#see them again after a few months so i felt like i could take more chances

[leashybebes]

I feel so mean but I want to know how Buck reacted when he opened his fridge and saw that Tommy bought CHAMPAGNE, clearly planning to celebrate...

(I like breaking my own heart, it's my biggest Tommy trait of all...)

ohhhh that IS mean, i love it.

When Tommy walks out - again - Buck just stands for a long moment, once again wondering how things between them can be so, so good, and then can go south so fast. Because he's pretty sure Tommy was going to stay, long enough to eat breakfast at least, and then longer than that. And then Tommy said something really fucking stupid, and Buck said something really fucking mean and then - then he was just gone.

God damn it.

Not quite sure what else to do, Buck picks up the coffee Tommy had poured for him and takes a sip. Perfect. It's perfect. It's been months, and Tommy can still make Buck's coffee just like he likes it. It feels like it should mean something, but - but Tommy's not here. Maybe that's who he is - maybe that's as much as they'll ever have. Shallow moments of connection that feel like they mean more. Incredible sex. Talking past each other until they hit on a soft spot too painful to process properly, and Tommy walks out.

Tommy's always leaving, and Buck's always being left, and he's suddenly so, so tired.

The breakfast that had smelled so good when Buck first registered it holds no appeal. He tries a slice of bacon anyway, because he hates wasting food, and just like the coffee it's perfect. Just like the coffee, the perfection feels unearned and unstable and like it's just begging Buck to read too much into it. When he'd walked into the kitchen and seen Tommy, tired but gorgeous in the soft morning light, when he'd seen the veritable feast laid out across the worktop, he'd been rocked right off his feet and back into their six months together. Felt spoiled and adored and looked after and like it meant something. 

Fuck it, though, he thinks to himself. Maybe it just meant Tommy was hungry. They sure did wear each other out last night. He gathers up the fruit, the bagels, transfers the hot food to a single dish, digs out some saran wrap from one of the boxes Tommy had half unpacked and moves mechanically, covering plates and dishes to keep the food fresh even though he already knows there's almost no chance he'll be able to choke any of it down without seeing Tommy's ghost in the edges of his vision, filling up the kitchen of Buck's new place with missed opportunities, just like he did to the old place.

When the food's condensed and covered, it feels less meaningful. It's just leftovers. God, it's all just leftovers.

Buck opens the fridge to start putting things away and almost drops a plate. 

Because there, in his empty fridge, is a bottle of champagne. He stares for a long, long moment, but it doesn't go anywhere. Doesn't transform itself into a less obvious drink, doesn't magically become a bottle of juice or a carton of milk.

Tommy went to the store and must have paid well over the odds, because that place a few roads over is probably as far as he could have gone, and it's daylight fucking robbery in there, and he bought champagne.

There's no way, Buck thinks, feeling hopeful and heartbroken and angry and confused and regretful and desperate and like he's missed a step in the dark again, there's no way that means nothing.

It means Tommy lied about having a shift. It means Tommy wanted to celebrate. It means Tommy thought they'd have something to celebrate. It means they probably would have tumbled back into bed a couple hours from now, well-fed and a little tipsy. It means Tommy didn't want to leave. 

It means he left anyway, leaving pieces of himself behind like he always does.

Buck takes a breath, moves the bottle aside, and starts loading up the fridge.

[fleuryns]

末 : I'M A BUSY WOMAN . . YOU'RE TIRED OF WAITING FOR THEM

❝ 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 ❞

엔하이픈 형 & 𝑓!r . . 72O scenarios ꪆৎ light angst situationships breakup possible ex established relationship red flags badass reader — ARCHiVE

fawnie : because i said i wanted to make a sabrina carpenter inspired fic, so here it is :33

like ◜ᴗ◝ reblog

LEE HEESEUNG

the pounding of the music resonated in the air, and the fluorescent colored lights danced around at exaggerated speed. you were there with some friends to have a night of fun and letting loose, but your expression clouded for a split second as you saw him entering the party.

heeseung didn't take long to spot you, and you felt your heart beat faster as he started to approach. the place was thankfully too packed, so he got stopped a few meters from you. his eyes looked desperate, dancing around your face in search of something that could tell him that you missed him too. his lips parted, but he closed them immediately.

for a moment, the world around you stopped existing, and it was just a stare game between you too. then you smirked, pushing your hair behind your shoulders and turning your back to him. you didn't miss him, not when he realized he had you only after you walked away. and if he thought that you would give in so easily, he was messing with the wrong woman.

PARK JONGSEONG

your heels clicked as you hurried down jay's corridor, his own steps following right behind, equally frantic. “baby, come on, you have to stay” he was pleading over and over again. “stay another night…” he murmured again, stepping in front of you to block your path, his hand coming to grip your waist and his lustful eyes coming to meet your tired ones.

“you only care about me at night?” your question just a statement to you, one you already knew the answer to. “you said we'd spend time together today and yet you came back half an hour ago” you tried to brush past him, but he blocked you with a gentle hand, though the urgency was clear in his gesture. “baby, i was busy, you have to understand…”

you shot him a glare, pushing him with more force to finally free yourself and reach the entrance. “i was busy too” you said curtly, putting on your jacket. “i'm done playing missus jay, i have a life” you grabbed your purse and left him garbling for an excuse.

SIM JAEYUN

the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard filled the air in your new office, your mind at ease despite the piling tasks that your recent promotion had brought. your focus was broken by one of the interns knocking and peeking in.

“there's a man at the entrance that wants to see you” you sighed, saving the file before making your way over. but when you got there, you sighed again, internally rolling your eyes at the sight of jake standing there. as soon as he spotted you he closed the distance between you and immediately begun with his begging you had grown accustomed to.

“please, baby, come back to me! i promise i'll be better, i've learned now!” his words tumbled out quickly, and he clearly hadn't changed one bit in the way he expected you to give in to his requests like everybody did. “i'm busy, jake” you sighed, crossing your arms “i have a new job now, and you're wasting my time, go away” you signaled the doorman to ensure his exit and went back to your office.

PARK SUNGHOON

your fingers drummed in annoyance on the table, the table you had reserved for the date sunghoon hadn't bothered to come on time to. you sighed softly, it was the third time this month, it had become a way too frequent habit of his, you were officially done with his antics.

the bell by the door signaled his entrance, two hours late, and the way he calmly made his way over to you made your blood boil. “sorry, got held up by some stuff” he waved a dismissive hand, not even bothering to hide the fact that he didn't actually feel sorry.

“alright…” you sighed, getting up and gathering your stuff, not sparing him another glance. “what are you doing?” he asked, tone confused, his head moving to try and meet your gaze. finally, you looked at him and raised your eyebrows. “i'm done eating, so i'm leaving” you spoke in a matter-of-factly tone. “see you never sunghoon, i'll go on solo dates from now on, i won't even notice the difference” you turned and left the restaurant feeling lighter than ever.

🐾 : @kflixnet @leaderwon @pearlescene @chrrific @woniefication / taglist open

[loulou-land]

I Don’t Wanna Go, We’ve Been Here Before

Me: I need all the fix it fics right now. Also me: proceeds to write something that is very much NOT a fix it. Sorry 😅 this is basically Tommy’s pov of the morning after and a little exploration of what could’ve been going through his head. (Title from I Miss You, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams)

Bucktommy | Angst and Sadness | 1.4k words | spoilers for S8x11

Tommy wakes up early.

For a few seconds, he just breathes it in—the warmth of an arm slung over his stomach, soft puffs of air against his neck, and yeah…the sticky feeling of drool soaking into the curve of his armpit.

God, he’d missed this.

Tommy had spent months convincing himself he’d done the right thing. Telling himself he was fine. That he had protected his heart, knowing it all the while for the lie it was. And when the ache got to be too much, too sharp and insistent to ignore, too dangerously close to begging—he reminded himself that Evan was better off without him. That it was better this way.

All of it, however, had gone out the window the second he’d seen Evan sitting in those booths. The way his eyes lit up, the teasing lilt in his voice, the flutter in Tommy's stomach just being near him again. How easy it was to fall back into their old rhythm, as though nothing had changed.Only Evan could make him feel like that.

And it had been a heady feeling. Which had admittedly led to this moment. One he couldn’t bring himself to regret just yet. Instead, he let it fill him with hope. This was his chance to show Evan that he wanted to try again, that this time he wouldn’t let his fears get in the way.

Tommy exhaled slowly as the thought brought something else to the forefront of his mind. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of their conversation last night.

Evan had mentioned Eddie had left for Texas.

And Tommy had felt hurt at the thought that he wasn’t even worth a simple text, but beneath that, he’d also felt a flicker of something he wasn’t proud of.

Relief.

It settled heavy in his gut, shame pressing down on him before he could even unpack it.

Then Evan had invited him over to see his new place, Tommy had said yes before he even thought about it. Before he could remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t. Once again, letting Evan lead him even if it meant going over the edge of something he wasn’t prepared for.

And now—now he’s lying in what he assumes used to be Eddie’s bedroom, Evan curled up against him like no time had passed at all.

It’s messing with his head. This whole thing is.

There’s a storm of thoughts bouncing around in his head—guilt, longing, hope, want, fear. The more he lays there, Evan breathing softly in his ear, the more it feels like too much. He needs to move, to do something, to escape the ugly voices trying to make him doubt himself.

So he slips out of bed, briefly stopping to kiss the mark above Evan’s eyebrow. Evan’s mouth settles into a small smile and Tommy feels his lips mirror it.

After getting dressed, he goes to the kitchen with plans of making breakfast, only to huff in exasperation at the sight of an empty fridge. Right. Change of plans. He remembers the corner store and walks there. As he goes down the aisles, he unconsciously picks all of Evan’s favorite things.

He tells himself he’s just being thoughtful. That this is all for Evan. Knowing fully well it’s as much for him as it is for Evan, fulfilling his need to take care of him, to make him smile at Tommy. Bringing with him the sunshine and warmth he so desperately misses.

When he’s on his way to the checkout line, a bottle of champagne catches his eye, and he adds it to the basket without hesitation.

Back at the house, he moves around the kitchen quietly, making breakfast like it’s muscle memory, thinking of all the breakfasts that came before this one. And he finds himself hoping fervently that there will be more of them in their future.

He grabs the bottle of champagne, popping it in the fridge. Wonders about celebrating.

Thinks about whether they’ll have anything to actually celebrate.

Tommy starts rehearsing in his mind what he wants to say when he hears a soft shuffling of footsteps.

“I thought you’d left.”

Evan’s voice is soft, a little uncertain.

Tommy looks up at him and his breath catches.

In the light of day, Evan looks even more beautiful than he had last night. All sleep rumpled and radiant, curls a mess, eyes still a little dazed.

And Tommy feels it all over again—this aching, terrifying need of wanting to jump. Of wanting to fall. Into Evan. Into them.

“Not without feeding you,” he says, trying for casual, trying not to show him the way that simple sentence gutted him.

Because he has left before. And they both know it.

Tommy turns back to the stove, heart pounding. Since last night, it’s been like floating—a little unreal, too good to be true that he gets this chance—a chance to undo the worst mistake he’s ever made. He tries to come up with a way to bring up the subject, when Evan starts talking.

It hurts, hearing Evan dismiss their night as a one off that doesn’t mean anything.

“Why not?” Tommy asks, thankful his voice comes out even, despite the nervous energy thrumming through his veins. “What are you doing Saturday?”

“You wanna try again?” Evan asks softly, eyes glinting.

“I mean, I’m not ready to move in or anything” He really should have rehearsed better what he was going to say.

“And you’re not, um, you’re not scared…I’m gonna break your heart any more?”

As he looks into Evan’s deep blue eyes, he finds himself answering, “Not as much.”

The truth is…he fears it as much as he did before. But he wants to try.

Tommy should leave it at that, should go into the reasons why he wants to do this again. Why he wants a second chance. Instead, he makes a joke. About Eddie. Something snide and stupid and half-meant.

He sees it immediately—the way Evan pulls back. The shift in the air. The sudden tension filling the room. Fuck.

Tommy tries to take it back. To smooth it over. “I’m just joking,” he says, and god, he wants it to be true. He doesn’t want to actually think about this. About Eddie and Evan.

“Eddie’s straight.” Evan throws back at him.

And he can’t help but scoff. As if Tommy hasn’t gone down this road before, falling for someone he shouldn’t have. Someone unattainable.

Thing is, Tommy doesn’t actually know or believe that Evan is in love with Eddie. But still the possibility exists. He didn’t realize just how long he’d been living with the fear of being traded for Eddie. Until now.

Evan’s looking at him with something cracked in his expression. Tommy wishes he could rewind the last ten seconds. To say something better. Or nothing at all.

But then—

“I don’t have to sleep with everyone I have feelings for,” Evan says loudly. “Just like I don’t have to have feelings for everyone I sleep with.”

Oh.

It hits like a bullet.

Tommy feels the cracks in his heart widen, feels something sharp split open his chest.

Of course. Tommy is the biggest fool. He’d known his feelings for Evan had always been stronger than the other man’s. But had hoped—had wanted there to be something there on the other side. He’d thought that if he jumped, this time there would be someone to catch him. That Evan would be waiting for him with open arms.

It turns out he’d always been falling all alone.

“Got it,” he says, and he does. He understands it all very clearly now.

There was never a chance.

It all comes rushing back, the nights spent awake missing Evan, the times he’d had to talk himself out of calling him, the late night drives by the loft, the happiness he’d gotten last night. He tucks it all back inside him, in a small box, in the back of his mind.

His face must be doing something, because Evan suddenly looks stricken.

“Whoa, um.”

But Tommy can’t listen to any more.

Not now. Not like this.

So he steps back. Makes his excuse about a shift later. Thanks Evan for last night.

And he leaves.

Walks away from Evan again.

And this time, he thinks, he won’t come back.

Because how many times can a heart break before there’s nothing left to break?

