#maximum soothing
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warneckequotes · 5 months ago
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"Cuddlebug," 2018
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stefisdoingthings · 7 months ago
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don't look (please do)
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trigunloveandpeace · 2 years ago
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I mean, sometimes you just gotta pet a cat.
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um-lorii · 1 year ago
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kinning is so fun to me . like yeah i am Shadow the Hedgehog from the hit gaming series Sonic. I Am also sometimes 5 Years Old
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aria0fgold · 6 months ago
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The Inochizuna song looping has been cut short, my fave singer uploaded an upbeat song I can safely loop without immediately getting blasted with sleepiness so now I'm looping their cover of Buriki no Dance.
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plenilune · 2 years ago
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MIXTAPE // pov: midvalley the hornfreak is killing you
this was supposed to be a joke but unfortunately I just really love harsh experimental noise jazz that sounds like an evil saxophone man is murdering you. Too Kinky To Torture except it's "Midvalley gets really uncomfortable with how relaxed I am and stops trying to murder me because I made it too weird". anyway this is my magnum opus mixtape. work in progress.
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whiskey-fever · 10 months ago
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Me when I finish a chapter of this glorious series 🤩🤣🫶
Miracle-twenty one
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*gif found on pinterest*
Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader
Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.
Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.
Author Note: here's some more smut for you!
Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh @tearfallpixie
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NOAH
A small yawn left my lips as I buried myself deeper into my bed, pulling the warm body closer to my chest. Y/N sighed in her sleep, unbothered that I began trailing my fingers up and down the skin of her arm, and I gazed down at her. It's been a few days since the fire and at first, she was really apprehensive of staying here until Jolly and I reassured her we didn't care. Eventually she eased away her worries and became more comfortable moving around the house.
But the nightmares weren't something she got over.
The last two nights, she woke up screaming thinking she was back in her house, in the flames. I would calm her down by bringing her to my chest and soothe her hair away from her face, sometimes even humming a soft tune so she could calm herself back to sleep.
So far tonight, there were no signs of nightmares, but I stayed up to watch her, just in case.
As my knuckles grazed over her arm, my gaze caught sight of the healing cuts and bruises that were scattered along them, the fight with James flashing into my mind.
I kicked the back door in, smoke immediately filling my lungs, and I pulled the top of my sweater over my mouth. Through hazy vision, I did my best to maneuver my way through the unfamiliarity of the house. I tried to remember how the layout was when I was here last time for the funeral.
Just past the kitchen was the hallway where the stairs were that would lead me upstairs to Y/N's bedroom. Where the fire was fastly spreading and by now, it could have spread to the room next to her; the one I needed to get to.
A loud grunt followed my something dropping to the floor caught my attention, and I swung on my heels to see a body leaning over the couch in the living room; the only area where the fire hasn't spread. It seemed like wherever the fire started, it must have been upstairs. Even through the smoke filling the space around me, I recognized who was pouring something on the couch.
"Mother fucker!" I spat.
James turned hastily towards me, a look of shock on his face. "What the fuck? You're not supposed to be here!"
Sprinting towards him, I tackled him to the ground, the red jug of now what I realized was gasoline falling out of his grasp onto the couch. I laid fist after fist into his face while James tried to protect himself, failing miserably.
"Fuck you!" I seethed when he somehow pushed me away from him.
Scrambling to my feet, I brought my foot back in a high kick, the toes of shoe connected with his stomach. James groaned in pain as he clutched himself, spitting what I imagined was blood to the floor.
"I should have figured you'd come to save her; her knight in shining armor," he chuckled darkly while kneeling in front of me.
Anger radiated through me in hypersonic waves, but I did my best to keep myself calm. I couldn't afford to waste time with this asshole while Y/N was barley hanging on.
"Why the hell are you burning down her house?!" I demanded to know after throwing another punch to his jaw.
Shit, that hurt.
I shook out the pain in my hand while watching James clutch his face.
"She doesn't deserve this house! It should have been left to me! My mom left me with nothing after leaving me as a child. Who does that!" James bellowed.
"You think you're the only one that was traumatized by your mom?" I scoffed but then coughed as the smoke filled my lungs completely. "You want to talk about what Y/N doesn't deserve? She doesn't deserve her fucking brother trying to kill her!"
By now, the flames were licking their way down the staircase, burning away the only way for me to make it upstairs to Y/N.
James looked up at me with blood pooling from his mouth, a sinister smirk on his face.
"How does it feel knowing the girl you love is seconds away from burning alive? That is, if the fall doesn't kill her first."
Sheer darkness overtook me as I lifted him from the floor by the collar of his shirt and tossed him over the couch. He clattered to the ground as the jug of gasoline fell with him, covering him in the foul smell.
A knock at my bedroom door brought me out of the memory and carefully detaching myself from Y/N, my feet pattered towards the door. Once opened, I gave a small smile to Jolly.
"How's she doing?" He asked nodding behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I noticed she was still asleep, clutching the pillow tight to her chest.
"She's alright. So far no nightmares," I said when I turned back to Jolly.
Jolly gave me a curt nod. "Well, there's a detective downstairs wanting to talk to you."
My heart pounded in my chest but I did my best not to show how worried I was. I had a feeling after the police talked with James and got his side of the story, they'd be knocking on my door right after.
"Isn't it kind of late?" I asked, running a hand through my hair.
"He said it won't take long," Jolly shrugged.
With a sigh, I nodded and followed him downstairs where I saw the detective standing in the middle of the entryway.
"Mr. Sebastian, I'm sorry for stopping by so late," he extended a hand towards me.
"Noah is fine," I said while shaking it. "Is there something new with the investigation?"
The detective nodded. "We spoke with James a few hours ago. He finally woke up from the coma the hospital put him in to deal with the pain. He told us you attacked him?"
"Yes, because I saw him pouring gasoline downstairs. He was the one that started the fire." I retorted back defensively.
"We know that" the detective nodded. "James told us everything so as far as I see it, you're not in any trouble."
I gave my own nod. "Good. Now what does this mean for Y/N?"
"She'll have to go through the insurance company to see if she'll get any money from losing everything. But as far as I'm aware, that can be a process."
"Right," Jolly snorted. "So what you're saying is that has nothing?"
The detective gave us a sorrowful smile. "I wish I had better news on that front. But at least James won't be a problem anymore. He's looking to go for a plea deal so Y/N won't have to worry about testifying."
"Thanks for the update," I grumbled then gave him my back as I walked upstairs.
Jolly was wrong; Y/N didn't have nothing. She had me, us. We would be all she needed until she found herself back on her feet. No matter what it cost me, I'd give her the entire world if that's what she wanted.
Back in my room, I noticed she was still fast asleep and ran a knuckle over her cheek to brush away the hair from her face, marveling at how soft her skin was. In the beginning, our relationship was rocky and I'd said some hurtful things to her not knowing what she was going through back home. Her life was crumbling and instead of being a strong support system, I was being an asshole because of my own problems. She didn't deserve this, any of this that life threw at her, and yet she still had a smile on her face throughout all the pain.
I knew from that moment she came to the party that she would mean so much to me. I despise how long and what happened to her for me to finally accept it. But from this moment forward, I'd prove that to her.
"I love you, angel," I whispered, staring down at here with a small smile.
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READER
"Oh, fuck you!" I bellowed.
Folio chuckled as he set the game controller down on the couch next to him. "Damn, I never realized you were such a sore loser."
I shot him with an icy glare. "You cheated."
Nick shook his head at the two of us while he brought us two plates of food; fresh hot pizza.
"Thank you," I smiled warmly at Nick.
He sat down next to me with his own food and motioned to the television, where Folio and I just ended the game we were playing. "Folio will claim he never cheats but he's a screen watcher."
I gasped while whirling my head back to Folio. "I knew it!"
It's been almost a week since the fire and this was the first time I'd seen both Nicks since then. They traveled back to Virgina to visit family and returned earlier this afternoon. We decided to have a relaxing night in because in just a few days, they'd be leaving for Europe while I stayed here because I couldn't find the voice to ask for my job back. I knew the guys would allow me to continue work with them but the part of me that didn't want to be a bother held me back.
Plus, I was dealing with a lot of personal thoughts that was causing a small wall to be built up around me. Something Noah noticed. We hadn't been intimate since the first night here and needless to say, I was horny. Noah wanted to make sure I was in the right headspace since I was dealing with nightmares, him being there to hold me when they woke me with a scream.
If the nightmares weren't bad enough, I was also upset with the fact that out of everything I lost in the fire, the only thing I wanted was my laptop that had pictures of me with the guys and crew members. Hundreds of pictures and videos of all the fun times we had on the road together. The one I really wanted was the picture of Noah and I from that party, before everything went to shit.
"Angel."
Looking up to Noah as he stood in front of me, I raised a brow at him. "What?"
He said nothing, simply picked me up from the couch so he could sit with me now in his lap. Large arms wrapped around me from behind as I leaned deeper into his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against my back. He covered us with a blanket as Jolly switched from the video game to a movie while Nick turned off the lights. We all settled in as the comedy movie played and when I shifted to be more comfortable on Noah's lap, he groaned quietly in the back of my neck. My name fell from his lips in a hushed warning.
Smirking, I played with this a bit more.
Underneath the blanket, I snaked a hand between my legs and ran fingers over Noah's dick, which twitched underneath my touch. He wore a pair of sweatpants so I could feel the outline of it but I couldn't slip my hand beneath his waistband to grasp it which made me frown.
"What are you doing?" He breathed in my ear.
Ignoring him, I made a show of getting comfortable in a different position by now sitting at his side and curling up into his chest with the blanket still covering us. Both Nick's and Jolly were engrossed in the movie that they were oblivious to Noah and I as I finally slipped my hand in his pants, fingers touching the soft skin of his already hard cock.
"Angel," Noah grunted in my hairline.
Keeping my gaze on the television, I worked my hand up and down, squeezing every so often. When my thumb brushed along the head, swirling the pre-cum everywhere, Noah's body twitched next to me. His hand slipped underneath my shirt, calloused fingers grazing over the skin of my stomach up towards my breasts and he pinched my perk nipple.
I bit back a moan but kept up my actions on his cock only this time working harder. His head fell back against the couch, silver chain catching the light from the television, and I had to hold myself back from not straddling his lap to get a taste of the skin of his neck. Noah's hips thrust up into my hand a few times before stilling, a harsh breath crawling from the back of his throat when warm cum spilled into my hands and I peered up at him through my lashes, jerking him off through the last waves of his orgasm.
