#so please drop a reply or ask if you end up liking it!

[tpwk-formula1]

Paddock Bunny Series - 1

AN - Yay! I'm so happy for the first post to my new series! I hope you like it and if you have any ideas of what you want to see happen in the world of Y/N Brown feel free to message me with your ideas! I have nothing planned for this series and no real end goal so this could be 10 chapters long to 100 chapters long just depends on how much you guys like it!

Happy Birthday to Lando!!

Drivers included:

Lando Norris x Reader

Carlos Sainz x Lando Norris x Reader (not every chapter will have a threesome but it was necessary for the plot!)

TW - Squirting, multiple orgasms, oral (M and F receiving/giving), hickey, back scratches, protected sex, MxM (not all threesomes with have MxM), cum swallowing, cum swapping

WC - 4.1k +

Y/N POV

"Please let me take you home tonight," Lando slurs in my ear for a third time tonight.

"Lando, you're too drunk to sleep with your bosses daughter," I reply back softly making him groan.

"Please, just one night and we never have to talk about it again," Lando says making me laugh and shake my head.

"If you get your maiden win within the first 10 races of the season I'll let you take me home for a night," I reply back making Lando's face light up at the thought.

"Deal!" Lando smile and runs off making me laugh softly and shake my head knowing he would forget about it by morning.

Lando and I have known each other since his rookie season in Formula 1 and have been close friends since than. It was no secret that Lando and I both had some kind of tension between us but neither of us trying anything knowing how much of a grey area it is.

That was back in February before the season had even started and now it's just a few hours after Miami and Lando is texting me the room number to his hotel room.

"478, it't the suite on the left corner"

"I thought you would have forgotten about that night"

"I'd never forget the one chance to finally sleep with you"

I just roll my eyes at the short conversation before gathering my belongings and making my way to the driver who would be taking me back to the hotel all Mclaren employees were staying in.

When I walked through the Miami hotel I quickly make my way up to Lando's room following the directions he had sent me.,

"Hi," Lando says opening the door after I had just knocked.

"Hi," I smile back inviting myself in. I spent the first couple minutes in Lando's hotel just looking at him to nervous to make the first move.

"Do you want this?" Lando asks softly making me look up and nod softly.

"Ya, a deal is a deal," I reply softly making Lando's smile drop slightly before taking a few tentative steps towards me.

"No, that's not how consent works. Do you want to do it?" Lando asks stepping even closer so we were now face to face with each other.

Instead of responding I connect my hands behind his neck and pull him down for a kiss. Once the initial shock wears off Lando melts into the kiss wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer into his chest.

"Fuck, Lan," I moan softly when Lando squeezing my ass with his hands.

Lando's lips start trailing from my lips down to my neck where he spends special attention on my neck looking for my sweet spot and once he locates is just under my ear I let out a soft moan making Lando smirk before sinking his teeth down and sucking softly I'm sure leaving a small mark behind.

I feel Lando's arms wrap around my waist tighter before softly mumbling jump. Once I just softly I wrap my arms around his waist and letting him walk us towards the bedroom.

Once we get into the bedroom he lightly drops me down onto the bed before he slowly pulls his shirt from his body before letting it fall to the ground.

Once Lando's upper half was bare he slowly climbed into the bed and over my body letting himself gently sit on my thighs while he stares down at me before slowly pulling my shirt up my torso and helping me sit up softly so he can pull it off completely.

Once he discards the Mclaren team kit on the ground he get his first glimpse of my bare tits.

"Fuck," Lando whispers softly still staring right at my tits before he takes a tit in each hand and gives it a firm squeeze making me moan softly at the feeling.

"Sound so pretty," Lando whispers out more to himself than me but it didn't matter my cheeks reddened at the praise regardless.

"Lan, please," I whine softly trying to grind my hips up making me smirk before pushing my hips back down towards the bed denying me of the little stimulation I was getting.

"Patience, I've waited years for my chance, you can wait another few minutes to feel my tongue," Lando replies back making me whine at his words while trying to clench my thighs together but being stopped by Lando's sturdy body blocking them from closing fully.

"God, you are even more beautiful that I could have dreamed," Lando groans while softly rubbing his fingers up my sides making me whine softly and goosebumps to grow across my skin.

Once Lando had felt like he teased enough he slowly started pulling my black Mclaren issued skirt off before discarding it somewhere on the floor before running a teasing finger over the center of my thong making me suck in a breath at the feeling of his finger light touch running across my overly sensitive clit.

"Fuck, you're already soaked for me," Lando says with a soft smirk before roughly ripping my thong from my body making me gasp out loudly at the sting of the fabric tearing against my skin.

It was clear in the moment that any patience left in Lando has completely ran out and now the starved man in front of me was ready to have his first warm meal in over a year.

When the first flick of Lando's tongue was sent right over my clit I can't help but moan out and arch my back at the feeling.

"Fuck," I moan softly when I feel Lando's tongue flick over my clit again making me whimper.

"SO fucking responsive," Lando groans out before diving back into my soaked pussy.

