pages tg, falling asleep on each other, the faint smell of cologne and fresh laundry, random love bites.

ᰔ alot of people seem to think he's the stoner, non-chalant, distant type. Suna rintarou? not in the slighest. not with you. He sends you random brainrot memes at 3 am, spams your phone when you don't respond in 0.1 seconds and gives you the cold shoulder when yall can't sleep call

ᰔ doesn't really mind pda, he's just really chill about it. Whether its resting his chin ontop of your head, holding your hand, you resting your head on his shoulder, kissing you. Suna doesn't make a big deal out of it, if someone sees they see. (His heart beats fast in his chest when you kiss him suddenly <3)

BOKUTO KOTARO.

╰┈➤ what its like dating him — random ' i love you's,' princess hugs, kisses littered all over your skin, matching phone cases, movie nights with him falling asleep first, running out in the rain, cheering him on at his games, being carried on his shoulders soon after <3

ᰔ always texts you goodmorning as soon as he wakes up; like no I don't mean oh lemme drink some water and get up, no. This man, that can barely even see his screen will text you "GOODMORNING PRETTY BABY.' at 5am before falling back asleep.

ᰔ very emotionally mature actually; bokuto isn't stupid by any means. He pays close attention to your expressions and how you move, so before you even get properly upset he's already asking whats wrong before you go quiet. And he never tries to fix you or help you right away, he knows you'd ask. So he simply pulls you into his arms and whispers sweet words into your skin as he waits until youre ready to talk.

SUGAWARA KOUSHI.

╰┈➤ what its like dating him — late night calls filled with giggling and deep conversations, warm hoodies he "leaves" at your place on accident, cheek kisses everytime he has to leave, dates at the park on nice days, your first kiss under the stars, princess treatment

ᰔ never lets you open a car door: Suga will actually jog around the car just to open it for you first. Doesn’t matter if it's raining, snowing, or if you're in a rush — he gets genuinely offended if you try to do it yourself. “Excuse me,” he’ll pout, “I thought I was your boyfriend.” And yes, he does the hand-on-your-lower-back assist when you sit down like it’s second nature.

ᰔ He’s the kind of boyfriend who smiles like you hung the stars just for existing: Calls you nicknames like sweetheart, baby, and sometimes when he’s sleepy or extra soft, my love.

OIKAWA TOORU.

╰┈➤ what it's like dating him — endless selfies (with you in every single one), coffee shop dates where he insists on ordering for you with a smirk, forehead kisses before games, wearing his team jacket that's definitely too big for you, dramatic love letters left in your locker or slipped under your door, dressing you up and posting you on his instagram

ᰔ Treats you like royalty and wants everyone to know you’re his: Expect hand-holding 24/7, even in public, even in summer. He’s constantly fixing your hair or tucking it behind your ear, just to have an excuse to touch you. “You're so pretty, y’know that? I’m gonna have to fight people off again today.”

ᰔ He’s the kind of boyfriend who gets jealous of your dog: Will pout if you give the dog more kisses than him. “I’m cuter, right? Right?” But also, he’ll take 800 photos of you cuddling your pet and use them as his lockscreen.

KENMA KOZUME.

╰┈➤ what it’s like dating him — building a world together in animal crossing, lazy mornings tangled in blankets and soft touches, sharing a single pair of earbuds on the train, him letting you rest your legs over his lap while he games, forehead kisses when he's too shy for words, ganging up on annoying kids in roblox

ᰔ does little things for you: Adds a player two charm to his switch just for you. Buys you little things that remind him of you, even if he doesn't say it out loud. Texts you “eat something” or “get some rest” because he’s thinking about you nonstop, even if he’s too shy to say I miss you.

ᰔ purs when you play with his hair/scratch his head: It starts as a quiet hum, almost imperceptible — but the second your fingers slide into his hair and scratch gently at his scalp, Kenma practically melts. His eyes flutter shut, body going limp against you like a sleepy cat. You’ll hear the tiniest, most content sigh escape him, and if you listen closely, a low, pleased hum in the back of his throat.

If he’s laying on your chest, he’ll nuzzle in closer and mumble something like, “Don’t stop… that feels really nice.”

And if you tease him for it?

His cheeks go pink instantly. “I don’t purr,” he grumbles — but the moment your fingers go back to work, that little sound comes right back. Every time.

[occamstfs]

Stand Up For Yourself

Tired of seeing people treat his friend like trash, Ben makes a wish unawares and sends Jackson on a path towards domination. Though it seems Jackson has other ideas on just who he longs to dominate.

Meek man to a musky, capital D Dom top! How could anyone resist being their quiet friend bulking up before their eyes? Hope you enjoy! -Occam

I just hate to see people walk all over him. It wasn’t the first time Jackson has been brought near to tears by a customer, nor will it be the last. And of course I don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on, obvi- he’s my  best friend here! But I’d be lying if I didn’t hope each time would be the last. The cafe gets its fair share of, for lack of a better term, Karens- and as long as Jackie’s so obviously affected by them, they’re gonna keep going in on him.

“Girl… You’ve gotta stand up for yourself!” I’ve said the same thing dozens of times to Jackson after every recounting of some bitchy- err, persnickety customer. But as I repeated myself to Jackson this time, there was almost a crackle in the air. I don’t know how or what it was, but it felt strange. Different.

I’ve never seen him affected by my little pep talks but this time my words hit him like a wave. Eyes still watery and cheeks almost blotchy from choking down his hurt, Jackson stumbles back a couple steps. I bolted to try and catch him but just as soon as he foot hit the tile he straightened up, rigid as a pole. His bony shoulders raise as he takes a deep breath, wipes the tears from his eyes, and finally exhales.

After a moment Jackson reaches out to put a hand on my shoulders and after a second he makes direct eye contact, a rarity for the meek man. His voice is dreamy, but underpinned by a drive rarely present in Jackson, “Yeah. You’re right Ben. I need to…” He clenches his eyes shut and grunts as he shakes his head and returns up to his usual self. “Ugh, I just need some coffee I guess?”

Back to work it is then, but throughout the day I couldn’t shake that from that moment on something was noticeably different in Jackson. Nothing physical, I don’t think? He just seemed more vibrant, louder. I certainly never would’ve guessed he had a bad morning. As it turns out, my advice was going to come in handy sooner rather than later as our most infamous regular strutted into the cafe.

Usually I’d hop on that grenade but today Jackson pats my chest and says he’ll handle her. I know she’s chewed him out more times than I can count so I laugh it off and try to push Jackie’s arm down- Operative word being try. There’s absolutely no give to his lanky arm as I push against it with no small amount of strength.

Tilting my head at Jackson I start to ask what’s up before I see the burning look of determination in his eyes. Like I wasn’t even there, let alone pushing against him. In the end he just lets it fall away as he strides to the front desk with a smile as crisp as his ironed apron. “Welcome to Monroe St. Cafe! What can we do for you today-”

He’s promptly interrupted as the most haughty woman in the city snaps her fingers, “Don’t need the spiel, you know what I want. Press your little buttons so I can get my macchiato and leave.” Jackson’s smile doesn’t falter as she speaks over him, standing firm he continues precisely from where he left off, “May I start with a name for the order?”

She lowers her sunglasses to shoot a glare that would curdle the milk in her non-fat sugar free off-menu macchiato, “You know who I am.” Leaning forward she taps stiletto nails on the counter as Jackson brazenly scratches his head in faux forgetfulness, “Hmmm not sure I do ma’am? Maybe if you start over with a ‘please’ you might jog the old noggin?” There’s a clear vein jutting out of her forehead as she reaches over the counter for Jackson’s apron. He doesn’t flinch away.

I’m absolutely floored watching it go down, this is not Jackson. Sure, he’s the same five four twink drowning in the one size fits all apron. But as he stands there unwavering in the face of a woman who has poured multiple drinks on the floor of the cafe before, he seems taller. Confidence projecting out from him almost like an aura.

Crossing his arms they seem larger than they should be as he baits her into laying a hand on him. His flat grin widens into a smirk as he speaks up in a voice that demands attention. With the click of his tongue her hand freezes in place, “Ooh tsk tsk Miss! With that I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Unless you’d like to explain to the authorities why you assaulted an employee?”

Gasping, she quickly steps away from the counter and prepares some rebuttal. Surely something along the lines of demanding a manager or suggesting they’d take her word over his any day. But then she looks over her glasses at Jackson and sees the same uncanny confidence that is only increasing as he stands there stoic. Unwilling to risk finally getting banned from what must be her favorite cafe, she leaves with a huff. Promising to return with a petty vengeance.

Only when the door jingles closed behind her does Jackson turn around. He looks absolutely ecstatic as he rushes over to me, “Dude! Benny! Did you fucking see that! I- Did you see me!” His excitement is a blur as he shakes me, his grip on my shoulders is firm, when he pulls me into a hug I swear I can feel biceps squeeze into the sides of my chest. 

I’m sure I said something or other praising how well he routed the witch, but I could scarcely focus on getting a word in as I realized that Jackson’s not just standing taller, he is taller. His arms are thicker. After a few seconds of hugging Jackson realizes that I’m just limp in his arms and releases me blushing, “Woah ah! Sorry Benny, just all hopped up after that victory haha!” 

After that, the rest of the day was smooth sailing. Customers were friendly and Jackson seemed to be closer to his usual self. Though he’s still more outgoing than I’ve ever seen him and I swear his shirt was tucked in when he came to work this morning? Now when he reaches for something it exposes a happy trail I’ve never seen before. Not that I’m just staring at his midriff, God. No, he’s not my type. I prefer my men well, manlier. 

Jackson’s just a sweetie at the end of the day; which soon approaches. “So any big plans to celebrate getting everyone’s favorite customer to go kick rocks girlie?” Jackson smiles at being reminded of his victory on this otherwise banal day, looking at him scratch his messy hair as he does so I swear his shirt falls differently on his shoulders, across a chest not nearly as flat as I remember. “Ahh I just did what we’ve all been waiting to do haha!” 

Before I can even mention not thinking he had it in him, Jackson takes one of his hands and almost cups my jaw as a look I didn’t think he was capable of crosses his face, “anyway I couldn’t have done it without you.” Blushing from the surprise alone, I back away from his hand and he breaks out of the intense stare. Seeing my shocked grin, he tries to play it off, “No, no plans. I’ll just uh- I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

And then he rushes out the door, tugging his shirt down as he sprints. I mean it would be a lie to say I didn’t stare at his ass as he jogged. He must have started hitting the gym or something. It’s the only thing that makes sense. My preoccupation with making sense of this would falter rather quickly the next morning.

We were set to open together, usually Jackson would be waiting for me at the entrance to the cafe. After getting inside and starting to brew the first batches of the day I was a little worried about him so I shot a quick text. After a few minutes of me getting slightly more antsy at his absence he finally responded, ‘oop srry bb. B there in like 5 ;)’ 

Even if my mind wasn’t already flashing back to how bizarre Jackson was yesterday, this text message could not be more of a red flag that something was off with him. Sure they were friends but Jackson just wouldn’t be so blase about being late for work. It would be more in character for him to send a warning text that he’s not to be early! I’m rereading Jackson’s message for the third or fourth time when there’s a pounding on the locked entrance to the cafe.

Dropping my phone in shock I do a double take to the front door as the man standing at the door in a tank top looks more like some brute than Jackson. After a closer inspection though it is clear that despite everything in my mind suggesting otherwise, it is him.

He winks at me as I make my way over to let him in which only reinforces my ideas that he’s been bodysnatched and replaced- or something similar at the very least. But when he speaks, despite his stubbled face and slightly sloppy appearance it is more than clear it’s Jackson himself.

“Sorry that I’m late, Ben! Lost track of time on the treadmill!” Mostly relieved that this explanation makes sense I am thrown back off guard as he wanders past me into the storage closet stinking like a gym locker room. I have to steel myself to not gag I’m enveloped by what can only be described as his aura of musk, “Fuck Jackie!? Did you get sprayed by a skunk on your way here!?”

Walking backward as he continues on he shyly scratches the back of his head and chuckles, “Ahh c’mon Benny it’s not that bad is it?” I’m halfway to saying something clever when I notice the obvious strands of curly pit hairs sticking out from his pits. Obviously I’d never seen them before but I can’t help but stare. It just doesn’t seem right. Flickering between the pit dripping with sweat to its partner whose thick hairs clearly escape from under his arm. 

Before I can confront him however, he notices my gaze and takes the first shot, “heyyy there BenNY? You saying you’re not a fan?” Halfway through his voice cracks and sinks deeper, I desperately try not to let him see how much that affected me. I can’t tell if I want to tear that smug look off his face or giggle. No. No I can tell, I want him to explain himself and what he did with Jackson! 

I open my mouth to do just that, but as soon as I recover from fluster I look to see him biting his lip, and growing. As if he were drinking in my unspoken praise. His pecs dance against his tank as he bounces them, nipples suddenly poking beyond their bounds as his upper body widens. Shoulders broadening as his back stretches and he stands straighter. 

He knows I’m still staring at him as he goes into a pose to flex his biceps at me. Already larger than those slightly-muscled arms that squeezed me yesterday, I see muscle begin to bloat as his face clenches from concentration. Smooth firm muscle continues to pile on as his arms expand in between each of my wanting blinks. I try not to stare, I really do, and I’m just able to not let my gaze lower enough to see the bulge that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt growing beneath his waist. 

“Man B! And I thought the gym was a workout!” He laughs for a few seconds as he wipes sweat off his face with his shirt, obviously trying to get me to stare at his glistening abs. I mean, obviously I do, it was hot when it was a thin stomach with some pubes. Now it’s- fuck his pecs are so hot. 

Letting the top fall down unevenly, he reveals his only slightly changed face. “Now let’s try to keep things professional today, kk Benny?” shooting another wink at me I debate with myself whether it’d be fine for me to just lock him in that supply closet while I try to calm myself down. 

Him changing and deodorizing as much as he’s able, or rather cares to, gives me enough time to mentally  prepare for his return. In the meantime he’s sprouted a head taller and tied an apron around a shirt that does nothing to hide the new pecs underneath. Pushing down the idea that Jackson’s even remotely attractive, I still my nerves and together we’re just about able to get the cafe going for a Thursday morning.

The first half of the day goes quite swimmingly. Despite his best efforts to put me on edge, leaning over me or making excuses to brush his impossible body against me as he walks by -god- I’m quite able to stay out of his way. It just so happens that to do this I have to keep a watchful eye on him.

Watching him with customers makes it only increasingly clear that whatever’s happening to him is not just skin, or rather, muscle deep. Usually he does all he can to avoid front facing roles but today he’s almost annoyingly chatty with customers. More than a few times I’ve even heard him flirt with them! Which is- it’s whatever. It’s just not like him.

And every time he’d assert himself or take praise he’d just get that smallest amount larger. His eyebrows thickening or jaw sharpening as he playfully does some ostentatious trick with a drink or slyly pops a pec for a blushing audience. Thank god he didn’t catch me staring as he drinks in his own growth.

Finally the time neither of us knew we were waiting for arrives as that wretched regular walks up once more. Jackson matches her pace as he races to meet her at the register. “Welcome to Monroe St. Cafe! What can we do for you today, Miss?”

I can tell her eyes widen beneath her glasses as she looks up from her phone to see the adonis at the register. Behind his apron his shirt has risen high enough to always bare some midriff and the small of his back. Refusing to acknowledge that she was caught off guard she makes to leave as soon as possible, “Claire. If you wouldn’t mind, could I get an upside down nonfat sugar free caramel latte.” 

I can hear Jackson’s tongue click as he smirks down at her, slowly inputting her order. Like he’s drinking in her discomfort, bathing in this victory he didn’t even need to lift a finger to earn. She didn’t even put up her usual fight about what a macchiato is! Finally she pays and retreats. From the corner of my eye I see Jackson sauntering over here, taking time to extend his arms and notice his new vascularity.

Delighting in his growth thankfully prevents him from noticing my attention as I quickly get to making Claire’s usual well before he arrives and leans in close to me. My hands tremble slightly as he towers over me, crashing arms the size of my thighs on the counter as he positions his mouth enough that I feel his sticky breath on my ear as he whispers. “See that Benny? Just gotta assert myself. Take what’s mine~”

Every word drips from his mouth deeper, rougher than the one before. By the last it may as well be a growl. Then his thicker hand snakes away from the counter and behind my back. I can’t look away from the frothy milk in my hands lest I lose control. His brutish fingers pounce and try to get under my clothing, no chance to tell pants or shirt as I turn around and grab his wrist.

My fingers couldn’t hope to encompass his new meaty arm as I slapped it away. Tongue out, Jackson just stands there looking down at me as if this were some game- as if I were some prize he was just waiting to collect. I’m sure my face twitches or my eyes flicker to take in some bulging vein on his arm, causing his smile to grow wider. Words are caught in a jumble in my mind as I can’t even think to reprimand him.

Then the smartwatch clearly cutting into his wrist pings and all the arrogance and want in his expression fades away. “Oh shoot! Benny baby, you good if I take lunch now yeah? Growing boy’s gotta eat y’know!” I stammer as I watch him grab his gym bag from the supply closet and walk off the floor. “I- You-” He salutes and sticks his tongue at me as he strolls out the door and into a nearby restaurant. 

Seeing me frazzled, though for some reason I can’t understand not addressing that Jackson is a totally different man, one of our coworkers offers to send me on break as well. In desperate need for a breather to chill out if nothing else I happily accept, foisting Claire’s drink on her now less charitable hands as I wander into our semi-cozy breakroom.

Maybe I could’ve paid more attention to what Jackson was doing, maybe I should’ve paid less attention? I don’t know. For now I should just try to relax, remove him from my mind and find some peace. Rejoice that my pulse can finally slow for at least half an hour.

It seems Jackson had other plans. Nothing could have prepared me for the dirty pump cover crammed into my locker. My mouth instantly goes dry as I saw, or rather, smelled it. The opposite problem began in my crotch as my suddenly hard dick drips pre like a faucet wetting my briefs. Its musk, his musk was calling out to me. Even while he’s gone he continues to assert his presence over me.

It was in my hands before I knew it. In spite of the cock harder than it’s ever been straining my pants, I knew I couldn’t just give in. It’s a piece of dirty laundry. I should toss it to the floor, it would be insane for me to just force it against my face and inhale. To force my head into its holey underarm seam and indulge where his pits once dripped, to find a stray curl in my mouth as my tongue dances across its still slick cotton. An image of him in my bedroom fills my mind as the chair underneath me creaks from my rutting.