[https-harlow]

Be My Valentine

Summary- The lines between friendship and romance blur on your birthday trip, a trip that only you and Jack end up on, over a few drinks you completely cross the line, in more ways than one. Maybe, just maybe, you were always meant to be each other’s.

Do not read unless you are 18+

You and Jack had been friends forever, literally. Your moms met when they were pregnant. Jack was four months older, and he loved to joke that those four months were the best (or worse, if you weren’t annoying him) four months of his life.

You both had elementary school crushes on each other growing up, but as you got into middle and high school, it never progressed any further than flirty comments here or there. Even now, as you were adults, flirty comments is as far as you two would take it.

You had recently broken up with your boyfriend of a year and a half, and you had a non-refundable birthday trip coming up. You were planning on just eating the cost of his half, who couldn’t use a week away, especially after a breakup. Plus, it was for your birthday. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a small Airbnb.

“Wait, he was going to let you pay for half of your birthday trip? Even though you paid for his?” Jack asked, sitting across from you on the couch in his living room.

“It was- uh- complicated,” You said, aka the relationship was already heading downhill when you booked. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just go by myself,”

“I would go with you if I could,” Urban said, sitting to Jack’s right.

“I know you would, but even if you could, I don’t think your girlfriend would like it,” You said, laughing softly as you played with your necklace.

“No, she loves you, she’d have no problem with it,” Urban reassured you.

“What if I go with you?” Jack suggested, sitting up like he had the best idea in the world. “And I’ll pay for it, you shouldn’t have to pay for your own birthday trip.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to,” You said, looking over at Jack. “I can go on my own.”

“I’m sure, it will be like our 18th birthday trip all over again, except we can drink now,” 

“Okay, you can come with me, I promise there’s nothing coupley booked. It was just going to be a week away.” You said and Jack nodded.

“Sounds perfect.” A week away with Jack didn’t sound that difficult, it actually sounded quite nice, the two of you didn’t get much time alone like you used to growing up, but you weren’t aware of how much your relationship had changed.

A few weeks later, you and Jack had your bags crammed into the back of his car. You decided to road trip to the beach house you booked, it was about a 10-hour drive to North Carolina, but you road tripped on your 18th birthday trip, so it felt fitting.

You spent the 10-hour trip blasting music and terribly singing along. Until you fell asleep in the passenger's seat for the last half. 

“Hey, we’re here,” Jack whispered, waking you up as he pulled into the driveway.

“Sorry for falling asleep,” You said as you sat up, stretching your back.

“It’s okay, I’ll get the bags while you find the door code,” Jack said, smiling over at you before getting out of the car. 

A few minutes later, you were entering the house, immediately seeing a “happy birthday” banner and balloons.

“Jack, what did you do?” You asked, turning to him.

“Uh, when you sent me the booking info, I might have ask them to set this up.” Jack knew you didn’t like to make a big deal out of your birthday, hence why the birthday trips started, but he wanted to at least make it special. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Actually, no, I love it. Thank you,” You said, hugging Jack. You didn’t like your birthday to be a big deal, but it was Jack doing it, and he didn’t overdo it, so you didn’t mind.

It hadn’t fully hit you until that moment, you and Jack were going to be fully alone, for a week. You weren’t worried about hating each other then the week was over, but you were worried your relationship was about to get a lot more complicated.

You got in late, so you ordered food in and started a movie before you both decided to go to sleep.

The next morning, you walked downstairs, turning the corner to enter the kitchen, seeing Jack in a hoodie and sweats plating food he had ordered.

“Since when are you such a morning person?” You teased, Jack looking up at you and then back down at what he was doing.

“Since I decided to make my best friend's birthday trip the best one yet,” Jack said, pushing your plate towards you so you could sit at the bar to eat. “I also ordered some groceries, they should be here in about an hour.”

“Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?” You asked as you sat down.

“Oh come on,” Jack said, walking around the bar, throwing his arm around you as he walked by. “I’m not that bad.”

“No, but you're not a get-up early on the first day of a vacation person either,”

“Okay, fine, you’re right.”

The rest of the day was spent lounging by the pool and on the beach. You and Jack ordered takeout and fell asleep in your separate beds. It wasn’t until the next night that your relationship took a turn.

You and Jack had shared a bottle of wine before dinner, and due to the fact neither of you ate lunch, you were both slightly tipsy.

You and Jack were making homemade pizzas for dinner, Jack rolling out the dough for the both of you. You took a sip of your wine before setting it down on the counter.

“Wait! I want to make mine into a heart,” You said, taking half of the dough from Jack and taking it over to the other side of the counter. You both decided to make it a competition on who could make the best pizza. You spent a few minutes shaping the dough into a heart before Jack walked behind you to look. Placing his hands on your waist, his chest closer to your back than normal, due to the wine. 

“Nope, no cheating,” You said, turning in his arms and putting your hands up to cover his eyes. You hesitated and lowered your hands once you realized how close he was. You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you’d be lying if you tried to claim yours didn’t do the same. 

You both slowly started to lean in, his hand moving from your hip to your back when the oven beeped, signaling it was pre-heated. You both jumped, pulling away. 

“I’ll uh, I’ll be over there,” Jack said, running his hand through his hair before walking back to the other side of the counter.

You both finished your pizzas in silence, before putting them in the oven. 

“Hot tub?” You asked, picking up the bottle of whiskey Jack bought. Jack nodded, before walking out to the hot tub. You went to grab towels before following. When you walked back to the backyard, Jack was fully in the hot tub. “I meant sit by the hot tub,” You said, laughing softly, sitting down at the edge, putting your legs in. You handed Jack the bottle of whiskey, which he opened and took a shot straight from the bottle before handing it to you to do the same. 

“C’mon, just get in with me,” Jack asked, placing his hands on the side of your legs.

“After we eat,” You said, taking a shot, before placing the bottle down. Jack sighed, resting his chin on your knee. You sat in silence while you played with the end of his curls. 

“You know, I think I love you,” Jack said, looking up at you. “Like, really, really love you.”

“Jack, you know I love you too,” You said. 

“No, I love you more than a friend.”

“Jack, I-” You hesitated, unsure what to say. You knew that you felt the same, but you were both drunk.

“Be my valentine?” Jack asked, cutting you off, making you laugh softly.

“Jack, it’s not even close to Valentine’s day,” You said, thinking you had clearly underestimated what a half bottle of wine and a shot of whiskey could do to him.

“I know, but you always said you wanted someone to ask you to be their boyfriend on Valentine’s day, you would say that it was cheesy, but you wanted to experience the rom-com level of cheesiness in a relationship at least once. So be my Valentine?” Jack asked again, lifting his head from your knees.

“Yes, I’ll be your valentine,” You smiled down at Jack, who was smiling bigger than you were.

“I don’t know why I haven’t asked you sooner, you’ve always been mine,” Jack said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and taking another shot. You took the bottle from him and took another shot yourself. “Get in with me,” Jack said, grabbing your hips and pretending to try to pull you in.

“After dinner,” You said, putting your hand back into his hair, twisting his curls around your finger. Jack smirked up at you before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your knee. Jack’s pupils widened, signaling his desire. Jack looked up, making eye contact with you, waiting for you to nod before he trailed a line of kisses up your leg, curving its way towards your inner thighs as he gently pushed your legs open. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” He said, playing with the button of your shorts. You shook your head, leaning back on your arm.

“Don’t stop,” You said and Jack smirked again, pulling the button of your shorts open, you leaned back onto your hands and lifted your hips so that Jack could pull them off leaving you in your bathing suit. 

“Lay back baby,” Jack said, his hands on your back, guiding you slowly to the concrete. He stood up, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours, you shrieked slightly as the water from Jack’s body dripped onto yours, but you slid your hand into his hair as you kissed back. Once he was satisfied, he trailed his lips down towards your bikini top, and down your stomach.

Both of your attentions were diverted when you heard the fire alarm. Luckily, when you turned and looked in the kitchen, there was no fire. Jack jumped up, you quickly behind him. You could smell the burnt pizzas. 

You jumped up, Jack quickly getting out of the hot tub. Jack rushed to the stove, turning it on and opening it to let it air out while you turned on the ceiling fan and tried to air the smoke away from the smoke detector. 

“Did you turn the timer on?” You asked Jack.

“No I thought you did,” Jack said, helping you air out the kitchen.

“I told you too,” You said, the fire alarm finally stopping. You both turned your attention to the burnt pizza’s on the stove.

“Tie?” Jack asked, glancing at you.

“Nope, you sabotaged my pizza, that means I win by default,” You teased as Jack walked closer to you, backing you into a counter, placing one hand on each side of you.

“Okay fine, but, I think I still win because you’re mine,” Jack said leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your lips, before resting his forehead on yours. “I’ll order some non-burnt pizza, and then,” Jack lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Jack walked towards the room he was staying in, “I know some ways to distract us while we wait.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You said after Jack gently dropped you on the bed.

“Yeah, stay here and I’ll show you,” He said before walking back out to the kitchen to grab his phone.

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128 @christinabae @lafavoritaangel @jackslilsecrett @savvusworld @mingis-wrld

[traintrainingmontage]

Prompt:

Donald and Douglas before they came to Sodor.

Also, congratulations on gaining 150 followers! 🎉

Thank you so much!! 💖 I appreciate it~ And I am more than happy to do more backstory with the Scottish engines!! Let's see what Donald and Douglas got up to, back before they ever came to Sodor's shores...

(Some crew OCs and story ideas borrowed [w/ permission] from @edwards-exploit!!)

(The month, and the prompts deadline, is coming to a close! Get your prompt idea in by the 31st, and I'll write it! Details are here!)

Kirk Darrow couldn't have been more pleased as he left the stationmaster's office, having been told that management was seriously considering him for a position as a driver. The winter cold bit at him like mad, but his entire body felt warm and light, like he'd just enjoyed a hot toddy. He'd served as a fireman for a number of years, and had the honor of crewing BR No. 57646 alongside his brother, Dirk. The two of them had, just as they'd arrived in the world together, signed up to join the railway together many moons ago when there weren't any better prospects to speak of back home.

While Dirk had been certified as a driver for a few years now, Kirk had always known that he could have taken the exams, but truthfully, he hadn't felt terribly motivated to do so. After all, he got to work alongside his twin and their engine all day, so why would he ever want to drive some other engine? It was only through the urging of his brother and No. 57646 that Kirk even bothered to consider it, though, mostly because, in Dirk's words, "if som'thin' 'appens n' I get laid up in th' hospital, ye'd better be able t' take care o' 'im!"

Unfortunately for Kirk, Dirk was known to make snap judgements and rash decisions, some of which had landed him in the hospital before, so it was that rather sound argument that had led to him studying for (and thankfully scoring high on) his exams.

As Kirk rounded the bend and approached the yard, trying to figure out how best to share the good news—should he play the fool? Offer to buy beers? Make it out to be a Christmas miracle?—what he saw instead made his good cheer evaporate in a flash.

No. 57647, an engine that their own held close to his heart, snarled throatily at one of the new diesel railbuses that had so recently entered service, this one having transferred here only a few short days ago. This particular diesel was 79959, and from the very start, he had made a rather strong impression on the rest of the yard. Kirk didn't much care for him himself, but at least he knew how to keep his damn distance. Unfortunately, from the way the two engines were facing off against each other, anger bleeding off of them both, one of them—or perhaps both of them—had decided to pick a fight.

"Ye'd best take that back, ye oil-huffin' ninny!"

The diesel only sniffed imperiously at 57647's words, clearly unimpressed. "Oh, look. Th' hothead's barbaric brother is here t' play noo! Ohhhh, Ah'm so scared!"

Condescension dripped from every word, and the diesel's eyes slowly turned back to 57646, a cocksure grin stretching across his face. "Ye 'eard what ah said, but ah'll say it again! All ye steamies are jus' washed up, no-good, hunks o' rust, an' you, ye dumb engine, are th' worst of all. Always givin' me orders, always thinkin' ah'm not as strong or as important as ye. WELL! Ah can do whatever you can, an' so much more! Ah can't wait 'til yer in the scrapyard, beggin' fer yer life, only ta—"

BAM! There was a clash, metal scraping against metal, and 57647 was suddenly right in front of the diesel, the two buffer to buffer as, with a great heave of effort, the steam engine pushed the railbus right off the rails, causing him to tip over and land with a great clatter against the cold, hard ground.

"HAAH! HAAH!" the railbus hyperventilated, panic setting in as his eyes looked every which way, focusing on nothing. A great hush fell over the yard, everyone watching in collective bewilderment as they tried to comprehend what had happened, before realization finally set in and a cacophany of noise erupted. Some of the men immediately set to righting the toppled bus, who was now screaming obscenities at the twin engines, while others hurried to ascertain the state of the line. 57647, for his part, was soundly being told off by his crew, two more folks that Kirk couldn't confidently say that he liked until he'd gotten enough beers in him.

"What were ye thinkin', ye ridiculous engine?!" the steam engine's driver shouted, looking like he was a hair's breadth away from popping a vein. "Ye coulda hurt someone! Yer lucky that damn railbus' crew was on break! Yer so... GAH! No wonder th' top brass wants t'—"

At that moment, however, the driver suddenly clammed up, the fireman also shuffling his feet and looking anywhere else. 57646's brows furrowed, suspicion all over his face, and it was clear that he was about to press on the matter, when a particular sound gave them all pause.

The depot manager's heavy steps were unmistakable, and Mr. MacCullough, the dark-eyed manager, approached the two steam engines with ire in his eyes and his jaw firm.

"Unbelievable. Once again, ye've caused me some REAL trouble, 57647! That railbus was t' take passengers this afternoon, an' noo, I've gotta organize a replacement! AGAIN!"

"But sir, I—"

"Can it, ye lousy engine! Ye couldn't keep yer temper in check, n' ye started a fight. Don't even pretend; I've already heard enough testimony from everyone here!"