"Oh Lando," I moan when I feel Lando start sucking my clit into his mouth. My hands were now tangled in Lando's hair gripping and pulling him impossibly closer.

"So sweet," Lando mumbles into my pussy making me whimper at the vibrations being sent straight to my clit.

I knew with how long it had been with the last time I had slept with someone and how good Lando was abusing my clit I knew I wasn't gonna last long.

"Fuck," I scream out softly when I feel two of Lando's long fingers slip into my soaked pussy filling me up and grazing my G-spot was perfect precision.

"I can tell you're already close," Lando says with a smirk spread across his face while he starts finger fucking me making me moan and arch my back off the bed again which has Lando using his hand to push me back into the bed before attaching his mouth to my clit and sucking.

"I'm gonna cum," I announce loudly while gripping tighter into Lando's now messy curls.

No sooner than the words leaving my mouth Lando instantly speeds up the actions with his fingers and sucking even harder on my clit almost instantly throwing me over the edge into a loudly messy orgasm that left me shaking under Lando.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant when I have no time to come down from the overwhelming pleasure because Lando and still fingering me with lighting speed.

"Oh shit," I moan when I feel a second orgasm approaching before the tightly wound band in my tummy snapped throwing me over the edge into a squirting orgasm.

"Fuck," Lando gasps amazed at the pleasure he just had coursing through my body.

"Holy fuck," I gasp when I look down and realize the mess I had caused but with the smug look on Lando's face the mess is the last thing on his mind right now.

Lando slowly climbs out of the bed and quickly takes off his pants and briefs in one go letting his hard length spring free. My eyes are instantly locked on the red angry tip that was already leaking precum.

"I want a taste," I announce timidly while letting my eyes flicker up to lock eyes with Lando where he's staring at me with a smirk spread across his face.

"I'm serious," I say while climbing out of bed and getting on my knees and instantly gripping onto Lando's cock making him hiss at the sensations.

I slowly bring my mouth to the tip of Lando's cock where I lick a strip collecting a bit of the precum from his cock and let the flavors linger on my tongue before I take his tip into my mouth and start sinking down taking more of his cock as I go.

"Fuck," Lando groans letting his hands tangle into my brunette hair.

I can't help but moan at the feeling of Lando's cock fill my mouth more than any man has ever.

Once my nose brushes against the trimmed patch of hair covering Lando's pelvic bone I can't help but look up to find Lando with his head thrown back and his eyes closed. When I slowly start bobbing my head with still looking up at Lando I notice the way his face pinches up at the pleasure before he moans softly and looks down locking eyes with me.

"Fuck, you're a sight to be been," Lando groans using the hands tangled in my hair to bob me up and down his cock faster.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last long," Lando groans at the admission but it only makes me speed up my action on his cock. I bring my hand up to his balls and start playing with them which has Lando groaning and pushing me all the way down on his cock before he lets out a low groan before cumming deep into my throat making me gag slightly but still swallow what I can.

"Fuck," Lando groans slipping his cock from my lips and rubbing the spit and cum mixture across my mouth marking me with his cum, his way of marking his territory.

"You're so hot. Your swollen little lips covered in my cum," Lando leans down close to my face with a smirk on his face before the heat of the moment got the best of him and he takes my mouth in his tasting his own cum on his lips.

With Lando's lips still locked with mine he slowly picks me up off the ground before he gently places me on the bed near the edge where I feel his still hard cock rub against my clit making me moan.

When Lando pulls away still standing at the edge of the bed I go to whine when I see him grab a condom off the night stand making me raise a brow at him.

"It was the first thing I went out and bought when I won," Lando says with a boyish smile on his face clearly embarrassed to admit how excited he was.

"I appreciate the readiness," I tell him softly while I watch him roll the condom down his length before stepping between my spread thighs again and tearing my clit with his cock before slipping his length into my pussy making me whimper at the feeling.

"Fuck, so damn tight," Lando grits out between clenched teeth making me whimper at that the burning feeling of being stretched out on his cock.

"Slower," I whimper when I feel Lando start rocking his hips into mine which has him stopping his movements giving me a few moments to adjust before I nod and feel Lando slowly pull his cock out an inch or so before thrusting back in making both of us moan at the feeling.

"Oh," I moan softly when I feel Lando's thrusts start to pick up making my nails dig in a bit deeper into his shoulders making him hiss at the feeling.

"Lan, it feels so good," I moan when I feel Lando's thrust turn from fast and shallow to hard and deep making me feel him in a whole new way. I can feel my nails digging into his back, probably leaving marks behind but with the way Lando only speeds up the harder I grip him I don't think he has any complaints.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Lando grunts out clearly getting close to the edge.

"I'm gonna cum," I announce suddenly when I feel Lando's cock drill right into me G-spot over and over again.

"Fuck, cum with me," Lando grunts his hips shuddering a bit before I feel him start to cum into the condom sending me over the edge into another shaking orgasm.

"Fuck," Lando grunts coming down from his orgasm as he slowly slips his cock from my overstimulated pussy making me whimper at the stimulation.

"Fuck, you took me so well," Lando tells me softly helping me sit up before handing me a water bottle and letting me take a few sips before he takes a few sips himself.