There’s no need for me to toss around ideas like humping into it or trying it on and feeling its scratchy stains against my skin as by this point I've already cum. Biting down on its obscene sleeves to prevent myself from announcing my orgasm to the small crew of people in the cafe. Sprinting into the customer’s restroom I cover my now dripping crotch with Jackson’s hoody, my teethmarks now adding to its medley of stains.

As soon as the lock latches my underwear are off and in the trash. It takes everything in me to toss that fucker’s jacket in there as well, but in the end I’m able. Absolutely unaware of how much time has passed I wander over to the sink and splash some water on my face. When my hands near my nose I can’t help but notice how they still reek of his sweat, his strength. I can’t stop as one of them rests over my mouth, clutching my jaw and infusing each and every breath with his pure essence. 

Looking to my reflection as what could be seconds or minutes pass, I struggle to find whatever similarly sick transformation has overtaken me. How I too have changed by some off-handed remark or well-meaning suggestion. There’s nothing. The same face, same hands, same hair. The only transformation my search produces is in my eyes, deeper than pupil or iris there hides an all-encompassing need. 

I flush them with water and drown my hands with our too-cheap soap to try and wash him from my mind, from my skin, but my cravings only burn brighter. His stink only grows stronger by breaking through the sickly sweet lavender lather. God. Every passing moment only ads more depth to my need. After a deep breath, one steeped in his musk as I collected the restroom trash bag. I prepare to return to the floor where Jackson is sure to be returning shortly.

In a desperate attempt to preserve what remains of dignity for the world I bury evidence of my indulgence in our dumpster and return to get the credit. It’s the little victories that count in a world now apparently governed by a man whose primary drive seems to be making himself known. Making himself dominant. 

I smell him before I see him traipse back into view. Clearly top heavy as he saunters into view, during his break he has only continued to grow. Doubt he was in the gym as he forces one last massive bite of a burrito into his mouth before he reenters the cafe, wiping his dirty hands on the larger but already strained shirt he changed into. Fighting back a burp, Jackson’s eyes scan the cafe as he sizes up everyone present. Looking for someone he can stand above.

Finally reaching behind the counter he sees me and his expression shifts. I swear he gets half an inch taller as he looks down at me. Wandering back behind the bar I can hear a seam strain as he nears. Nervously eyeing our coworkers I barely quiet a yelp before sneaking into the supply closet which, despite the oppressive odor of coffee beans, I find still slightly tinged by his post-gym stink from earlier in the day.

Honed in on that unmaskable musk I don’t notice his plodding footsteps skipping right past returning to work and following me into the closet. The din of the cafe is buried by some shameless joke I don’t quite catch as he shuts the door quite loudly behind himself, not that anyone minds, that’s Jackson. Who holds more authority than him here. 

His heavy pecs bump into the back of my head before anything else. Arms thicker than my skull wrap around my chest as if it were a book clutched to his chest. I can feel distinct heat ushering forth from his pits that he clearly reapplied deodorant to in vain. I squirm in his arm as his head leans down to mine, his eyes clouded as he goes to speak, “Now now there Benny? Almost looks like you’re trying to hide from little old me?” 

I feel his chest vibrating as he rumbles out every word, it takes everything in me to summon resistance but I’m just able to fight against the need filling me as his stubble scratches my cheek. “Are you fucking insane!? Of course I am! You’re a beast! You’re not fucking Jackie!” Pushing away from him his arms fall away and I turn to see his expression is one more of impatience than hurt.

“Sure sure, the chick at Chipotle was sayin’ Jax fits me more. Think she might be onto somethin’ tbh-” he goes on for a few seconds about his lunch break. How he flirted to get free food from some chick he had less than no interest in. But I can’t hear it as at her mentioning, my jaw reflexively clenches and blood rushes to my ears. Obviously I don’t actually care. I don’t care that he flirted with some Nobody. But judging from Jax’s laugh as he looks down at me, my face must say something otherwise.

“Aww babe~ You’re not jealous are you?” the same sing-songy quality that bathed his voice when it was a few octaves higher remains as he teases me. It takes everything in me to spit back, “I’m not your babe Jax!” my own words are tinged with whiny rebellion. Something twitches within him as the statement hits him like a battering ram.

For the first time his cocky expression is disrupted and I hope more than anything that with the spell of confidence broken that he’ll return to the same twinky self that I can look at without chubbing up. It turns out to be quite the opposite. As his confidence is barely  grazed, something in him shifts darker.

Looking up at him his smile is clearly forced, perfect rows of teeth glint down at me as I hear an undercurrent of desperation I don’t understand in his complaint, “But Benny, all this? I did it for you didn’t I? This is what you wanted? You wanted stronger,” tears trail across his shirt as he bulks larger in a second, sweat glistening on every bit of exposed skin. His shoulders burst wider as traps bulge upward.

“More confident,” without breaking a stride he flexes and his clothes fully fall away. Every blemish fades as his skin bronzes into a faultless tan. Thick pumping veins web down his arms as tattoos race to decorate his form like the work of art it is. His hand goes to cup his bulging cock and for the first time I forget myself and stare right at it as it throbs free from his jockstrap. At its sight my mouth simply falls open as a deep emptiness within me demands to be filled.

“Dominant.” Finally reaching me he pushes me against the wall without raising a hand. Simply pushing his weight against me with his nude body. My mouth is still ajar and far too close to one of his pert nipples, his oily chest hair tickling my face. His sweat soaks into my apron and I almost vibrate with need as he slowly gyrates his pulsing cock into my torso.

A rough hand reaches up to my head, petting me like a dog before clenching my hair and yanks my head up to look him in the eyes. Buried beneath the arrogance that every ounce of him is steeped in, I see the same burning need I found within my reflection. Biting his lip it looks like Jax is almost drooling as much from his mouth as from his cock as it paints my apron with his pre.

Thirst greater than I’ve ever felt burns in my throat as I see his mouth drip, as I see him biting his lip and his eyes crossing from the pleasure of making contact with me. I let my mouth drift open even wider. My tongue lolls out, leaving me panting as he grunts and pants himself, allowing drool to splatter across my face as it drips from his large canines. 

No words are shared as at once we both know that I’ve fully given in. That we’ve both given in. In less than a moment my pants are torn off and his thick neck cranes down for his wanting lips to find mine as my legs curl around his waist. His tongue fills my mouth before his head flies back with a loud moan, Adam's apple bobbing the size of some lesser man’s fist, obviously announcing what’s going on to the world. 

Not that anyone cares. It’s Jax. Who’s going to tell him no.

After adding a few stains to the walls of our supply closet and sending racks of now beyond unsellable product crashing to the floor, we finally tire out. I throw on clothes that could not be more disheveled while he ties on an apron that barely disguises the flaccid, still dripping hose hanging from his waist. Knowing that whatever this life was is over, we both exit into the cafe. Jax’s arm hangs around my shoulder, declaring me as his property almost as much as his partner.

When at last we’re exposed to the lobby he just struts out, chin held high and chest puffing, begging anyone to utter a challenge against him. The only eyes he catches are those of admires, and who would dare do anything but stand awestruck at his sight. His beard thickens as he leads me to the door, the apron already straining against his widening torso.

Were I of the right mind I might question what has gone oh so wrong with the world that a nude man can walk free from a sex-stained inventory without the place immediately being shut down. My mind is still blurry from getting railed for who knows how long though. The only preoccupation I’m able to humor is but enjoying bliss at this behemoth’s side.

His meaty palm eclipsing my thin shoulder, I try to squeeze even tighter into his exposed chest, feeling his sweat drip onto my only just dried clothes. I hear him grunt as he continues to catch the envious eyes of every passerby. It’s no wonder of course who wouldn’t gawk at a man sculpted to a more ideal degree than David. No one could deny his presence, his strength. I can’t imagine anything ever standing in his way.

[tenebristism]

surrounded [3]

pairing: nam-gyu (player 124) x reader

part 1 part 2

You were never good at hide and seek, but Nam-gyu tries anyways to make sure you win.

word count: 2,382

i may have gotten a little lazy trying to wrap it up but i still tried LOL

4th day is your final day alive and breathing. You don’t know this when you wake from your bed with your other half’s back against yours, warm and funky-smelling from sweat. He’s curled up like a child, hair sticking out in all directions. He jolts up when the lights turn on and a jingle begins to blare through the speakers. Nam-gyu doesn’t look like he slept at all, like he was just laying there waiting for the day to start so he didn’t have to gaslight himself into sleeping. He walks like a corpse–a corpse that just took more drugs than he needed to after witnessing his buddy get stabbed to death right in front of him. 

The next game is hide and seek. Straightforward, classic, but with a deadly twist. Seekers would be armed, with the hider’s only defense being a key to shut themselves away in one of the various rooms around the maze.

You’re separated when the hiders are let out first, and informed you’d have thirty minutes to find an exit. Your allies scatter into various directions, and you wordlessly follow a group consisting of 3 women, one elderly, one pregnant. Your path diverges at a fork in the hallways. You remind yourself to stay on the down low, but also to not stray too far from the seekers–you'd told Nam-gyu you wouldn’t go too far for convenience. The seekers would likely head straight for the furthest reaches of the maze in order to catch the hiders off guard.

When the timer beeps, and you vaguely hear the doors open followed by a stampede of footsteps, you can’t help but hold your breath. Voices fill the once empty air. A siren for anyone close enough to be caught in the crossfire. You’re surprised that someone hasn’t already been caught, even just by pure chance. 

You’re close enough to hear the ticks of the clock, carefully keeping track of how long it had been since the game started. 

30 seconds…1 minute…2 minutes…3 minutes…

As you move along, two men are grappling with each other to your left, one blue and one red. Blue is pinned against the wall. He spits curse after curse to red before his eyes find you, pleading, desperate. A silent cry for help that you don’t answer, only stopping to gawk. You don’t want to see the end result, but you can hear it when you move away quickly.

It’s when you count just past 4 minutes do you hear a familiar voice calling your name. A quiet gasp escapes you. Cautiously, you follow it, and for sometime it drifts away from you until it’s within reach. Nam-gyu’s heavy face promptly brightens when he sees your face emerge from behind him.

The look in his eyes is unfamiliar to you. It’s strange seeing him so disoriented, so…cheerful.

He’s wearing a red vest. It contrasts his skin nicely. You, clad in blue, gaze at him like a deer in headlights. Blue was always your color, your family said.

Nam-gyu, though he’s covered in blood, holding two knives, and high out of his mind, doesn’t strike you as the car that’s about to hit you.

“Find somewhere to hide,” he orders, but he’s practically beaming from ear to ear. “Little rabbit.”

“What are you guys doing…?”

“Cleaning up,” he says, almost singing, and he twirls the knife between his fingers. “All for you, you know that? We’re gonna clear this place out, and we’ll be the ones left alive.” 

“No, that’s…” You stutter when he shoves the knife into your grasp. “I don’t…want this-”

Nam-gyu grabs you by your shoulders and sends you careening towards him. He’s breathing so heavy his nostrils flare.

“When we get out of here,” he huffs, and you can feel his hands shaking against your own when you pull them upon his, “I’ll take you on a proper date like you deserve. Wine and dine you and all, then take you home and make sure you never forget that night.” 

He plants a sloppy kiss on your forehead, then rests his own against yours. His pupils are so blown out you’re surprised he’s still standing. 

“Okay?” 

“O-okay.” You nod frantically when he prompts you with his own head.

“So don’t die.” He withdraws. “I’ll be ba-” 

“Wait.” You clutch your knife. 

“What?” 

“Do you…” you rub your fingers up and down the bridge of your nose. “Do you like animals?” 

“What?” He repeats, grin faltering just a bit. 

“Do you like animals?” You enunciate every word carefully. Nam-gyu inhales deeply, running his tongue across his teeth in thought.

“Sure. They’re whatever.” He closes his eyes, purses his lips together as if you’ve gone crazy and you’re spewing nonsense, not him.

“Do you like to watch sunsets?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Okay...” You hold your only defense close to your chest. “Okay. Please come back, Nam-gyu.” 

He stares for a brief moment. His feet are firmly planted in the ground, like the rational side of his brain is wrestling with the half muddled by uppers. Unbeknownst to you the rational side is telling him to stay and tuck you away with him like a hidden treasure, just so no one else in this goddamn game would ever find you. The irrational side is telling him to take you with him and let you see him mutilate a man’s face all for you.

“Will do,” is all he can muster. Your name rolls off his tongue like candy, sweet on your ears and lingering on his tongue.

Nam-gyu’s visage quickly morphs back into a detached grin, and you can hear 333 beckoning him from down the hallway. He waves at you frivolously and turns to skip down to his partner.

“Please come back,” you call weakly, only to receive silence in return.

Your chest heaves. Now to find a spot to hide. There can’t be many hiders left, so, naturally, you stay quiet. Running around like a madman would only draw attention to yourself. As you wander around the maze, you pass various corpses–some rather intact, with a clean stab to the neck. Others aren’t so fortunate–a visible struggle indicated by the marks on their hands, the bruises on their faces. You hope, no, you know that won’t be you. They couldn’t defend themselves. You can.

You recall the timer that was shown to you before the game started. 30:oo. 30, maybe 25, minutes of hiding from seekers armed with knives and…there’s almost nowhere to hide. Just open space upon open space and the occasional door that leads into a regular room. And your key doesn’t open all of them. And where is everyone? Not that you’d like to know.

It seems they’d find you anyway. A sound around the corner. You freeze in place.

Then a woman peeks out, and from her body language you would almost guess she was a hider until she lunges for you, and the red plastered on her chest becomes apparent. You gasp, holding your knife out and turning it over in your fingers to stab instead of thrust, and it sinks into her throat just as hers skewers your side. You cry out in pain. 

“Nam-gyu,” you weakly call, like a contemplative praying to their God, and think, If there is one, it sure as hell wants me dead. You don’t realize how oblivious Nam-gyu is in his hazy bloodlust, and just how far from God he was at that moment.

“She’s gonna be glad we’re helping out here,” Nam-gyu hums happily, his partner leading him around aimlessly to find more people. 2 people down so far–a trail of blood left in the pair’s wake. “Thank me later and all that.” 

“You’re a thing?” 333 mindlessly questions, more invested in checking each and every corner and never missing a room.

“I guess you could say that,” Nam-gyu says smugly, “It’s better than whatever you and your girl had.” 

333 bites his lip and holds back a retort. 

“Oops. Did I strike a nerve?” 

“Is she your replacement for Thanos?” 

“Fuck off,” Nam-gyu grunts, tight-lipped smile unwavering. “Thanos treated me like a fucking idiot.” 

“She doesn’t?” 

Nam-gyu chuckles. “No. More like an equal.” He backpedals in front of 333, taunting, antagonizing.

“Strangers in the night,” he babbles on, “Exchanging glances…” 

His singing echoes down the hallways, more eerie than charming. He wonders if you can hear it, if you can hear his declaration of love to you and the length’s he’s willing to go to keep you, to make you happy. His assurance that he’ll get you out, do whatever you want. Take you to see the stars, let the scars on his veins fade, commit to you and you only–whatever you want out there, he’d do it.

21:03, the clock reads ominously. 

Your knife digs further into the woman’s corpse. With a twist, you finally pull it out and scoot back frantically on your ass. Her blood, now staining your hands and jacket, is still warm. She’s barely breathing, a disgustingly horrific, rumbly wheeze that sounds like an animal snorting in anger.

You’ve never been so close to death before. Never been so close to a corpse to see the way it slowly stiffens, loses the warmth it had maintained for years upon years upon your doing. You didn’t mean to absolutely mangle this poor woman–only to defend yourself.

From behind you hear rushed footsteps. The way they fall upon the ground makes you think it's Nam-gyu, here to check on you, to be done with the killing and all, to tell you good job for using what he gave you and being so brave–but when you turn it’s someone else completely. 007. Someone you hadn't yet encountered through the games. Often with his mother, you noticed.

Your knife raises instantly, yet your shaking resonates straight through it. His eyes are wide, mirroring your own, almost like he’s the one wearing a blue vest and not you. You stare back at each other, equally terrified.

“Don’t,” you breathe, “Please.” 

“I haven’t…got anyone…” 007 inches towards you, trembling. You shuffle back. “I-I need to pass. I’m sorry.”

He says this and looks like he couldn’t kill a fly if he tried. Like one lazy swipe from your knife would send him racing back to his mother. 

“Find someone else,” you growl, tone turning into something nasty, yet tears prick at your eyes. Adrenaline is speaking for you. “I’ll fucking kill you. Do you hear me?” 

He looks to his left, then his right, as if considering your suggestion. Then he rolls his shoulders, and you watch carefully when he shifts his feet into position. 

He pounces, and suddenly you feel like prey struggling with a predator. He’s not big by any means, but he easily takes you down, straddling you on the floor. The wind is knocked out of you, and you wheeze pathetically. Knives clash. The sound grates against your ears, rings out in the empty space and bounces off the walls. You yelp, legs wrestling around his form for a foothold, whether it be on his chest, or better yet, his face. 

You don’t mean to kick him in the groin, but when you do, he immediately tumbles back. You scramble for footing. The gates of heaven are wide open, and they’re right in front of you. You barely make it past him before his hand on your ankle sends you and your dreams cascading right back down to earth. 

“Get off!” Comes your howl, and everyone in the damn maze must’ve heard it. Helpless under him, the peak of the cartoonishly colorful knife is aimed straight at your sternum. Hands fly up to the knife to resist. You don’t even feel the pain that rips through your palms and fingertips when they snap shut around the blade.

“I’m sorry,” 007 repeats, eyes shut tight so as to not witness the mess of his own doing. Your hands are so sweaty that your grip on his knife falters. Maybe it’s blood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Hot blood trails down your arms. Your blood.

So don’t die, he repeats in your head when your hands slip off the razor sharp edge and up to the handle. I’ll be back. 

Nam-gyu has his back to the hall behind him. He stands above the corpse him and 333 just slaughtered only to hear the commotion behind him. The two men turn, unable to see who was the victim, only that the curly-haired man was stumbling after his own feet trying to gain on someone. His heart pounds through his drug-induced haze. It couldn’t be you. You had come this far, and you were good at staying hidden. But what if it was? 

“I should’ve brought her with us,” Nam-gyu says absentmindedly as 333 tugs the key off the corpse on the ground.

“What?” 

“Forget it.” He waves his knife in dismissal. 