The depot manager took a deep breath, eyes moving back and forth between the twins. "You listen t' me," he growled, his volume low but the intensity of his voice palpable. "Ah've had it wit' ye. Yer a bleedin' idiot who can't keep 'is temper, an' ah don't need that on ma railway. Yer done. Ah'm arrangin' for ye t' be sent t' th' scrapyard at th' end o' th' week."

A sudden hush fell over the twin engines and 57646's crew as Kirk came over to join his brother and their engine, his good news seeming so monumentally insignificant in the face of this terrible announcement. "Wha... what d'ya mean, sir?" 57647 trembled, and beside him, Dirk also trembled, but certainly not with trepidation.

"Ah mean what ah said," the manager sneered. "Yer no longer useful, an' yer gettin' scrapped. As fer 57646 here, congratulations. Ye've been sold; yer goin' t' Sodor."

"SODOR?!" exploded 57646, horror, anger, and rebelliousness all coming to the forefront as the manager's words sunk in.

"Tha's right," the steely eyed Mr. MacCullough continued, seeming quite unpreturbed even though a giant steam locomotive easily more than thrice his size looked like he was currently contemplating murder. "Yer goin' t' Sodor, an' ah'll be seein' ye off in a few days so yer crew can decide whether they wanna go wit' ya. That's all."

With that, like he hadn't just delivered the equivalent of executioner's orders, Mr. MacCullough turned on his heel and headed straight back for his office, his stride not slowing in the least despite the agony he'd left behind.

"No... NO!" 57647 cried, shaking like mad as tears threatened to fall. Beside him, Dirk and Kirk slowly reached up to pat at his frames; even though 57647 wasn't their engine, 57646 loved him enough to call him brother, and thus, he was just as special to the crew.

The reactions from 57647's own crew, however, left something to be desired, especially as Dirk turned to face them with a fire in his eyes.

"What was that, Rory?!" he demanded, practically getting into the driver's face. "Ye didn't stand up for yer engine at all! Yer jus' gonna... jus' gonna let him DIE?!"

With that, Dirk grabbed at his fellow driver's shirt and practically lifted him to his tiptoes, with Kirk making no move to stop him. However, instead of remorse, Rory simply let out a harsh sigh, his expression a mess of anxiety, reluctance, and resignation.

"Th' Controller let me know this mornin'. Mick n' I... we're bein' transferred t'a new engine. There's nothin' we can do. We can't work wit' him anymore, and ah'd rather be drivin' one o' them nice new diesels, anyway."

"Them nice new diesels..." Dirk scoffed, before spitting off to the side and releasing his grip, causing Rory to scramble backwards, breathing heavily, eyes wide with fright. "Get outta me sight. I dun wanna see ye again fer th' rest o' th' time ah'm here. GO!"

Rory and Mick didn't need persuading. The two scrambled off in a flurry of limbs, their movements so comical that were the situation anything but what it was, it might have been funny.

"Ah... ah cannae believe it," 57647 whimpered, eyes wide and staring at nothing. "Ma crew... they dun care 'bout me. Ah'm... ah'm gonna be scrapped..."

"Nae," 57646 whispered fiercely, trying to keep his voice low even though all assembled could hear the emotions raging just beneath the surface. "Yer not dyin' anytime soon, y'hear me? Ah... Ah'll figure sometin' out."

"Ye mean we," Dirk corrected, causing Kirk to look over at him in surprise. "We aren't about to let ye go at this alone." The conviction in his voice brought warm smiles to the faces of the two Caledonians, and it would have been a perfect moment if not for Kirk grabbing at his brother's arm.

"Ah, 'scuse us, you two."

Kirk managed to wrangle Dirk off to the side for a moment, before staring at his twin with disbelief. "Dirk! Ye cannae make promises ye can't keep!"

Dirk folded his arms, scowling at his brother as though he'd said something ridiculous. "What're ye on about, Kirk? Our engines need our help!"

"Our engines?!" Kirk hissed, struck absolutely incredulous by his brother's audacity. "Dirk, we have one engine, an' tha's moore than enough! 'Sides, his brother's bound fer th' scrapyard! How d'ye propose we—"

"Kirk," his brother interrupted softly, his tone solemn, "if I were starin' down th' executioner's axe, wuld ye do whatcha had t' do ta save me?"

"O' course!" Kirk blurted, not even needing a second to think. "Yer me bràthair, an'—"

"Tha's how our engine feels 'bout his own," his twin interjected, his tone now pleading, almost begging Kirk to understand. "Kirk, we've gotta do sometin'. Ah already know we're goin' wit' him t' Sodor; we've got no more family here, an' he may be metal, but he may as well be kin. And kin comes through fer kin."

There was a long, long silence. Kirk stared steadily at Dirk, then at the two engines, who were quietly conversing with each other, then upon noticing that he was looking at them, gave tiny, hopeful smiles that would have melted any good man's heart.

At that, a long sigh escaped the fireman's lips as he turned to regard his brother, who was already smiling at the sound of his twin's surrender. "Alright. We'll save his bràthair. N' he's real lucky, 'cause ah know our cousins, Bryce n' Blair, were also thinkin' a leavin' th' railway an' skippin' town. They'll be happy t' come wit' us, 'specially if there's steamies that need savin'."

"YES!" Dirk started to cheer, but then quickly stopped himself as the noise drew the attention of the other railwaymen around the yard. "Alright. Last thing we need's another driver, then..."

At this, Kirk couldn't help but roll his eyes. Looked like his earlier conundrum had solved itself. "Guess yer in luck once again. Ah passed th' exams; ah'm a certified driver noo."

"Really?!" Dirk's eyes widened to an almost comical degree, and a huge smile split his face. "Ah shoulda known that's why ye were lookin' so proud earlier! Between you an' me drivin' an' the Mitchells' shovelin', we'll have no problems gettin' t' Sodor! Let's tell them the good news, then!"

With that, the good news was shared and plans were laid, and despite the worries and the fear of what the future might hold, one engine and his driver, along with another engine and his soon-to-be-driver, found themselves smiling brightly. After all, nobody knew better than they did how far they'd go for family.

[cosmos-coma]

Winter Mountain Soldier Spy - Part 5

A/N: I just can not look at this anymore lol, editing is currently the bane of me. I struggled for WEEKS with the dialogue and then suddenly 2 days ago it just COMES TO ME lmao. I guess that's just the nature of writing??

Pairing: Winter soldier!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Words: 2615

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

__________

“I…” Winter sighed, his expression wincing in pain as he fought his better judgment and pulled away, “I need to tell you something…”

Disappointment gripped your chest as he pulled away, leaving you cold at the loss of him, but you refused to show it. 

“I…” you tried and failed to keep the sigh from your voice, “Of course….” 

He nodded and took a quiet, contemplative breath, “I’m not what you think I am…” he started, “I’m… not a good man…” 

“Winter… you-”

“No-” He interrupted, low but firm, “I not- I know now that I not….” 

As quickly as it had opened, your mouth shut again and you nodded slowly. This wasn’t your time to talk. 

He took another breath, “They call me the Winter Solider…. An assassin whose name rattles only those who know which side of the gun they’ll end up on,” His calloused fingers twitched as they ached for the comfort of yours, but he knew he didn’t deserve it, “My hands are covered in more blood than I care to admit-More than I can remember… but I don’t remember much….” 

“They told me I was doing good. That we were putting the world back into order, and I believed them. The people I… ’worked’ for wiped me away regularly. They said it was necessary to keep information from their enemies, so all my memories, all my thoughts… they were shocked away until I was a blank slate again.” He shook his head, “But one day it didn’t seem to take. I don’t know if they didn’t shock me long enough or if I was just lucky- but I could still remember. All these bits and pieces— fragments of jumbled memories, they stayed with me… and piece by piece I started putting them back together.”

“I only remember the past few months well, but I see their faces- the ones I killed before. I lay down to sleep and these memories start flooding back to me. Not just old targets but people– people that I killed, surrounded by their friends and families. And I-” He sighed, looking down briefly as brought himself back to center, “I don’t know how many weeks or months they took from me-“

“Or years…” you whispered quietly, unable to hold the thought in.

His expression winced again in a sad sort of smile. It was obviously something he had considered before, but refused to give voice to, “Or years…” he confirmed with a nod, “I know now… that I’m not a good man— I never can be, but I’d do anything to not let myself get worse….” 

You nodded slowly, your fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve as you tried to process everything that was being piled on top of you. “I... Wow, okay… So, how did you end up on the road…? You were full of bullet holes….”

“I ran.” He answered simply, “I was on a mission- I don’t know how far away. My handlers for once had let their guard down and I just… ran. I remember hearing the shots, but I couldn’t tell you when I got hit. Most of them I only noticed in my last dozen or so miles… and then I stumbled into the road and you nearly hit me,” he explained plainly.

“the last dozen miles...?” You asked, amazed and confused, ‘This man ran more than 12 miles after being shot??‘ You could hardly believe it- but then again… this entire story felt unbelievable. But you knew Winter, and you knew he would never lie to you. He was always honest— sometimes to a fault- and he’d never had a reason to be dishonest with you, and you didn’t believe he was starting now. “Winter, who…Who did this to you?” You asked, trying not to sound as overwhelmed as you felt. 

He watched you for a moment, seemingly debating with himself before giving in and whispering quietly, “… Hydra.”

You frowned; you had heard that name before, though, for all the money in the world, you couldn’t seem to remember why. All you remembered was that it had left a bad taste in your mouth and a pit in your stomach. 

You nodded, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to take in everything you just heard. So you… almost hit a man, let an assassin into your car and house, stitched up his wounds, cooked him breakfast, and even let him sleep in the room directly above you for multiple weeks now. That’s… maybe poor thought on your part. 

But… on the other hand, this was Winter you were talking about. You knew him (now), and as much as he had been an assassin, he was also prey. He was hurt, scared, and cautious— constantly looking over his shoulder for the next strike. But he was also… remarkably protective.  

You thought back to the day after he arrived; how he had come out of the house looking terrified, knife held defensively in hand, because he couldn’t find you anywhere. 

You thought back to the grocery store; how his head turned at every new movement, how his hand refused to leave you, and how no matter what, he always found a way to put himself between you and the “potential threats” that walked past. 

Hell, even thinking back to your walk just a few hours ago! The way he threw his body over you in hopes of taking whatever bullet might be meant for you.

Hydra may have used him as a weapon, but he has always been a shield. All this time, you didn’t realize how much he’d been protecting you, looking over both of your shoulders, possibly even looking for Hydra itself, but you wouldn’t miss it again. 

Finally, you brought your gaze back up to him. Once again you found vivid blue eyes staring down at you, waiting in a pool of worry and fear for you to say something. Anything.

“Will they come for you…? Hydra..?” You asked quietly.

He paused, “…I don’t know. I tried to get rid of anything they could track when I ran, but… that doesn’t mean they won’t try,”  he said quietly. 

“… You never wanted to be a part of Hydra, did you…?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

Silently, he shook his head. 

“And you didn’t know what you were doing was wrong..? When they ordered you to do this…” 

For a moment his movements stuttered, but slowly he shook his head again, “No… but I still did it.”

“It’s true… ” You sighed, leaning against his shoulder just a bit before slowly reaching out and brushing the back of his hand with yours, “… but I don’t blame you.” 

All the tension immediately melted from his muscles and flowed into the ground as you finally reached out to him, his hand gently pushing back against yours, just enough to let you know he didn’t want to let you go again. 

“It’s…” you started to explain, “it was done by your hands, you’re right… and I.. don’t know the entire story, but I know that doesn’t seem like something I can argue…” you spoke low as you hooked a finger with his, “but I also know you had no choice…. Between erasing your memories, and the aftermath of your escape-“ you motioned with your head to his fresh gunshot wounds “- it’s clear that you couldn’t have controlled this…”

His throat closed up like a vice as the back of his eyes prickled with unfamiliar emotion. Despite knowing he still did not deserve it, he hooked another finger around yours and gave you a squeeze.

“I don’t blame you, Winter,” You repeated softly, “You may have done bad things in the past, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be a good man- And all I’ve seen from you is goodness…” You whispered softly as your free hand found his cheek. Your thumb swiped across smooth skin, interrupting the path of an escaped tear.

You pulled the end of your sleeve over your free hand, using it as a makeshift tissue as you tenderly dried his eyes. “It’s okay…” you assured as his temple came gently to rest against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to rein in this foreign expression. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence there on the porch, wrapped in each other’s arms, with only the stars to listen and pass their judgement.  However you felt no judgement this night- only the weight of it finally leaving his shoulders. 

“Come… let’s head inside… I think we could both use an early night….”

——-

Hours later- well after you and Winter had gone your separate ways in hopes of sleep, you found yourself lingering once again in the dimly lit living room.

The tiny wood stove, scarcely bigger than a microwave, thrummed with warmth and the crackle of life as it hungrily consumed the logs in its belly. The warm glow and gentle heat washed over you through the dirtied glass door, tarnished by age and flame. 

Yet somehow still it could not warm you. 

The smooth cold floor seemed to seep up to rough the soles of your feet and your already chilled backside, to settle deep within, but it was still far better than your bed. There, you had laid shivering between the sheets for what felt like endless hours, but upon opening your eyes, had barely been two.

While the outdoor furnace provided most of the house’s heat, it was awfully slow to travel the house after cold days like these. The indoor wood stove, while rarely used, was good to quickly heat up a small room- or in this case, your frozen bones. 

You sat before the crackling fire with your knees tucked into your chest, trying desperately to conserve what warmth you had. With your sleepy eyes now slowly closing and your head resting admittedly awkwardly on your knee you thought you could fall asleep then and there. But whether it was your ridiculously cold ass or the thoughts of your recent conversation with Winter, you just couldn’t seem to get there. 