His gaze was hot, burning into me, as I pulled my hand out of his pants and brought my finger to my lips, unnoticed by the guys, and licked his arousal off my fingers one by one.
"Upstairs. Now." Noah yanked me from the couch and tossed me over his shoulder.
I squeeled in delight as he began running upstairs.
"Try to keep it down, alright?" Nick called behind our backs.
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scary-ivy · 8 months ago
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Kind of amused by the concept of Punk Mr. Rogers. Instead of speaking in a calm soothing voice he aggressively shouts everything at maximum volume. He still hangs out with puppets but they're all nasty DIY ratfink blobs that scare small children.
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pseudowho · 1 month ago
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Fright Night! Multi-Fic
The local fair has a Halloween fright night! Actors and zombies and terror, oh my! You drag your boyfriend to it...how does that go for you?
Gojo, Geto, Toji, Higuruma and Ino
18+, NSFW/suggestive in parts
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Gojo: Goes in smiling. Obnoxious laughter the whole way, and it only worsens when you're screaming at every single actor. As you cringe away from a dead-eyed bride, Gojo tickles your ribs until you squirm.
"Awww, baby, you scared? You're scared, right?"
As if in answer to his question, and received with heaps of cackles, you screech when some hideous creature with no teeth and bloodstained rags lunges at you from the dark.
"Satoru-- hold my hand--"
"--ahhh, yeah, okay...c'mere."
He pulls you in, and you scuttle to keep up with his long-legged stride. Still, the horrors continue and so does his mockery.
His teasing is relentless. Your fear is gradually replaced by indignant prickling anger. You take your chance, when it comes.
"You go in first," you beg Satoru, outside a horrifying old room full of dolls, "please, Satoru, check it out first before I go--"
He huffs as if actually bothered, but his shit-eating grin gives him away as he ambles inside. "Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twi--"
You promptly shove the door closed with a bang! and yank a chair beneath the doorknob. You've heard rumours about this room; you are not disappointed. Satoru's voice sounds wary. The doorknob rattles just once, and you bite your lip with a smile.
"--hey...hey, babe, the...the dolls are moving."
Nervous laughter from the room. You try to hide the laughter in your voice.
"Oh yeah? You okay?"
"--OH, FU-- yeah, I'm fine. You know me, I'm the stronge--"
Satoru's voice cuts off with a profoundly girly screech, and the doorknob rattles violently while you twist with silent hilarity, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choke out.
"Ohhhh, nooo, Satoru, the door's stuck!"
More screeches, bangs and horrifying eerie noises, but you're too busy pressed forwards on your knees, laughing and laughing to the confused looks of passers-by.
"The dolls aren't dolls! THE DOLLS AREN'T DOLLS! BABE! LET ME OUT!"
A guy leans down to you, pointing at the door.
"Hey, uh...can we go in?"
You wipe tears of mirth from your eyes, bursting into laughter as you hear Satoru scream again.
"No...no, sorry buddy. This one's gonna be taken for a while, I think."
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Geto: Total con-artist. Though he croons to you, cloudsoft and soothing through your horror, he's the puppet master. The horror engineer. The king of manipulation.
Every time another actor leaps out to set fear aflame in your veins, Suguru only pretends to be surprised; he isn't. He's already led you around this maze three times, anticipating the flow of the actors, and bleeding you for maximum terror.
He doesn't want to admit how his cock twitches against his thigh every time you break down into a whimpering mess; but, he can't deny that he's getting off on this.
"Shhhh, shhh shhh shhh," he soothes, one arm holding you to his side while his lips and nose ghost the shell of your ear, "shhh, baby, it's okay...it's all just pretend. I'm here. I've got you."
You look confused, your memory tangled by fear; "I...I could swear we've been this way already, Suguru--"
"Trust me. I know the way. These mazes are all samey. You're just getting mixed up, silly. Come on."
He has distracted you again, of course. He walks forwards, looking back to you with a smile. You frown, looking down at Suguru's two empty hands...and wondering whose hand you are holding.
The scream you scream, as Suguru seamlessly replaces himself with a white-eyed, rotten-fleshed actor, sends a dribble of pre-cum down his thigh.
He's just waiting until he can get you home, switch off all the lights, and continue the scare trail straight into bed.
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Toji: Utterly unbothered, and smirks his way around. Some of the actors approach, take one look at him, and then turn tail to scare someone else. Anyone else.
But halfway round, he gets bored, and disappears. You're left, abandoned; alone. Toji wants to get in on the action.
You're surrounded by screams, and silence, and dry ice in the dark, and you turn on the spot, spinning, frantic, your heart pounding, your tongue dry, sweat dripping down the small of your back--
Until the sound of metal on metal. Something scraping along a wall. Footsteps heavier than your own heartbeat. And, the one small light source you have is blocked, as a monster of a man in a boiler suit, mask and axe fills the doorway.
The whimper that leaves you is audible; "...Toji?" As if you could be so lucky.
Silence. His heavy, laboured breathing. The footsteps begin towards you, slowly at first...before he runs.
You run, too, shrieking like a banshee, too loud for you to hear the occasional laugh beneath the monstrous man's roars. You find yourself chased down to a dead end, your back and palms flat against the wall, chest heaving, and he approaches slowly, watching you behind his mask.
The blade of the (very blunt) axe strokes down, down, down the centre line of your torso to stop just over your sex, and you whimper, mortified by the trickle of arousal that creeps through you.
"T-Toji--" You whisper to yourself, "T-Toji, where the fuck--please please please help me--oh my god ohmygod ohmygod--"
A shiver seems to go through the man, who leans down and whispers, in a voice so familiar that your jaw drops.
"Like bein' chased, huh? What about bein' caught? You like bein' caught?"
Judging by the way his boiler suit tents, Toji likes it, at least.
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Higuruma: Has not got the mental wherewithal for this, today. Perhaps another day, but not today. And it infuriates him, when his colourful imagination and adrenaline threaten to overtake his inherent logic that this is all just make-believe.
"For fuck's sa-- pull yourself together, Hiromi," he groans as another horrifying creature-person scuttles past in a contortionist twist. You're carried on his back, squealing and kicking into him, while he huffs at you with beleaguered fondness.
Every time something makes him jump, a noise of bewildered shock bursts out, and he growls at himself, running his hand back through his hair and pressing his forehead against a nearby wall.
A few actors, however, take one look at him and treat him as part of the furniture. Hiromi frowns.
"Some of them think I look scared enough, apparently."
You mumbled into his neck. "Scary enough, I think you mean. Look--"
You gently turn his face to a flaking full length mirror. Hiromi drinks himself in; still in a dishevelled suit and tie, sweatstains, coffee drip on his white shirt, and dark circles that surely have to be make-up.
Suddenly, it clicks.
"Ahhh," Hiromi breathes putting you down to your screeching indignation; he doesn't notice as you press yourself to the wall, instead rubbing his face and clothes on a discarded 'bloody' rag.
By the time he's finished, stepping slowly over to you, chin tilted down and looking down at you with beetle-black eyes, you feel a shiver running through you. He's...frightening. Clearly some awful spectral businessman, covered in blood and dirt and horror.
"You...wow. Yeah, Hiromi, you look...great."
Hiromi shrugs you onto his back with a satisfied little chuckle, and the rest of your scare trail is relatively unhindered. Passers-by skirt round him with a wary gaze, and the sinister little smile on his face only adds to the effect.
You stroke one finger down his chest, sultry and whispering.
"Hey, Hiro...stay like this, later, for...activities."
"You are utterly twisted, my love. I absolutely can."
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Ino: Just as scared as you. Absolute chocolate teapot. You'd have done better taking a puppy with you, probably, because the actors approach Ino thinking he can take it, and he absolutely can't.
If Takuma could have jumped into your arms, a la Scooby Doo, he would have. Alas, he simply pulls his balaclava down in groaning terror. When other visitors then scream at him, too, thinking he's part of the crew, he raises his balaclava back up with a suppressed sob.
"Baby-- I can't take it-- I'm too weak-- my heart--"
"Takuma, I--" You shriek, too, when some ghastly woman in a bloodstained nightdress appears. She runs for you both, and you and Takuma sprint away, hand-in-hand, half-laughing, and half-crying.
By the time you round a corner, slamming the door to trap yourselves in a dark room, you and Ino hold each other, panting in the gloom. You feel a familiar hard press against your belly, and look up at Takuma with utter disbelief. He blushes, his lower lip drawing up and looking aside with a grumble.
"--are you excited, Takuma--"
"--aww, shit, babe, you know he don't make any sense--"
His words cut off with a strangled moan as you grip him through his pants, and, biting your lip, lower to your knees. Takuma's jaw drops, his cock twitching up as it's released. You whisper up at him in the dark.
"...emotional support blow-job?"
"F-fuck yeah, emotional support blow-job, I can be your hero after that--"
A few people come to investigate the ghostly little moans coming from your room, but Ino blocks the door with one trembling, jittering foot until the moans crescendo.
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rebelfell · 4 months ago
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steve harrington x fem!reader
So periods are bullshit. That’s it, that’s the gist of why this exists. It’s also bullshit I haven’t been issued a Steve Harrington for this exact purpose.
cw: painful period, use of a vibrator, “unprotected” piv sex
18+, MDNI┃2.4k
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Steve’s eyes blinked open slowly, reluctantly being drawn from sleep at the sound of muffled grunts and groans coming from behind him. The clock on his nightstand showed an abhorrent hour in glowing red numbers as he rolled over in bed and reached out to feel the warmth of your body beside his. The streetlight coming through the slats in your blinds illuminated your edges, showing the shape of you facing away, curled in on yourself and clutching your abdomen.
He pressed himself flush against your back, knees finding a home in the curve of your own, slotting against you perfectly and gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm.
“Bad?” he murmured, the sound of his voice still deep and rumbling with sleep. 
All you could do was grunt.
Shit.
He’d known it was coming since that afternoon at the grocery store when your mild expression had begun to sink into a sullen frown, wincing and pinching your eyes shut every few minutes. The cramps had barely started then, but seemed to have reached their maximum potential.
He reached down and pressed his hand against your lower belly, in the same spot you always laid your heating pad. Warm and broad and strong, the pressure of his touch provided enough relief for you to exhale a stilted breath. Enough for you to push out an answer.