“Get going, then. Someone’s down this way.”  

“Yeah,” Nam-gyu does a double take down the corridor, then reluctantly follows along, until he hears someone scream. It’s you, and 333 doesn’t understand why Nam-gyu bolts back the way they came, back to the path 007 had taken. Nam-gyu ignores his friend’s call of confusion.

Thoughts race through his mind, mostly concerning you. He shouldn’t have left you alone, left you while you were in such a fragile state, knowing exactly what kind of people were out to kill you, because they were just like him–greedy, selfish, only living to please themselves and no one else. Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck…

You’re already dead by the time he reaches you. He barely spares a glance at 007, who’s huddled in the corner, shell-shocked at the atrocity he had just committed. The four-eyed man witnesses a crazed Nam-gyu shake your corpse, already turning cold, and mumble something akin to gibberish mixed around with your name while stroking your hair. He doesn’t hear what 333 says to him.It’s muffled, and you can’t be sure you hear the right words, but the last thing you catch is on the loudspeaker: Player 421, eliminated. Though your last moments were spent in pain and terrible fear, at least you had faded away looking up at the stars, just like you had done night after starry night.

[werezmastarbucks]

15. saplings

flowers over boys masterlist

in which you learn why the staff has been avoiding you like death

word count: 3527

warnings: if you don't clutch your pearls i am retiring

"i advise you to lock her up for the duration of the games".

"i am literally here", your hands fall down. you've been adjusting the azalea petals, but Hoseok just has a way to destroy any concentration you have for a task. Yoongi raises his hand to shush you.

"the yangban are coming, and she will embarrass you in front of them".

Jimin is having a field day. his arms on his chest, he's not wearing the mask because the only people in the throne room - are you, king, Hoseok and Jungkook.

"no, i promise", you start, and Jimin bites his lip and chokes his laughter. the boy is glowing when there's some shit going down, he is in love with nonsense.

"i won't do anything embarrassing", for once, you are ready to plead sincerely. you really want to see the games. you have not sweated and suffered for three days on a tall, old ladder, wobbling, swaying, perched on the fucking roof, under the blazing sun, with Jungkook "backing you up" most of the day, with his annoying comments; not to attend the games. you have decorated two levels of the roof, cut all your fingers with the needles, you now have dreams about the ladder and the morning glory. and this piece of ass wants to lock you up and ban from the action.

"i will be quiet", you promise, looking at him and Yoongi. Jungkook's eyebrows are raised. Yoongi is not convinced yet.

"i really wanna see this. i will only cheer, yeah? i can cheer, right? for Jungkooki- for Jungkook. but i promise, i will behave this time. hey, i was the one who decorated the whole pavilion".

Jimin sniffs shortly with a smile.

"avoid the risk", Hoseok suggests. "even now as she begs, her arms are bare".

you look at your arms. yeah, rolled up the sleeves so that they don't get in the way. you stare at the General in disbelief.

"hey, saboteur", you step to Hoseok, rolling your sleeves down slowly. he strands you at his side, his gaze returning to his beloved wang.

Yoongi is sitting on the first step of his platform, just like you did some time ago. you keep the flogging jokes away, tuck them deep and shut them out. his horsetail is over his shoulder, and he looks relaxed. he tilts head to the left, then to the right. you are quite used to his eyes roaming about you. it's non-suggestive in nature but obviously you take it personally. he is so good-looking your teeth hurt.

"Yoongi, look at me".

"i am".

"i won't embarrass you in front of your friends".

Hoseok sighs.

"i will just watch the games from the crowd, i won't even be in the vicinity".

"you will stand out anyway", Jungkook snorts. "i mean it in a good way".

maybe Yoongi is simply in a good mood.

"let her", Jimin chimes in. he doesn't really care about the reputation, he simply likes to stir shit.

"i will be by Seokjin's side..."

"no, you will be with your garden crew, as it is orderly", Yoongi says.

"fine. i'll be with the girls".

you know you will find Jin regardless. he will repeat anything you tell him. he will cheer for the golden maknae with you. knowing that Jungkook actually will participate, that he actually made his way across the country and visited, and has been training in order to participate, makes it absolutely out of question whether you will see it. it's not run bts; it's idols olypmics.

Yoongi shifts his misty, opaque cat eyes to Jimin who is snickering by the window. by the way. yes. the king looks orgasmic in between magnolias.

"maybe she should participate", he muses lazily, "in the poetry competition".

Jungkook gasps like a child, his hand on his mouth. Jimin loses it completely, dropping his head on his chest. Hoseok simply loses braincells. you are confused.

"what is that? i am not too good at poetry".

Yoongi shrugs at his childhood friend.

"finally something we know that you do not", Jungkook calls from behind, "feels good".

Jimin's fingers claw at his face. you feel like the butt of the joke but it's mellow. Hoseok isn't having it either. he looks down, stylishly defeated.

on the day of the games almost nobody works. the palace is buzzing. staff keeps sweeping already clean roads in between pavilions, scrubbing the floors of the corridors that already gleam with the morning sun. it smells like incense everywhere, inside and outside. the huge round bonfires on both sides of the main gate are lit, and it gets so hot in that spot, that people run through quickly. as they enter the palace, they see the decorated main yard and pass by the long side paths to the west of grounds, where the purple-green pavilion glistens in the sun, and it makes you proud of your work. after all the suffering you've gone through in the last three days, you think it was worth it. people look with their mouths open and shuffle noisily, taking their places in front of the building. there's talk, and colour; everybody is wearing their prettiest dresses, hair slicked back shines in the sun; there are powdered, blushing faces everywhere. the garden crew is keeping you in the middle of a tight circle and you all move like a bunch of organized turtles, like someone had warned them to keep you in check. Jiyoung is at your side: she smells like flowers and breathes deeply. she mutters into your ear sometimes; don't look up too eagerly; this is yangban Han. he will ascend to the balcony and will watch together with king. he has four wives. she nods in small motions to move your attention, trying to distract you, to keep you silent: see orange robes? they have arrived all the way from Jeonju. they are our king's distant relatives. orange means faded gold. you think there's not enough space on the balcony for everybody to watch the games with the king: you decorated it the last thing the day before yesterday. in a fit of hatred, you also put one dark anemone you found on the side of the road outside the market, to the inner side of the banister to let him know one day you will beat him up. anemones are... sincerely open and so round, simple, they strangely remind you of yourself. this is one is also purple, of course.

today the mood is much better. square is buzzing. the sun comes in and out, warms the place up, people keep moving, divided into fractions by colour and belonging. young people from the whole country gather to demonstrate their strength, and you assess them; it's mostly the elite, rich kids, princes and yangbans, and Jungkook is among them. the Hanseong contestants all wear purple (you are reminded like once a week that Seoul has a different official name for now, by the annoyed garden maids). they make up the most of the players, sometimes even competing between each other.

"is this a way to replenish the palace warrior stock?" you wonder.

"no. it's just games to celebrate the harvest. of course, some take it very seriously..." Jiyoung's eyes rest on Jungkook's back for a second as she chuckles. the Monkey Prince is in the middle of the square, surrounded by peers and competition, stretching. aside from preparing the muscles, it's also supposed to intimidate the others when he does a flip from the standing spot for no reason at all.

"protecting the wang image".

"you're right", she nods.

a little commotion, and the place gets into relative order. Jiyoung says hi and you turn to see Seokjin with his hair in the knot on the back of his head, shining brighter than everybody here. he gives you a lazy, graceful smile.

"is Taehyung competing?" you ask.

"yes. sword. the Prince will do running, sparring and battle".

"and General?"

"General doesn't compete", Jin reposnds, "but i will kill everybody at Gonggi".

"like you did last year?" his sister laughs.

"forget about it. past is past", Jin dismisses confidently, "Seokjin for the win".

"team Kim Seokjin never loses", you chime in, your eyes on the square, observing the young people preparing to tear each other apart. you spot Taehyung in his purple kimono-like robe, looking very focused, like he doesn't hear anything around himself.

"even if it consists of just one person", Jin agrees.

the first game is sword competition. it resembles a dance more. you make sure several times that you are not allowed to cheer loudly, a balcony full of incredibly important people above you. king is in a dark-red robe with bright golden stamp of a serpent. there are several people at his side, some of them grab the banisters as they watch, and break the vines you had placed there.

Taehyung moves like the air itself supports him, and he doesn't need to land. like gravity is some hoe he is too good for. just like Prince and the king, he uses his hair to enhance his movements, to make him look like a bird. the competitors do not touch each other; it's not a fight but a demonstration of skill. and there's no point comparing; there was a reason Taehyung was chosen to present the king's warriors. he is like a ghost. you are not surprised. others? yes. people ouch, ohh and gasp, but you know the boy and the way his body moves.

that came out worse that it was supposed to.

Taehyung wins, beautiful, bashful, the fastest and the most flexible. the judges in different-coloured robes choose him over everybody else, and the palace crowd erupts in cheer that you happily pick up. you are really trying to keep your word and not stand out, so you use this moment to let out your support for him, screaming his name.

next, the whole crowd shifts and leaves the pavilion to enter the large sand field behind the palace. you realize it's a kind of a running track when several boys, Jungkook among them, step to the sand. spectators hum with anticipation, heads turning, as they look at the boys. all tall, slender, lean; could do a calendar. in the growing worry of the crowd, you cup your hands to your mouth and yell once, sharply,

"bangtan!"

Jungkook's head snaps to the viewers and he lowers it immediately.

should it be mentioned that he wins. Jungkook keeps winning the whole day, in all three competitions that he participates in, because he has a pride to protect, because he has been trained by Yoongi and Hoseok. because he is golden. you look up to the balcony on the other side of the pavilion and see his hyungs standing shoulder by shoulder, their faces smirking in the most shit-eating way.

young men compete in speed, might and wit, climbing uprooted trunks, jumping, sparring with no tops on (kind of extra), doing something that looks like wrestling. you notice that the purple warriors are all taller, buffer, more capable. it would make sense that the king's crew consists of the best fighters from the whole country, especially with a reaper like Hoseok to train them. they win the majority of the games and you can see the yangban guests being pissed, disappointed, shaking their heads. it brings you a special kind of cognitive satisfaction to see people from other cities. how they walk, how they avoid looking at the king directly, what they say. Jungkook finishes the game of battle, a repetition of the exercise you've seen him do long time ago, by absolutely destroying twelve people, and bows to his uncle, panting, furious, with the healthy blush on his face that would earn him the world. you hear the voice coming from the balcony.

"for the next year i need to spike my boys with the sapaieo salmusa venom. Monkey seems to be unbeatable".

"sapphire viper?" you ask Jiyoung, "is that a thing?"

you disperse agitated, still a whole big body of the audience, to return to the inner yard to watch the rest of the games.

"no, it's a saying", she chuckles, "sapphire vipers do not exist".

Taehyung joins your company out of nowhere; in the mass of people he is almost unnoticeable, now that he has changed into an unassuming grey robe. he wants to be closer to Jiyoung and walks with you, chatting. the majority of the games is over, and purple people scatter into the palace, tired, sweaty, victorious. you throw the last look into the square.

"you're awfully quiet today", Taehyung notes, amused.

"i promised not to embarrass anyone", you sigh. Seokjin is already deep in his thoughts, planning his Gonggi win, his hand working by itself. he walks with you, leading you all to the commoners' games space.

"okay, but do not laugh at me if i lose", he braces himself before entering.

"you won't. you're bangtan, Jin", you squeeze his shoulder, laughing.

"what's that mean?"

"means you cannot be defeated".

"i am bangtan then", Taehyung grins wide. you look at him with a smile.

"yes, you are. you are my bangtan boys".

everybody finds this a little uncomfortable, a tiny bit. Taehyung's grin turns awkward for a second; Seokjin is more straightforward.

"let's not get carried away here".

and steps into the small, round arena among the Gonggi players. it was nice of Yoongi to allow a portion of the square in front of the small pavilion to be turned into a market-like station for the commoners' games. they aren't as garceful as the elites games, and consist mostly of the traditionals. on the plus side, you can cheer through them, supporting your friend or relative. and cheer, you do, for Jin. upon winning Gonggi, he decides to try himself in archery and loses by a small margine, because at the last moment, he gets distracted by the smell of food. the boys may not be ready to be called yours, but all demonstrate excellent talents, seemingly even better than in the future. someone else erupts in screaming at the far side of the square and you turn to see Jungkook, walking around with his arms outstretched, maids and servants swarming him, shrieking. you chuckle with your whole throat. he deserves this.

"go on", Jiyoung allows, "tell him you are proud of him".

you shake your head,

"no, i am lower than grass today".

Jiyoung uses this moment to slip away and congratulate the Monkey Prince, and as she makes her way through the crowd, Taehyung steps closer to you.

"you did a great job with the roof".

you thank him with a feeling. every little acknowledgement means a lot to you. your index fingers on both hands are covered in constellations of small cuts from the needles, and feel absolutely numb.

"i was meaning to help but..."

"i know, i am punished for being insolent and a pain in the ass. he won't break me like that. i am only going to get worse".

Taehyung's glance on you slides off quickly and he opens his mouth.

but doesn't say anything. you catch his eye with suspicion.

"what?"

he shakes his head. you push him in the forearm. Seokjin produces a cry from the nearest stall and you see him slapping a guy on the head.

"that's three? this costs one and a half at best".

"he is such a diva", you murmur, looking at him in admiration. Taehyung thinks Jin has distracted you well, but you return to him immediately.

"what is it? i can see you're not telling me something. is Jiyoung very jealous?" you guess, "i have barely seen you in the last weeks".

he shakes his hands in the air quickly, poor boy.

"no- no, no, no, it's not Jiyoung. it's..." his dark, neatly set eyes stare at you for a moment.

"you're not punished. the male staff are forbidden to so much as look at you".

at first, your head tips to the side with indignation. what is his problem? he thinks you won't be capable of doing things yours-

Taehyung's eyes brush over your face with an unspoken apology.

"oh. oh".

you cross your arms on your chest. a slow smile tears through the pout and it takes all the muscles of your face to fight it off. Taehyung's newly acquired habit of scanning space around when you're near him makes more sense.

"Taehyung".

"uh?" he isn't sure how to react.

"what's a poetry competition?"

his ears go a little red, and he chuckles, with surprise.

"it's a..." he adjusts his headband although there's no need for it, then it comes: a boyish grin. "concubine competition. the only game where those who win, they, you know. get into the", he stabs behind with his thumb.

"what's the game?" you wonder, "whoever writes the best poem about his beautiful eyes?"

"no", he laughs out, "it's just a euphemistic name. they need to use their tongues. there's this little box", he gestures in the air, trying to get you the full picture, while your face grows longer and longer, "with this intricate opening on top, more like a slit, and there's a pea inside that they need to get out to the exit of the box".

you move your jaw sideways.

"it's not for the main crowd. held inside the palace".

"i figure", you grunt. he nods, mildly amused.

"where did you hear about it?"

Seokjin returns and hands Taehyung a rough cup with soju.

"what about me?" you inquire. suddenly you're not in the mood to take any shit.

"eh, little sister. no soju for girls".

"what's that mean, you lizard?"

"why am i a lizard?" Jin erupts.

"girls shouldn't drink", Taehyung smiles kindly. you stand between them and fight off an impulse to punch the cup out of his hand.

"girls", you narrow your eyes, and they both get just a tiny bit intimidated, "shouldn't faint while decorating the whole fucking two storey roof all alone just because somebody's feeling booktok".

Seokjin takes it very seriously for some reason, although he most definitely doesn't get it.

"fair enough. i'll bring you one".

he downs his cup and, by the time Jiyoung is back, you have made a tiny advancement for the gender equality fight in Joseon. when Jin gets relatively drunk, he starts howling songs in that retro voice of his, and you tell him you think he should try music.

the games take the best part of the evening, too. Yoongi is tired, he winces when Seonghyung brushes against his shoulder again, breathing into his cheek, hinting a drinking sparring. his eyes move to Hoseok, and Hoseok reacts immediately.

"get him to his chambers, please, or i'll slice his jugular", he murmurs.

General smirks, and Seonghyung vanishes like a ghost. he tilts his neck, rubs his shoulder. too many smells from too many different people from today, he crunches his nose in satisfaction when he sees his eunich hurrying towards him. the boy falls on the floor in a bow, then picks himself up quickly.

"games are over, my king. shall i bring the women?"

Yoongi nods.

"that's actually, finally, a good idea".

he catches a glimpse of the round moon and a trail of plum blossom scent on the turn of the corridor. the central quarters are quieter, and the noise of the evening preparations doesn't get here. the only steps are his.

Yoongi enters his bedroom where a servant with the ears more sensitive than even Jimin's instantly starts undressing him. her slender quick hands make it seem like the robe falls off of him by itself, while, turning, he doesn't even catch a sight of her. relieved from the heavy attire, he releases his hair as well and shakes his head.

"bath?" she asks. after years of training she has finally learnt to speak shortly and to the point, without long pleasantries.

"later. stay behind the door, you'll lead the girls away, i will only need one tonight".

she nods, the top of her head barely reaching his collarbone.

Yoongi examines all of them with intense scrutiny. the hair, the shape of the heads, the faces, the moles painted on skin under the eyes with a thin brush. the dresses revealing their shoulders and the lines of their stomachs. the eyes. he is looking for a certain stare, for a certain hair colour. for the rolled up sleeves, a bite in between the teeth. no, scratch the last one. tonight, biting is a no. he gets up, sliding a lilac ribbon in between his fingers, that slips easily, calming his mind.

"you", he takes one by the arm. "turn around".

the girl lowers her eyes, her face doesn't change from the unreadable submissive expression. she does as she's told.

"the rest of you can go".

four others leave the room silently, the door slides open and close, and there's misty silence, broken only by the peacocks yapping something from a garden away. what Yoongi hadn't anticipated from them, would be how late those damn birds go to sleep. he releases the hair of the girl from the pin, letting it fall over his hand, and taps the pin on her shoulder. doesn't like when things are in disorder, just lying around. she takes it quietly and tucks into her dress. Yoongi takes the ribbon and braids her hair, weaving it in between the locks. the colour is close enough, everything else is a miss.

he drops one last look at the top of her head and guides it down, then closes his eyes.

taglist: @cerulean1riz , @kiki-zb , @mar-lo-pap , @ashyiiy , @enfppuff , @coolpeanutskeletonpersona , @jajabro

[morlock-holmes]

I feel like a lot of Trump supporters (Including many voters and pretty much literally everybody in his actual cabinet) don't really have politics in the way that you or I would think of them.