Confusing thoughts ran through your mind as you waited for sleep to take you; some stressed, some worried, and some relieved, but rarely was it coherent enough to be followed. Your tired mind had moved to a state of limbo, a constant stream of abstract moving emotions, yet still conscious enough to catch yourself every now and then and begin the cycle anew. You made a small huff of annoyance as a shiver passed through you and roused you from half-sleep once again. 

Maybe you were just too cold, maybe you should’ve grabbed a blanket to sit on- that probably would have been smart of you.

In the midst of your more coherent thoughts, a tired voice mumbled your name from the stairs.

“Mmm?” You hummed, your head turning toward the sound full seconds before you managed to open your eyes. As you looked back you saw Winter standing there, backlit by the lone light of the stairwell. 

His chest was bare, the warm artificial glow clinging and contorting around his skin and allowing you to make out the dark boxer briefs on his lower half. 

You smiled softly, trying to rub the drowsiness from your eyes as you blinked slowly back at him, “Winter…” you mumbled.

He looked around as he stepped down onto the landing and headed toward you, “Couldn’t sleep…?” He asked with a gentle voice, his good hand reaching out with a lingering hesitation, before brushing away one of your many stray hairs. 

“Too cold…” you grumbled as you leaned toward his touch, holding your knees a little tighter to your chest. “Why are you up…?” 

A faint, fond smile spread across his lips as he watched your sleep-stained expression and began to pull away, “Couldn’t sleep either… then I heard the fire going inside.”

Quickly, you brought your hand up to catch his and nodded, “I’m sorry I kept you up… I just can’t seem to get warm right now and I thought this was the best bet.”

Heat flushed across his bare chest as you took his hand, something he… wasn’t sure whether to expect after the rather overwhelming conversation you had just hours ago. But still, you held his hand with all the same tenderness, all the same love, that it left a pleasant buzz rolling around his chest. 

“Aren’t you cold…?” You asked, finally looking him over in better light. His upper half laid bare, allowing the flickering flame to dance and cast shadows over the array of scars that marred him. Some seemed to slash, some stabbed, and others— like his gunshots and metal arm— puckered with painful twisted skin. It wasn’t until now you noticed that even the gunshot wounds you had taken care of just weeks ago, already looked like they had been healing for a year or more. 

You looked back up at him before your gaze could linger long on his lower half, his dark boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination, even in the dim light.

Winter, seemingly unbothered by your once over and the lingering gaze on his scars and arm, shook his head, “I don’t get cold anymore….” 

You smiled, “That must be nice this time of year…” sighing, you patted your legs, a yawn hanging off your lips as you spoke, “I guess I should get back to bed… Winter, will you…?” You trailed off in question, holding your hands up to him for some help up. 

Instead, however, after only a half second of deliberation on his part, you found yourself being lifted into the air by a pair of strong arms. Surprise covered your face as Winter picked you up with no effort whatsoever, after all you were NOT a small person. Yet even still- like picking up a stuffed toy from the ground, he held you securely against his chest. 

The fireplace crackled and popped behind you, giving voice to the electricity that ran across your skin as you were pressed into his firm chest. Pleasant heat, unrivaled even by the fireplace, raced throughout your body and instantly warmed even the depths of you. 

Though as your surprise seemed to register to the super soldier you saw his expression begin to turn nervous, and you knew he had misread your signs, “…. I’m sorry, I…” he muttered his apology with a hint of sheepishness in his tone and began to put you down, until you quickly interjected.

“No…!” You rushed, holding him a little tighter, “No…. Please, don’t let me go…” there was a certain vulnerability in your voice that even you were not expecting to hear. 

Your fingers, which had unknowingly tangled themselves amongst his long hair tugged just a bit at your request, further emphasizing your will to stay, “Please…” you whispered again. You stared into the once cold pools of his eyes as you made your plea, and once again found yourself leaning into him. 

But this time it would not be wasted, as Winter leaned in as well, his nose brushing delicately against yours as he spoke a hair’s breadth away, “I will never let you go again….”

Your heart hammered away in your chest as he closed the narrow gap, and even still as soft lips pressed firmly against your own.

Your freehand found his cheek easily, urging him not to pull away and he turned toward your room. 

With the fire now long forgotten the Winter Soldier stayed true to his word, he never let you go again and he kept you warm all throughout the night to prove it.

______________

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[reallygroovyninja]

The Breakup

Clarke's finger hovered over the call button, hesitation flooding through her. She glanced at the clock - 10PM in California meant 1AM in New York. Was it too late? Lexa always told her to call no matter when, insisting that she'd always pick up. But things had changed between them over the past few months. The distance between the two coasts had created a chasm even their daily calls couldn't bridge. 

She tapped the familiar icon on her phone, the rings seeming sluggish, amplifying her nerves. 

"Clarke?" Lexa's husky voice was thick with sleep. A pang of guilt hit Clarke for waking her girlfriend. 

"Hey," Clarke started softly. "Did I wake you? I can let you go back to sleep and just talk tom-" 

"No, no it's okay. Is everything alright?" Lexa's tone shifted to concern. Even half asleep, she was still taking care of Clarke. 

Clarke sighed, tears pricking unexpectedly. "Not really. I just..." Her voice caught. She couldn't bear to say the words out loud, couldn't voice what she knew they both were thinking. That long distance wasn't working for them. That as much as they didn’t want to admit it, they needed to have a heartbreaking discussion about the fate of their relationship and what came next. 

The deafening silence on the line said it all. Clarke imagined Lexa on the other end nodding slowly, both reluctance and grief etched on her features even without seeing her face. Here came the conversation Clarke had been dreading for weeks. The distance seemed destined to end them despite their best efforts. 

Clarke gripped the phone tighter, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut as the first tears escaped down her cheeks. 

"I miss you," Clarke whispered, the words cracking with emotion. She missed everything - Lexa's smile, her laugh, the feeling of her arms wrapped tightly around her. Video calls and phone conversations were no longer enough. Not when there had once been lazy Sundays tangled together in bed and long walks hand-in-hand along the Potomac River without the pressure of time difference schedules. 

"I miss you too, Clarke," came Lexa's shattered reply. Miles away yet connected by the slim electronic lifeline, Clarke could picture Lexa's stoic armor falling away, eyebrows knit together while she held back her own tears. 

"But...I think we need to talk..." Clarke forced herself to say. The seven dreaded words no one in a relationship ever wants to hear. But the distance had strained them to a breaking point - separate cities, increasingly separate lives. As much as Clarke wanted to cling to what they once had, it didn't exist anymore. 

"I think you're right," Lexa's voice wavered slightly despite the even tone. She had always been able to read Clarke so well. They had both known a reckoning was coming, as much as their hearts silently raged against the mere idea. 

Clarke took a shuddering breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. She focused on the painting leaning against the bare wall of her apartment, grounding herself for the devastating but inevitable conversation about to unfold. 

"I just...I feel like we're drifting apart," Clarke whispered, giving voice to the fears that had been plaguing her for weeks. "Like we're becoming strangers." 

She heard Lexa let out a shaky breath. "I've felt that too. At first, I thought it was just starting new jobs and getting settled in our cities, but..." 

"But it's more than that," Clarke finished for her. Long distance was supposed to be temporary - they had clung fiercely to that belief in the beginning. That after a year apart chasing career dreams on opposite coasts, they'd reunite and start building a life together again. 

It had seemed possible when granted with everyday moments like Lexa's small, sleepy smile in the morning or the brush of her fingers along Clarke's arm. Things video calls failed to replicate at their now fractured foundation. 

"Maybe if the distance was less..." Clarke's voice trailed off wistfully, knowing not even the entire breadth of the country could be blamed alone. Something else had fractured between them too. The easy affection, unquestioned devotion, shared dreams for the future...all casualties gradually inflicted not solely by physical separation but a growing emotional chasm too. 

"I want this to work, I do." The catch in Lexa's words splintered Clarke's heart further. "I love you, I'll always love you. But wanting that doesn't change what's happening between us." 

A lonely tear trailed down Clarke's cheek. The hardest relationships to end were often the deepest loves too. 

A sob caught in Clarke's throat as the weight of Lexa's words sank in. She loves me. Present tense, not past. And yet...it still isn't enough. 

Clarke blinked back the threat of more tears, trying to swallow the sadness rising within her. "I know," she finally managed to say. "I love you too." She poured every ounce of feeling into those four words, hoping Lexa could still sense her heart even so many miles away. 

"But you're right," Clarke made herself continue after a painful pause. As agonizing as this conversation was, she owed Lexa the truth of her feelings, no matter how much the reality hurt them both. 

"The distance, stretched over months...we can't pretend it hasn't changed things." Once upon a happier time, Lexa had felt like her anchor amidst any storm. But now Clarke only felt her absence, like a ship adrift without its mooring. "We've both got separate lives now. I barely know what's going on in your world anymore...and you in mine." 

Silence stretched between them - Clarke picturing Lexa sitting on her sofa, shoulders slumped forward, dark waves of hair curtaining her face. She ached to brush those strands back, let her fingertips graze Lexa's cheek, re-memorize every beloved detail of her features. 

Finally, Lexa's somber voice came, quavering on just two shattering syllables. "So...what happens now?" 

The question neither one wanted to ask but had to, the one that would inexorably lead to goodbye. Because the only thing worse than the painful realization they had been growing apart would be denying it while staying together in name alone. 

Clarke's breath caught in her throat at the question. What did happen now? The obvious answer loomed before them - the necessity of ending things if they were both feeling the relationship fracture. 

And yet...the years of history they shared made the notion nearly unfathomable. How could she just cut the tether they had created day by day? Lexa had been her first love, the one who unexpectedly burst into her world and changed her entire concept of relationships. 

Clarke pinched her eyes closed, forcing aside the fresh swell of tears. She focused on steadying her uneven breath, trying to calm the storm inside her heart. 

"I don't know," she finally admitted, the words barely a whisper. Because the truth was she wanted Lexa in her life in any way possible, even if that meant redefining the parameters of their relationship. The title seemed insignificant compared to keeping Lexa's steadfast care and understanding rooted in her world. 

"Can we just...talk? Not make any big decisions now?" Clarke asked hesitantly. She knew the sensible decision loomed before them, but the reminder of Lexa's love made her long to cling to these last lingering threads between them. Surely there was still something worth saving if they both still felt such depth of emotion? 

The extended silence magnified Clarke's nerves. Would Lexa agree they owed it to their history to try talking first? Or had the distance grown so vast already that she would insist on a clean break? Clarke held her breath, praying Lexa's heart would echo her own in those agonizing moments. 

Clarke heard Lexa take a shaky breath on the other end of the line. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. 

“I think if we’re both feeling things changing between us, then talking more right now might just prolong the inevitable,” she said quietly. 

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears spill down her cheeks. She had feared Lexa would say that but still couldn’t stop the renewed ache in her chest. 

“This is so damn hard,” Clarke whispered brokenly. “I can’t imagine you not in my life anymore.” 

“Me neither,” Lexa replied, and Clarke could hear the barely contained emotion in her words. “But with how things are now...I think some space would be best. For both of us.” 

Clarke nodded before remembering Lexa couldn’t see her. As rational as the suggestion was, the thought of losing even their nightly calls felt unbearable. 

“Maybe one day, when enough time has passed...we could try to be friends?” Lexa offered tentatively. “But right now I think a clean break is what we need to heal.” 

Clarke swallowed back a sob, wiping fiercely at her eyes. She had to be strong now, with Lexa’s emotions likely just as fractured. 

“You’re right,” Clarke forced herself to say. As agonizing as this was, she knew Lexa enough to recognize the wisdom in her suggestion. “I’ll always be grateful for our time together.” 

She left the ‘I love you’ unspoken this time, the finality of this goodbye conversation settling around her shoulders with profound weight. The first crack in her heart split wide open, and she could almost hear Lexa’s fracturing too through the phone pressed to her ear. 

"So I guess this is it then," Clarke said softly, the words barely making it past the lump in her throat. 

She was met with deafening silence on the other end of the line. Somehow Lexa not responding hurt more than if she had simply said goodbye and ended the call. Clarke could practically see her love struggling to maintain composure, emerald eyes glistening with restrained tears. 

"Lexa?" Clarke prompted gently when the quiet stretched on, laced with unspoken hurt. 

"I'm still here," came the whispered reply, Lexa's voice finally breaking on the last word. 

Clarke's heart shattered at the sound. As stoic and measured as Lexa tried to be, she had always worn her emotions when it came to them. Another reminder of the profound connection now rupturing. 

"I wish we had a choice other than this," Clarke admitted sorrowfully. She knew Lexa was right - some space was the only path forward - but every fiber of her being railed against losing her best friend and closest confidante. 

"Me too," Lexa echoed thickly. 

They fell silent again, thousands of memories passing almost tangibly between them through the phone line. Lazy mornings under the covers, hands clasped as they explored new cities, the brush of lips upon meeting at the end of long days...all memories now piercing them with bittersweet nostalgia. 

Finally, Lexa cleared her throat. When she spoke, steel resolve underpinned her words despite the wavering grief. 

"Be well, Clarke." 

Not goodbye. Just a simple wish for happiness in their new separate worlds. Fresh tears flooded Clarke's eyes but she managed to echo it back, the closest they could come to closure. 

"You too. Take care of yourself, Lexa." 

A soft click echoed with finality. And just like that, she was gone. 

[kiss2012]

i only have two real friends and lately i’m a nervous wreck

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)

[plethorawrites]

TW: Mentions of dub con/non consensual intimacy or coercion. (From his past lovers, not reader) (A/N this is my favorite thing I've ever writtenreader

TW: NSFW content.

2.5k word count

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Okay, this could be a bit of a hot take, but I am a firm believer in soft Jason Todd during sex.

Especially at the beginning of a relationship. He died young and his only sexual experiences were with Talia, who groomed him, Essence, who he believed betrayed him for the longest time and maybe Artemis, (Idk if that's canon? Can someone confirm or deny?) who was probably pretty rough given her arrogant, abrasive, and violent personality.