“M’sorry I woke you,” you whispered, voice close to breaking.
“You didn’t, honey,” he assured with words as warm and solid as his body. “I wish you had. How can I help? Do you need anything?”
“Think you can do a quick hysterectomy?” you joked as best you could in your fragile state.
A soft puff of air danced across your cheek as Steve chuckled and gave your neck a kiss.
“Damn, I left my scalpel in my other PJs.”
“Rats,” you chuckled back weakly.
He nestled in closer, pressing his hand down a little firmer as he moved it in a soothing circle. You rolled onto your back, your nose and lips skimming his temple, his stray hairs tickling.
“Anything else?” he murmured. “Do you, um…do you want help?”
He tries not to sound too eager when he asks. 
It’s not the first time he’s offered assistance of this sort, and he never wants you to think he’s just using your pain as an excuse to fool around. But ever since you told him how orgasms helped with the cramps, he’d been more than willing to offer a helping hand.
Among other appendages.
“Yeah,” you replied after a long pause. “But I…I don’t think I can take anything in me.”
You looked down when you said it, unable to hold his gaze even in the dark. Normally, having Steve inside of you—literally any part of him—was a level of bliss you could hardly describe.
But something about this phase in particular sometimes made it too difficult.
After the lawlessness of ovulation when you were practically trying to mount him every hour on the hour, your body became much more discerning. The cramps made you achy, made it harder for you to enjoy anything besides purely external stimulation. And even that was tricky—your clit becoming stubborn and reluctant, only able to be coaxed out with the utmost delicacy.
You never felt sexy when you got like this. How could you when one of your organs was literally turning against you? Making you absolutely miserable just for not getting knocked up?
Getting off was more a means to an end, seeking pain relief rather than actual pleasure.
“That’s fine,” Steve whispered, nose brushing softly along the apple of your cheek. “I just want you to feel better. Whatever you like, yeah?”
“I like that,” you told him with a soft moan, tipping your head back as he rubbed his hand back and forth across your lower stomach.
“Yeah?” he hummed in your ear. “That helping?”
“Mmhmm…”
“I can get rid of these for at least nine months, you know,” he teased lowly, “Just say the word.”
You tried to groan at him, but it dissolved into a breathy sigh as his hand dipped lower, pressing down on your mound and massaging. You felt his nose nudging at your chin, bumping it to get your attention until you opened your eyes to meet his.
They were still hooded, half-lidded with sleep. It gave him a sultry kind of gaze, one that made your heartbeat quicken and a gasp rattle in your chest. His lips met yours in a languid kiss, slow yet eager, deep yet soft, his fingers now tracing over your quivering belly like he was trying to confuse your nerve endings. The kiss grew deeper, messier, needier, and his fingertips continued their journey upwards, barely skimming your skin until you shivered.
You whined into his mouth, arching your back into him, asking for just a little more, but his touch remained feather light and delicate. The pads of his fingers flicked over your nipples, guessing correctly that your chest would be too tender for anything more intense.
They pebbled under his touch, stiffening behind the sheer nylon mesh of your bralette. 
Steve groaned. His lips broke from yours, kissing down your neck, murmuring sweet whispers to your jugular you couldn’t quite make out. He kissed tentatively but persistently along the curves of your breast until his mouth found the hardened nub of your nipple. He laved his hot tongue over it, letting his warm spit coat it until he pulled away to do the same to the other one.
The shock of the cool air being pushed down from the ceiling fan overhead hitting your wet, stiff peaks has you gasping, the feeling oddly soothing as Steve slid down your underwear.
He dipped a finger into your center, swiping it through your slick folds, still not putting an ounce of pressure on your sex, just letting his digits glide at a leisurely pace. He could already see the effects of his attentions, the pinch between your brows disappearing, the corners of your mouth no longer turned downward. You let your eyes flutter closed, let your head sink fully into the pillow as you breathed steadily…in…and out…in…and out…
They stayed shut even as his gentle stroking ceased and he curled his hand around your own, lifting it to his lips. Your eyes opened just in time to see him kissing the soft pads of your fingers, slowly taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue to coat them in spit. You then watched, practically hypnotized as he guided your hand down between your legs.
“Hold my place for me, honey. I’ll be right back.”
He slid open the top drawer of your nightstand so smoothly, you barely registered what he was doing until after he had produced your bullet and a bottle of lube from inside. Your own fingers continued his lazy slide through your folds, finding a pace and rhythm you liked while Steve absconded to the bathroom to clean your toy.
It takes him only a minute or so before he’s sliding back up next to you, the heat coming off his body preceding his return as he fondled the toy.
He clicks it on and touches it to the back of your neck, the vibrations rippling along your hairline. The pace of your own fingers holds steady as he draws it further down your body, running it over a few select hotspots he’s done more than enough research to know the exact locations of.
You worry your bottom lip with your teeth as he traces the outer curve of your breast, down to your rib—still light, but hard enough not to tickle. It’s almost like he’s sketching you with a piece of charcoal, following the graceful lines of your waist to your stomach. His breathing gets harder the closer he draws to your core until you withdraw your fingers and he replaces them.
“How’s that?” he husked, his lips at your ear now, his warm breath cascading down your neck. “S’good? Not too much?”
“N-no,” you gasped, all shuddery and nervous all of a sudden. Steve always had that effect, but especially when he was studying you so intently, so zeroed in on your experience. 
“Relax, honey. Just focus on me, yeah? You’re so pretty. My pretty girl making the prettiest sounds. I don’t know what I did to deserve you…”
“Steve—”
“S’true, baby, I think about it all the time. Y’know how many things had to go right? How lucky I had to get for you to end up being mine?”
He’s too good at this, all the lovey dovey shit that makes your head spin as you go back and forth between wanting to believe him wholeheartedly and your innate distrust. Not of him, but just of anything that chipped at your walls, that chinked in your armor—that made you want it like air.
But you let yourself feel it, let yourself get swept up in his sweet words that drown out the quiet buzz of the toy between your legs. He kept it on the lowest setting, knowing that anything higher would be too much, and he let it glide slowly through your folds, spreading out the lube and letting the vibrations tickle your lips before he even thought about bringing it to your clit.
“You’re so perfect,” he moaned, almost whining like he’s the one who needed more as your hips started to subtly thrust. “Do you know how crazy you make me?”
You can’t answer him, too overwhelmed by the pressure steadily mounting in your core, the hot flames of your arousal being stoked and fanned by his words.
“...just want you to feel good…”
His voice drifts in and out, your ears catching bits and pieces as your pulse thunders in them, rapidly approaching the precipice you can see you’re so close to it now.
“Will you come for me, honey?” he begged. “Come for me, I know you can—”
Your hand wraps around his wrist to hold him still, the nub of the toy pressing perfectly to your clit and the pressure tipping you soundly over the edge. A shuddering moan leaves your lips, your chest heaving with it, tears stinging in your eyes and leaking out the sides.
He slams his lips to yours, the most force he’s shown all night, swallowing the sound of your orgasm like it sustains him. Like it’s his favorite dessert. His lips vibrate back with a moan of his own until you relax your iron grip on his wrist. He pulls away just long enough to click off the toy and then swiftly returns to your kiss. It makes you keen into him, back arching off the bed.
”God, Steve…please,” you whimpered, pawing at the waistband of his pajama pants.
“What, honey? You want another? Anything you want, it’s yours—”
He brought the bullet back to your clit, but you batted it away. “No, no—need you.”
Your hand curled around his length, cupping him through plaid flannel to feel just how hard he had gotten pressed up against your hip. A low groan burst out and you thought for a second he might have come just from that. But he still twitched in your hand in response, gasping as he pushed his face close to yours, cradling your jaw as your sweaty foreheads touched.
“Honey, are…are you sure? I thought you said—”
“I can take it, I swear,” you whispered. “I need it, I have to feel you.”
It’s like night and day, the difference in the way your body reacts to him, and there’s no doubt in your mind what you want now. You can almost feel how things inside of you have shifted, how your organs have rearranged to take him in like it’s the only thing they were meant to do.
Steve let the bullet drop to the floor and he rolled on top of you, his bottoms and boxers shoved to the middle of his thighs. The short, thick hair on them rubs your own as your legs spread wide to accommodate his body, legs kicking up to hitch over his hips and ankles locking behind him.
There’s no pain, not so much as a pinch as he slides inside you and buries himself to the hilt. The slippery mess between your legs envelops him completely, walls fluttering and squeezing him so tight it makes Steve’s breath come out in halting gasps—grunting as he presses his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Panting like he’s never felt anything so good.
His musk fills your nose—that smell that’s more than just his gourmand cologne or his woodsy body wash or the light, fresh florals of his styling products. It’s the smell of his skin and his hair and his sweat all coming together at once.
Something that’s pure…Steve.
“God, you…feel so…fucking…good,” he groans into the pillow, his words coming out stilted as he starts to thrust at a slow and even pace. You can feel his muscles quivering under your hands with all the effort it’s taking him to hold himself back.
“Faster, Steve,” you plead, clutching at the planes of his back, “I know you want to, please—”
“Fuck—nothing feels like you, honey. Nothing, nothing, nothing…s’the best thing in the world, I swear to god—”
He’s still holding back, still reluctant to fully thrust and pound in you the way you know—the way you can feel—he wants to. Your hands slide up to his neck, tangling in his tousled locks.
“Fuck me, Steve,” you whine, gripping tight to the hair at the back of his head, pulling it. “I want you to fuck me until you cum, fuck me full of you.”
“Jesus Christ, baby, you can’t just say that—”
He’s letting go now, his hesitation crumbling as his hips start to snap at a brutal pace. His gasps and moans mix with your high-pitched cries and the lewd slapping of skin, the soft creak of the mattress springs, the bedframe thump, thump, thumping against the wall.
You love the way he takes you like you’re the one thing in the world that matters; love the feeling of making him feel good, of taking care of him the way only you can—the way only you get to. 
It’s the same way he feels about you.
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Ty for reading. Love you, mean it 🥝
971 notes · View notes
pucksandpower · 7 months ago
Text
Hypnotized
Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader
Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis
Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak
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You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.
The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”
He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”
You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”
Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”
He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”
You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”
“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”
“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.
“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”
Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”
You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”
You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”
Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”
He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”
“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”
Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”
You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”
His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.
“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”
Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.
“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”
You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.
“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”
Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.
“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”
His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.
“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”
A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.
“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.
“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”
He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.