I think they are people with a number of grudges (Some legitimate, some not), an incredibly shaky and surface level understanding of how anything in society actually works, and a bottomless appetite for good vs. evil stories where they get to imagine themselves as Neo in the Matrix, some bad ass underdog who's finally going to expose the corrupt bosses who have been keeping everybody else down.

And I think their policy ideas at any given time are therefore: Whatever policy idea lets me think of myself as the bad-ass but morally pure underdog finally winning one for the little guy against the scum who have been keeping us down for too long!

Like... The National Guardsmen and Military in LA clearly just clearly don't have a mission the way you or I would think of it, with some kind of concrete goal rooted in objective reality. Their mission, I think, is to be extras in the story where the brave and stoic Donald Trump finally put a stop to the Death Wish-esque anarchy which had been gripping LA.

And in order to accomplish that all that has to happen is that they're physically in LA and the crazy evil Democrats are complaining because somebody is finally doing what needs to be done and putting them in their place. So it doesn't matter that in actual practice they're sleeping on courthouse floors and just sort of... aimlessly milling around wasting their time and our tax dollars.

Or like, the head of a DOJ anti-semitism task force retweeting something from the founder of Identity Evropa.

Like... If the Trump administration are committed Jew haters they could just, like, not have an anti-semitism task force. What, are we going to say that Trump was pressured into it? That the Department of Education isn't a big deal, but god forbid the DOJ task force goes away?

And if the guy is supposed to be an undercover anti-semite then, like, he sure fucking blew his cover.

And anybody who is actually interested in fighting anti-semitism would fucking know what Identity Evropa is and not laugh at jokes about Trump revoking people's Jew card.

Like, you reading this and me writing it start with some kind of idea of what racism is. Maybe it's "prejudice plus power" or just "The expression of a prejudice based on race." and when we see something happen we check it against the definition. We ask questions like,

Was that an example of prejudice plus power?

or

What evidence do we have that this was an expression of prejudice rather than a coincidence?

And this can become incredibly Procrustean but I don't think Trump's lackeys even get that far.

I think that for them the definition of anti-semitism is "The left are the real anti-semites but they use it as a cudgel against the right". And so when they see a tweet or a claim they evaluate it based on whether it fits the story that the left are the real anti-semites.

And if the thing they're evaluating is coming from a literal holocaust denier that doesn't matter, because that has nothing to do with anti-semitism, that's how fucking far gone they are.

I really think this is kind of the only way to even vaguely make sense of their actions.

It's also why a lot of them used to have like, vaguely Occupy Wall Street or granola hippie politics: Because for a while far left politics let them imagine themselves as the bad-ass underdog sticking it to The Man, and when leftist rhetoric and fashion changed enough that it no longer worked to burnish their self-image that way, they found a new ideology which did a better job at it.

In fact I think the general haze of inconsistency around Trump is part of the appeal; if standards get too objective then those standards might eventually actually be used to judge them as something other than the heroic underdog, they might be measured and found wanting. But if there's no consistent or objective standard of measurement, that's way less likely to happen.

Well, that's my theory anyway.

[loveshard]

"i heard that," xavier said, making no effort to hide his amusement. felt relief knowing that food was already waiting for them both if they managed to leave the bedroom at all. "and so did the croissants, so you’ll need to get up if you want them before i eat the good half." he rolled onto his side and propped his head up, watching the cocoon of duvet and childish attitude that was thomas. he had no clue how one person can get so much rest and still be cranky. "hey." xavier reached over, shaking their shoulder, intent on dragging them out of the fortress of sheets by brute force, if needed. "at least pretend you care about my elaborate plans," he added, pouting pratically audible, which his boyfriend would see if he bothered to take a glance over his shoulder.

xavier didn’t answer right away to their question. kept wanting to say 'because i like you alive and i like you more when you’re not being a little bitch', but he was trying this new thing where he didn’t jump into sarcasm as his only default. he looked at thomas, let his gaze run the length of marked skin, always surprised at how much of him there was, how impossible it was to keep his hands to himself, even minutes after waking. "because you make things better," xavier answered instead, because it sounded better. rolling onto his back, still laying back against the pillows, the duvet slipped down to his hips. "and because it’s valentine’s day, and if you ruin my plans, i’ll actually veto all future blow jobs." he grinned, stretching lazily, angling his foot to nudge thomas under the covers to move his point across.

was thomas going to clean the sheets, or ordering him to? instructions unclear. squinting at the heap of sheets and the faint imprint of his boyfriend’s body left behind in the rumple, he frowned. they were right, it was a mess. deciding to do everyone, including his weekly housekeeping service, a favor, he opted to take care of it himself. partially. allowing thomas to have the sanctuary of the bathroom, at least for now, he paced the bedroom in a silk robe, collecting the scattered evidence of their earlier festivities. gathered the sheets with the pillowcases in a ball and chucked them in the direction of the laundry alcove. the fitted one nearly decapitated the houseplant by the window. the plug was plucked and wiped down with a tissue and placed in a dresser, concluding that a thorough cleaning wasn't today's priority. he remade the bed with a fresh set, ignoring the way the fitted sheet kept popping off the corner (annoying but not worth the fight), then threw the black comforter over and smoothed it flat. standing back, he surveyed the crime scene. passable.

entering the ensuite and heading straight to the double sink, xavier brushed his teeth, keeping his eyes on the mirror instead of the glass shower door, resisting the urge to derail the schedule. because he tended to do that, nine times out of ten. blame it on the timing. or maybe just thomas, who had a way of making xavier lose any sense of self-control he pretended to possess. it was nearly pathological, the pull of him. "don’t use up all the hot water," xavier called mid-brush, which was ridiculous, because the water was continuous, part of a system he had insisted on when he redid the ensuite.

blinks blearily for a moment before his mind catches up with the recognition that it's kisses being placed on his skin, and pushes his face back into the pillow in response. it's almost pathetic the way he calms just from the little touch and knowing that xavier's there, even his he's talking rather than allowing him to sleep back to sleep. he thinks he does, even if it's for the three seconds that it takes for xavier to jostle him with his movement. ‘ no. ’ as if to punctuate his words, he snuggles back down while pulling his arm out of his boyfriend's grasp. purposeful in rolling himself more into the covers, but also turning onto his other side so that he can squint — closing his eyes again immediately before his body can figure out it's time to wake up. with enough of an ache in his limbs to remind him exactly of what they'd been doing earlier, he would've been content to stay in bed for the rest of the day. dozing, half in wakefulness, half drifting and was close to saying as much before his stomach released a grumble that he knew they both could hear.

there was great reluctance in the way thomas slowly untangled himself from the sheets, sitting up just enough to allow the covers to pool in his lap while he used the heels of his palm to rub at his eyes. ‘ ... why do i have to be alive ? ’ voice thick with sleep as he finally opts to look at xavier, stretching with a quiet groan when his muscles popped and the bites left on his back pulled pleasantly. only then was he able to take in the state of the bed and bedroom, nose starting to wrinkle with distaste. ‘ looks like a tornado in here, ’ he observed, taking everything in before opting to sweep the vibrating plug lying there innocently off of the bed to the floor with a thump that soothed the place inside him that still felt like it was buzzing. there wasn't any other movement for a long moment as he tried to get his bearings back, taking inventory of how his body felt before he released a sigh, scratching through his curls that desperately needed a washing.

‘ i'll eat after i shower ... and change the sheets. this is a mess, ’ declares with another wrinkle of his nose and finally rolls himself out of the bed to pad into the en - suite. he may have been exhausted before finally giving into the pull to drift off, but he hadn't forgotten the present, or lack thereof, that awaited him when he got back up. turning on the water in the shower to let it run for a little bit without his usual call for xavier to join him and ' save the planet ' i.e. get frisky before calming down and washing each other off with goofy ass grins on their faces. like some codependent schmuk that couldn't seem to be too far from their partner, as if he wasn't breathing distance away, thomas was already starting to feel the loss as he stepped in the shower to start soaping up.

[coywolfcollections]

Mustelids! (Prints available here)

[kiki-strike]

PTSD is so stupid saw a jar of biscoff cookie butter at the store and went ha that’s the brand they had in res. (Completely unaffected). Then went home and had a panic attack about it (????)

[maskedbyghost]

Part 3 of Simon Leaving During Sex Like a Coward

It started with flowers. It’s not the kind you grab at the corner store in a panic, but ones clearly ordered days in advance — expensive, moody ones, all dark reds and deep purples. You didn’t open the door when they arrived immediately. You just stood behind it, your arms crossed, and watched them through the peephole before deciding to get them.

On day two, he texted.

I know I don’t deserve a reply. I just want you to know I’m not giving up.

You left it on read on purpose. And it felt good.

On day three, he was parked outside your building when you came back from work. Just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking up when you approached, but not moving toward you.

“You stalking me now?” You said, not slowing your pace.

He didn’t smile. “No. I’m just here in case you feel like yelling at me in person today.”

You didn’t. You went upstairs and slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and when you looked out the window twenty minutes later, he was still standing there, doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting. Like a dog. A huge, sad, apologetic dog.

You caved on day five.

“Fine,” you’d said, opening the door just enough to stare at him through the gap. “You want a chance? Take me out. And I swear to God if you bring me to some ‘cozy little place’ where the waitress flirts with you, I will throw your wallet in a river.”

He didn’t even blink. “Got it.”

The first date was at a sushi place where the staff barely looked up. You sat across from him in silence until he cleared his throat.

“You look good,” he said, nervous in a way you’d never seen before.

“I know.”

He cracked a smile. You didn’t.

For a second date, he chose a little cafe by the river. You sipped your drink while he talked about stupid things, about his neighbor's cat and how he chipped a tooth once in a pub fight because he tripped over a pool cue — anything to fill the space. You just listened.

“You don’t say much anymore,” he said quietly after a while.

“I said you could take me out. Didn’t say I’d make it easy.”

He nodded, like he agreed with the punishment.

On the third date, he let you choose. You picked laser tag. You didn’t go easy. You shot him in the back six times and made fun of how slow he was, called him grandpa, and asked if he needed a sit-down break. He called you a menace and grinned through all of it. When the round ended, and you were both panting in the hallway, he looked at you with something like relief.

“You smiled,” he said, like it physically pained him to notice.

“It was at your expense,” you said, wiping sweat from your neck.

“Still counts.”

By the fifth date, you were letting him walk beside you without an awkward amount of space. Still no kissing. He reached for your hand once, and you pulled away with a look so sharp he apologized out loud.

“You don’t get to touch me yet,” you said.

“Right.”

“But you can carry my leftovers.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He got the tattoo on a Tuesday.

Didn’t tell you about it. He just showed up at your door again, holding your favorite overpriced dessert like it was a peace offering. You opened the door and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“No flowers today?”

“Didn’t think they’d survive the guilt trip you were gonna hit me with.”

“Smart.”

He stepped inside when you let him. “I got something,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“If it’s another apology letter I’m gonna start framing them like art.” You said with a smirk on your face.

He didn’t say anything. Just tugged off his glove and held up his left hand. On the inside of his ring finger, you could see fresh ink. Your name in cursive letters.

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

You stared. “You tattooed my name on your ring finger.”

“Mhm.”

“Like. Where a ring would go.”

“Exactly.”

You blinked at him, still shocked.

“If this doesn’t prove how sure I am about you,” he said slowly, “then I dunno what will… but just to be safe—” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, sleek black bag from that stupid luxury brand you once mentioned in passing. “Bribery.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You really think a designer bag’s gonna make me forgive you?”

He looked sheepish. “No. But I thought it’d make you laugh.”

You took it from his hand. “I’ll laugh when I sell it and buy ten pairs of shoes.”

“That’s fair.”

You opened the bag. Inside was your favorite candy, a folded napkin from the cafe, and a tiny note that said “I remember everything.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then...

“You’re really not gonna give up, huh?”

“Never.”

You sighed. “Fine. You can kiss my forehead.”

He chuckled as he leaned in gently, pressed his lips just there, warm and steady, and didn’t ask for more.

It wasn’t until weeks later, after more petty jokes and slow conversations and him learning exactly how many hoops you’d make him jump through, that you finally let him spend the night again. You were already in bed when he came back from brushing his teeth, and you didn’t say anything as he slipped under the covers. Just pulled him in, hands on his chest, legs sliding over his, the way they used to.

He kissed you carefully. Like he didn’t want to push it. But you tugged him in with both hands, and he pressed you down into the mattress like it hadn’t been months, like he was starving for every second of you.

When he was finally inside you again, moving slowly, sweat running down his spine, and arms shaking from trying to hold back, he looked at you like he could cry.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking open on the words.

You rolled your eyes, breathless. “Is it my turn now to leave orr…?”

He groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, muttering something about you being a nightmare, and you just laughed and wrapped your legs around him tighter, because you knew damn well he liked it that way.

---------------------------------------------

idkkk....i kinda lost inspiration halfway...sorry if this sucks..

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbaybay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warnings: creampie, breeding, knotting, wolf hybrid!reader x bunny hybrid, reader is described as taller and bigger

A/N: this was a kofi request. Also for Momo fans, I have stickers of him in my kofi shop!

To most people, you and your lover were a strange pair. After all, you were a wolf hybrid, and him a tiny bunny hybrid. They assumed you were the boss in the relationship, running everything behind the scenes.

Oh how wrong they were.

You met him at a party. It was late and you didn’t drink, so you were getting uncomfortable around all of the people that were already drunk off of their asses.

Several of your female friends had begged you to come with them, wanting a designated driver. They convinced you it would be tame fun and you’d meet a decent guy there.

Unfortunately, every other wolf hybrid male you were interested in was either drunk off their ass or making out with some other hybrid.

It saddened you, sometimes, to know cute little squirrel and puppy hybrid girls your age could easily get a wolf hybrid boyfriend, when the reverse wasn’t true for you

Anytime you dated outside of predator hybrids, the prey male you were with would want you to dominate them. You weren’t interested in that, though. All you wanted was a dominant man that didn’t care about your size.

“Hey, you alright?”

You glanced to your left, seeing no one until the person cleared their throat. “Down here…”

There was a small, smiling bunny hybrid standing right next to. How long had they been there?

“Hello… and yeah… I’m alright,” you answered slowly, quickly looking away. You weren’t really in the mood to try and help someone get with one of your cuter hybrid friends, which is why you assumed he was talking to you.

The bunny hybrid’s fluffy ear twitched, and he offered a hand. “C’mon, you don’t seem to be having fun. We can go outside and get some fresh air if you’d like.”

This gave you pause. A smaller hybrid was worried about you? Most would avoid an upset predator hybrid, not wanting to be bitten or attacked… but instead he offered a helping hand.

It almost made you feel like a princess.

Your cheeks heated up, and you took his hand gratefully. “Thank you, um…”

“Momo, you can call me Momo.”

The two of you left the party, walking out into the fresh air to gather yourselves. His white hair seemed to almost shine in the moonlight, and your heart thumped in your chest when he caught you staring,

“Yeah, I get it. You’re not used to being left alone at parties. You’re pretty after all, I’m sure all the wolf hybrids want to snatch you up.”

If only that was the case.

“Actually… male wolf hybrids tend to focus on pretty, smaller hybrids like bunnies and deer. It’s… uncommon for me to go home with anyone after a party.”

Uncommon was an understatement. The only time you brought home a wolf hybrid, he instead wnet for your roommate who happened to be a pretty deer hybrid. It was so frustrating!

“That’s a shame. You’re really pretty, I’m sure you’ll be mated soon.”

Again, you felt your heart race at his words. Momo leaned against the railing, his yellow eyes trailing up and down your body. “Mmm, are you against me coming home with you?”

Now that took you by surprise. You had always asked first, never being sought after. With a shake of your head, Momo grabbed your hand.

“C’mon then, let’s ditch this lame party. We can order some pizza and chill at your place or mine, whichever makes you more comfortable.”

Him, a little bunny, worried about your comfort? You were pretty much swooning at this point!

The two of you spent the ride home chatting, and sat on your couch eating pizza and watching some romcom that was more comedy than romance. It had the two of you laughing your asses off at how cheesy the little romance bits were…

Soon enough though, you felt his hand slowly move across the couch and settle onto your thigh. You made no move to pull away, instead you scooted closer, allowing his hand to move to your clothed pussy.

This was the first time anyone had reached out to touch you like this. You had been close to fucking another person before, but always got turned off by having to do everything first.

Now, you were being pursued, touched confidently. His fingers rubbed at your clothed breath, his chest pressed against your side while his breath fanned across your neck.

“Mmm, you’re getting wet already…”

Your scent was driving him crazy, and Momo was barely holding back the urge to pin you down.

For a moment you worried that he would back off and wait for you to take over. Would he be just like the rest, and expect you to dominate him?

When Momo sensed you shy away slightly, his bunny ears twitched and he grabbed your chin.

Turning you to look at him, he hummed softly and leaned forward. “Getting nervous? I can show you what to do…”

You felt your panties grow damp at his words. Momo pushed you down slowly, his cotton tail wagging as he climbed on top of you.

“Mmph… you’re gorgeous, you know? So cute…”

He kissed down your neck, marveling at the strength in your large hands. If you wanted to, you could crush him in a second.

Yet here he was, keeping you pinned underneath him as he pulled your panties off.

With your cunt on full display, he grinned. “There’s my pretty girl… she wants me so bad, doesn’t she?” he cooed, dipping a finger into your folds. It was slick with your arousal when he pulled it out.

“C’mon, have a taste.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as you sucked your own juices from his finger. It felt too good, being bossed around like this…

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? Need a reward…”

He pumped his fingers in and out of your wet cunt, watching as your pussy squelched with each movement. Momo could see how desperate you were to mate, and groaned as your walls fluttered around his fingers.

For a bunny hybrid, Momo was hung. When he pulled down his pants, you were left speechless. You had seen a few buns in porn before, and none of their cocks came close to rivaling his.

As it hardened up, it grew even larger, making you blink in surprise. Only your own fingers and Momo’s had ever entered your pussy, and now he was about to put THAT in you?

Your cheeks flushed as he played with your clit to help prep you. A coo left his lips, and he smiled when your hips bucked uncontrollably. “Shh, I’ve got you. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nibbled on your neck, his little bunny teeth making you giggle as he did his best to loosen you up. “It’s gonna be okay, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

His fingers moved in and out of you as his cock throbbed. It seemed every time he pumped into your tight cunt, he became more antsy. It was clear he wanted it to be his cock making you whimper and writhe, but he had to ensure you were stretched out enough to take him.