So, when he dates you, he's more than just hesitant. He's pretty much terrified. But he's used to hiding his feelings because they make him feel vulnerable and weak, which he hates. When you start tearing down his walls, he starts to panic. He likes spending time with you, thinking about you, kissing you. Especially that last part.

But it never goes very far because he always pulls away when things get more heated. Like, you in his lap, him nearly fully hard before quickly picking you up by your hips and moving you to the other side of the couch before standing up, clearing his throat and leaving.

It takes over two months before he feels comfortable enough to even tell you the reason he doesn't want to be intimate and the only reason he did is because you started to feel like he wasn't attracted to you or you had something wrong.

He rushed to reassure you that wasn't the case and finally told you the —partial— truth. He had scars he didn't want you seeing, he had bad prior experiences, he felt like he was being used almost every time he slept with someone and couldn't stand that feeling because it made him physically ill.

It took several weeks after that to slowly adapt to that realization and discuss how to make that feeling go away. Taking things slow, making it last, keeping it gentle, seemed to be the best way. And it was somehow perfect and tortuous all at once. He let you ride his thigh, at first. That was the first time he'd ever allowed any form of intimacy between you too. Partially because you looked desperate and he felt bad and partially because he genuinely wanted to see what you looked like while doing that.

Not to mention, he was still too afraid to be the one doing anything. So, it was best if he just helped.

His grip was firm, his eyes glued to you. You whispered more praise in those few minutes than he had heard from anyone in months all together, maybe even the year. He felt good. He was helping you. You appreciated it. You appreciated him. He was attractive. You were thanking him for giving this to you. Practically begging for his help.

And it made his heart clench, not to mention his teeth. There were other forms of physical intimacy after that, still only to you, because he didn't want to risk showing his scars or get that nausea in his stomach again during sex. You'd allow him pretty much anything and everything, if it meant he was more comfortable with you and your body. Sliding his hand under your shirt while you slept over (quite literally just falling asleep after eating dinner together) brushing his knuckles against your breasts, hesitant to touch them, but finding comfort in it all at once.

You assured him three different times—before he did it, when his hand was just barely under your shirt, and when his fingers first tugged at your nipples. It's when he's finally a bit more comfortable, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade that you hum and roll over. Your hair finds his hair, stroking it and he presses his lips to your neck, almost on instinct. You let him kiss lower and lower, gently guiding his head towards your breasts, all while repeating more and more praise, reminding him he's under no obligation to do anything, ever, if he doesn't feel comfortable.

But he does. With you, he does.

It leads to him kissing and sucking at your chest until he loses track of time and you're painfully wet. That was plenty, you promised. He doesn't need to do anymore than that. But he does, because he doesn't want to take his hands off your soft skin. So you gently drag his hand down, keeping the other firmly on his shoulder while you stare into his eyes, as his fingers slide through your slick. A sharp inhale makes him hold his breath. The other women he'd been with only ever wanted the most physical part of sex, never to do something like this. You were so soft and warm, assuring him he was doing fine while guiding his hand until you eventually couldn't keep looking at him and had to close your eyes. He liked that. A lot.

The way your hand moved, letting him do what he wanted while you gripped the sheets. He listened so well, trying to make you happy or just keep making those sounds—his name falling from your lips. If you wanted his fingers to move faster, they would. If you said deeper, they were. If you said to curl them, they'd curl. You were so... captivating, he had found. Usually, he was too in his head, so focused on how long until it was over that he never even considered being able to enjoy it.

But he wasn't rushing with you. He didn't want you to stop saying his name. When you finally came down from the high he'd brought you, your first words were a question, asking if he was alright. When he nodded, you started telling him how perfect he was, how good that felt. He liked that almost as much as your moans.

Yet, you felt guilty, never taking care of him. He never asked. In fact he repeatedly denied the offer until you chose to stop asking rather than upset him.

Until one day, when you were on the couch, leaning against him as he read, your hand perched on his thigh. He didn't know if it was the fact that you were wearing such a low cut tank top or how you'd been absent mindedly rubbing circles around his sweatpants while reading over his shoulder, but he was worked up. It took twice as long to finish a page with your motion making his mind go to places it shouldn't.

He was worried, about you rejecting his desires, or something like that. Something mocking or doing something that was uncomfortable. People had done that before, eliciting physical reactions he didn't want to feel. But he wanted to try, to feel you on him the way he'd felt you.

His hands grabbed yours and when you looked up in confusion, he just gently and silently slid your hand a bit further on his leg, towards his erection. He'd absolutely taken care of himself, and often, because it was a quick stress relief that left him tired before bed. But lately, the more he did it, the more his mind wandered to you and that, for some reason, made him finish a lot harder than usual.

Your hand brushed against it and you asked if he was sure before pressing a kiss to the side of his shoulder and sinking down to the carpet below, on your knees in between his legs. Running your hands up and down his thighs in a soothing sort of gesture both calmed him and felt like torture all at once. But it only lasted a little bit, while you promised him he was in control, because that's what he needed to hear.

That he could say no at any time if he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable. When you slid his boxers down, his heart jumped in panic. Of course you noticed the scars on his thighs instantly. But ignored them, because he still hardly ever showed them aside for occasionally wearing short sleeves. You were silent and he was scared but all you'd said at last, was that he was pretty.

"Pretty."

That word had never been used to describe him. Not before his death and certainly not after. Even the feeling of your gentle kiss on his skin and your thumb swiping over the top had him gripping the pillows, still stressed. Your hand took his, squeezing it when your lips finally enveloped him, his length disappearing into your mouth. His breaths were shaky, his hold on your hand getting painfully tight.

He felt like he was in pure bliss, his mouth falling open to pant as his head fell back against the couch practically begging you to keep going. The feeling of your hums had done him in. And his moans, loud and tough, getting whiny towards the end as the euphoria wore off assured you he was fine. He slid his boxers and sweats up quickly, his cheeks red, from the act not embarrassment (he'd say and lie) but you just laid your head on his knee, staring at him, asking how he was.

Good was an understatement. Great, too. Incredible. Amazing. None of those compliments came out. He couldn't speak, just looked back up at the ceiling as his breathing came back under control.

All you'd done in response was tell him he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, climbing back into the couch and wrapping your arms around his midsection, resting your head against him. You stayed like that—silent. The only question you dared to ask was if he'd want that again and his response was a kiss.

He realized after that, how truly deeply he loved you.

A feeling he was so unused to, he couldn't pinpoint it for the longest time. You felt safe. Maybe that's what made him want to finally seal the deal with you. Or maybe it was the way his body physically ached in a way that no amount of help from his own hand or your mouth could fix.

Something about it was missing.

He wanted the lights off. You had accepted that, but told him you'd really rather see him. He caved almost instantly, because as afraid he was of you seeing him, he wanted to see you too bad to care enough. You were undressed first, naturally. He'd seen that before, in bed while touching you, or just as you changed it got in the shower. He wasn't any less smitten, still obsessed with every inch of exposed skin. It took a few deep breaths and reassuring words before he was willing to unbutton his shirt.

In fact, he couldn't. He'd asked you to do it.

That felt oddly more intimate to him. Your fingers moved slowly, undoing them one by one, a bit more of his chest exposed with each button undone. You had seen a lot of his scars, after he got more comfortable wearing shorts or shirts that showed his arms. He still never revealed his chest and when you did, he looked away, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek to keep from tears brimming in his eyes as he heard the small gasp leave your lips.

He almost jumped when you touched one, your fingertips feeling light as a feather. Tears kept pricking but he refused to let them fall. He was being vulnerable but he couldn't allow himself to be that weak. Your other hand found his cheek, pulling his face to look at your face, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip as you pursed your own, tightly to keep from any strangled sounds escaping.

Your voice was equally as emotional when you eventually spoke, telling him in a shaky voice that he was still pretty. Those words or perhaps how your voice cracked when you said them, broke him. A tear slipped down his cheek and you were quick to brush it away with your thumb and kissed his cheek softly, confessing that you loved him.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your neck letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time all over again. A real breath. One without any heaviness attached to it because you'd stolen all the stones from his walls one by one. You repeated it, so he knew it wasn't a mistake or accident and he started peppering short kisses to your neck, all the way to your lips, which he kissed deeply, his bare chest pressed entirely around your own.

Your arms were around his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer and his hands started to wander, desperately craving to have you without any barriers anymore. He stared at you, or at least tried to, when he felt your velvety walls surround him, clenching tightly when his hips were finally flushed with yours. His jaw was locked tightly until you started running your hand up and down his spine, telling him he could take a moment, if he needed it.

He did.

Not because he was nervous, since for once, he wasn't, but because he wanted to stare at you in this state and revel in your feeling for a moment more. He did, until it became painful for both of you and every thrust he made was slow and deep, staring into each other's eyes, taking full breaths in at the same time for several moments until his pace was quick, along with your breathing.

Your praise never stopped, even when it wasn't fully coherent and ended in a moan or whine. His own praise for you wasn't lacking either, telling you how perfect you felt, how badly he wanted you, how much he appreciated you waiting on him because he really was enjoying it, probably more than he'd enjoyed anything in his entire life.

When you're both a mess, panting and quiet from the feelings that washed over you both, his body goes limp, laying on top of you. Your hands rub his shoulders reassuringly, although slowly and his hands hold either side of your head, fingers threaded into your hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath on him. It was silent, until he eventually lifted his head to admire you, your stray hairs sticking to your face, your puffy lips, your blown pupils.

He said it back, at that moment.

He loved you too and couldn't stand letting you think anything else for a single moment more.

You didn't respond, but your lips curled into a grin and a heavy sigh left your chest, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face and lean up to kiss him.

He rolled you over, causing a slight squeal from you, letting you lay on him so he wasn't crushing you any longer. You rested your head against his chest, silently tracing his scars as he messed with your hair, the moonlight streaming in through the window.

His voice eventually broke the comfortable silence when he whispered to you, asking you to "Say it again."

You didn't hesitate to tell him you'd "Say it as many times as he wanted to hear it."

With his lips twitching, the slight wit he always possessed came back, questioning what you'd do if he "Wanted to hear it forever."

Like before, your response was immediate when you replied, telling him you'd "Say it forever, then."

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day sixteen.

Breeding Kink (3.2k words)

summary: Since the moment he met you, Lando knew he wanted you to be the mother of his children, and that feeling only intensified when he saw taking care of your nephew.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talking, breeding kink.

To anyone else, and as people would expect, seeing your significant other with a child should warm your heart; it should give you a soft spot for the person you’ve vowed to spend the rest of your life with. 

Lando did feel like that when he saw you interact with any kid, like when you were walking in the paddock and a kid came up to him and you always made conversation so they wouldn’t feel so shy, or when a driver brought their kid to the race and you immediately leaned down to talk to them, sometimes even holding their tiny hands as they swore they had the coolest thing to show you.

That was the first few times, at least. But he will never forget how everything inside him shifted when you first met his niece. She instantly fell in love with you, and she needed to drag you everywhere. Who could blame her, really; that’s just the effect you have on people.

But god, the effect you had on him? That was another level, because the way he felt that weekend when you picked up a motherly role when you were with her made him feel something he had never felt before, something he never imagined, and quite honestly, he couldn’t explain it. That was until you were saying goodbye and the little girl nearly cried when her mother took her from your arms, and his hands instinctively landed on your tummy when he walked you back to the car.

The thought of you carrying his child and taking care of them the same way you did with his niece — now that is a fire he could never put out, not until it became a reality. He wanted- no, he needed to make you a mother; he desperately needed to put a baby in you in a way that was almost primal.

You and Lando have been together for years, and it was common knowledge that he wanted kids. Sure, you have talked about having a family one day after getting married, one day, but sometimes he just wishes you could skip all of that and make a baby once and for all. 

For months, he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to ruin what you had just because he couldn’t contain his desire buried for a little longer; that was until you babysat your 5-year-old nephew, Charlie.

He came back home sometime in the afternoon, eyes tired and body aching for the intensity of the past weeks. He wanted nothing more than to be with his girlfriend and forget about the world, but as soon as he stepped into your apartment, he heard the TV and loud chuckles coming from the living room.

His brows frowned in confusion as he dropped his bags next to the door and followed the noise, his heart nearly stopping when he spotted you playing with the little kid.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” He said with a huge smile.

“Oh hi, you’re home,” you sprinted towards him, hugging him tightly when he caught you in his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he kissed your temple. “And how is this little guy doing?" Lando walked towards Charlie, kneeling next to him to be at the same level. 

“Good, we are playing with the puppies,” he exclaimed, his tiny finger pointed at the TV. 

“Yeah? Are they fun?” He just nodded and ran closer to the glowing screen, completely forgetting about Lando’s existence and jumping again as his tired eyes followed the dogs.

“Don’t worry, my sister will pick him up in a couple of hours.”

“It’s fine. He seems happy.”

“And very tired. I think it's time for a nap, what do you say?” You walked towards him, trying to pick him up, but he refused.

“No! I wanna play racing again.” 

“We can play some other time, I promise.” 

He looked up at you, the corners of his mouth turning down as his eyes quickly filled with tears. He shook his head and ran back to Lando, who was still on his knees, as he caged himself in his arms.

“I wanna play racing,” he repeated, this time to your boyfriend, sniffling and wiping his tears.

“Yeah? We can play for a little while.”

“Lando-” The way he just betrayed you, you would never forgive him.

“He’ll want to go to sleep soon, don’t worry.” You saw them walk to Lando’s streaming room, Charlie skipping as he held his hand.

You rolled your eyes and followed them, crossing your arms as you rested against the door frame. Lando tried to pick him up, intending to sit him in the sim, but he nearly lost his mind, as if Lando had no idea how playing racing worked.

“No! Auntie.” Lando freaked out and out and put him back down, looking at you as he begged for your help with a single look.

“I’m right here, sweetie.”