“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”
There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.
“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”
His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.
“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”
Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.
“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”
He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.
“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”
“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.
You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.
“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”
Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.
You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.
“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”
His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.
“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”
Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,
“Come for me, love!”
His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.
At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.
“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”
He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”
You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”
His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.
You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.
You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.
He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”
You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”
A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.
With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.
The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.
“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.
Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.
Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.
“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.
He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”
A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.
You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.
“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”
He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.
“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.
Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.
He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.
Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.
“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.
A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.
You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.
Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.
Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.
“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”
Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.
A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”
“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”
The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.
Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.
“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.
“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.
“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.
His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.
“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.
You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.
With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.
“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.
He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”
With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.
A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.
The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.
After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.
“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”
And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.
***
The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.
No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.
“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”
A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.
There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.
Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.
“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.
“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.
The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.
“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”
With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.
“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.
You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”
Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.
“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”
A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.
With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”
The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.
You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.
His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.
Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.
“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”
His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.
When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”
Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.
All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.
Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.
“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.
When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.
For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.
“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”
You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”
Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”
With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.
“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”
He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.
“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”
His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.
His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.
“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.
Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”
The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.
“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.
Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.
Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.
When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.
“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”
You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”
“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”
You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.
In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.
His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”
A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”
Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.
With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.
***
The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.
A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?
Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.
“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.
You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly – all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.
He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.
It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.
Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.
By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.
You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”
Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”
“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”
A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.
You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.
“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”
Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.
For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.
“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.
A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.
Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.
“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”
Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.
“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”
A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”
Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”
“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply … vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”
You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.
“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”
A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.
When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.
“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”
In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.
There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.
Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.
You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.
Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.
Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.
The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”
His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.
It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.
“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.
“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.
You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.
When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.
You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.
It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.
Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.
“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”
In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.
In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.
Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.
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ruporas · 2 years ago
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comfort
[ID START: Illustration of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun: Maximum. Wolfwood is holding Vash’s head to his chest, his right hand resting gently over his ears and his left hand againtst Vash’s nape. Wolfwood looks at him melancholically as he soothes him. Vash’s eyes are shut, small tears at the corner of his eyes, asleep, and his right hand is holding onto Wolfwood’s arm. Feathered and plant wings are growing out of him, enveloping the both of them like a cocoon, leaving enough space for their heads and arms. The feathered plant wings takes up most of the canvas, colored in dark and muted blues. END]
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artinvain · 6 months ago
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would u be willing to write abby pussy slapping.. or sub!abby… ur works are all so deliciously filthy im in love :3
abby slapping your pretty pussy :3
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abby whines as you tug on her braid, keeping her face away from your sticky, leaking cunt. she can smell you, stretches her tongue out to its maximum to try to taste you. but your grip on your braid is keeping her too far to taste.
“please baby, please lemme eat your pussy,” she slurs and you smack her cheek lightly, chuckling as she groans and bucks her hips into the bed. “beg for me abs,” you coo and gently rake your nails through her hair.
“please! I wanna - I’ll do such a good job for you. make you feel so good-“ abby pants, kissing and sucking hickies into your thighs, “I’ll do anything, I’ll be so good, please let me touch you, let me taste you,” she whines as you lower her head and then pull her back up, her hips rutting against the sheets.
“so fucking pathetic begging just to eat me out aren’t you?” you groan when abby licks your clit with the tip of her tongue, “yea, yes m’pathetic,”
“so stupid for me yeah?” you ask gently and abby nods her head feverishly, grunting and mumbling thank yous into your cunt, her mouth wet from where she’s ravenously licking and sucking on your clit and dipping her tongue down to lap at your clenching hole.
abby circles your clit with her tongue, sucking gently as she eases a finger into you, moaning as you clench around her, curling her finger inside you to see your mouth gape. and suddenly she pulls back if only for a second to cup your pussy. abby spits on her hand and strokes you, her fingers squeezing your clit.
“fuck baby, you’re doing so go-fuuucck!” your back arches as Abby gives you a heavy handed smack to your clit. “abby! baby fuck that’s-“ she lays another smack to your whole pussy once has your head tilted back as you gasp, a second has your back in a hard arch and abby uses her strong arm to hold you down to slap your pussy a third time and then lean down to lavish your cunt in soothing licks and kisses.
“m’sorry baby, sorry you just look so pretty when I smack your pussy like this,” she whines, shifting do her clit is pressed to the sheets. “see how leaky you get? fuck, how can I resist?” she moans, kissing and suckling on your clit, easing two fingers in so easily she moans loudly at the feeling of you stretching around her.
abby lifts her face, rubbing your clit with her thumb when you whine, “am I doing good?”
“oh you’re doing so fucking good baby, eating me so well,” you yelp when abby starts to lay small consecutive slaps to your clit, swatting your throbbing clit over and over, until the sweet pain takes your body over and your whine, cumming around her fingers.
🏷️ @sexysapphicshopowner @lesbian-useless @iamaboringrattat @sapphicsgirl @bimboprincezz @abbysprettygiiirl
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teaboot · 2 years ago
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Cuddles, analyzed:
Little Spoon: Feeling of being held and protected. Comforting pressure, like a weighted blanket. Warm. Down side: Slightly claustrophobic. Limbs lose circulation. Possibility of being crushed. Risk of overheating. Difficult to change positions without disrupting your partner. Good for the partner who sleeps like a fucking log and is always too cold.
Big Spoon: Satisfaction of keeping your partner safe and covered. Also warm. Easier to sneak away and piss. Loose, whimsical clinging options. Down side: Vulnerable to outside threats. Risk of becoming too cold. Little to no soothing surface pressure. Good for the partner who is protective and proactive.
Middle positions: Covered on all sides. Maximum skin contact, maximum surface pressure. Warm, protected, cherished position. Down side: Restricted range of movement. Possibility of overheating. Morning breath from at least one partner.
Face-to-face: Intimate. Offers the opportunity to stare lovingly at your partner while their eyes are closed, to admire and observe and to think of the past and future. Excellent for late night conversation. Down side: 100% certainty of direct morning breath blast. Relatively distant, physically. Weird blanket drape allows for draft.
Back-to-back: Primary choice for defensive position. Eyes on both sides. Maximum blanket tension. No morning breath. Easy to sneak off and back without being disruptive. Booty buddies. Down side: Feels a lil like you're a married couple going through hard times in a hallmark movie. The least cuddly of cuddles.
Stacked, Top: Freedom of movement. Warm. Heartbeat and breathing both detectable. Good for a spur of the moment nap on a shared surface. Perfect for a small partner on the go. Down side: Somewhat cold. Feels a little one-sided. Might roll off.
Stacked, Bottom: The most surface pressure possible. The most body heat possible. Heartbeat and breathing detectable. Secure position, greatest validation of affection. Down side: Zero freedom of movement. Worst for circulation. Worst for pee and water breaks. Highest risk of being drooled on.
Stacked, Middle: Expert level. Do not attempt. Worst of both top and bottom positions with the benefits of neither. Zero ventilation, no range of motion. This ride only stops for emergencies, and crying is not an emergency. Avoid.
7K notes · View notes
nanamis-bigtie · 11 months ago
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Neighboring Whispers
Character: Higuruma Hiromi Reader: female (cis) CW: explicit nsfw content, pre-relationship, neighbors next door, attraction at the first sight, mutual pinning, hair fetish, hair pulling, blowjob, fingers in mouth, spitting in mouth, praise kink & pet names (good girl and variations), fingering & vaginal sex, spanking, creampie, reader has long, non-curly hair and tattoos (yes, it's plot relevant) Word Count: 9k Synopsis: By a pressing accident you were left without water in your apartment, and you were forced to beg your neighbor, Higuruma, for letting you to take a shower in his bathroom. Dazed after a sleepless night, he obliged to your request. The consequences of his spontaneous decision had been haunting him ever since... A/N: little birds chirped @lale-txt wanted a sexy lawyer under her christmas tree and since we were already doing a server exchange... ;) merry a little late christmas, Lale, I hope you will enjoy this absolute monster of a one shot! ❤ jjk masterlist // ao3 version
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The first ring was like an irritating fly, bouncing off the walls of his exhausted concentration, its dull buzzing drilling into his ears.
The second jolted him from head to toes, the first move in a prominently long time, aching and tingling in stiff joints and drowsy muscles.
The third finally made him peel eyes off the screen, his sight blurry and invisible sand grazing under his eyelids. 
Higuruma hid face behind the soothing shadow of his hands, plastered tight to his skin, and groaned, almost cursed. He was tired, so deadly tired he would swore he could feel the dark circles under his eyes. The dizziness was comparable to one after an unsuccessful power nap—yet, he knew he wasn't asleep even for a second. He couldn't, not when at work, at that damned work he swore he would touch only for an hour, two at the absolute maximum, and then go to bed, to finally grab proper rest for the rare free day to come. 
For how long was he stuck by the kitchen table, the place he had chosen to avoid the focus? Higuruma feared to peel hands off his eyes, but he still did so. The light, sipping through wide open blinds, was already bright and dazzling. The microwave clock was even more merciless: it showed a few minutes past eight.
Fuck.
The fourth ring was the longest, desperate and inappropriate for such an early hour. Under other circumstances Higuruma wouldn't welcome the intruder with open arms but at that moment he felt somewhat grateful for snapping him out of trance. 
"Coming." He announced, more to himself than to the person behind the door. Legs bent and swayed under him at first, he had to lean against the table for a moment, cursing his workaholism and age, but he forced himself to stand straight, then to walk. By the time he reached the door he was almost back to state befitting a man in his thirties, not a senior he got turned into by a sleepless, work-full night.
Higuruma didn't look through the peephole first, just opened, catching you already turning back. A whirl of long hair caught his attention faster than your face, not that it helped him much when he finally met it with his exhausted—yet still attentive—gaze. He could roughly pinpoint it as familiar but couldn't bring any name nor other particularly useful information to it. 
He knew you lived on the same floor. He knew you were often doing groceries in the same shop as him. He knew you both were sometimes taking the same train in the morning—but he had never caught which was your stop.
That's all.
"How can I help you, miss—" Higuruma's voice faltered; he was still trying to squeeze your name out of his memory, but his focus was already taking a different direction. There was something eerie about you, something concerning not as a danger for him but as a sign something must had happened, to you or to the whole surrounding. He wouldn't put it past himself to miss an emergency; when he was working, he could have easily overlooked a whole apocalypse. 