Momo truly cared about you and your pleasure…to him, you were a pretty girl that was afraid of your first time. You weren’t a looming monster or some scary predator that others made you out to be.

“I-I’m ready…”

You found it cute how excited he got at your words. Momo’s fluffy cotton tail wagged furiously as his cock lined up with your needy, dripping pussy.

“A kiss…” he murmured, pressing the head of his cock against your hole. “Muah~”

Feeling his cock stretch you out felt both painful and sweet. His fingers were entertwined with yours, his lips on your neck as he cooed sweet nothings.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. Shh…”

Despite the fact you were nearly double his size, Momo was worried for you, checking your face for any discomfort before he bottomed out.

“Feels funny,” you muttered as he kissed away the tears on your cheeks. “Like I’m being torn apart…”

He gave your cheek a few affectionate licks, his soft pink nose nuzzling you as he moved his hips slightly to help you get used to it all.

“I know… it’ll pass, I promise.”

He toyed with your clit, flicking and prodding the sensitive bud while his free hand held onto your hip. Your cunt was so tight, he really didn’t want to hurt you…

Slowly, you loosened up enough that he could pull his hips back and fully fuck back into you. A gasp escaped your lips, and your claws dug into the soft flesh of his back as he started a steady, slow rhythm.

“F-fuck…” Momo groaned, his cock twitching inside of you. The pleasurable feeling or your claws in his skin made him feel feral, and he bit down on your shoulder to tell you who was in control.

Momo slowly picked up speed, his bunny teeth digging into your sensitive flesh. It felt like you were being mounted and ravaged by a wolf hybrid with the way he was pounding into you. Every thrust made your tits bounce, and soon that caught his attention.

He took one of your nipples into his mouth, looking up through his thick white lashes as he suckled softly. The combined pleasure of being fucked and your tits being groped made you cum all over him.

Momo let out a shuddering groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as your pussy clenched and unclenched around his throbbing cock in your first orgasm of the night.

“There’s my girl, you’re doing… so well…” Momo said between moans, his nails digging into your hips as he held himself back from cumming inside of you then and there.

He lifted one of your legs over your shoulder, and you felt his tip hit somewhere deep inside of you, making your eyes widen.

All you could see was stars, your tail wagging lazily as he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss.

When he pulled away, he grinned down at you, panting between words. “F-fuck… you’re beautiful like this…”

And as he said the last word, his hips slammed into you and cum painted your gummy walls, filling you up as he cried out in ecstasy. Momo’s tongue tangled with yours, and his hips kept slapping against yours as he bred you thoroughly.

His knot swelled up, keeping all of his seed inside of you as the two of you began to recover.

“Did you… really mean that..?” you asked suddenly as he gazed down at you with lovesick eyes. “That… I’m beautiful? I’m… not what you should want… y’know, instinctually…”

He tilted his head, and for a moment you worried that you said the wrong thing. You just figured a bunny hybrid such as himself would rather be with a smaller female hybrid!

“Mmm, I meant what I said, and you’re the one I chose to go home with.”

He cupped your cheek, caressing it lightly. Momo gave your chubby cheeks more soft kisses before he moved to lay on top of you.

“You’re so soft and warm… ahh…”

One of his hands gave your belly a playful squish, his cotton tail wagging mischievously. “I’ve never meant a girl like you before. You’re… perfect for me.”

The two of you lied there, basking in the afterglow of sex. It smelled nice, the combination of your scents. Perhaps… you could even get used to it.

“Momo… we should do this again sometime. It was nice.”

He tilted his head, his bunny ears flicking as he looked up at you. “Of course we’ll do this again… we’re a mated pair now. Bunnies are quite horny you know. In fact…”

Momo straightened up again, his cock already hard and ready for more. You blinked, your eyes widening as he lined up with your pussy.

“I think I’m ready for round two.”

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[landopoet]

to you, always.

pairing brother's best friend lando x fewtrell!reader

synopsis in which you call lando. and he comes.

warnings 14.8k words of angst, secrecy and brother max.

author’s note heyhey, sorry that i've been gone for a while, life gets a bit hectic and busy at times but i've finally gotten around to finishing this wonderful fic! and i have more fics coming your way soon. hope you enjoy <3

You’re not sure why you’re at this party to begin with. 

Actually, screw that, you knew exactly why— your older brother, Max, made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you hanging around this specific crowd of people, and you had something to prove. You wanted to show him that you’re no longer the little sister he could push around, you wanted to finally be seen as grown, despite being younger than him.

It was cold outside Mason’s house. Your heels were off, your makeup’s smudged, the girl you came with ran off with some random guy neither of you knew, and you were left stranded in the cold night, somewhere with shitty connection. You tried to call an Uber, but the app won’t work without WiFi and you couldn’t be bothered to go back inside the party to ask for the password. 

Instead, you choose to flick through your contacts, maybe your drunk mind could find someone to drive you home. Mom? No, she’s most likely asleep. Max is an obvious no. You scroll past the random aunts, uncles, cousins, who all live scattered across the world. Then, something sets off in your mind and you find yourself reading Lando’s contact like it was the morning news.

You shut your phone off, sitting down on the curb. Lando. He told you once that he wasn’t your babysitter— like you were too loud, too much, always wanting to tag along with whatever he and your brother were doing. Still, your fingers put in your password and you click his contact again, this time not overthinking calling him.

Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t care, maybe it’s because you know he’ll come.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, raspy and tired. “Hello?”

“Lando,” you say, cautiously. 

You give him time to yell at you, to hang up, but he just stays in the silence, waiting for you to speak. “Hello? What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “I’m at Mason’s,” Lando scoffs on the other end. “Can you come get me?” 

Silence. You imagine him sitting on the edge of his bed, jaw tense, chest bare, those goddamn Jack & Jones boxers adorning his hips. Then, there’s movement. “It’s past one in the morning,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I can still read the time, thanks.” You roll your eyes annoyed. “I knew it’d be stupid to call you, you’re nothing but an arrogant—”

Lando cuts you off, a sharp order coming from his end of the call. “Text me the address.”

“Fuck, I can’t remember,” you drag a hand across your face, ignoring how the cold of the curb slowly seeps in past your short dress and branches out through your skin. “It’s the house in Cherry Hill, the one with the stupid flamingo statue in the front yard.”

“I know it,” he nods, though you can’t see it. “Wait there, don’t go back inside.”

Lando hung up the phone call and pushed a hand through his curls, agitated that he didn’t even hesitate to come get you. He should’ve told you to call someone else, let you sit in the mess you made, but he also knew Mason and parties like that. And how everyone’s eyes naturally gravitated towards you, like you owned every room you walked into. 

He knew what that type of confidence could do, he had seen it happen to you before. And he knows Max would have his head on the front of the Fewtrell residence if he knew Lando refused to help you when you were in need. Or maybe it was just because that irritating warmth in his chest made him crumble every time he was near you. 

It takes half an hour until Lando’s headlights beam on your face. The car slows right next to you. It’s matte black with a booming engine, the one your brother kept hyping up like it was God’s gift to car lovers. Lando leans over the center console to shove the door open. 

The door clicks behind you and seals you in. The cabin is dim, except for the soft glow of the dashboard that casts blue shadows over Lando’s face. His jaw is clenched with every chew of gum he takes as he backs out of Mason’s driveway with one hand on the back of your seat. You can feel the tension in the small space between you two and you feel it even more when Lando finally grazes his eyes over you.

“You’re barefoot.”

His voice is flat, emotionless. 

You look down at your legs, the only thing adding any sort of warmth to them were your thin stockings. “Heels hurt.” 

Lando noticed the way you curled up in the seat, trying your best to keep yourself warm. He rolls his eyes, reaches behind you to the backseat and drops a hoodie in your lap. “Put it on,” he mutters.

You should say something, maybe a snarky remark, but instead you slip it over your head. It smells like him— a mix of lavender detergent, gasoline and Lando’s cologne. It’s big enough that the sleeves fall past the palms of your hands and you curl your fingers in them. “Thanks.”

The car falls quiet for a long while, Lando’s fingers so tightly curled around the steering wheel that it looks like it’s about to snap under the force. You can tell he wants to say something, to yell at you about waking him up, that you’re just some stupid girl who doesn’t know when to stop.

Instead, he sighs and asks, “what the hell were you thinking?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious,” his voice is sharp, irritated. “There’s a reason Max didn’t want you at that party.”

“I can handle myself, Lando. It’s just a party.”

Lando lets out a humorless laugh. “Sitting on the curb, alone, with no ride home. You call that handling yourself?”

You don’t answer him anymore, instead continuing to look out the passenger seat window at the streetlights and houses blurring past. You’re not sure what it is, but something feels different about him— he’s not bantering as much, it’s almost like he’s actually worried. 

A few minutes pass before Lando briefly glances at you. “What happened?”

Your eyes glance at his green ones, blinking once before you turn your gaze back outside. You’ve just driven out of the neighbourhoods, so the stars became more evident due to the lack of houses and streetlights. 

“Did someone touch you?” He presses, voice edged with frustration. He continues to chew his gum, his jaw tensing with every bite. 

“Not really.”

Lando exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he’s debating whether to push. He doesn’t. Instead, he mutters, “you’re an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he shrugs. “Going to some fucker’s party just to prove something to Max. You think he’ll see you as grown just because you disobeyed him?”

You ball your hands into fists. “That’s not what I–”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, yes it is.” He cuts you off, agitated, annoyed, tired. “I’ve known you for years and you’ve been trying to prove yourself to Max since you were, like, twelve.”

You turn your whole body back towards the door, choosing to ignore Lando’s lecture. It’s almost two in the morning, the sky is at its darkest and you’re feeling too tired to argue with him. Still, he continues.

“News flash, acting reckless doesn’t make people respect you. It makes them worried.”

You stare at him, a tiny smirk on your face. “Are you saying… You were worried?”

Lando’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you totally did.” You let that tiny smirk turn into a full one, still looking at him. “This is huge. Lando Norris—”

He turns to face the driver's door window, biting back a small smile. “Don’t.”

“—worried about me?” 

He exhales through his nose again, running a hand through his curls, eyes still stuck on the road. “I knew I should’ve left you on the curb.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Lando’s eyes look at yours for a second. He can’t handle looking at you for longer, afraid his facade would fade under the weight of your gaze.

“Why’d you come? If I’m such an inconvenience.” 

His car comes to a silent stop in front of your house. His engine is still running, just so the heat would still circulate and warm your feet. “Because you called.” 

There’s no mocking tone to his voice, no bite. Just the raw truth, like a confession.

You glance at his lips, then back up at his eyes. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you.” He says it like it was obvious.

“You act like it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t hate you.”

You’re not sure what happened, why you suddenly felt so brave. You bite your bottom lip, leaning over the center console, softly grasping his chin so he looks at you. “Prove it.”

Lando’s breath stutters, just for a second. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbles into your mouth, already having pulled you in for a kiss. 

It’s not careful, it’s definitely not gentle— it’s like a flood. Like it’s something he’s been holding back for too long, something he can’t fight anymore. He kisses you urgently, lips warm and insistent, until your lips part just enough for his tongue to brush against yours, tentative at first, then deeper— demanding.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers pushing past your hair, angling your face the way he wants it. His other hand is still on the wheel, white-knuckled and tense, like he needs something to hold onto before he loses himself completely. 

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling around his collar, pulling him closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

Lando groans into your mouth, a low and frustrated sound, and then he’s undoing his seatbelt, undoing yours. The tension snaps, and next thing you know, he’s pulling you over the centre console and into his lap. His hands trail up your thighs, nesting right at the top of your hips as he continues to kiss you. 

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, you’re his best friend’s little sister, but god has he been waiting for this. Every time he looked at you for too long, he felt a burning heat in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Right now, he’s getting back all the times he wished he could kiss you, but knew he couldn’t. His hands grip you like he’s trying to memorise the feel of your skin under his fingertips.

Your hips softly grind against him as your hands come up to gently cup his jaw and you pull him in closer. Lando kisses you with hunger, chasing your lips as you pull away to catch your breath. You lean back against the steering wheel, careful as to not make a sound. Lando pushes himself up to kiss you again, but he fails to notice his foot on the gas and revs the engine as soon as his lips crash into yours again. 

Both of you freeze, eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. The streetlight casts a soft, golden glow on Lando as you study his face. And then both of you break out into laughter. 

“You think he heard that?” Lando asks when both of you finally calm down and you rest against his chest. 

You shake your head. “No, he’s a heavy sleeper. But I should probably go.”

Lando nods and helps you climb over the center console, eyes never leaving you. You turn back towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, before reaching for the handle and opening the door. Lando stays parked on the side of the road, just until you’re safely inside your house, and when he sees the door close behind you, his engine revs again as his car pulls away. 

You walk downstairs only to be met by the sound of slamming cupboards, you don’t even have to step into the kitchen to know Max is letting out whatever pent up rage he has on the poor wooden furniture. 

Max, as if he could feel your presence, turns around. His eyebrows are set low, eyes studying your face like he’s never seen it before. You just awkwardly weave past him to rummage through the fridge.

He leans back against the kitchen island, arms crossed and voice calm when he asks, “so how was the party you weren’t supposed to go to?”

You softly slam your forehead on one of the shelves in the fridge. “Fuck.” You rub the hurt skin as you turn around to face your brother. “It was fine.”

“Mhm,” he looks down at the ground briefly, before he looks back at you again. Max tries so hard to look intimidating every time he does this, but he just looks like a sad dad and it takes everything in you not to laugh. “And how’d you get home?”

“Well, nowadays we have these awesome things called cars, right?” You motion turning a wheel with your hands, sarcastically. “You kinda just sit in them and then turn the wheel to go different directions, it’s pretty cool.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stone-faced and frustrated. 

“Why does that matter? I’m home safely, aren’t I?” You turn back to the fridge and take out ingredients for a sandwich.

“It matters because I explicitly told you not to go and because I know you, and because I woke up to Lando’s car outside my window at two in the morning.”

You freeze. Shit.

Max narrowed his eyes. “So? Wanna explain that one?”

“I called him for a ride, that’s all.” You’re not even hungry but you’re making a sandwich anyway, just to give yourself something to do and just so you don’t break underneath the weight of your older brother’s intense gaze. 

Max stares at you, jaw clenched.  “Why him?”

You shrug, spreading the mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “I obviously couldn’t call you and everyone I trust was asleep. And because he actually came.”

“He’s not—” He cuts himself off and starts pacing like he needs to burn the frustration from his limbs. “He’s not the guy you call for help. He isn’t good for this sort of thing, for you.”

You pause your movement, raising a brow at him. “You think I can’t handle Lando?”

“I know you can,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. The point’s that he’s not a guy who gives a shit unless it benefits him in some way. He’s cocky, selfish, he was a dickhead to you for, like, as long as I’ve known him.”

You sigh, looking back to your sandwich. 

Max narrows his eyes at your hesitation. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on.”

“There’s not,” You say it fast, too fast, and you’re gripping the butterknife so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows still drawn together as he connects the dots. “You like him?”

“No.” Lie.

Max shakes his head, running a hand along his jaw as he scoffs like the mere idea of you having feelings for his best friend was some sort of betrayal. “For fucks sake. This is exactly what he does, he gets into your head.”

“People change.” You mumble, not daring to look up at your brother.

Max lets out a humorless chuckle. “Not Lando.” 

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Deep down you know he’s right— Lando’s not the type to do relationships. He doesn’t stick to just one girl, you’ve heard him talk to Max about at least four different girls within the same week. You knew it was so wrong, but last night felt so right.

“I swear to God if—” He takes a deep breath and calms his voice, though it’s still laced with aggression when he says, “if he touches you, if he so much as thinks you’re someone to be played with—”

“Max, nothing happened,” the lie slips past your lips so easily that it scares you. “He drove me home. That’s it.”

He gives you one last glance before picking up his car keys from the basket on the kitchen island and walking towards the front door. He opens it, and just before he leaves, he pokes his head out to look at you again. “I’ll be back late, there’s money on my desk for dinner. Make sure to eat and, for fucks sake, take off that fucking hoodie.”

The door slams shut and you pull the sleeves of Lando’s hoodie into your palms, rubbing them together as if it’ll bring you any sort of comfort. Instead it just makes you more worried— an angry Max is a force to be reckoned with and you pray to whoever’s above that Lando can handle it.

Lando can feel Max’s eyes burning into him, despite being under a car.

They’re in the garage, the scent of motor oil and gasoline lingering in the warm air. Max leans back against a workbench, energy drink in hand, while Lando lays on a mechanic creeper and keeps his hands busy or else he’d be fiddling with his fingers and that’s something Max always notices.

He pulls himself from under the car just enough to reach a hand out. “Wrench.”

Max drops it into his hand with added force. “So, you wanna tell me about last night?”

Lando pulls himself fully from under the car, but just as he tries to get up, he bumps his forehead against the undercarriage. “Fuck,” he rubs the hurt skin as he sits up. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lando.” Max’s jaw tightens. “My sister came home at two in the morning and I woke up to your car outside my house.” 

Lando exhales, getting up from the ground as he wipes his hands on the fabric hanging from his hips. He always worked shirtless with only a flannel tied around his waist and his work jeans on. “She called me for a ride, I picked her up.”

Max tilts his head, accusatory, before taking a sip of his drink. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Lando shrugs, trying his best to hide what he truly feels. He’s fucking terrified of Max, because he knows one wrong word could mean Max socking Lando right in the jaw, no hesitation. 

“She came home in your hoodie,” Max points out. 

Lando lays back down on the mechanic creeper after getting what he needed and goes back under the car. “She was cold,” he says, casually.

“You don’t just give people your hoodie.” 

Lando peeks his head out with a raised brow and a teasing smirk on his face. “What, you jealous or something?”

“You’re not funny.” Max glares at him, unamused.

The curly-haired man disappeared again, working on the suspension system of his older car. “You used to think I was hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, I used to think you weren’t a fucking problem, too.” Max hisses, again pacing the small space of Lando’s garage. “What are you doing, man?”

“What does it look like?” Lando pokes his head out again, confused, wrench in hand.

“It looks like you’re getting too close to my sister.”

Lando clenches his jaw, pulling himself back up from under the car, this time making sure not to hit his head. “I’m not.”

“I don’t buy it.” Max shrugs simply, anger, frustration and betrayal still radiating off of him.