You stepped closer to them, sitting on the chair as you picked him up and put him on your lap. He was happy again, his little feet kicking in the air as he gripped the steering wheel.

“We’ll do one more, okay?”

“Yes!” He happily exclaimed.

Lando watched the both of you in awe as you started the game, showing Charlie all the cool cars he could choose from.

“I want the blue car again!” He said, pointing at the Red Bull. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lando joked. You giggled at this, but chose the Red Bull for the race.

It was a free practice session, so you weren’t actually racing other cars, but you still got to drive it super fast, which is exactly what he liked. 

As the session started, you placed your hands just below his. You were doing all the work, but the illusion was still there. 

It was a little harder to drive like this, but you still managed to put up a few good laps without messing up too much, but even when you did, he was enjoying it, giggling and pointing at the screens as he turned to Lando to ask him an excited “did you see that?” Any time something happened, and every time, Lando would just nod and match his enthusiasm.

The session ended, and just like you did earlier today, you congratulated your nephew for his amazing driving. He took the compliments proudly as if he just won a championship, but his head soon fell on your chest, yawning as he snuggled closer.

“Okay, time for a nap.”

He didn’t resist this time. Instead, he nodded as his eyes closed. Lando helped you get up as you held Charlie close to you, walking towards the guest room; that was the room he preferred, saying your room was too scary and probably haunted.

You carefully laid him down, taking his shoes off and covering his body with a blanket. How was he already in a deep sleep? You had no idea, but you envy him.

While he was asleep, you took the time to clean up the mess he made earlier, picking up all the toys he brought and putting Lando’s helmets back where they belonged. You loved your nephew, you really did, but man, it was really challenging to take care of a child. Not only were they messy and unpredictable, but they had so much energy you could barely keep up. You often wondered how your sister did it. 

Once you finished up, you dramatically collapsed on the couch. “I need to sleep for like a week,” you joked, your boyfriend laughing at your antics.

He made his way to the couch, sitting next to you as he pulled you in a warm embrace, hands caressing your sides as he placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head. “Me too, and I was only here for like half an hour.”

“Imagine! I’ve been with him since this morning. I’m never babysitting again.”

“No? But you love Charlie.” He looked at you expectantly, trying to decipher if you were being serious.

“I do, but it’s too much sometimes. I honestly don’t know what we’ll do when we have our kids.”

Our kids. Two simple words that opened up a can that you would never be able to close. He stayed silent, mentally cursing the tent forming in his pants for betraying him in such an innocent moment.

You didn’t think anything of it, nor did you realise what those two words did to him, so you just reached for the remote control and browsed the channels. You ended up picking a cooking show, paying attention as if you would ever cook anything like that.

The entire time, Lando was paying attention to you — all of you. He admired your face, your hands, your hips… your tummy. He couldn’t stop himself from placing both his hands on your stomach, imagining what you would look like carrying a child. His child. He was well aware he was getting ahead of himself, but after witnessing today’s events? God, he needed to do something about it.

Another hour went by, and you were already catching up to your boyfriend’s intentions. To you, everything seemed normal at first, but the lower his hands got and the way his thumb was rubbing soft circles on your stomach, it clicked. You knew how Lando felt about having a family with you, but it never crossed your mind that seeing you with kids affected him so much. Though it all made more sense now, any time you were near a kid, even if you didn’t interact with them at all, his hands would be all over you, and when he got you alone? That’s another story, but you never connected the dots until now. 

Suddenly, a phone call made both of you jump. It was your sister calling you to let you know she was in the building, ready to pick Charlie up. You gathered all his things as Lando greeted your sister, walking her in and guiding her to the guest room.

“Aw, he looks so peaceful.”

“Well, you should’ve seen him two hours ago,” you joked.

“I know,” she laughed with you. “Thank you for taking care of him on such short notice, you saved my life today.”

“It’s okay, I love spending time with Charlie, and I’m happy to do it any other time.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. He honestly loves you, you have no idea how happy he got when I told him we were coming here.” Your sister was about to carry Charlie in his arms, but Lando offered to bring him down to the car. 

Okay, now you got it. You had to admit that seeing Lando carry a little kid did things to you, and since your realisation a few minutes ago, you couldn’t stop thinking about a family; how did you suddenly get your own case of baby fever? Sure, you were still young, and that probably wouldn’t happen for at least a few years, but fantasising couldn’t hurt anyone. 

You walked back to the apartment holding Lando’s hand, his grip so tight you thought he could break your hand if he squeezed a little harder. As soon as the door closed behind you, he grabbed you by the hips and turned you around, his lips crashing into yours in an intense kiss.

Kissing him back, your arms wrapped around his neck as one hand played with his hair.

“You looked so pretty today, taking such good care of the baby,” he mumbled against your lips, biting it sofly. You couldn’t contain the moan that left your mouth, only encouraging him further. 

He carried you to your bedroom, immediately throwing you in the bed and hovering over you. He pressed himself further into you, making you very aware of his hardening cock as he nudged his bulge into your lower stomach. You moaned again, your legs going around his torso to pull him down.

“I wanna put a baby in you. God, you would look so perfect.” He didn’t know what to do with you. He wanted to kiss you, bite you; he wanted to touch you everywhere, his own mind making him feel overwhelmed. 

After quickly taking off your shirt, he started kissing you everywhere, a trail of wet kisses making their way down your body. His touch was electric, making you nearly squirm beneath him as your fingers kept a tight grip on his hair, and his words only made the feeling intensify. 

“Lando,” you moaned, he hummed in response, “do it,” you simply said. God, the way everything inside him shifted is something he wanted to remember for the rest of his life. He looked up at you, eyes filled with a hunger and desperation you had never seen before. 

“Yeah? You want me to put a baby here?” He asked you, his big hand falling on your lower stomach as he kissed it. 

“Mhm, yes.” Your heartbeat was as strong as ever, and you were already having a hard time focusing. You needed him to do something and you needed it now. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as his hips involuntarily thrusted into the mattress. His lips kept exploring the lower part of your body as his hands worked on getting rid of your joggers, hands falling on your thighs immediately after to move them to rest on his shoulders. 

“Please, I need you so bad,” you begged, and he assumed you were asking him to pay attention to your poor pussy, which you were, but his mouth is not what you needed right now, so you stopped him after one firm lick. “Inside me.”

“As you wish, my love.” 

He got off the bed to quickly discard his clothes as you did the same with your bra, falling back on the bed as you eagerly waited for him. You felt like his gaze was piercing you as he lowered his body, pressing himself against you.

You moaned in anticipation, your arms wrapped around his neck as you felt your pussy starting to drip with desire. He moved his fingers along your sides and all the way down to your hole, collecting your wetness and spreading everywhere, finally getting to your clit as he rubbed soft circles for a moment.

He moved his mouth to your chest, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he whimpered, and his mind instantly went to how sensitive and full they would be once you were pregnant, and he couldn’t wait any longer. “You look so fucking sexy tonight, sweetheart... I wanna fuck you so bad.” He was practically drooling as his fingers left your pussy and grabbed his cock, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it to your entrance.

You couldn’t help your gaze dropping to his member, already swollen at the tip and bubbling with precum. It seemed impossible, but you were sure you had never needed him this bad.

He pushed into you, making both of you moan loudly as his eyes met yours for a moment before pressing a kiss on your lips, whispering a little “I love you.”

He didn’t give you that long to adjust. His hands went under your ass, moving you up and down his cock. As if your sex life wasn’t already rough, the intention he had in mind just made him go crazier, because the way he was thrusting into you was bound to leave you sore for days. 

The room was filled with whimpers and slick noises the whole time, moans of each other’s names joining from time to time. “Gonna fill you up so good,” he breathed, his hands squeezing your ass, “fuck, can’t wait to see your tummy grow.” All you could do was moan, the words leaving his mouth putting you under a spell that you could never escape. “Do you want that, love?”

“Uh- huh,” you managed to spit out, fingers drigging into his strong biceps.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

“Fuck- ah. I want you to put a baby in me.” You replied, eyes focusing on what your words did to him.

His hips began to speed up, thrashing your head against the pillows as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot deep inside you. He was so deep you could practically feel him in the pit of your stomach.

“Harder,” you whimpered, and he immediately started to drill into you, the air nearly getting knocked out of your lungs as his grip tightened. 

“You feel so good around me, so so good for me,” he pants, looking down to where you were connected. “Fuck.”

“Ah- Lando.” It felt so good. So good that you are too far out of reality to form any thoughts; you could only think about him and how good he looked above you, with his mouth hung open in pure pleasure as he panted.

One of his hands made its way to your tummy, pressing down where he could feel himself. It was so simple yet so effective; he could feel his cock moving deep inside you. He gragged it further, his fingers catching your clit.

“Fuck,” you let out a broken moan, “just like that.”

He smirked at this; it was like you were begging him to get you pregnant as you began to tighten around him. He knew you were close; he could not only feel it but see it, the way your eyes were squeezed shut as your legs started to quiver.

“You wanna cum? You wanna cum while I fill you up?”

“Fuck,” you screamed as your head frantically nodded. 

“Cum with me, I’m gonna put a baby in there.”

With that, your orgasm began to take over, squeezing around him tighter, triggering his own release. He slowed his movements down and both his hands took a hold of your waist, keeping you in place so you wouldn’t waste a single drop.

Both your moans were even louder as he did his best to continue pushing into you through his orgasm, wanting to pump as much of his seed into you as he possibly could. When he physically couldn’t keep going, he stopped, keeping his cock deep inside you as he tried to catch his breath. 

He looked down at you, a smile adorning his face as he looked down at the mess he made. Slowly, he pulled out, his fingers quickly replacing his cock as he pushed his cum back into you, making you squirm and whimper at how sensitive you were. 

“Gonna have to squeeze for me, love, you gotta keep it inside.” The sight almost made him want to fuck you again; he couldn’t believe how pretty you looked filled up to the brim with his cum.

His eyes locked with yours, fingers going inside his mouth as he licked them clean. He had lost his mind; you were sure of that, but fuck, you couldn’t deny how hot that was.

With a satisfied smirk, he fell next to you, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you once more. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

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[cherryxbooo]

I’ll do anything to make you happy

Summary: You were excited for winter break to start because it meant one thing: spending more time with Lando. But little did you know, that was the one thing you wouldn't be getting.

Reader x Lando Norris

Genre: fluff/angst

Winter always held a special kind of charm for me.

The frosty mornings, cozy blankets, and steaming cups of cocoa had always made this season my favorite.

But this year, it held a different promise: Lando finally had a break from racing.

After months of hectic schedules, jet-setting across the globe, and stolen moments in between races, I was looking forward to having him all to myself.

At first, it was everything I’d imagined and more.

We spent lazy mornings tangled in bed, with me teasing him about his messy hair while he pulled me closer, claiming I was his personal heater.

Breakfasts turned into brunches because we couldn’t stop talking or joking around.

We watched movies, baked cookies that turned out terrible, and played endless rounds of Mario Kart, which I always managed to win.

“You’re only winning because I’m letting you,” Lando said one evening, his grin teasing as he tossed the controller onto the couch.

“Sure you are,” I replied, laughing as I grabbed my victory snack from the table.

Those first few days felt like we were in our own little world, where nothing else mattered but us.

But soon, reality began creeping in.

It started innocently enough.

“Babe, Max just called,” Lando said one morning, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug in hand.

“He’s organizing a karting session. Shouldn’t take long.”

I smiled, my heart swelling with pride.

Racing was his passion, and I loved seeing him happy. “Go have fun. Just don’t let him beat you.”

“Never,” he said with a wink, kissing my temple quickly before heading out.

That day, I didn’t mind the quiet. I worked on some projects, caught up with friends, and even took a long bath.

By the time he got home, his cheeks were flushed with cold, and he couldn’t stop talking about how much fun he’d had.

But karting soon turned into golf.

Golf turned into poker nights. And poker nights turned into outings that stretched late into the night.

“I’ll be back soon,” he’d text, always with a heart emoji. But “soon” became later and later each time.

I told myself it was fine. He deserved this break.

He’d worked so hard all year, and if spending time with his friends helped him unwind, who was I to complain?

But as the days wore on, the house began to feel emptier, and so did I.

One evening, I decided to surprise him with his favorite dinner.

I spent hours in the kitchen, setting the table with candles and dimming the lights for a cozy atmosphere.

When Lando walked through the door, his expression softened as he took in the setup.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

“I wanted to,” I replied, smiling up at him.

“You’ve been so busy, and I thought it’d be nice to have a quiet night together.”

“That’s so sweet,” he said, leaning down to kiss me.

“But the guys are waiting for me. I promised I’d meet them for drinks tonight. Let’s rain check this?”

My smile faltered, but I nodded. “Of course.”

He kissed me again and was out the door before I could say anything more.

I sat down at the table, staring at the empty chair across from me.

The candles flickered, their light reflecting off the untouched plates. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was okay.

But deep down, a tiny crack had formed in my heart.

Days turned into weeks, and the cracks only deepened.

Lando’s absence became more noticeable, and I began to feel like a ghost in our own home.

One evening, after scrolling through endless photos of him with his friends on Instagram, I called Mia, my best friend.

“What’s wrong?” she asked the moment she picked up.

I sighed, the weight of my emotions pressing down on me.

“It’s Lando. He’s been spending so much time with his friends lately, and I feel like I’m… invisible.”

Mia was quiet for a moment before saying, “Y/N, you’re not invisible. But you need to talk to him. He’s not a mind reader.”

“I don’t want to seem clingy,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not clingy. You’re his girlfriend. He should want to spend time with you. Talk to him.”

Her words gave me the push I needed. That night, when Lando came home, I gathered my courage.

“Can we talk?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Of course,” he said, sitting down next to me.

I took a deep breath.

“I’ve been feeling… neglected lately. I know you’re enjoying your break, and I want you to have fun, but I miss us. I miss you.”