You were a mess. Possibly worse than his own. Uncombed hair, falling over your shoulders in tangled strands, greasy face, visibly home-only oversized tracksuit, blowzily thrown over your shoulders, a tote bag, overfull, squeezed tight to your chest… He wasn't a detective, but he could easily tell you left your place in a hurry.
"Y/N." You relieved Higuruma of his main concern. "I live at number 33."
You took a sharp turn, nodding to your door, but Higuruma's eyes barely followed, yet again swallowed by the sheer waterfall of your hair. 
"Alright, this is gonna be…awkward." You took a deep breath, as if adding yourself power to wade through whatever pressed on your soul. "Please. I beg. I need a shower."
"Pardon?" Higuruma almost choked on breath, shocked less by the sudden request, just rapidly pulled out of chaotic thoughts buzzing at the back of his head. Thoughts full of your hair and its flow, the suffocating and entrancing vortex. 
"I have no water." You nearly sobbed. "There's a renovation up there, I forgot… The whole plumb line is turned off on my side. I don't know when— Fuck, I have a meeting in three hours. I don't have time to run to a bathhouse, even if they would let me in…"
He must have made an exceptionally stupid expression because you stumbled out of your panicked trance and hurried to explain what he hadn't even deemed as needing any explanation. Hugging the tote with one arm, you rolled the sleeve of the other and revealed a tattoo running up the forearm towards the elbow.
He nodded with understanding.
 "Please, sir, no one else answers the door…" Your gaze flicked at him with such pleading that his already crumbling resolve immediately backed off, leaving him unarmed against you and your illegally beautiful hair. "I'll pay for the—"
"I charge only for legal advice, shower is a free service." Higuruma tried to squeeze a joke out of himself but with his exhausted expression he could as well recite a random sentence out of the case he was chewing through for the whole night. "First door to the left. Ah, and sorry for the…mess."
It was a massive overestimation, he realized a few of your steps into his apartment too late. His place needed a thorough tidying like fresh water. It wasn't dirty, at least that—but everything screamed "single, overworked, and too done to bother" at anyone who paid a minimum of attention. Dust, empty mugs and beer cans, takeout boxes piled into a temporary dumpster, any flat surface littered with books, files, loose notes, newspapers… Hey, he wasn't that bad usually, but you caught him in the worst moment, right before the day booked for being a responsible adult
Hell, he should have at the very least do something about his bathroom before he let you in. But you pounced at the door faster than his thought and he had to chew on his shame with the noise of his own shower filling the awkward silence around him. 
When was the last time someone barged into his life like this? The last relationship Higuruma could call a serious one had lasted before he finished his apprenticeship. With time slipping through his hands and wallet filling with money he had eventually stopped inviting his flings to his place. And in the past few years he had extinguished even this fragile flame that kept pushing him into love hotels with equally tired participants of seminars, coworkers, and random lays he had stumbled upon in bars and never bothered to remember their names. 
He couldn't see nor hear you, nothing over the hum of water, and yet, your presence was mercilessly crawling under his skin. He felt your breath at the back of his neck as he was tidying the space around in hurry. Maybe it wouldn't have been so palpable if you were a man… But a woman in his kingdom of the mid-thirty loneliness? Something about this fact cut a good half on his year count—and not to his advantage. He never pegged himself as shy nor crude to be bothered by a fact of a woman simply existing in his proximity, but…
It had been long, too long. And you were exactly in his type.
Exhaustion played a huge role at that, he was sure of it. Exhaustion paired with neglected libido and long-forgotten fetish perking their traitorous heads up at the slightest trace of your presence. You dropped something and shivers ran up his spine so hard he almost dropped his laptop too. A faint smell of fruity cosmetics reached his nose, and he couldn't remember anymore where he should put the papers he held. The hum of the shower finally stilled, and panic bubbled under his skin, cutting him short on sight and breath for a split second—split but long enough to mess with his balance.
You caught him like this, still bent over the table, at first glance nonchalantly checking something on the phone, in fact—fighting for the last scrap of dignity left in him. 
Higuruma observed you with the corner of his eye, tense like a string. It was easier to look at you now, with your hair meticulously tucked under a towel tied around your head, so he took that risk. Little did it help. The sight of you casually standing in the middle of his apartment, bare feet, damp shirt plastered to your sides, churned his insides with yearning that had nothing to do with lewd ideas. 
Yes, it definitely had been too long since he was touched with this level of intimacy.
"Sorry for the mess," he repeated himself, his voice feeling dry at his throat. 
Your laughter suited the sharp yet sweet scent of your shower gel, filling his apartment for hours to come, "I won't look a gift shower in the plumbing. Thank you, mister—"
"Higuruma," he quickly cut in before awkwardness managed to drag you into his misery.
"Higuruma," you repeated, mimicking his accent almost to perfection. 
He loved the way his last name rolled on your tongue. He loved it so much he had to turn away for a moment and bite on his own. Thoughts dancing in his head pressed too much to his lips. But he wasn't that much of a creep to let them do as they please. Just the fact they existed was putting him into embarrassment. 
Did you notice? Most likely not, too busy balancing on one foot to pull a sock, then shoe, on the other. With a tote tugged under your armpit and in a hurry, you clearly struggled, but Higuruma didn't move from his place, mindful of his sins and the situation overall. If you needed help, you would ask, until then it would be better, if he kept this distance. 
"I know you said no money but any chance I could return a favor in any other way?" You pulled him instead into conversation, much to the panic of his tongue, tying into clumsy knots at the slightest thought of speaking.
"It's nothing." Higuruma let the dream scenario fly over his head. He wasn't sure if you were flirting or just hated the idea of being in debt and in front of uncertainty, he preferred to stand his stubborn ground.
"You let a stranger use your shower." You didn't give up. You had the ball and you insisted on rolling it despite hurry pressing at your back, it seemed.
"My impossibly cluttered shower." Years in court made him more patient than a saint, even in front of a person crumbling his resolve into dust with a single flick of eyelashes. "I'd feel bad if I asked for something in exchange for such conditions."
"And what about me? I already feel bad for cluttering your space with myself."
"If I ever find myself without water, I'll know where to go."
You rolled your eyes and laughed again, your voice sharper this time. Higuruma wasn't especially sensitive with sounds but the change of yours immediately caught his attention and craved itself into his memory.
Oh, it was bad.
Dumbfounded, he didn't react when you pounced towards his abandoned workplace and snatched a piece of paper and a pen.
"I don't have much time left so—" You scribbled fast, digging deep into the surface, and yet clear enough for him to read with ease. "I'm a regular here. Come anytime and tell them Y/N sent you. The lunch is on me."
If not for the paper on the table and scent you left all over the apartment, Higuruma would classify you as a fever dream of an all-nighter the moment you sprinted out, apologizing and saying goodbyes all at the same time. He followed almost blindly, ready to shut the door as soon as you crossed the threshold (and cut you out before any weird new thought would haunt him). He already planned to air the whole place and scrub the bathroom out of your presence
He would, no hesitation, return to his cozy loneliness if not for a draft finally crushing the fragile construction on top of your head. Cascade of hair tore the knot apart, the towel slid down your shoulders straight into his hand as he reached for it without thinking twice and before it managed to untangle fully from the wet strands. They brushed his fingers, for a split time he felt their soft texture and weight, and his heart throbbed so hard he lost a good ounce of breath right there, over the threshold. 
"Sorry and thank you! Take care, Higuruma!" The door of your apartment clicked closed before the echo of your voice disappeared. He stood there even longer, pulse beating in his ears like a drum and his cheeks burning. It felt like hours before he finally forced himself back into his place, barricaded into illusive safety, hand pressed tight to his face, to muffle a loud groan.
His skin was still slightly wet and smelled of your shampoo.
Oh, he was so done for.
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He should have trashed that note.
It glared at him right from where you had left it. Higuruma hadn't dared to move it any way, himself not sure why, but instead of blending into the environment, as he was hoping, it stood out like a huge, bloody stain of shame. A reminder of what he had been praying for to be just a dream born out of exhaustion and sleepless night.
He was doing his best to not look at it. It attracted his eyes like a magnet.
In no time he knew the name and address by heart. His excellent memory, so helpful in his career, became his curse. One look in note's direction and his mind was already mapping the route. Of course, it had to be conveniently located, in the area he knew well, relatively close to his workplace, in distance perfect for a lunch break.  
If only he trashed this piece of damned paper!
Maybe then his mind wouldn't be plagued with ideas and temptation. Maybe he wouldn't have to sneak in and out of his own apartment like a thief, jerking at the slightest sound behind his back. He was leaving earlier, returning later, changing routes and shopping in a different 7-Eleven. Everything to not run into you—just to return to your scent still somehow lingering in the air. 
Higuruma was ready to swear you had somehow cursed him. Was it humanly possible to influence his life with only showering in his bathroom? The sharp and fruity scent grew stronger near the cabin, shaped in his mind like a vortex of your hair. Warm water falling on his head felt like your laughter, droplets traced down his chest and stomach like signs you wrote on the note, elegant and pronounced. 
Your name tasted sweet and heavy on his tongue. Higuruma didn't dare to say it aloud, but it lingered, a sweet aftertaste of a candy he couldn't bring himself to ask for. He still tried to weigh it, right at the tip of his tongue, slick as a feel of your wet hair slipping through his fingertips. 
Only once, he tried to put it into life, but it barely danced at the edge of his teeth and died with a miserable groan as he couldn't hold himself back any longer and spent the rest of his morning shower on furiously fucking his fist.
He should have trashed— No, burnt this note and thrown the ashes in the wind.
By the time his legs finally carried him, still against his will, to the address, Higuruma had already abandoned the idea of avoiding the problem. He wasn't quite there with an ultimate decision, but the desperation reached the level where he had to simmer it down. Giving in to temptation of seeing you again was only a reasonable decision; with some luck he would not find you there and, with a now clean conscience, he would finally get rid of the paper of shame.
Seeing the signboard took him aback. Higuruma didn't ponder over the location to expect anything, but he still froze in place, hand clenched stupid at the handle as he took a step back to look at the name again. 
It sounded like one of those modern, instagram-catered places for a quick lunch in a break from rushing through the city. It was nowhere close to what, in fact, the place was: a cat cafe, in its whole camp and overfly fluffy glory. 
Higuruma looked at the signboard, then took a peek through the window again. A fat tabby cat, loafing on a table by the sill, peeked back at him and slowly blinked. He took it as an order.