Lando decides he’s done for the day and picks up his tools from the ground, walking over to his workbench. “She needed a ride home, so I drove her home. That’s all.”

Max studies him for a few seconds, trying to find something, anything, beneath the nonchalance that Lando was trying so hard to upkeep. Lando made sure there was nothing at surface level for Max to find.

Because if Max—if anyone— knew that something shifted in Lando that night, that something’s been shifting for way longer than Lando’s willing to admit, Max wouldn’t be standing here making civil conversation— he’d be throwing punches.

“It better fucking be all.” Max hisses again. “You keep your distance. She’s not some random girl you can mess with whenever you please.”

Lando’s stomach twists, like he didn’t already know you were more than just a girl. Lando couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than, “don’t worry, mate. She’s not my type.”

Max doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at Lando with a look that makes something inside Lando’s chest feel heavy, and walks away.

You’re peacefully scrolling on your phone, watching the newest internet drama, when you hear two knocks on your door, and then another one a few seconds later. You recognised it to be Lando’s knock, the same one he’d do on Max’s door to let him know it was him and not you at his door, back when Max did everything in his power not to spend time with you.

You get up from your bed, feeling how Lando’s hoodie falls down to your mid-thighs when you stand, and open the door. Your eyes widen when it is, in fact, Lando that’s knocking. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him inside your room, peeking your head out to check if anyone saw him. Thankfully, the coast is clear. 

“Are you crazy?” You shut the door behind yourself and turn to look at the curly-haired brunette in your room. “You could’ve got caught.”

Lando steps closer, hands finding their place on your waist while his lips make home at the cusp of your shoulder and neck. “Had to see you,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your skin.

Your breath shudders. “Max is downstairs.”

“He’s on a call, ordering food. I have maybe five minutes.”

You push him away, a questioning look on your face. “And you thought the best use of those five minutes was to sneak into my room?” 

Lando grins. “Obviously.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile as Lando leans in. “You’re insane,” you mumble against his lips. 

“I’m starting to think you like that about me.”

His hands trail up your thighs, under the hoodie—his hoodie—and up your bare belly. He’s trying to not rush you, to take time and explore this with you. It’s new, for the both of you, and Lando would hate himself if he ruined it just because he’s so eager to have you.

Your back is pressed against the door and you’re softly mumbling sweet nothings into Lando’s mouth when you hear footsteps nearing up the stairs. Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. Your eyes quickly scan over your room and you immediately shove Lando towards your closet door when you land your gaze on it. Once he’s all hidden, you quickly jump onto your bed, cover yourself with your blanket and try to act as casual as possible.

There’s a knock at your door and then Max peeks his head inside. “You good?”

“Yeah?” You lift your head, resting it against your palm as you lean on your elbow. “Why?”

Max does a quick once-over of your room. “Thought I heard voices.”

“Oh, it’s probably just my phone,” you pick it up from underneath you and wave it in the air. “Do you remember that one super annoying couple?”

Max leans against your doorframe, curious. “Yeah?” He studied the look on your face as you typed something into your phone. “Wait, no way. Did they break up?”

He’s now stepping into your room, sitting down at the foot of your bed as he patiently waits for you to show him. “Fucking finally,” Max laughs when the video ends. “I gotta tell Lando, we made a bet on how long they’ll last, and he lost.”

“Aw, Lando had faith in those two?” You tilt your head to the side, briefly glancing at the closet as you fail at holding back your giggle. “That’s unusual.”

“I know right? That guy barely has faith in anything.” Max gets back up and starts walking out of your room. “Oh, by the way, have you seen him?”

“Hm?” You glance back up from your phone. “Oh, Lando? Is he over?”

“Yeah, we’re watching the race downstairs.” 

“I didn’t know,” you shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”

Max looks at you with narrowed eyes, like he wants to ask something but doesn’t bother. “Alright. We ordered food, come down in 10 if you want some.”

“Cool, thanks.” You shout to him as he closes the door behind himself. You wait another ten seconds before quietly making your way to the closet.

Lando stood in the corner of it, arms folded, scowling. “You owe me for this,” he mutters.

You snort. “Apparently you owe Max, too.”

“Hey, in my defence, the guy talked to me about marrying her and I was rooting for him.” He steps out of the closet, hands immediately on you again.

You giggle, feeling him kiss your neck. “Next time, let’s not make out with my brother ten feet away.

Lando leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Next time, I’m locking the door.”

It’s been a long day at university and you were feeling tired.

What’s worse is that you had to go study for an upcoming test and couldn’t afford to skip another day, so you lazily stepped down the stairs at the front of the facility and heaved a sigh, looking down at your phone. Suddenly, it buzzed with a notification from someone you didn’t expect to hear from.

Lando: Look up.

You lift your eyes, confused, and that’s when you see his sleek, black car, him leaning against the side of it with a soft smile on his face when you see him. He opens his arms and you carefully run across the street to envelop him in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I could drive you home.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to walk.”

You playfully slap his arm and place your head back on his chest. “Thank you,” you mutter. 

The drive to your house is quiet, but not awkward. Lando can tell you’re tired from school and he softly places his hand on your thigh, kneading the skin to try and comfort you in the only way he knew how. You could tell he was trying his best to show his affection to you in ways he wasn’t used to– the other day, he called you late at night and asked how your day went, intently listening to every detail you told him. He memorised your coffee order from that time and bought you coffee, that’s now peacefully sitting on your desk, in your room, as you and Lando make out on your bed.

“When does Max get home?” Lando asks, hastily, between kisses to your exposed chest. 

Your fingers are palming the curls at the base of his neck as Lando leaves faint hickeys along your breast. “He said later tonight.”

Lando continues to trail kisses down your torso, pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants. He looks up at you without a word, but as if to ask if it’s okay for him to go further, to not hold back in fear of breaking you. You reach down and untie the drawstring of your pants, watching as Lando’s fingers gently hook underneath the waistband and pull your sweatpants down, fully off of your body. 

You feel bare, exposed, but it’s not intimidating like you thought it’d be. Lando was gentle with you, placing soft bites followed by tender kisses to your thighs, inching closer to where you needed him the most. Your hips buckled upwards, urging Lando to do something to help the ache between your legs.

Just as he’s hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pink underwear, you hear the front door open. Lando immediately rises to his feet and bolts across the hall to Max’s room, pretending that he was waiting for him there to begin with. You lift your head confused and hear Max climbing up the stairs. You manage to shut the door before he reaches it and you rest with your back against it. 

“You in there?” Max knocks once on your door and you hold your breath.

You quickly pick up whatever clothes you can find on your floor and tug them on before opening your bedroom door, face flushed. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s Lando’s car doing in the driveway?” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with suspicion riddled across his features. 

“Oh,” you swallow, harshly. “Uh, I don’t know. He’s in your room if you want to ask him yourself.”

Max gives you a narrow-eyed look, trying to notice anything odd about your appearance. He peeks his head into the crevice of your door and looks around your room, before walking away and you finally let out the breath you were holding, shutting the door behind yourself.

Meanwhile, Lando was sprawled out onto the couch in Max’s room, scrolling through his phone. When Max walked in, Lando sat up. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Go where?” Max furrows his brows and when Lando mimics a drinking action, Max remembers. “Fuck, the party.”

A few hours later, Lando found himself nursing a glass bottle of non-alcoholic beer on the couch in Lauren’s home.

Lauren was a mutual friend of yours too, so when Max offered you to join him and Lando, you happily agreed. Although, you didn’t account for how hard it’d be not to blab to Lauren about you and Lando’s newly found feelings. She’s telling you something about her current boyfriend, who you failed to find in the crowd, but pretended like you did. In reality, you were looking at Lando. You were admiring the way his black t-shirt hugged his skin tighter around his biceps, the way his curls poked out of his maroon cap and the way the lights from the other rooms cast a perfect shadow on his side-profile.

Meanwhile, he tried his best not to look at you, because Max was right across from him and turning his head would mean Max would follow suit. Instead, Lando watches the other people in the room. He makes the grave mistake of looking at this one girl, Madeline, twice within a few minutes and she took it as a sign to seat herself next to him.

“Hey,” she bites her bottom lip, holding back a smile. “Don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Madeline.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Lando gives her a faux smile and turns back to reading the label on his beer bottle. It seemed to be much more interesting to look at than the girl touching his arm. 

Madeline tilts her head with a laugh. “I won’t get to hear your name?” 

Lando briefly looks up at Max, who’s standing across the room and urging Lando to smoothly talk his way into Madeline’s pants. He rolls his eyes and looks away, again. “Lando,” he grumbles.

“Lando,” she repeats, seductive. “Nice name.” 

Lando gives her a side-eyed look. “…thanks?” 

She bites her bottom lip again, trying to lure him in, throwing the bait but Lando isn’t biting. He’s uninterested, because each time he looks at Madeline, his eyes drift to the girl standing in the room behind her— you. You’re talking to Lauren, laughing at something she said as you nurse your red solo cup. 

When Madeline leans in, so close to Lando’s ear that her breath fanning against his skin makes it erupt in goosebumps, he feels nauseous. “Wanna go upstairs? There’s a condom in the drawer with your name on it.”

By this point, Max has come close enough to hear the conversation and nudges Lando’s shoulder when he notices the hesitation. Lando looks up at his friend with a confused look. Max’s eyes flicker between Lando and Madeline when he says, “I’ll save your seat for you.”

Madeline smiles at Max’s attempt to help before softly hooking her finger under Lando’s chin and turning him to face her. “So?”

Lando snorts at the thought that just flashed in his mind. “Y’know, Max’s name is also on most condoms, why don’t you take him upstairs instead?”

Lando watches as Madeline grimaces, looking at the two guys before mumbling something incoherent and walking away. The curly-haired man’s eyes immediately fall to you, leaving Max under the impression that Lando’s watching Madeline walk away. 

When Lando looks back at Max, he’s met with a scowl. “What?” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands, ready to defend himself against Max’s judgement.

Max sits down on the coffee table in front of Lando, quoting something Lando had said months ago. “Oh, I’d tap that.” He puts on an accent that mimics Lando’s one, but in a way that’s clearly mocking his best friend’s words. 

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, not sure how to get himself out of this one. “That was ages ago.”

“Isn’t she, like, the epitome of your type?” Max recalls another thing Lando had said late at night in his garage. Lando had, in fact, said that Madeline was exactly his type, but that was back before he tapped into his feelings for you. 

Lando shrugs before he takes another swig of his beer. “Not anymore.”

Max gives him one last look, clearly confused by how Lando could reject Madeline, of all people. “You’re fucking weird, dude,” he says over the neck of his beer bottle and walks away to find something else to drink. 

It’s a few minutes before Lando decides that it’s safe to move from his seat, making a beeline to where he last saw you. The kitchen is empty of your presence, only the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air. He pulls out his phone to text you and just as he clicks on your contact, he hears familiar laughter coming from the next room. 

He finds you leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, still talking to the girl from before. Lauren locks eyes with Lando and nudges towards him with her chin while looking at you. “I’ll see you later,” she squeezes your elbow and walks away. 

You feel Lando’s touch on your skin before he even gets the chance to talk. It’s darker in this room, less people, higher chances of getting caught— but that’s what makes it more exciting. 

You turn around, back to the nearest wall as Lando leans against the doorframe, mimicking you just moments ago. He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging and drawing your attention. “Smooth move earlier,” you mutter with a little teasing glint in your eye. 

He huffed a laugh. “She was being persistent.”

“Thought she was your type?” You ask, trying to sound casual but it comes out more desperate than intended. Lando gave you a look, small smile and raised eyebrows, as he took a swig of his drink.

After a moment of him checking you out, he mutters, “not anymore.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him with a raised brow. “What’s your type then?”

Lando steps closer to you, hand immediately cupped against your jaw, fingers between your hair as he pulls you in. “I think we both know.” 

His breath fans over your face as he leans in to kiss you, his free hand placing the empty beer bottle on the fireplace next to you. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, someone slams the bathroom door and both of you jump at the sound. 

Both of you turn to look at the direction of the sound, only to be met with a guy stumbling out of the room. Lando drops his head as a laugh of relief leaves his lips. 

He looks around again, cautious, alert. Then, when his green eyes focus on your face again, his pupils dilate just the smallest bit, but you notice it. Lando nudges his head behind him, “meet me out back in ten?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip and he walks off, disappearing somewhere between the drunk crowd of people. 

The ten minutes before you sneak out to see Lando go by slower than anticipated. To pass the time, you decided to tour the house, as if you’ve never been there before— you loiter around the hallways, admiring everything picture and painting on the wall. 

“Oh, hey,” Max’s voice startles you just as you start looking for where the door to the backyard is. “Have you seen Lando?” 

“No?” You furrow your brows, trying to act as confused and offended as possible. “Why would I have seen him?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, if you see him, tell him to check his damn phone.” 

You watch your brother storm off, heading upstairs and when he’s out of your line of sight, you bolt towards the living room. You squeeze past the numerous people in your way and try your best to find the door to the backyard. 

When you finally step out into the night, the cold air hitting your arms as soon as you do, Lando’s leaning against the wall by the door, in the shadow. 

“You sure no one followed you?” Lando reaches out his hand and you take it, following him behind the side of the house. 

You scoff, “you think I don’t know how to sneak around by now?”

He presses you against the wall, lips immediately on your neck. “Touche.”

The night envelops you two in a blanket of darkness, coolth and risk. Lando kisses down your neck to your shoulder, leaving mild hickeys that’ll go away in a few hours. When his lips find home on yours again, you let your fingers get lost in the curls at the nape of his neck and he pulls you in closer with a gentle hand on your jaw. 

There’s a rustling at the door to the backyard but neither of you are bothered enough to pause and check what it is. It’s only when Max’s voice cuts through the night that both of you halt your movements. “Oh, there you are.”

Lando turns to face Max, using his body to shield you from your brother while they talk. “Yeah? Kinda busy here, mate.”

“I was just gonna ask if you could get my sister home later, I’m going out with Mason for a few hours.” Max spins his house keys on his finger before throwing them towards Lando, and the curly-haired man in front of you catches it with no problem. “You can crash on the couch in my room if you want.”

“Alright, see you.” Lando says with an urgency in his voice that Max takes as a sign. Your brother winks at Lando before disappearing back inside the house. “Christ,” Lando rests his head on your shoulder as he takes a few breaths, adrenaline pumping through his veins at what could’ve gone so wrong so quickly.

“Did he see?” You ask, cautiously glaring over the corner of the house to check if Max was truly gone.

Lando pulled away, his face perfectly illuminated from the left side by the glowing porch light and fairy-lights that adorned the fence behind him. “I hope not or else I’m a dead man.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’d be a handsome corpse.” 

The walk back to your home is short, the cold night enveloping you in a secure sense of calm. 

Lando’s warm hand in yours kept you grounded, meanwhile the stars in the sky built your hope up. Your house comes into view and Lando swings the keys in his hand, whistling a tune only he knew the melody of. 

He unlocked the door and as soon as you heard it click shut, his lips were on yours. You barely made it up the stairs and into your bedroom, tumbling over each other and giggling at the mumbled curse words falling from his lips. 

Once in your room, Lando doesn’t bother to close the door. He’s too focused on how good his hands feel on your hips, how your soft whimpers vibrate in your throat before escaping through the space in your kiss and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. 

It all happens in a blur— one second you’re at your bedroom door, the next you’re laying with your back pressed against your mattress, Lando hovering above you, trailing kisses down your shoulder as he unzips the jacket he gave you and pulls it off your body. 

You’re exposed, nervous and unable to speak when Lando suckles on the skin atop your ribs. His lips burn into each crevice of your flesh, hands heating your hips as they envelop the skin, eyelids closed shut with fluttering eyelashes on his cheeks. 

Lando kisses you like he’s worshipping you— he’s gentle, cautious, exploring your body like it’s a temple and he’s blessed to be allowed to even look at you. 

His tongue runs along the space between your breasts, peppering kisses as he wraps them around your neck, trails them along your jaw until he reaches your lips. Lando kisses you with urgency, with hunger and deep-seated yearning that etched itself into your bones. 

You felt how badly he needed you, how large his hunger had grown, how intensely his craving for you radiated off of his tan skin. 

He’s sloppily kissing your lips, fingers inching closer to the waistband of your panties when he pulls away. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” you breathe against his lips, barely managing to get a word out before he’s tugging them off of you. 

Both of you are so enveloped in each other, so caught up in the moment, that neither of you notice him in the doorway. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Max’s voice trembles through the room. Lando pulls away from you, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in a gasp. The hands you had tangled in his curls were desperately trying to find something to cover your body with. You landed on the jacket Lando pulled off of you earlier. 

You’re too focused on not breaking into tears that you don’t notice how close Lando and Max are standing. 

“Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me you weren’t fucking my sister.” Max’s rageful tone lumbers a fire in his chest that’s only growing bigger with each second he watches the scene in front of him— you, pulling the jacket closer to yourself as you try to get decent and Lando standing shirtless in front of Max, lips puffy from kissing you. It makes Max’s blood boil. 

Lando runs a hand through his hair, taking a breath like he’s trying to come up with something to say— like there’s anything he could say that would make this better. “Max—“

“No, don’t say my fucking name like you haven’t crossed every boundary I’ve set.” Max pushes Lando’s chest.

You watch the fight unfold— Max’s eyes burning into Lando’s, betrayal, anger and hurt painted all over his face. Lando was standing calmly, alarmed but he kept it at bay. 

Lando doesn’t hold back. “I love her.”

The breath in your throat catches and tears prick your eyes as soon as the words leave his lips. Max freezes for a second, long enough for the words to land, hard and heavy. And then—

He swings. Hard.

The punch lands square on Lando’s jaw with a sickening crack. You gasp, standing to your feet almost immediately, but Lando barely stumbles— he wipes the blood from the corner from his mouth and stands upright, rolling his shoulders. 

“You think that makes it better?” Max says. “You think loving her gives you the right to sneak around like this? And you couldn’t come to me? Not a single fucking word.” 

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Lando’s breath is steady, voice sharp. “You never would’ve let me. I was trying to protect what we have.” 

“We?” Max huffs out a humorless laugh. “What about her? You think she needs some arrogant asshole sneaking her around like a fucking coward?” 

“I’m not a coward.” Lando exhales through his nose. “And I’d take a hundred more punches from you than hide this for another day.” 