He frowned, reaching for my hand.

“Babe, I’m sorry if it feels that way. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

I nodded, but his words didn’t ease the ache in my chest. Before I could say more, he kissed me and stood up.

“Max needs help with something,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Love you!”

And just like that, he was gone. Again.

I tried my best to push away all negative thoughts until I thought about the positive ones.

Our second anniversary was just days away, and I held onto the hope that he’d make it special.

I told myself the late nights didn’t matter. He was probably planning something incredible for our anniversary.

The next day,

The morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft golden hues.

I stretched lazily, a content smile curling my lips as I reached across the bed.

My fingers met cold sheets. The space beside me was empty.

I frowned, the giddy excitement I had woken up with faltering.

Today was our second anniversary.

I had imagined waking up wrapped in Lando’s arms, whispering sleepy “Happy anniversary” wishes before sharing breakfast together.

Instead, he was gone.

I also realized that I hadn't heard him come back last night.

He told me he was just helping Max out with something, but he probably went out partying with his friends afterward, again.

I tried to shake off the disappointment as I climbed out of bed, brushing my hair out of my face.

Maybe he had planned a surprise and needed to step out early.

A flutter of hope lifted my spirits as I grabbed my robe and headed toward the kitchen.

The scent of coffee greeted me, but there was no sign of Lando.

Instead, on the counter, I found a note written in his familiar scrawl:

“Gone golfing with the guys. Be back later. Love you.”

My heart sank. Golfing? On our anniversary?

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, trying to focus on the fact that he had said he’d be back later.

He wouldn’t forget our dinner, right?

We’d planned this evening together weeks ago, and I’d been looking forward to it ever since.

I folded the note and placed it aside, telling myself not to overthink it. He would be back in time.

He promised.

After a quick breakfast, I set to work preparing for the evening.

My heart thudded with a mix of excitement and nervousness as I laid out my plans.

Lando had been so busy lately, and this was my chance to remind him how much I loved him, despite everything.

I spent hours in the kitchen, cooking all his favorite dishes: his go-to pasta, a roasted chicken dish he always requested, and even the dessert I’d failed at three times before finally perfecting.

The smells of herbs, garlic, and chocolate filled the apartment, making it feel warm and inviting.

Between stirring pots and chopping vegetables, I took breaks to set up the dining table.

I draped it with a soft cream tablecloth, adding candles and a scattering of rose petals for a romantic touch.

Fairy lights hung along the walls, casting a cozy glow that made the space feel magical.

On the counter, I carefully placed his gift, a sleek watch he had admired months ago but never bought for himself.

Not forgetting to attach a handwritten note to the box.

With everything ready, I checked the clock.

It was almost evening. So I had to hurry up to get ready.

I slipped into the dress I had chosen weeks ago, a soft, fitted number I knew he loved on me.

My makeup was simple yet elegant, and I added the finishing touch, a spritz of the perfume Lando had gifted me for my last birthday.

I felt beautiful, excited, and nervous all at once as I sat on the couch, watching the clock.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

By the time twenty minutes had gone by, I grabbed my phone, texting him a quick, “Hey, are you on your way?”

No response.

An hour later, I texted again. Then called. Still nothing.

My excitement turned into a gnawing worry that sat heavy in my chest.

Where was he? Had he forgotten?

Two hours passed.

The candles on the table had burned down halfway, their flickering flames reflecting off the now-cold plates of food.

The fairy lights, once magical, now felt like mockery.

Finally, three hours later, I gave up.

Tears stung my eyes as I blew out the candles, packed away the food, and removed my dress, exchanging it for soft pajamas.

My makeup was smeared with tears by the time I climbed into bed.

I grabbed my phone one last time, and my heart shattered when I saw the Instagram story.

It was one of Lando’s friends, showing a clip of him laughing, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends.

He looked happy. Carefree.

And completely oblivious that tonight was our anniversary.

The tears came faster, hot and uncontrollable. I buried my face in the pillow, the ache in my chest overwhelming.

I had been so sure he’d come back, that he’d remember. But I was wrong.

Later that night,

The apartment was cloaked in silence when Lando opened the front door, the click of the lock echoing faintly in the stillness.

He stumbled inside the weight of exhaustion and faint traces of guilt tugging at his chest.

The soft glow of the streetlights outside illuminated the darkened space just enough for him to make out his surroundings.

Something felt… off.

He reached for the light switch, and as the room was bathed in warm light, his eyes landed on the dining table across from him.

He froze.

The table was beautifully decorated, candles placed strategically, now melted into small stubs, surrounded by rose petals that had been artfully scattered.

Plates of food were neatly covered with lids to keep them from going bad, but even from a distance, Lando could tell they were his favorites.

He took a tentative step forward, his stomach sinking further with each movement.

Resting near the center of the table was a small, wrapped box with a note attached to it.

The sight made his chest tighten, a creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the note. Unfolding it carefully, he read the words in her familiar handwriting:

"To my Lando, the best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for being my partner, my love, my everything. Happy anniversary, baby. Love, Y/N."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart sank as the full weight of the evening’s significance crashed over him.

Anniversary. He’d forgotten their second anniversary.

Lando stood there, the note still clutched in his hand, his throat tightening as shame washed over him.

He thought back to the past few weeks, to the times he’d brushed you off or come home late without so much as an explanation.

He couldn’t even recall the last time you two spent real, quality time together.

You had tried to talk to him about it, about how you felt neglected, and he had dismissed your concerns every single time.

Now, standing there amidst the evidence of your effort and love, he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.

Lando exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair as regret threatened to overwhelm him.

He couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

He glanced around the room, noticing how quiet it was. He knew you were asleep.

His eyes landed on his phone, dead from the night’s events.

With a heavy sigh, he plugged it into the charger, pacing nervously as he waited for it to turn back on.

When it finally lit up, the screen was flooded with notifications, missed calls and unread messages from Y/N.

The time stamps told the story of your evening:

“Hey, are you on your way?” - 8 p.m. “I’m waiting for you… everything’s ready.” -8:30 p.m. “Lando, please call me.” -9 p.m. “Are you okay? I’m starting to worry.” -10 p.m.

The last message was hours old, her tone shifting from hopeful to concerned.

Each notification felt like another jab to his heart, the guilt almost unbearable.

He dropped his phone onto the counter and made his way toward their shared bedroom.

Pushing the door open quietly, he stepped into the dimly lit room.

His gaze immediately found her curled up under the covers, her face half-buried in the pillow.

His breath hitched when he noticed the faint streaks on her cheeks, traces of tears she hadn’t been able to hide.

The sight made his heart clench painfully. She’d cried herself to sleep, and it was his fault.

Lando approached the bed slowly, kneeling beside her as he took in her tear-streaked face.

She looked so peaceful yet so vulnerable, her chest rising and falling softly with each breath.

Guilt swirled in his chest as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, thick with regret.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, lingering for a moment as if hoping it could somehow convey all the apologies he couldn’t say while she was awake.

His thumb grazed her cheek, and he sighed deeply.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

“I’ve been such an ass… the worst boyfriend. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I love you so much.”

She stirred slightly at his touch but didn’t wake.

Lando watched her for a moment longer before standing, his mind racing with plans to fix what he’d broken.

Tomorrow, he vowed, would be all about her.

The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my chest, my body heavy from the night before.

My eyes were sore and puffy from crying myself to sleep.

I glanced at the empty side of the bed, already prepared for the familiar sting of disappointment.

Figured he’d leave again before I woke up, I thought bitterly.

Dragging myself out of bed, I moved to the bathroom to freshen up.

The cold water on my face didn’t do much to wash away the exhaustion or the emotional weight from the previous night.

With a sigh, I tied my hair back and made my way downstairs, expecting another day of hurt to unfold.

Halfway down the stairs, though, something unusual stopped me in my tracks.

The smell of coffee, rich and inviting, wafted through the air.

There was another scent too, pancakes? My brow furrowed in confusion.

"That can’t be right. Lando doesn’t cook... does he? Who am i kidding he can't even boil eggs."

I cautiously descended the rest of the stairs, each step filling me with equal parts curiosity and hesitation.

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I froze at the sight before me.

There he was, standing by the stove, flipping a pancake with a focused but slightly clumsy determination.

Plates of food lined the table, croissants, fresh fruit, juice, and what looked like store-bought pastries.

It didn’t take long to figure out most of the spread wasn’t homemade, but the effort was unmistakably his.

“Morning, love,” Lando greeted me, his tone soft and tentative, his lips curling into a nervous smile.

I raised an eyebrow, my arms crossing instinctively. “What’s all this?”

He put the spatula down and stepped closer, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“It’s breakfast... and an apology,” he said, his voice earnest.

My eyes flickered between him and the spread on the table.

I could see he was trying, but the hurt from last night still lingered like a heavy cloud over my chest.

“Come sit,” he said gently, pulling a chair out for me.

I hesitated for a moment before sitting down, my arms still crossed defensively.

Lando grabbed a plate, placing a pancake in front of me before adding a small pile of fruit and a croissant on the side.

I eyed him suspiciously as he poured me a cup of coffee, then sat across from me.

“What are you doing, Lando?” I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he met my gaze.

“I messed up, Y/N. Big time. And I need you to know how sorry I am.” His voice was steady but filled with regret.

I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Last night,” he began, his brows furrowing,

“I forgot our anniversary. I forgot the one day I should’ve been making you feel like the most important person in the world. And it’s not just last night, I’ve been neglecting you for weeks. You told me how you felt, and I brushed it off like an idiot.”

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and I could see the weight of his guilt etched into every line on his face.

“I’ve been selfish, caught up in my own world, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. You deserve so much better than that, Y/N. Better than me.”

I felt my throat tighten as his words sank in. The sincerity in his tone chipped away at the walls I’d put up.

“I was so hurt, Lando,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I waited for you all night. I planned everything because I thought… I thought you’d come home and we’d celebrate together. I stayed up, hoping you’d walk through that door with a smile, ready to tell me how much you love me. But you didn’t.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I continued.

“I saw that video of you and your friends. You were laughing and having fun while I sat here, alone, on what was supposed to be our night.”

Lando’s face fell, his hands gripping the edge of the table as if grounding himself from the weight of my words.

“I know,” he whispered.

“And I hate myself for it. Seeing what you did for me last night, the decorations, the food, the note. I realized just how much I’ve been taking you for granted. I never want you to feel that way again, Y/N. You’re the most important thing in my life. I need you to believe that.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, sliding it across the table to me.

“What’s this?” I asked, my voice softer now, though my heart still carried the sting of last night.

“Open it,” he urged.

I carefully lifted the lid, revealing a delicate necklace with a sparkling pendant.

The intricate design caught the morning light, making it shimmer.

“Lando…” I trailed off, overwhelmed.

“It’s not enough to make up for what I’ve done,” he said quickly,

“but it’s a start. And today, it’s all about you. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, we’ll do it.”

I stared at the necklace for a moment before meeting his eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

“But,” I added, my tone firm, “this doesn’t mean I’ve fully forgiven you yet.”

“I know,” he said, nodding.

“And I don’t expect you to. But I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I care, how much I love you. I won’t stop until you believe me again.”

The determination in his voice made my chest tighten.

I wanted to hold onto my anger, to make him feel the depth of my hurt, but seeing him now, vulnerable, regretful, and desperate to make things right.

I couldn’t help but feel the smallest crack in my resolve.

As the morning unfolded, Lando’s sincerity shone through.

He insisted on clearing the table and cleaning up, stealing small glances at me as if trying to gauge my mood.

I wasn’t ready to let go of all the hurt just yet, but for the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.

The morning's heartfelt apology set the tone for what became one of the most memorable days Lando and I had spent together in weeks.

While I was still guarded, I couldn’t deny that he was trying, really trying, to make things right.

As I got ready to leave the house, he was already by my side, holding my hand, his other arm slung casually around my shoulder.

“I promised today would be all about you,” he said, giving me that signature soft smile.

“So, where to first?”

We started with a trip to the mall. At first, I felt a little awkward, hesitant to fully enjoy the experience.

But Lando was like a lovesick puppy, following me from store to store, holding my bags, and insisting I buy anything that caught my eye.

“Do you like this dress?” I asked, holding up a flowy sundress against myself.

“I love it,” he said without hesitation. “But I’d probably love anything on you.”

I rolled my eyes at his smooth comment but couldn’t help the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nope,” he replied, grabbing the dress and adding it to the pile of things he’d insisted on buying.

From clothes to accessories, he didn’t say no to anything.

When I protested, saying he was spending too much, he brushed it off.

“I’d spend everything on you, Y/N,” he said with such sincerity it made my heart ache.

Afterward, he took me to my favorite café for lunch.

The cozy little place was one we often went to in the early days of our relationship, and the nostalgia hit me hard as we sat down.

“I missed this,” I admitted as I sipped my coffee.

“Me too,” Lando said, reaching across the table to hold my hand.

“And I’m going to make sure we never lose this again.”

Next, he surprised me with a visit to a local pottery studio.

I couldn’t help but laugh when Lando struggled to shape a vase, the clay slipping through his fingers.

“Okay, you’re supposed to keep your hands steady,” I teased, leaning over to guide him.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert?” he joked, though his grin softened as I showed him how to shape the clay.

It was messy, chaotic, and perfect.

By the end, we both had clay smudged on our faces, and we were laughing like we hadn’t in weeks.

From there, we stopped at a flower shop.

Lando picked out the biggest bouquet of my favorite flowers, holding it out to me with a boyish grin.

“For you,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re really pulling out all the stops today, aren’t you?” I teased, though my heart swelled as I buried my nose in the fragrant blooms.

“Only the best for my girl,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

For the rest of the day, he didn’t leave my side.

He held my hand as we walked through the streets, his arm draped protectively around me whenever we stopped to rest.

He peppered me with kisses at every opportunity; on my cheek, my forehead, my temple.