One deeper breath later he finally entered. Right by the threshold he was attacked by the suffocating, sweet scent, dangerously reminding him of the cosmetics you used in his bathroom. Panic roared at the back of his head but before he could listen and withdraw, he grabbed eye contact with a barista who had perked her head over the coffee machine.
"Good afternoon, sir." She smiled at him, as full of enthusiasm as professionalism allowed. "A table in a regular room or in a cat—"
"I have received a capias issued for a certain gentleman I found resting in your property." He said dryly, maybe a little too much as the woman's friendly expression tensed into a mix of stress and confusion. "Just joking. I'm not arresting anyone. I had this place recommended by an acquaintance of mine."
When he said your name, she immediately smiled (not without a breath of relief, he noticed) and dropped the mask of a perfect employee. He was stared at curiously now, from the tips of leather shoes to neatly composed hairstyle. Oh, he definitely was the main subject of workplace gossip—and would jump back into fashion once he left this place, no doubt in this matter. 
"My apologies, sir, Y/N mentioned you would show up but hasn't notified us when." She flashed him with a genuine smile. "You're in luck, she's stopped for a lunch today, she's in the cat room right now. Shall I—"
"I'll find my way." Higuruma quickly cut in. He wouldn't mind adding spice to the gossip, even if just to ease his own stress, but…somehow, the thought of being observed during an inevitably awkward moment churned his stomach in a very not good way. "I would like—"
He studied the menu at the blackboard. Most of the names reminded him of absolutely nothing. "Something… decadent and viral, how kids call it. Surprise me, please."
"Would you like something to eat?"
"No, thank you."
He was ordered to strip from his jacket and scarf and asked to keep his briefcase as close as possible. Barista took her sweet time to study him as she walked him to the cat room, on her way explaining in detail what was allowed and what not. Higuruma let the words fly over his head: he had no interest in tormenting poor animals (who and for what would want to pull them by their tails?), but even if he had, his plans would be undeniably ruined by your presence. He already felt his throat clenching—not in fear or panic but in the same kind of embarrassment he felt whenever his thoughts about you slipped into the direction, he'd been avoiding at all costs. All of his thoughts were decent at that moment, yet he was tense and flushed regardless. Something, from the depths of his intuition, was whispering that, no matter what he does and says, he would reveal everything that happened, in his mind and not, since the day he had seen you barefoot and with wet hair in the middle of his apartment.
It would straight up make him come across as a creep.
He didn't want to come across as a creep.
"And no apprehensions." Barista finished her lecture with a smooth joke and pulled at the door to the cat paradise.
The main part of the cafe was calm—but the cat room was even calmer and silent, no music, none of the steady hum of working machines. It was almost empty too but a small group of teenage girls, flocking around the table by a huge cat tree, and you, of course, in a cozy corner, leaning over a book. Higuruma's heart almost flipped in his chest at the sight and fluttered just harder and faster when you pulled a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. The move was slow, smooth and so sensual one would think you were doing it deliberately. 
But you were lost in thought, unaware of your surroundings and Higuruma's gaze taking in the view voraciously, straight up swallowing every inch of yours. From your face, beautiful in your calm focus, to the tips of your fingers, still tangled in the strands behind your ear—and down your back, together with the flow of loosely tied hair. 
His mouth was dry and full of saliva at the same time. A smooth starter he had prepared in a case of wonderfully bad luck just died, leaving him with tight, uncomfortable silence and head empty of thoughts, full just of the feel of the same hair against his hand. 
He hoped too that seeing you in a more presentable state would crush the intimate, inappropriate for your level of familiarity, appearance of yours he had coded. And eventually relieve him of the yearning that had nothing and everything to do with sex, all at once.
Fool, idiot, a hundred times a naive kid. Seeing you like this only made everything worse.
"Y/N! Your neighbor with a sexy nose is finally here." The barista chirped over his shoulder and bolted before neither of you both could react.
If the block in his throat was difficult to swallow before, now Higuruma could as well just suffocate and die on point.
"Higuruma!" You tried to feign a cheerful attitude, but flustered expression and sudden flap of both hands betrayed you. One of them was still tangled in your hair; you yanked it free from the ponytail and sent your ornate hair clip flying. It fell right by his feet with a little metallic thud.
"You seem to lose your head at my sight." Higuruma saw the opportunity to avoid your gaze and snatched it so fast he almost hit his head against the table. "Or I should rather say: things from your head."
His hand trembled under the weight of the little trinket. It seemed alright except for three zirconias that fell out straight into his palm, "Towel at least took it better."
You muttered a simple thanks and took the hair clip before he climbed up from his knee. Your hands met for a split moment and a sharp shock snapped up and down Higuruma's spine. 
He hoped he managed to feign his calm better than you.
The silence that followed was heavy but not awkward for a change. Higuruma found himself a new excuse to look away, subtle and polite, just right to give you space for collecting thoughts: the decor of the cat room was truly entertaining to observe. Higuruma never had a cat; he was very pleased to notice that the furniture he took at first for clutter was in fact a developed playground. Little creatures, intrigued or concerned by the noise, moved from their spots. Shelves, ottomans and line bridges fluttered with elegant steps and soft tapping of little paws.
Even the fat tabby turned its head and gave Higuruma a look full of pity.
"It doesn't click right," you finally broke the much needed pause, pulling his attention back to you. "Oh well. I really liked it."
"It is a pity." He agreed, somehow keeping voice in check. The last thing he wanted was to suddenly screech at you. Fate knows how much his throat tried to, though. "It really suited your hair."
He didn't get a good look at it but after so many thoughts recalling your hair in detail, Higuruma could easily imagine it from every angle. His cheeks filled with traitorous, familiar heat. At least he wasn't prone to blushing.
By the gleam in your eyes, he could tell you were about to pick up the flirting, but you were interrupted by the barista. Looks were exchanged over his head, a slight tick at the corner of your lips betrayed their nature, but his attention was instead pulled by a piece of latte art put in front of him.
They really took his request to their hearts. Milk foam on top of his coffee was piled into a chubby cat face. They went as far as adding eyes, nose, whiskers and a little cunning smile. Three stripes at the top of its head must have been made with coffee as a paint. He had to admit the dedication to detail was truly endearing.
"Oh. That's surprising." You hummed, more to yourself, but continued louder prompted by his furrowing eyebrows. "You don't look like someone who would order a cute latte."
"Oh? And how do I look?"
"Black coffee. No sugar."
"I like it very sweet, actually." Higuruma finally felt more at ease, tension melting down his shoulders so visibly he could swear it was happening literally. "With a dash of milk."
The first few sentences were always the worst, in law and flirting alike. Once he got a good grip of the situation, he could finally focus on the exchange only. You were a cunning conversation partner, fast to catch his jokes, smooth to follow the thread and bounce the ball back at him. You had quite a gamut of shared topics and he just kept growing more interested—no, fascinated. 
Your mind and soul were fitting his type even more accurate than your appearance.
And yet, Higuruma's thoughts kept bouncing back to the fateful morning, to the perfection of your body in its messy glory. He couldn't help but to compare all the time. A strip of your tattoo peeked from under your sleeve—and he knew how far it, in fact, reached. A contour of your bra was visible under your shirt—in almost the same place where wet spots had pressed since you had dried yourself in a rush. Your hair fell smooth over your shoulders, in heavy strands he was dying for to caress—because he remembered the sensation of their ends touching his skin. 
Over and over again, his flesh was taking over his mind. And it was…infuriating.
When something touched his calf, Higuruma nearly jolted. He managed to forget a little how tense he still was, illusion destroyed fast by a friendly tail, wrapping around his leg. 
The indifferent stare and chunky posture were already familiar.
"Oh, someone likes you." You cooed with a bright smile. "It's rare for Haru to come to a new client."
"She's being picky?" The lawyer leaned down, let the curious cat sniff his fingers before he gently caressed its head.
"He. He's a little fussy diva. Wait, maybe I'll encourage him a little—" 
You leaned to the side and behind to reach for a toy, move quite fast, and your hair repeated the vortex he had seen even before he had taken a look at your face. The almost painful churning in Higuruma's stomach rushed dangerously low; he coughed into fist to give a reason for leaning forwards. Haru snapped his head back at the noise, but instead of running away he leaped into the lawyer's lap, fitting tight the space between his torso and thighs. And successfully hiding the area that could become problematic at any moment.
"Thanks, buddy," Higuruma whispered and scratched him behind the ear.
"He really likes you." You laughed, by no means offended for your sneaky plan to fail before it had started. "You're so natural with cats."
"It's only one of my talents." He flicked his gaze at you, his hand resting full on the cat's head, deliberately swept along the line of its spine. "Been always told I'm good with my hands."
The risk was exceptionally calculated, even for him. But it paid off with sparks of interest flickering in your eyes and fast, so easy to miss, bite at the side of your bottom lip.
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The note had been replaced by a hair clip.
Higuruma hadn't even thought twice when he had sprinted out of work straight to a jeweler. His mind and soul had been in a different place, entranced by your number freshly saved on his phone, and hadn't perked up even at the significant amount of money he had spent on a golden clip. 
The coincidence had been too good to be just a wink of fate: the design was almost identical to your old one.
Complications had appeared after he had come back and grabbed much deserved sleep. Fresh brain had pushed the old scruples back to the surface, and the would-be gift had ended on the kitchen table, leering at Higuruma as he was sneaking by, in shame and trying to look away.
Since the cat cafe date, you had met at least five times. All meetings had been rather non-committal and platonic, and the closest he got to fulfilling his fantasies had been a gentle kiss on his cheek he had earned after a movie. Yet, Higuruma knew there was a prominent spark of interest on your side. So far you had answered all of his advances with eagerness if not straight forward had been playing with him as if he was a cat on the other end of a teasing wand.
He was still feeling ashamed of himself but didn't intend to let such an opportunity slip through his hands. All he needed was that last step…but he couldn't quite grow spine to finally make it.
So the hair clip kept glaring at him, and he kept ignoring it, as much as he could at least before he was caving in to all those temptations leading him to late night shower fantasies.
By the time he heard you ringing to his door he even managed to forget about it a little. Well, he was deep in work again, his mind finally free of all red-hot thoughts and quandaries—until said sound pierced him like a stray bullet. He knew immediately it was you; he couldn't explain why and how but he knew. The rush of blood thudding in his ears for once had nothing to do with anxiety—this time it was a genuine excitement, hope even, if he dared to somewhat name the vortex of his thoughts. This was but just a little change; it meant nothing for heat building in his cheek nor for trembling of hands he barely tamed on his way to the door.