Max’s fist twitches, like he’s going to hit Lando again, but he doesn’t. His eyes snap to you. “And you just let him? Him, of all fucking peop—“

“She didn’t let me do anything.” Lando cuts in, his tone harsher now that the blame shifted to you. “She chose me just like I chose her. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me, but leave her out of this.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

You’re standing, tears falling down your cheeks. Lando’s still bleeding down his chin, but he doesn’t care— all he cares about now is that Max doesn’t lash out on you for no reason. 

Max’s eyes flicker between the two of you. They’re filled with fury, betrayal, hurt. But mostly confusion. 

Lando reaches his hand out to you as he speaks again, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. But I won’t apologise for loving her.” 

His heart is pounding. He didn’t expect to confess to both the Fewtrell siblings in one night. 

Max just stares at him, jaw clenched so hard like it might snap. “Get out,” he finally said. Not shouting, not loud, just final.

Lando glances at you for permission, fear flashing across his face as if he was asking if this was it. You nod slowly, squeezing his hand three times— one for each word of i love you. “Just give me a moment, okay?” 

He nods, muttering a quiet okay and watches as you lead Max out of your room into the hallway.

 

And now it’s just the two of you. The Max Storm isn’t over, but it hangs above you like a calm thundercloud now. You knew he couldn’t be as upset with you as he pretended to be. 

You saw past his furrowed brows and deep inside, somewhere between his ribcage, was the same boy you grew alongside with, collecting rocks and sticks to make a mud cake. 

Max doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stands there, eyes closed, head resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Do you remember the treehouse?” You test the waters, standing across from him with your back against the wall. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Max sighs. “What about it?” 

“I used to hide out there when you were upset with me.” You admit. “All the heart carvings were me. But the stars on the floor of it were Lando.”

Max’s head snaps up, eyes reading your face. “What?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh a little. “He found me there when looking for you and I was crying. I was like, I dunno, thirteen or fourteen. He climbed up without a word, sat down next to me and started carving.” 

“Why is this relevant?” 

You sigh. “He’s not an arrogant asshole to me when we’re alone.”

“That’s not-“ Max drops his hands, his shoulders sinking. “You’re my sister. I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your best to keep your composure and to not crack under the weight of your brother’s anger. “I didn’t need you to protect me from him. He listens to me, he– he waits. He’s different, Max, and you just refuse to see it.”

Max runs both his hands down his face, turning his eyes towards the hallway— he can’t get himself to look at you. “Do you love him?”

You inhale sharply, the question catching you off guard. And then, softly, as if you’d crumble as soon as you said it: “Yes.”

That’s what breaks him. Not the intimacy, not the secrecy, but the quiet, unshakeable truth in your affirmation of the one thing he was always most scared of.

He nods once, not shaking the intimidating older brother demeanor, even though he knows you see right through it. “You’re serious about him.”

“I am.” You bite the inside of your cheek, anxiety coursing through your veins faster than the adrenaline of being caught by your brother, in bed with his best friend.

“And him?” Max nods his head towards the door, clenching his jaw at the indirect mention of Lando. “He better be serious about you, too, or else I swear to–”

“He is,” you finish before he can even start threatening Lando. “He’s more serious than I imagined. Maybe even more serious than me. You just– You have to give him a chance, Max.”

Your brother just stands there, a shell of himself compared to how excited he was earlier this evening, at Mason’s party. You worry this will affect your relationship, both with Lando and with Max, and you can’t help but break into a quiet cry. 

You use the sleeve to wipe away a tear off your jaw. “Do you… Do you hate me?”

Max’s shoulders immediately drop, his voice softer. “I could never hate you.”

You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

He lets out a sad laugh. “Yeah, didn’t expect to lose my best friend tonight.”

You immediately reach out to touch Max’s arm, about to open your mouth to try and better the situation between them, but before you can even mumble a word, Max is pulling away and walking down the stairs. “I need time. I’ll be at Mason’s.” He says as he steps down the last stair, and you stand at the top of them, listening.

The front door closes shut. There’s no slam, just a quiet close of the red, wooden door. It somehow breaks you more than if he had slammed it shut.

Lando waits patiently on your bed, using his T-shirt as a wipe, trying his best to get the drying blood off of his chin. When the door to your bedroom opens, his eyes immediately flash to you and he can tell it didn’t go well. 

Lando closes the distance between you two almost immediately, discarding his bloody shirt to the floor as his arms wrap around you, warm, like home. “Are you okay?” He murmurs against your hair.

You nod with your face still pressed against his chest, fingers curling around him and settling on being lazily draped on his waist. “I will be. Are you?”

His chest rises underneath you, the events of that night hanging heavy in the air around you. “Took a punch to the jaw from my best friend, so… Not exactly my best night. But you’re here with me, that’s all I need.” 

You pull away enough to look up at him, enough to notice the purpling bruise on his jaw and the split in his lip. Guilt coils itself deep inside your stomach. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes again. 

“Don’t,” he cups your jaw, thumb softly caressing your skin before he pulls you close again, his cheek resting against the crown of your head. “You don’t have to apologise, not for any of it.”

After a few deep breaths and another two minutes of just standing there, holding each other, you pull away. Lando’s heart breaks at the tear stains on your cheeks, but you ignore his sad expression and mutter, “let me clean you up.” 

Lando stands in front of you as you sit on the cupboard, next to the sink, his hands on either side of your spread legs as he stands between them. 

You’re dabbing a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic onto the cut on his lip. “Hold still,” you order him and he raises a brow. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You give him a look. “Not the time.”

“Okay,” you dab the cotton against his lip again and he winces in pain, but stays still. “Fuck, it stings.”

“Well, you did get punched.” You point out the obvious, shaking your head with disappointment. “You’re such an idiot.”

The irony of your words doesn’t get lost on Lando— he said the same thing to you months ago, when he drove you home from the party. 

“I know,” he shrugs. “Worth it though.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, a little bit in disbelief. “Getting punched by my brother is worth it?”

Lando puts his hands on your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “If it meant I get to be with you, I’d let him punch me a million times more.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you continue working on cleaning him up. “You’re lucky I haven’t punched you myself.” 

“Fair,” he grins and tries his best to hold as still as he can. His fingers dig into your skin as a way to keep himself at bay, and with the weight of his touch, you weren’t sure if he was holding back just because of the pain anymore. 

A moment passes— one in which Lando can’t stop looking at your focused face and you try your best not to get too flustered because of it. Your brain has been running a mile a minute since Max caught you and it only now had time to process what actually happened.

“You said you loved me.” You say, cautiously, like you’re scared he’ll tell you he didn’t mean it. That was your biggest worry at that moment— Lando just saying things, not knowing if he meant it. 

“Yeah,” he says it so casually, like his words were weightless. “I did.” 

You halt your movements, dropping your hands into your lap as you look anywhere but at him. “Did you mean it or was it something you said to calm Max down?” 

Lando laughs a little. “If I wanted to calm him down, I wouldn’t have said that.” 

You bite your bottom lip with anxiety and nod, “right.” 

He narrows his eyes, pushing his palms onto the counter as his head dips a bit to see you better. “I meant it,” he says after a moment. “It might’ve not been the ideal way to tell you, but it’s true.”

You place your head on his shoulder, still not looking up at him. The drawstring of his sweatpants gets pulled into your grasp as you fidget with it, not sure if you should ask this, but you do. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is soft, as if he was afraid of being heard. “It just kinda snuck up on me one day and hasn’t left me ever since.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to continue working on his lip. “Okay.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Lando tilts his head to the side, much like a small, confused puppy would. 

“It’s a lot to process,” you shrug, eyes so focused on his lips that you don’t notice his eyes so glued on your face. “I need a minute.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles, hands finding their place on your hips again. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you should probably not say that around Max anymore.”

Lando licks his lips with a laugh. “Duly noted. You gonna kiss me or keep playing nurse?”

You raise a brow, finally looking at him— his green eyes are no longer hinting at the sadness of the fight he had with Max and rather a glint of something brighter shines in them, something you’ve noticed only happens when he’s looking at you. 

“Let the lip heal first.” You kiss his cheek but Lando won’t settle for that. 

He cups your chin, softly yet firmly turning you to look at him. “Fuck the lip, I want to kiss my girl.” 

That’s when it comes. 

The moment you two had been dreaming of, yet every time it got close, something got in the way. Lando’s hands traveled from your hips to your jacket, unzipping it to reveal your bare body again. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled against your lips, ignoring the stinging of the cut on his bottom one. No amount of injury would keep him away from you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. The way he kissed you was addicting— with every passing second it felt like his lips became more of a lifeline for you, like if he were to pull away right now, you’d feel a part of you go missing. 

Your nails softly traced formless shapes in his scalp, sending shivers down his spine as his lips left hickeys beside the ones he had decorated you with earlier. 

His hands settle on your thighs, slowly inching closer and when he triggers a spot on your skin that was particularly sensitive to his touch, your knees try to close but hit his hips instead. He pulled you closer to the edge of the sink, his hold on you so careful like he might break you. 

His lips are still on your neck when he mutters, “wrap your legs around me.” 

You do as told, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he picks you up, carrying you across the hall to your bedroom. He lays you on the bed again— the door shut this time— wasting no time as he unties his sweatpants. 

You don’t notice him reach over to the drawer of your nightstand, taking out the condom he slipped in from his jacket right when Max came into your room. All hell would’ve broken loose if it had somehow fallen out of the jacket when you wore it. 

You feel him pressing against you and another second passes before you’re gasping at him pushing into you, filling you up. “I know,” he coos, lips softly peppering kisses down your jaw. “You can take it.”

Lando stills his hips for a second, not moving as you take time to adjust. The excitement and anticipation grows so big in your belly that it jolts your hips slightly upwards, making Lando groan at the feeling. 

“I’ll move a bit, yeah?” He looks into your eyes, pushing away the hair that fell messily onto your forehead. 

You nod your head and he pulls out. Immediately, you feel the need for more, for him. When Lando pushes his tip past your folds again, setting a slow rhythm, you whimper softly against his mouth. Lando can’t help but moan quietly, the feeling of your walls around his cock being better than he ever imagined. 

Those nights of his hand wrapped around his length, your name spilling from his lips as he came undone on his own chest were nothing like having you— a whimpering mess— underneath him. 

He speeds up just the smallest bit, adding more force to his thrusts, and rolls his hips anytime they make contact with yours. The sound of skin-on-skin contact and shy moans fills the room. 

Lando’s necklace dangles in your face and, for some odd reason, it turns you on even more. Your hips jut against his and you mutter, “faster.”

The sound of your voice when he’s thrusting into you made Lando come closer to the edge. He speeds up again, fingers digging so deeply into your hips that he was sure would leave a mark. 

You gasp at the feeling of him pulling your hips up towards him with every thrust, your eyes squeezed shut as your mouth parted, loud moans bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he kissed your jaw, softly biting down on the skin to earn more pretty sounds from you.

Every word you try to say gets drowned out by your moans or muted by Lando kissing you, and then you feel the pleasure build up so quickly that you’re unable to tell him when you come undone. Lando felt your walls pulse around him tighter and knew to keep the pace, thrusting into you as deeply as he could. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, eyes already looking at your closed ones. When your pupils meet his, you feel him reach down between your bodies and gently rub your clit. “Y’gonna cum on my cock, baby? Hm?”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando speeds up the tiniest amount, drilling into you with all he’s got as his right middle finger draws circles on your aching bud. And then, with a breathy moan, Lando feels you come undone. 

He thrusts a little more, reaching for his high with his lips pressed to your shoulder. You feel a warmth inside you before Lando stills. 

The next few minutes are of you two just laying in each other's embrace, not moving— aside from your fingers in Lando’s hair and his fingers drawing circles on your hips— and simply soaking in the calm after the storm.

It’s been two days since Max’s knuckles made friends with Lando’s jaw.

Mason found it quite funny— he never really liked Lando to begin with, so hearing that he fucked up in Max’s eyes made him that much more motivated to add fuel to the fire. He sat on the couch in his living room, watching as Max played some video game on the playstation. 

Another twenty minutes of uninterrupted gameplay passes before Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s so focused on the game that he doesn’t even check who’s calling, assumes it’s you, and presses the green button before putting the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Lando’s voice cuts through Max’s focus on the game. He immediately pauses it, rage building in his chest. 

Max takes a breath, trying to calm down before answering. “What do you want?” 

“I’m thinking of breaking up with her.” 

Max feels his heart drop to his heels. He’s what? 

On the other end of the call, Lando’s got his head in his hands as his phone lays atop his knee. He’s in his car, the already small space getting even smaller as his shallow exhales fill the air. 

He’s parked outside your house where, just five minutes ago, he left you peacefully sleeping.  

Over the last two days he had spent with you— all the slow dancing in the kitchen, the breaths bouncing off each other’s faces from being so close in the morning, the moments where his hands traversed your body like it was land unknown to anyone else but him— Lando realised that maybe he could do this forever. 

And that scared him. 

He’s always been a free man— going wherever he pleases whenever he wants, having no responsibility for anyone else other than himself— but now there’s you. 

Lando’s life feels like it’s split into two parts. The part before you seems free, fun, inviting yet gloomy. Like there’s an essential element of it that’s just missing, thus making his existence in that time seem like exactly that— existing. 

The part after you, though, that part is what’s so new yet scary to him. Rather than existing through his days, he lives them because of you. 

It’s a lot more domestic, this life— waking up in tangled sheets, making and burning pancakes in the morning as soft music spills from the speakers, sitting tangled on the couch as you read a book and Lando played a game on Max’s console. He’s not sure what happened for it to feel so wrong when everything was going so well. 

This morning, Lando watched you sleep. So serene, solemn and still. Your bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, soft snores lingering at the back of your throat every once in a while. 

He stayed like that— propped up on his elbow, eyes tracing over every inch of your face— until the weight in his chest felt like his ribs were breaking. 

As he was getting dressed, he questioned it. He loves you— hell, he’s loved you for years, but he was too stupid to realise it sooner— and he knows you’re the girl he wants, so why is he running?

He’s quietly making his way down the stairs when he realises that maybe Max was right. Max made it clear that Lando wasn’t the guy for you, that you deserve much better, and while Lando disagreed with it before, he feels like it’s true.

He spent the majority of his later teens and early adulthood with more women than he could count on one hand, not a single one of them made him question his feelings, because there weren’t any. 

But now, with you sleeping soundly upstairs and him standing by the open front door, Lando realises that maybe somewhere in the middle of your blooming relationship, he got too caught up in the delusion to face reality— you deserve someone who won’t walk out on you while you’re asleep. 

For the past five minutes, Lando sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want to call Max about this, but he was the only person in the world that Lando trusted and it was worth a shot. 

“You what?” Max’s voice rang in Lando’s ears. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“You were right, I– I’m not the guy for her.” Lando’s voice sounded so flat that it made Max worried, just the tiniest bit. “She deserves better.”

“Mate, if it’s about what I said, I’ll fucking get over it eventually.” Max is now pacing around Mason’s living room while the blond man just watches him, a glimmer of hope in his eye that Max failed to catch. “But her? She’ll never get over you, Lando.”

“You don’t know that, Max.”

Max inhales sharply, as if he was just about to spew a string of insults at Lando but chose to take the calmer approach. “I do know that, she’s so fucking in love with you that it makes me sick. Do you realise how much you walking out will fuck her up?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Lando’s starting his car now, still hesitant to turn the key. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“Since when do you decide that?” Max huffs a humorless laugh. “At least just talk to her, dude. I’ll get over you two dating but what I won’t forgive you for is walking out on both of us.” 

“Bye, Max.” Lando inhales a deep breath and before his best friend can speak again, he’s ending the call.

The smell of cinnamon, bananas and something burning hits Max’s nose the second he opens the front door to his house. He steps into the kitchen slowly, eyes scanning the mess— flour dusted across the countertops like snow, dishes cluttering the sink, you aggressively mixing something in a big, blue bowl. 

“What are you doing?” 

You halt your movements, turning around to Max with the fakest smile he’s ever seen from you. “Baking. Banana bread, you want some?” 

Max watches as you pull out the banana bread— that looks more like a chunk of coal— out of the oven. “Nah, I’ll pass.” 

He knew not to push, not to ask because, in reality, he shouldn’t even care. You betrayed him as much as Lando did, but you’re his little sister and Max would be damned if he let you set the house on fire with your baking. 

Max took a seat at one of the stools, eyes intently watching you. You never baked, not unless you were trying to occupy your mind by occupying your hands. 

“I talked to Lando,” he says casually, like he didn’t hate the guy. 

He notices the halt in your movements, the knife stilling in the burnt loaf. “Cool,” you shrug. 

“He said he’s ending things with you.” 

“And why do you think that is, Max?” You slam the knife down onto the counter with enough force to make Max jolt. “You got into his head.”

“I didn’t mean for him to take that shit seriously.” Your brother runs a hand down his face. “I was angry, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to leave you.” 

“You punched him, that’s not something to take lightly.” You say, a little quieter this time, a little more hurt. 

Max notices the silent glimmer of a plea in your eyes, like you’re asking him what you should do. “You should talk to him.” 

“And say what?” Your voice breaks as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, shoulders dropping. “He left me, Max, he le-“ 

A loud sob echoes in the kitchen and Max’s arms are around you immediately. He caresses your back, softly kissing your head as his arms squeeze you tighter. 

“He’s at the garage, probably hasn’t left all day.” He mutters. “I’m not telling you to go fix it, but if you want answers, that’s where you’ll get them.” 

Max watches your face as you pull away and wipe your tears with your sleeve. “Okay.” 

“Go, I’ll clean up your mess.” Max gives your shoulders a soft squeeze and turns to the lump of coal you called banana bread. 

Lando’s garage had always been his hideout. 

The lights were always on too late and, even from across the street, you could see a sliver of fluorescent glow bleeding out through the cracked garage door. 

You were parked at the end of his driveway. The air, thick and way too warm, smelled like motor oil and rubber, and it reminded you of simpler days— your legs dangling off the workbench while your boyfriend tinkered with something, grease smudging his fingers and face. 

The door was already cracked open, your favourite song quietly playing from the bluetooth speaker at the corner of the room. 

Lando was bent over the engine of one of the cars, back towards you, elbow deep in whatever he was messing with. He didn’t need to turn to know it was you who came in. 

“You left while I was sleeping.” Your voice shook the calmness of his garage— his sanctuary— and he felt it in his bones. “You left and didn’t say anything. You talked to Max instead of me.” 

Lando pulls his hands out of the engine bay and reaches for a nearby rag, wiping his fingers slowly and methodically, giving himself something to focus on before he breaks. 