“You’re being extra clingy today,” I said with a small laugh as he pulled me into another hug.

“Making up for lost time,” he murmured, his chin resting on the top of my head.

Bit by bit, the walls I’d built around my heart began to crumble.

His efforts felt genuine, and I found myself smiling more easily, the hurt from the night before slowly fading into the background.

By the time we got home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange.

We were both tired but happy as we curled up on the couch together.

Lando tucked me under his arm, his fingers gently tracing patterns on my shoulder.

“Y/N,” he said after a long moment of silence.

His tone was serious, and I looked up at him curiously.

“Yeah?”

“I need to say this again because you deserve to hear it,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’m so sorry for everything, for neglecting you, for forgetting our anniversary, for making you feel like you weren’t my priority. You are my priority, Y/N. You’re the best thing in my life, and I hate that I made you feel otherwise.”

His words hit me straight in the chest, and I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, his hand cupping my cheek as he looked into my eyes.

“But I swear, I’ll spend every day proving how much I love you. I’ll never let you feel like that again.”

My heart felt full as I reached up to hold his hand.

“You’ve done a lot for me today, Lando,” I said softly.

“And it’s helped. I can see how much you mean it.”

“So... does that mean you forgive me?” he asked, his tone hopeful but cautious.

I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Yeah, I forgive you.”

The relief on his face was almost comical, and he immediately began peppering my face with kisses, my cheeks, my forehead, my nose, even the corners of my lips.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he murmured between kisses, his joy infectious.

Just when I thought the day was over, Lando suddenly sat up.

“Wait, I have one last thing,” he said, standing and disappearing into the other room.

I frowned, confused, as he returned with a small envelope in hand.

“What is this?” I asked as he handed it to me.

“Open it,” he urged, a playful but nervous glint in his eyes.

I carefully tore open the envelope, and my breath caught as I pulled out two plane tickets.

My eyes widened as I read the destination: Maldives.

“Lando… are you serious?” I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief.

He grinned. “You’ve always said you wanted to go. So, I booked us a two-week stay. Just you and me. No distractions.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked at him, overwhelmed.

“You didn’t have to do this…”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, pulling me into his arms.

“I’ll do anything to make you happy, Y/N. Anything.”

I hugged him tightly, burying my face in his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I love you too,” I replied, my voice muffled but sincere.

We settled back into the couch, cuddled up together, the weight of the past few weeks finally lifting.

After a long silence, I broke it with a playful smile.

“If you ever neglect me like that again, I’m breaking up with your ass,” I teased.

Lando laughed, his arms tightening around me. “Fair enough. But don’t worry, I won’t. Not ever again.”

And for the first time in weeks, I believed him.

The end

[thewritetofreespeech]

aemond - prompt 1

Prompt list - 1. Breeding kink

------------------------------⚔️---------------------------------

“Up! Up!”

“Up! Up!”

“Hehe…you’re both too big now for me to carry the both of you on my hip like before. Why don’t we flip a coin then? Heads Jaehaerys you can go first, and tails means Jaehaera can go. Sound like a fun game?”

Aemond watched from the table with his family as his wife made a deal with his niece & nephew. Completely fair. Void of favoritism. He remembers no such favors from his own childhood.

His wife was wonderful with the children. As one of the few Helaena let near them in recent months, due to some new fear she had concocted in her mind, Jaehaera & Jaehaerys clung to her like shadows. Even Maelor, still at his mother’s breast, would swing his fat little arms in his wife’s direction every time she passed. And she never missed an opportunity to give him attention or affection whenever he, or any of the children, clamored for her.

“Everything alright Aemond?”

His trance was broken by her words when she returned to him. Whatever deal or game they had struck over now as a nurse came to put the children to bed. Aemond nodded. Dreams of his own silver-haired babes following her around, tugging at her skirts, in need of constant attention from that sweet face drift out of his mind like dragon’s wings on the horizon. “Yes. I am fine. Let us retire for the evening as well.”

The sun would be up soon. He couldn’t see it from the window, but just felt it in his soul. That time of night that was more the wee hours of the morning. Where the darkness would finally break to the light.

They haven’t slept at all. Rested, but not slept. Sleep seemed immaterial in comparison to the need to fill her again & again. Sleep, water, food, air. All of it seemed trivial as he was a man possessed with possessing her.

“Aemond….please….no more….”

“Just once more.”

His wife whined as his cock still inside her slid back and into her again. One bout giving way to another with truly no rest in between this time.

He was consumed with making his dream a reality. Fill her with so much of him that his child would have no choice but to take root in her belly. They could have a babe come spring. Or a sweet summer child with his pale violet eyes and his mother’s gentle disposition. Aemond thrust harder into her, as if driving the idea home with his cock, making his wife cry out. “Ah! Aemond! Oh Gods!”

She wouldn’t have to take care of Aegon’s children anymore. She would have her own babes to keep her busy. They would be strong and perfect. In constant need of their mother like he was. Maybe she would give him twins like Helaena gave his brother? If his fragile sister could do it, surely his wife could do it too. Judging by the cum spilling out of her onto the already soiled sheets, Aemond had given her more than enough opportunity.

“Aemond….Aemond….”

She couldn’t say much more than his name now and moan. Good. There shouldn’t be any thought of others or anything but the two of them as they made their child.

He looked down at the woman who was going to give him his future and found a blank slate there. Broken with pleasure. Those intelligent, bright eyes black and hazy with lust. Disheveled to the point of madness by his own mad need to put a babe inside her.

He leaned down to kiss her rough, swollen lips and swallowed a whine from his princess. He felt her breath quicken against his lips and her walls quake around him. Her overstimulated body climaxing with even the most minor addition of stimuli between them at this point.

Aemond came just short after that. One final push. Spilling his seed just as deep as the rest before he finally, eventually, let his wife go.

He fell to the other side of the bed, listening to her gasp for breath beside him, before he got up and went to retrieve a rag for the two of them. His wife hiccupped out a gasp when the cool material touched her feverous skin. Her whole-body twitching as it was still too overstimulated to determine how the touch was intended. Aemond cleaned her body starting with her arms. Moving down to her breasts, imagining them larger and fuller in just 4 moons time, then down to her belly that would do just the same. She whined when he gently wiped at her overly sensitive cunt. Red and swollen. His seed still glistening in the folds. He doesn’t want to get rid of it but knows she would be uncomfortable sleeping like that. Aemond had already made her uncomfortable enough for one evening.

He cleaned himself off with much less care and crawled back into bed beside his wife. She willingly came to him when he pulled her in his arms. Or perhaps she was too exhausted to think and just went along with him. Her body still twitching now & then, even in her sleep, from the frenzy he just put her through.

He kissed her head, then covered them with whatever clean blanket he could find.

Come spring they would have a child of their own. A silver haired paragon, who would take Vhagar after he was gone and be his legacy for when his bones became ash. After that, they would work on another. Then another. Then another. His branch would flourish as much as his great-grandfather, and they would build their family to the point that they did not need any others but their own.

He almost felt bad for Jaehaera & Jaehaerys. Soon they would not have their wonderful aunt to dote on them. But his children, and his family, would be what came first.

[kiwicopia]

🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Gloryhole/Stuck 🔞

🎃 Dilf!Gojo x Babysitter!Fem!Reader 🎃

TW: Mentions of cheating (not reader), creampie, squirting, orgasm denial, cunnilingus, Gojo eating out from the back, a bit of roughness, Gojo taking advantage of reader, age difference (early-thirties Gojo, mid-twenties reader), mentions of breeding, Megumi is adopted.

tags: @shes-so-insane @stygianoir @uzxotic

For as long as you could remember, Gojo was always a respectable man and employer. He paid you more than what you thought was the regular amount for babysitting little Megumi, yet he always dismissed your words whenever you told him how you thought it was too much. The man was well off—very well off—and he didn’t mind being more than a little generous to the woman that took care of his child while he was at work. Honestly, if his wife hadn’t been caught sleeping with another man, you wouldn’t have this job in the first place. You felt bad about what happened, even if it was two months ago, yet you were grateful for the job opportunity that came out of it—but then came changes.

Longing glances turned into small, fleeting touches when being handed things or giving him stuff. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but it didn’t take long for you to eventually piece things together. Honestly, it felt like something to be expected after having divorced his wife, but you couldn’t do that to your employer. Could you? No, it felt wrong, especially since he was already more than generous with your pay. Still, you could never forget the looks or gentle touches he gave you. 

A small huff fell from your lips as you cleaned up the playroom. Megumi had already been put to bed after feeding and bathing him, so now all that was left to do was to tidy up the house before his father came home. Most of the toys had been picked up off the floor and put away, yet there were still a few that remained inside the little cubbyhole the child liked to hide in. You huffed again, lowering yourself to your knees before crawling inside to retrieve the last of the toys. It was a tight fit, considering it was meant for a toddler, so you panicked when trying to crawl back out, only to realize that you were stuck. 

No matter how much you pushed your body backwards, your position in the cubbyhole didn’t change, and you frowned. For what seemed like hours, yet was just mere moments, you struggled to get out of your little predicament. It was embarrassing, and that feeling intensified when the lock on the front door jingled before the door opened. Gojo’s footsteps were faint as he traipsed through the kitchen, and your heart pounded in your chest when his footfalls came closer and closer to the playroom. The door slid open, and your body froze as he spoke. “What are you doing?” He asked. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, almost reluctant to answer, considering how embarrassed you were. “I’m stuck,” you answered. He chuckled and you felt your face heat up. “I was cleaning up the playroom, and Megumi left some toys in his cubbyhole.” The explanation of your predicament only made him chuckle even more, and you felt a shiver run up your spine after he approached and trailed a finger down the middle of your back. 

“Mm,” he hummed. You couldn’t see the way he stared down at you with tired, yet hungry, azure eyes. His poor, little babysitter got herself stuck. The man felt like it was his lucky night. His hands then placed themselves against the curve of your ass before he gently squeezed, pulling out a small yelp from your lips. “I bet you want me to help you.” His hands squeezed again, his fingers digging lightly into you. “Do you want some help?” He asked. 

“Yes,” you answered softly. Honestly, you shouldn’t have expected him to outright pull you out of the cubbyhole, because he didn’t. In one swift move, his fingers hooked themselves underneath the hem of your pants and panties, yanking them down without hesitation. “S-Sir?” 

“Shh,” he cooed. His hands slid down to your pussy, and he chuckled as his thumbs pulled apart your folds, revealing a hint of wetness. “Naughty girl. Must have been waiting for this, yeah?” Your lips parted, yet rather than words that came out, a sharp gasp took their place as his tongue licked a thick stripe up your cunt. His tongue repeated the action again, only this time the tip of the muscle pressed down against your clit as he licked. It brought forth a soft moan, and your ass wiggled as you squirmed against him. Gojo chuckled again before his tongue plunged inside of you, tasting you fully now. You couldn’t help it when another, albeit louder, moan slipped out, which prompted him to pull away from your sopping hole. “Quiet,” he told you. “We don’t want to wake Megumi, now do we?” 

Your front lowered as your chest settled against the floor of the cubbyhole while your hands clamped over your mouth. This caused your ass to rise a little higher, and the man smirked lightly at that before he resumed eating you out. It had been too long since he last tasted another woman and having to juggle work and his child left little to no time for him to hook up with anyone. Then you came along. The memories of your sweet smile and soft giggles when he caught you playing with his son, or even tucking him in. Fuck, just thinking about how much you mothered his child got his cock hard. You were so good to little Megumi—better than the whore that cheated on him—and a sudden thought caused him to groan against your cunt as he now lapped at your folds. 

You moaned into your hands as his tongue licked you relentlessly, and the thought of how wrong this was turned you on even more. Your stomach knotted as a rush of heat swarmed your body, lighting every single nerve on fire as pleasure steadily filled it. Why his wife ever cheated on him, you would never understand. He knew exactly what he was doing; applying pressure to your clit every so often while his tongue constantly dove in and out between your folds. Gojo’s pleasing felt better than any of your exes ever did, and it wasn’t long before your body felt like bursting right then and there, and he knew it. 

A small whine slipped from your lips when he pulled away. You were close, so close, and he just stopped. It felt unfair. “Not yet,” he told you. His body shifted and you heard the zipper of his pants before feeling the head of his cock at your entrance. He rubbed it against your folds, coating it with your slick before sliding in effortlessly. The way your warm walls enveloped his cock had him groaning, and his hands squeezed your ass the further he pushed himself into you, stopping only when he bottomed out. The entire ordeal felt so unreal, and you moaned into your hands when he pulled back halfway, only to slam back into you with enough force to rock you forward. You then removed one hand from your mouth and gripped the small, plastic chair within the cubbyhole as he fucked into you. Gojo groaned again at the way your cunt kept pulling him back into you. “So tight and needy,” he breathed out. 

Your other hand fell from your lips, your nails scraping against the flooring of the cubbyhole as the mixed sounds of your moans, his groans, and his balls slapping against your ass filled the playroom. “Gojo,” you mewl, eyes half-lidded and back arched slightly the more his dick bullied your hole. 

“Satoru,” he said, correcting you. His jaw clenched the more your pussy swallowed him, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way your ass jiggled the more he pounded into you. “You better call me Satoru from now on.” From then on, all that left your lips was a series of wanton moans and his name. Over and over, up until the end. “Fuck,” he groaned, slamming into you one last time. Your cunt squeezed him hard, milking him for every drop of cum he had, and you cried in pleasure as you came with him, coating his cock in your juices. The two of you stayed like that for a little longer before he slowly pulled out, and he gently tugged your body backwards, pulling you free from the cubbyhole. The man zipped himself up as your worn-out body slumped back against him, and he chuckled before scooping you up into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You hummed softly and stared up at him with tired eyes. Gods, you looked so cute all fucked out, and the thought of keeping you entirely filled his head. He could knock you up. That would let him keep you, and you were already great with Megumi. Yeah, he could do that.