Before he opened, he had to take a deep, hopefully calming breath.
"This is gonna be awkward again." You admitted with a shy smile. "There's no heating at my place. And no warm water. "
Your appearance was a stunning middle ground between the scrupulously crafted look you donned for your little dates and the casual home-only mess Higuruma had learnt the day you got to talk for the first time. You were still dressed neatly but disarray had already sneaked with crumpled fabric, rolled up sleeves and the mess of your hair, barely tamed with a hair band. 
A loose strand fell out of it, and you tugged it behind your ear, with the same smooth, sensual move he had learnt by heart. Higuruma swallowed, a bit too audibly for his comfort.
"I can offer warm tea and warm company," he moved to the side and gestured towards the apartment. At least this time the mess was more tamed; since he had been caught red-handed, he paid more attention to the state of his surroundings. 
It couldn't possibly be a more obvious excuse, but Higuruma's thoughts were speeding too fast to do something more than taking a mental note. He intended to guide you towards the living room, but you took your guest rights to the fullest and chose a seat by the table in the kitchen from where you were piercing him with a curious gaze. In a calmer state Higuruma would pay more attention and take note how strategic your move was—but he was too busy masking his stress by preparing the tea and snacks. Before the doorbell, at least a shadow of the hair clip had existed at the back of his head. Now the whole trace was gone, replaced by all his dreams and worries packed into a single vortex of inner and somewhat controlled panic.
Why was he so nervous? He had no reason to delve into his thoughts anymore. All that was left was one of you finally tugging the rope to their side. You were right there, behind his back, twisting a strand of your hair around your finger, legs crossed just right to roll your dress up your thighs a little. Part of him was itching to turn and pull you into his arms, to bury his face into the back of your neck, to trace your tattoos and check how far they really reach. The other kept spraying the horny demon in him with cold water—and by far winning at that time.
If only you gave him a little more prominent sign…
"A hair clip?" As if reading his mind, you sprung forwards. "It looks like mine… Where did you get it?"
Higuruma almost dropped the cups with tea.
"Oh. That." He had never been blessed his experience with stress-taming than he did now. He needed only a single breath to look presentable again. "Well… Now it's my turn at the awkward merry-go-round. Was supposed to be a gift."
He set your cup in front of you, his hand almost free of trembling. Your gaze grazed over it for a second before it flicked back to the accessory, by "chance" placed right within your sight but out of reach, "Gift?"
"Replacement for the one I broke." Higuruma had no choice but to grab it himself and offer it to you on open palm. "I plead guilty and have already paid a fine."
You said nothing but he could read from your face his choice was simply perfect. You gently traced its edge, almost took it, but at the last time you withdrew, your eyes full of sultry gleam. "Thank you. It's so pretty. But you shouldn't have—"
"Oh, I should. And I loved it." Higuruma already knew where it was going. He felt sweat pearling at his temples, a single droplet traced down the side of his face. "It's but a pleasure to offer beautiful things to a beautiful woman."
You traced the clip again, with more prominent pressure this time, such a perfectly feigned hesitation. 
"Then…" Your gaze wandered up and locked with his. "Would you like to clip it in?"
Higuruma's knees nearly gave up under him when you, no longer waiting for his answer, let your hair flow free. With a single shake of your head, you spilled it all over your shoulders for him to gather it again, smile dancing at the corners of your lips a shameless proof you knew exactly what you were doing. 
Were his thoughts that obvious? Were his sinful dreams written all over his face? Was he being pulled into a trap from the very beginning? 
As if entranced, Higuruma approached you from behind. Even with explicit permission he was more than gentle when he caressed your hair from the crown of your head to its tips. It was smooth like velvet, far more than he had imagined it to be after the brief contact. 
The flame inside him churned and roared, pulse thudding in his ears muffled down all the other sounds. Hands shaking, he started gathering your hair to the back, into a single, thick thread he tried to hold firmly for the clip. He feared to tug too much; if he slipped once, he knew he wouldn't stop, the loose yet so heavy knot around his fingers just waiting to be tightened.
In the wildest fantasies flowing through his dreams Higuruma hadn't considered it to feel so good, almost too good to be real.
He couldn't hold it for longer, he let go, watched your hair spill again in awe, his throat dry and clenched. Threading fingers through it, he reached deeper, brushing at your scalp, and noting, pleased, a low, purr-like sound you made. Entrancing smoothness pulled him yet again, though, and he combed the strands to their tips, and returned to the crown of your head, over and over and one more time, and more—
"You don't have to be so gentle," you hummed, arching into his touch with no trace of shame. "I quite like it pulled."
Higuruma swallowed the hook together with the rod.
He gathered your hair into his fist, wrapped it around, and slowly—but with prominent power—pulled your head to the side, exposing your neck to himself. You mewled, following the move without further encouragement, giving him better access in the most arched, sweetest way possible. He leaned closer, his lips an inch away from your skin as he soaked in the familiar, sweet, intimate scent. The choice between possible routes was hard but eventually he settled on the most shameless one. He kissed your ear, brushed his lips right under it, and dived straight into the source of the fire burning him through all this time, through weeks that felt like ages. 
The softness of your hair was even more intoxicating when Higuruma felt it against his face. The first tasting nudge found your approval, so he went for a shaky, almost desperate breath of your scent, so rich and so throughout yours. It was a sin to abandon it, but he knew he had to discover more—or else the doors to the forbidden garden might push him away and shut closed. Shaking and almost sobbing in immense pleasure and happiness, the lawyer trailed his kisses back to your neck, then down to the curve of your shoulder until he felt the seam of your dress under his lips. 
"Hiromi…" You pleaded in whisper, for the first time calling him by his name. "Kiss me…"
Hand still tight in your hair, Higuruma tilted your head stronger to the side and leaned over your shoulder. Your noses brushed awkwardly before he finally found your lips. He expected it to be slow, just a little peck for a starter, but you apparently just waited for it. You grabbed him by the tie and pulled, your tongue slipping into his mouth without a warning nor hesitation. He let you take the lead at first but soon your advances weren't quite enough for his voracity, and he answered you with even greater eagerness.
It was his first kiss in so long and one of the very few so intense. You were barely stopping for a breath, one immediately pulling the other back when it halted. Higuruma's head was spinning, from lack of air and overflow of emotions. His heart was beating so fast that he danced on the line of fainting right in front of you, no wonder you guided him as you liked despite his hand clenched in your hair and kisses swallowing your breath.
You stood up and pushed him against the table, finally giving the both of you much deserved break and freeing each other of the tight clutch of your hands. 
"Lemme," you nipped at his ear shortly after. 
Gasping for air, Higuruma watched your advances with fascination. You unbuttoned his shirt with a casual knack and pawed at his hairy chest, trailing down the dark line towards the hem of his pants. Part of him was relieved to have his hard, almost painful, erection finally freed—the other dusted his cheeks with embarrassment. So fast and so easily… He wasn't a teenager anymore, his desperation was almost shameful.
Little did you care, almost shaking yourself when you fell to your knees and peeled his pants and underwear out of your way. You licked your lips at the sight of his hard, throbbing cock, and wrapped fingers around it. A few testing strokes later, you brushed a droplet of precum off his tip with a thumb, then leaned for a little, almost cute kiss.
"Shit…" Higuruma muttered through clenched teeth. For once forgetting about your hair, he held on to the table for his dear life and focused on not cumming right on spot. Unaware of his fight, you continued with teasing kisses and kitty licks towards the base. With the tip of your tongue teasing the sensitive skin of his balls you almost sent him flying; to stop orgasm from coming he bit his lip so hard he almost cut it to blood.
"So full…" You cooed, unawares of his struggle. Higuruma didn't dare to look at you—a futile effort as he could easily imagine what you were doing just by the feel of your lips and tongue at work.
"It's been… A while— Fuck!" As if it would help him if he held his breath and closed his eyes. Your mouth was so wet and hot and sucked him off with such fervor he was ready to beg you to slow down. It was illegal for a simple blowjob to feel so good; was it your skill or his desperation, all of it mixed with the tension building up relentlessly through the last few weeks—it didn't matter. Various thoughts were speeding through his mind, but he quite literally had no power to process them. 
Higuruma mewled your name, a pitiful whimpering sound that clenched his chest with almost painful embarrassment. He felt your approving hum vibrating around his cock as you slid him into your throat, until you reached a depth comfortable for you, and started bobbing your head along his length. His imagination reached its peak of capability, drowned into comfortable darkness he desperately tried to enforce on his poor, tortured brain. So slick and hot, so tight when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, balancing right on the thin line between ineffable pleasure and discomfort.
You were on a mission to suck him dry—and he had no power (nor desire) to oppose you.
Yet, with the tension relentlessly building and nearing its peak, Higuruma put every ounce of his might left and peeled one hand off the table to immediately tangle it in your hair. You chirped, pleased, around his cock, clearly expecting a pull towards—not backwards. Eyes wide open and dark with desire, you gazed at him with upper confusion. You didn't even close your lips, a string of saliva still connected them with the tip of his dick.
"N-not like that…" The lawyer managed to choke out between desperate draughts for air. "I want—"
Thank goodness you read his mind like an open book. Otherwise, he would stutter there to the kingdom come and back, like a dazed idiot he was.
"Bed?" You nuzzled your head into his palm. The temptation to pull grew stronger again, so strong that Higuruma's cock twitched just at the thought. He quickly withdrew, brushed his fingers down your face to wipe saliva off your lips and chin. At the desired level he hesitated—and brushed a little string of drool back into your mouth and deeper. If you were surprised, you hadn't showed it, instead opening wider for him and swirling your sinful tongue around his digits.
A wild idea crossed his mind, a kink he had tried with one of his past partners but hadn't quite brought it back until now as he was fucking your mouth with his fingers and staring at your drool pooling inside and dripping down your chin, first droplets falling on the front of your dress. He didn't dare to say it but a move, expression or the whole situation must have betrayed him yet again. 
You pierced him with an understanding gaze and nodded.
Higuruma slowly withdrew his fingers and grabbed your chin, soon tilting your head back. With his throat so dry it took him quite a moment to gather enough drool, but you waited oh so patiently, your eyes closed and your hair flowing down your head with the heave of your heavy breathing. 