“I didn’t know what to say.” He finally turns to face you, though his eyes stay glued to the ground. He catches a glimpse of your pink crocs and it makes him smile, just barely. 

“You knew what to say to the guy that punched you and not your girlfriend?” Your voice cracked with a quiet sob. “Do you know what it felt like to hear from my brother that you wanted to end things with me?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he draws in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry I disappeared, okay? I just- I didn’t know how to handle it. I needed space to think.” 

“About what?” You bit your bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “About whether or not I’m worth staying for?”

“No,” the word left his lips with urgency, eyes finally looking up at yours. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

The silence stretched, the music still playing from the corner of the room like it didn’t care that hearts broke in this room. 

Lando exhaled slowly. “I’m scared.” He didn’t wait for you to ask why. “I’ve never had a good thing like this, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up and ruin it.” 

“You won’t.”

He huffs a sigh of frustration. “You don’t know that.” 

You step a little closer, inching towards the wall Lando built up around himself,  a frail attempt to hide his feelings. Lando raises his eyes from the ground to— finally— look at your face. 

“I know that you’re trying,” your voice cuts through the sharp silence. “I know that I noticed all the things you did for me.”

“What?” Lando blinked. 

“I noticed,” you repeated. “You probably thought I didn’t, but I never mentioned it because I thought you’d stop doing them.” 

You reach out to take his hand, rough and warm, in yours. He didn’t pull away, just looked at you— sad, scared, waiting.

“I noticed how you remembered stupid details about me. I noticed how you’d text me when you couldn’t sleep and pretend it was about something random, when you were trying to subtly let me in. I noticed how you got quieter when overwhelmed, how you’d hold back things you wanted to say. I saw all of that. I see you, Lando.” 

Lando’s grasp on your hand tightened, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He looked up at you. Like your words were light he didn’t know he could stand in. 

“I tried,” he whispered, voice gentle and soft in the way he’d never spoken before— like every word he says drops to the ground with added weight. 

“I know you did,” you nod, eyes teary and locked into his face. “And I loved every bit of it. All the good and the bad. I wasn’t waiting for some perfect version of you, I just want you. The scared and the happy.” 

A silence stretched in the air. Then, he exhaled shakily and spoke again. 

“It’s like… The more I care, the worse I get at this. Like I’m holding something fragile and don’t know how to stop myself from dropping it.” 

“You’re not going to drop me. You don’t have to protect me from you. I choose you and I choose this.” 

He pulled his hand away gently, eyes focusing on anything  other than your face. His jaw clenched, voice low when he mumbled, “I think I need a break.” 

“A break?” 

“Not because I don’t love you,” he quickly added, looking at you with wide eyes before dropping his shoulders. “I do, God, I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it.” 

You don’t say anything— not a sound— tears falling from your eyes as you gave him a small, bittersweet smile.

Lando watched as you stepped closer, bringing your hands up to his cheeks. You pulled him in close enough to press your lips against the sweaty surface of his forehead, giving a gentle see you later, neither of you sure of when the later is. 

Then, you turned on your heel and stepped out into the night, leaving Lando in his sanctuary of motor oil and gasoline.

The next few weeks feel like they’re moving in slow motion. It’s cruel how grief stretches time.

You kept expecting to wake up one day and feel fine, but it didn’t work like that.

You still reached for your phone some mornings, typing out something before remembering you weren’t talking. The playlist he made for you kept playing on repeat in your earbuds, his hoodie adorned your torso, sleeves pulled over your hands so at least some part of him was still holding you.

You caught yourself looking for him in the small things— when you’d walk out of university, eyes flickering to see if his car was there; when you’d walk downstairs and half-hope he was playing a game with Max; when you’d hear a word or phrase he’d often use and whip your head around to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there.

It’s like living with a phantom limb– he wasn’t there, yet everything still remembered him.

Your best friends didn't push, Max didn’t mention him. But the silence— the kind that only fills the room after something’s broken and no one knows how to sweep it up— spoke for you.

In the meanwhile, Lando was coping in the only way he knew how.

He skipped hang outs with friends, ditched parties, just to work longer hours in his garage. Stayed until the heater shut off on its own and his hands were numb from the cold. He didn’t talk to anyone for those weeks. He just drowned himself in tasks— changing oil, fixing brakes, changing tires— anything that kept his hands busy and allowed his mind to work on autopilot. 

His phone remained quiet. Once or twice, he clicked on your contact just to see the photo of you two. Thought about sending a voice memo or a meme— something friendly, something you’d tease him for— but he always backed out at the last minute. 

Lando could hide in the garage all he wanted, but one thing remained true: he missed you like hell.

He missed the way you’d talk to him, like he wasn’t something broken. Missed how you’d be his escape from reality, much more than his garage ever was. Missed how easy it had started to feel, until he complicated it.

He kept seeing you everywhere or maybe he was just finding any excuse to take a moment to stop and think of you. He’d catch himself standing in the cereal aisle, staring at the brand you liked most. Or outside a bakery, reading the chalkboard sign that said banana bread in funky script, thinking of how he’d come downstairs in the morning to find you baking it.

Lando tried his best not to feel it— the regret, the grief, the overwhelming love.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found himself staring at his lockscreen, a picture of the two of you on it. You were asleep tucked into his side, so serene and peaceful that he couldn’t help but snap a picture. He did this on nights he couldn’t sleep.

It was already two in the morning and his mind was running wild, he could’ve sworn he hallucinated a message from you. He checked his phone again, seeing the message and just as he’s about to click on it, your contact pops up on his screen.

Lando doesn’t hesitate to answer, pressing the green button immediately. “Hello?”

On the other end, you’re locked in a bathroom at Mason’s house, mascara running down your cheeks, dress hitched way too high up your thighs. You didn’t anticipate this night to go so wrong when all you were trying to do is move on from wallowing at home.

The party, at some point, became too much. Too many people, too much noise, too many bodies brushing past you like you didn’t exist— except for the one who did notice you and in all the wrong ways. 

Mason caught you in the hallway, snaking an arm around your waist as he led you upstairs to his bedroom. You thought he was being nice, like he had been for the past few weeks. It was only when he started softly caressing your thighs, face inching closer to yours, that you realised his intentions. He didn’t stop, even when you were pushing and screaming at him to go away. 

You found a pause in his movements, kicked him somewhere that distracted him long enough for you to run out of the room and lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Your fingers trembled when you opened your phone.

There were people you could’ve called. People who would answer and help. But you didn’t want people, only him.

When the phone rang once, then twice, you started doubting your choice of calling him. But then, his voice cuts through the chaos in your mind and silences it all with just one word. 

His voice was rough with surprise, tired, laced with something so familiar yet so distant. 

You didn’t mean to cry again, but it spilled out of you without warning. “I— fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait— hey, no— what’s wrong?” Lando sat up in his bed, alarmed by the trembling of your voice. “Where are you?”

“At a party,” you mumbled, wiping your tears uselessly. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he answered, no hesitation. “I’m coming to get you, text me the address?”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I— I’m sorry.”

“Give me the address.” Lando says more sternly. You read it out and he repeated it back, like he was memorising it. “Stay there. You don’t have to explain a thing to me, just stay in that room and don’t open the door unless it’s me, okay?”

Then the line went dead.

You sunk to the floor, phone in your lap, arms around your knees. The minutes stretched painfully. Music blared, people walked by, someone knocked once but you told them to fuck off without even glancing at the door.

Then, barely ten minutes since the call ended, you hear a knock. Softer, rhythmic, familiar.

“It’s me,” he yelled over the music. You opened the door and there he was— messy haired, hoodie half-zipped, cheeks flushed like he ran the whole way there.

Lando saw your mascara-streaked face and something in him cracked open. He didn’t ask, not immediately. He just shut the door behind himself, reaching a hand out as if to ask for permission to touch you. And when he pulled you into him, arms shielding you, you let yourself break. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumbled into his, now tear and mascara stained, hoodie. “I shouldn’t have called you, it’s too soon, I’m–”

“Stop,” his voice was quiet, but firm. He took your face into his hands, guiding your eyes towards him. “You called, I came. I always will.”

“I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’re not. Not ever.”

Lando tucked you back into his chest again, hand on the back of your head like he’s anchoring you there. “Don’t worry about too soon or too late, I’m here for you. Doesn’t matter when or where.”

You nodded, inhaling shaky breaths until the ache in your chest became small enough to handle. Lando’s eyes traced your face when you pulled away, thumbs softly wiping the mascara from under your eyes. “Who did this to you?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to say anything. But Lando knew you. He knew how to read you, how to understand what you wanted to say even without words. “Mason?” A nod from you was all it took for Lando to mumble for you to stay there as he burst out the door.

The kitchen was buzzing— music hummed low, drinks were being poured, someone laughed too loudly over the sound of ice cracking in the glass. 

Lando stormed in like a force of nature, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched, a fury in his eyes no one had ever seen before, not even Max. 

Lando didn’t look around at the people in the small space. He moved straight to the kitchen counter, like a bloodhound drawn to the scent of something rotten. 

Mason was there, laughing, surrounded by people too excited for the shots being poured to notice the storm. But Max did. The second he saw Lando, he knew something was up. 

“Lando—“ Max’s callout was too late. Lando had already grabbed Mason by the collar and slammed him face-first into the marble. 

The music abruptly stopped, Mason’s yell echoing in the still air. “What the fuck?”

Lando pulled him back and threw him against the fridge with a bone-rattling bang, the bottle of vodka from Mason’s hands clattering to the ground and breaking at their feet. 

“You sick son of a bitch,” Lando snarled, pressing his forearm against Mason’s throat. “You don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?” 

Mason coughed, struggling. “What the fuck are you on about?”

By now, Max had shoved forward and tried to pry Lando off. “Hey, man—“

“You know exactly what,” Lando spat, eyes not once leaving Mason’s face. “You wanna tell Max what you did to his sister? Why she called me crying and couldn’t even say your name without breaking into a sob?”

Max froze. “What?” 

“She didn’t say no,” Mason tried to defend himself, wide eyed and panicked. “She didn’t say anything— She didn’t stop me.”

Lando punched him. Knuckles to cheekbone, sharp and brutal. Mason’s head whipped to the side with a force strong enough to bring him to the ground, blood already blooming from his lip. 

The whole room stood frozen. Lando hovered over the recovering Mason, before shoving him to the ground with his knee between Mason’s shoulder blades. 

“If I hear that you touched her again or even looked her way, you won’t be just bleeding.” Lando promises. 

Then he leaves, as quickly and quietly as he arrived. Mason’s left on the floor with a fuming Max while Lando finds his way back to you, knuckles bleeding and heart racing triple. 

The cold marble of your kitchen islands spreads coolth along your thighs, grounding you to the present, although your thoughts are elsewhere entirely. The kitchen light buzzing above you doesn’t help with the lingering headache from the party or the ghost of Mason’s hands still roaming your body.

You got home ten minutes ago. 

Lando stands beside you, the heat from his body bleeding into the silence like wildfire, even as he zones out into nothing. His eyes seem so far away, jaw clenched with uncontrollable fury.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you murmur, barely a whisper. He doesn’t answer, simply stretches out and closes his fist again, before tucking it into his pocket, like he can hide the violence and anger of tonight. 

He looked wrecked, not just from the fight, but from feeling— jaw clenched, lips tight, eyes narrowed in on the wooden floor. 

“I shouldn’t have called you,” you whispered. “It was selfish and too soon, and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Stop,” he said immediately, voice too gentle for how rough and broken he looked. He closed the distance between you, and like testing the waters, he placed a hand on the counter beside you. “Don’t ever apologise for needing me. I’ll always come when you call.”

The dam broke a little at that, tears pricking your eyes. Lando’s finger twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he could. So you reached for him first— fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. 

Lando melted around you instantly, arms winding around your waist, pulling you in, holding you against him like you were fragile and precious, and his. 

Neither of you moved for a long time. The house was silent, apart from your quiet gasps for air once in a while. Your heartbeat matched the steady thrum of his and you finally felt like everything was slowly becoming okay again. 

Eventually, Lando pulled away just enough to see your face, but kept you close enough for his fingers to still steadily warm your waist. “Can I clean this up?” He lifted his right hand, nudging his chin towards his knuckles. You nodded. 

He led you to the bathroom and sat against the bathtub’s edge, watching as you hastily looked for the first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, gently cleaning the dried up blood from his knuckles and skin. He hissed once the antiseptic touched an open wound. You didn’t apologise, just looked up and met his eyes, already watching you. “Why?”

Lando turned his head to the side with a questioning hum, “what?”

“You didn’t have to go that far,” you mutter, lowering your eyes to his hand again. “We could’ve just gone home.”

“I did have to,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You didn’t even think twice, you just went there and…” your voice was quiet, like you’re ashamed. 

“No,” he speaks again, “because it’s you.”

The quiet that settled in didn’t feel heavy anymore— it felt like home again. In the words Lando spoke and the tenderness of your fingers on his wounds, gentle and careful, both of you found your place again. Like two halves of one whole. You were the better half of him and he— of you.

The sun rose outside your bedroom window as Lando lay against your chest and you held him close, with a tight yet tender grip, like he’d disappear if you let go of him again.

“I’m glad you called me tonight,” Lando muttered, lips pressed to your bare chest. “I’m not sure how much longer I would have waited before talking to you again.”

“It was eating me alive,” you admit. “The not knowing whether this was it, whether you’d still want me whenever I saw you next. But I’m glad you do.”

“I always will,” the certainty in his voice, spoken like he knew what he’d feel for the rest of his life, made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for calling me, again.”

You look down at him, your smile soft and bittersweet.

“Thank you for coming, again.” 

“To you, always.”

[cosycryptid]

Steve’s not that much of a fan of coffee but he frequents the local coffee shop because Robin is and she also has a crush on the blonde barista, Chrissy. Steve doesn’t mind tagging along at all because he is a) an excellent wingman and b) ever so slightly enamoured with Eddie, Chrissy’s attractive, metalhead coworker, who always grumbles about the corporate machine making him tie his hair back and take off his rings for work.

Steve thinks the ponytail is cute, but the one time he said that, Eddie got all quiet on him and wouldn’t stop shooting Steve these looks he couldn’t quite get a read on. So naturally Steve assumes it’s a touchy subject and doesn’t bring it up again. Apart from that though, he feels like he gets on really well with Eddie and alway enjoys his company. He’s managed to make him laugh at least eight times since he and robin started going there. Robin’s been keeping count for him.

The issue is, lately Steve gets the feeling Chrissy is trying to hit on him, and it’s making him feel super guilty because she’s Robin’s crush and seems to be really close with Eddie too. Also, he’s not into her, but he doesn’t want to upset her because she seems like a genuine and sweet person.

It started when Chrissy handed over his usual to go cup and instead of his name, it had ‘handsome’ written on the side in marker with a cute little heart drawn under it. He had panicked so hard about Robin potentially seeing it that he downed the coffee when it was still hot, scolded the fuck out of his tongue and shoved the empty cup in the nearest trash can. He thought that his reaction would be enough to deter Chrissy, but they kept coming thick and fast, each one making Steve blush to the tips of his ears and feel a wave of guilt crash over him.

The messages kept getting more flirty each time too, some stand outs being:

‘Enjoy, sweetheart xx’

‘Hey there, pretty boy :) x’

‘Nice jeans, sweet cheeks ;)’

‘Hot tea for a hottie x’

‘The only thing sweeter than this drink is you, darling x’

And the final straw:

‘Call me, big boy xx’

The last one had a phone number underneath, and Steve felt his heart sink when he saw it. He’d thought eventually with him throwing away the cups so quickly - before he and robin even left the place most of the time- Chrissy would surely catch onto his lack of interest and stop at some point. However, it had only seemed to spur her on. This last one took it a step further, invited him to do something about all the others that came before it. Robin isn’t there with him today, so he assumes that’s what gave Chrissy the confidence boost to take a shot and he feels like such a shitty friend for not telling Chrissy to stop this earlier.

Now for several reasons, Steve would have the unfortunate task of letting her down gently. He decides it’s best to tear of the bandaid and just do it right away so there’s no room for miscommunication. She’s gone back to the till to take someone else’s order, so Steve joins the back of the line, the offending cup of coffee in hand.

As he approaches the front she catches sight of him and frowns for a second, but then plasters on her usual bubbly, customer service smile. “Is there something wrong with your order, Steve?” she asks, sounding upset at the idea and twisting the knife in Steve’s chest a little further.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs heavilly, he glances around to see if anyone is listening in before speaking because he doesn’t want to cause her any embarrassment. “Look, I’m really flattered, honestly,” Steve says, placing his cup down on the surface and turning it so the message faces Chrissy, “but I have a friend who thinks you’re really cute and I’m kind of interested in your coworker.” He lowers his voice for the second part. “So I’m really sorry, but I can’t call you.”

He’s bracing himself for a negative reaction, but then he’s bewildered when a bright giggle bursts out of Chrissy’s glossy pink lips instead. She continues to let out little peels of laughter, only stopping when she registers his look of utter confusion.

“Steve, I’m not the one who’s been making your drinks all this time, I’ve just been handing them to you.”

“Then who-“

“You better hang on to this one, beautiful. I’ve seen too many of my previous masterpieces go unappreciated.” Eddie interrupts, leaning on Chrissy’s shoulder with a devlish grin. “I’ll be expecting that call later, big boy,” he says before winking at Steve playfully and going straight back to fulfilling orders.

Steve’s jaw drops and his face burns, and all of a sudden that little paper cup is the most precious item he’s ever recieved. Part of him wants to go back and locate all the previous ones he threw away, but he knows that they’re long gone by now and that Eddie would probably lose interest in him quickly if he saw him trying to climb in the bin for a better look.

Stece settles on guarding the cup he has, the most important one, with his life instead. And he does so up until the end of the day, when his shift finishes and he’s back to the safety of his house. Before doing anything, he makes a beeline straight for the phone and presses in the number he now knows off by heart after hours of reading it off the side of the cup.

The call is picked up after the second ring.

“Eddie?” Steve asks.

“Hey, Stevie.” Steve tries to ignore the way his chest flutters at the nickname. “So, I was thinking… how would you like to see me with my hair down?”

Steve beams brightly. “I’d love that.”

Coffee could possibly become one of Steve’s favourite things.

[wingedfuncomputer]

The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist Full Fic!

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be  thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir".  You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving".  Your heart  ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being  ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself  which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your  father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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