He leaned down and let his spit slowly drip down from the tip of his tongue, straight into your wide open, waiting mouth. Your whole body trembled and a little mewl broke through your lips as you let it slide down your throat.
"Such a good girl…" The guttural, heavy with desire voice that got out of his throat surprised even him. "Swallowing everything for me…"
He did it two more times before he couldn't find more spit to share. Instead, he returned to torture you with his fingers, playing with your tongue and testing how far he can reach before you gag around them. With great pleasure he was surprised to not find this moment despite trying really hard.
"If you're gonna torture me like this—" You warned with an impish gleam in your eyes as soon as he gave you a break. "—I won't hold it for longer and make you cum with my mouth."
Higuruma leaned against the table and cooled his head down with a few deep breaths.
"Bed," he agreed with the unanswered question of yours and helped you get up.
Yet again you took the lead and straight up herded him to his bedroom. When and how you figured which was the right door, he had no idea, but he also didn't ponder over this fact too much, too busy with not tripping while kicking his pants out of the way. You both fumbled at the threshold, tangled in clothes you desperately tried to get rid of while kissing each other blindly, until the lawyer finally found an upper hand and pushed you inside and then on top of the bed. 
You started rolling the dress up, but Higuruma shoved your hand out of the way and reached beneath you for the zipper. It gave up so easily he worried for a moment he broke something, but you just graciously wiggled out, freeing your shoulders and breasts. The sight messed with his momentum, a heavy lump stuck at his throat, and he had to close eyes for a moment to not cum on the spot.
You finished rolling your dress down your hips and snapped your legs open with great impatience, "What, have you changed your mind?"
Higuruma cursed under breath, wiped his face with both hands—and immediately dove for it much like a bird of prey. Avoiding the temptation of your hair at all costs, he focused on your tattoos instead, tracing them with his tongue and kissing. He had no idea you had so many of them, in so many interesting places he was dying to explore and to cover with hungry hickeys. 
But he was also aware of the burning hard problem below his waist, so he didn't waste a droplet of time. He reached straight between your legs, hummed at the feel of soft bush brushing against his fingers and spread your labia open.
"So wet for me, baby girl?" He breathed against one of your nipples before sucking on it with fervor. 
A needy mewl was your answer as you bucked your hips, trying to steal friction from his palm. He didn't hesitate from giving you all you wanted, two fingers sliding into you at once. Just the squelching tight sensation was enough for a wave of pleasure to crush against him; with a whimper Higuruma thrusted dry against your side, staining your skin with precum.
"Fuck, you're so sexy…" His voice was breaking with desperation, but he kept a reasonable pace with stretching you. Your tightness was so hot and intoxicating, but he worried he could hurt you if he hurried the matters too much. If he made a mess and embarrassment out of himself because of it, he would take it, as long as you hadn't felt any unwanted pain. 
You read him right yet again and grabbed him by wrist, "I'm ready."
His next move hadn't met the same patience as you whined when he left you on the bed to look for condoms in the drawer.
"It's okay, I'm on pills." You pulled him back by the hem of his shirt and slid it away a moment later, leaving him completely naked. 
Clawing at his shoulders you kept nudging him until he was back in his place, teeth grazing at your neck. You fumbled in sheets warming each other up and experimenting for the last time before the main event, both of you growing impatient beyond tolerance. 
"How do you want it?" Higuruma rasped into your ear and bit at its shell. His cock throbbed with warning at the sweet mewl of yours; he knew he wouldn't last much longer if he kept edging himself.
"You can be rough," you whined without a hesitation as he pushed himself on top of you again. "I'll just tell you to stop, if needed. And hair—"
"Got you."
He pressed a quick kiss to your lips and gave you space to roll on your stomach and climb on your knees. He tried to not stare too much, just a glimpse of your ass arching for him, your hips swaying with invitation, put his blood pressure to alarming limits. Lining himself up at the best angle he could find, Higuruma kneeled between your legs and kneaded your cheeks. He loved how his fingers dipped into your soft flesh, but he didn't quite have enough time to appreciate everything you had to offer.
"Hair," you reminded him, looking over your shoulder at him with such heat in your eyes that a harsh shiver ran down his spine.
"I got you, my sweet girl." Higuruma leaned over your back and kissed the nape of your neck before taking a fist full of your hair. He hadn't pulled on it just yet, waited for the perfect moment when his cock slid into you and nestled comfy between your slick, tight walls.
He needed a break again, an inch away from an early finish. He kept the fire simmering by peppering you with bites and kisses, the grip on your hair kept satisfyingly strained until he felt he could move freely. 
A single deep and shaky breath later Higuruma finally rose straight to his knees, pulling you with himself until you arched your back and mewled. A tinge of pain was audible in your voice, but your cunt fluttered around his cock, and you hadn't said anything, so he followed with the plan, trusting your words from a moment earlier.
"F-fuck…" He muttered as he bottomed out, hips pressed flush to your ass. "Such a good girl you are…"
You stated your limits clearly, but Higuruma didn't want to test his luck. The grip on your hair was more than enough to satisfy his wilder side—and still he refrained from yanking your head too much. Just enough to have your back tense like a string as you were taking each one of his deep, desperate thrusts. More out of curiosity than anything he smacked your ass with a juicy slap, the sight of your body rippling from the impact so powerful he had to slow down and wait through another dangerous close call.
"Hi… ro…" You struggled to call for him, one hand clawing at sheets, the other between your legs as you played with your clit. He clenched his teeth and spanked you again. You responded with loud and enthusiastic moans, the best music he heard in a long, long while.
The finish was really close. Higuruma's hand clenched hard on your hip, maybe even bruising you in process, but then his focus narrowed to your union only and its unbearably hot, slick sensation that kept swallowing him. All he needed was your high first; he didn't want to go there without satisfying you at least this much. Your sweet sounds and trembling body were giving him good guidance—and he kept repeating what he was doing until the tight knot in your abdomen finally snapped and you spasmed in his hold, the tight clench of your pussy sparking friction almost too intense for him.
It didn't take long for him to finish too; a few erratic thrusts later he spilled his seed deep in you and collapsed on top of you, pressing you tight to the mattress.
Catching on breath, almost blind from exertion, Higuruma kissed your neck right under the hairline and buried his nose at the back of your head. You didn't make any sound under him, and he worried he might have pressed you too hard—but as soon as he shifted his weight to side, you budged and protested with a weak mewl.
"Stay." You reached behind and threaded fingers through his hair. He shivered under the gentle touch, almost literally melting when you kept scratching at his scalp and playing with his sweaty strands. 
"I'm staying," he promised and nuzzled close, flush against your back, cock still nestled deep in you. Frankly, even if he wanted, he didn't have much power left, just enough to roll to the side and collapse there for good. But he loved the intimacy of this moment even more than sex before, the warmth of your body, the rhythm of your pulse, the smell of your sweat covering your skin with a thin, sticky layer.
"Fuck, I think we need a shower." He mumbled to himself and chuckled, sure you had snoozed in his arms, but you answered the laughter and reached for his hand.
Higuruma gladly intertwined fingers with yours.
"I'd love to see your shower again." You kissed his knuckles, a smile pressed to your lips. 
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misscalming · 8 days ago
Text
I bring you Logan waking up scared not because of his dreams but Wade’s (minimal angst maximum fluff)
A blood curdling scream startles Logan awake, his eyes dart around in the dark, claws out at the ready to defend himself and Wade from whoever or whatever had dared to threaten his mate.
In a state of panic he grabs at Wade’s arm to ground himself, without thinking he yells ;
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?” And glares down at Wade who startles awake from all the commotion.
“What was what!? What’s going on? Are you okay!?” Wade exclaims, unfocused eyes trying to make sense of the darkness around him,just as panicked as Logan was before, he instinctually grabs the knife tapped to the bottom of the beds scaffolding.
Logan’s expression softens, releasing the tension from his shoulders and bringing a hand up to grip Wade by the jaw, pressing thick calloused fingers into scared cheeks to watch his lips pucker.
“You fucking asshole, don’t scare me like that” Logan reprimands, shaking Wade’s head side to side before pressing their foreheads together.
“Dit I talk in mah schleep again?” Wade whispers through his squished lips, guilt laced through his words.
“It’s not your fault Darl’ , don’t worry about it I’m sorry for waking you up, go back to sleep….Okay Bubba?” Logan mumbles, releasing his grip on Wade’s face and giving a affectionate, chaste kiss to his nose.
They lay back down, Logan falls asleep and Wade nervously chews his bottom lip while he gazes at his partners sleeping face, he was scared of falling asleep and waking his husband up with his stupid sleep talking again. That wasn’t fair on Logan. He struggled to sleep even without Wade’s ridiculous brain subconsciously keeping his lips flapping even while unconscious, he didn’t know WHY Logan put up with his bullshit.
Wade gently lifts the heavy arm draped over his waist and, without little effort, rolls away from the fucking black hole gravitational pull of the dip in the bed under his partners weight. unravelling himself from his blanket to stand up and gently step around the bed.
Wade’s making his way out the room to simply sleep the rest of the night on the couch when a strong arm shoots out from the blankets to catch his wrist in a bruising grip, stopping him from leaving. before Wade can react he’s being thrown back onto the mattress and pinned down by a 400 pound purring Wolverine. Deep rumbles emanating from the beasts large chest in soothing waves.
Logan keeps his knees pressed either side of Wade’s hips, distributing a portion of his weight off of the poor man’s body and onto the mattress, which dipped and sunk Wade like a rock.
Wade fruitlessly slaps his palms against Logan’s back.
“Logaaaan~ get off!” Wade whines, kicking his feet in the air like a flipped turtle.
“No” Logan grumbles in reply, tightening his arms around Wade’s waist and nuzzling his face into his chest, “comfy”
“Logan please- I needa pee” Wade protests.
“That’s a lie and me and you both know it, I could hear ya’ thinkin’ , sleep” Logan growls nipping at the soft spot between Wade’s collarbone and arm.
Wade squeals and struggles some more before going limp, submitting to the role of Logan’s Pillow.
“You’re an asshole” he sighs, bringing his hands down to scratch at the back of Logan’s head, and run his fingernails down his neck.
Logan purrs and quickly nods off to sleep. Wade instead stays awake, gently playing with Logan’s hair leaving small braids in his wake. He twirls a loose curl around his finger, mesmerised by its softness, eyes drooping more and more before eventually falling shut.
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