"You're not weirded out to drink from the same straw as me," I ask softly making Lando laugh lightly.

"I tasted my cum from your lips, we're past sharing water bottles," Lando says softly making a me laugh with him and nod my head understanding.

For the next 30 minutes Lando and I spent it in the shower while he told me how good I did for him making me blush under the praise.

When we get out of the bathroom and I wince when I catch sight of Lando's back.

"I'm sorry," I say softly while running a light finger over one of the darker scratches.

"I would live the rest of my life with them if it meant I got to fuck you everyday," Lando says while looking at the damage in the mirror with a shrug.

"You want to do it again?" I ask shyly not even thinking about the possibility of doing it again.

"I mean, yeah. It was honestly the best sex I've ever had but if this was a one off for you, I'm more than okay with that," Lando tells me honestly making me smile and nod.

"I'd like to do it again," I tell him softly with a nod making him smile.

It's only a few days later when I get another Facetime from Lando. When I answer I come face to face with a smirking Carlos and a sheepish looking Lando staring back at me. Both boys where clearly shirtless on a yacht but from the looks of it they were still docked.

"You attacked my boy?" Carlos asks with a smirk falling from his lips making me jaw drop slightly at a total loss for words.

"I have no idea what you're on about Sainz," I respond back with a blush creeping up onto my cheeks.

"No? This should remind you," Carlos says while flipping the camera and showing me Lando's back that was still scattered with a few lingering marks.

"Okay, so Lando and I had a bit of fun. What about it?" I ask trying to be nonchalant. It had never been a secret that when Carlos joined Mclaren with Lando I had a crush on him so having a conversation like this year later it a bit bone rattling.

"I just wish I had gotten an invite," Carlos says while flipping the camera back to face a red faced Lando and a smug looking Carlos. I know my cheeks are as red as Lando's if not redder.

"What?!" Is the only word out of my mouth clearly still too stunned to speak.

"Oh cut the crap, Brown! It was no secret that you fancied me back in my Mclaren days. If you're in Monaco come to the dock," Carlos says with a smirk making me gawk at the two for a few seconds before I hang up the phone and get changed into a swimsuit.

I shoot Lando a quick text letting him know I would be there in a few minutes. I guess you could say curiosity killed the cat but if a long time crush was offering me a day on his yacht I wasn't gonna pass it up.

When I get to the dock I find Lando sitting at the nose of the boat with a sour look spread across him face while looking at his phone while Carlos is smirking with his arms crossed watching me approach him.

"We have company," Carlos announcing making Lando look up from his phone letting his sour look deepen.

"Before I step foot on this yacht. I need to know what is about to happen and if both of you guys are consenting," I saw while looking directly at Lando.

"There's zero pressure on what we do today. But both of us understand what could happen and we're on the same page, Lando's just but hurt he couldn't keep you to himself," Carlos says making me raise a brow at him.

"No Carlos, I'm annoyed at you because you haven't shut up for the past 15 minutes about what happened between me and her," Lando announces with a bit of a whiney voice making me laugh softly.

When I set onto the yacht I look around to make sure we were alone before I walk to Lando and stand between his legs and lean down and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Do you want whatever could happen to happen?" I whisper making sure he knew it was just a conversation between us.

"Yes," Lando finally answers looking up at me through his long lashes.

“I’m positive, it wouldn't be the first time Carlos and I shared someone,” Lando admits softly making me look up at Carlos with a surprised face. He just sends me back one of his signature smirks making me roll my eyes jokingly before stepping away from Lando and placing my stuff where it belonged before pulling off my swimsuit cover and making me way to find Carlos is alright driving the boat away from the dock while Lando rests back allowing his tanned skin to soak up even more sunlight.

I climb onto the sofa next to Lando allowing my head to rest on his shoulder.

"We aren't doing a single thing you don't consent to, and Carlos is big on verbal consent," Lando tells me softly angling his head so he can look me in the eye.

"Okay," I reply softly with a small smile playing on my lips.

Once Carlos has gotten us far away from the shore I realize we are completely alone in a cove with not a single person around us.

When Carlos approaches both Lando and I he leans down and places a quick kiss on Lando's mouth making me gawk at them softly before Carlos turns his attention on me.

"Can I kiss you, Hermosa?" Carlos asks softly making a me nod my head but quickly give a soft yes remembering what Lando had just been telling me.

As soon as the word left my mouth Carlos crashes his lips onto mine and our kiss was the complete opposite of the one him and Lando shared. While his and Lando's was quick and a bit lack luster Carlos and I's is heated and intense.

When I feel Carlos softly graze his tongue against my bottom lip I part my mouth and feel Carlos's tongue tangle with mine making me whimper at the feeling.

"Fuck, such a sweet little mouth. Lando has told me your head game is the best, would you like to prove him right?" Carlos asks softly.

"Yes sir," I reply back softly while pushing Carlos to sit next to me making me turn my body towards him on my hands and knees with my ass facing Lando making him groan at the sight of my swimsuit riding up my ass.

I pull Carlos's swim trunks just enough to free his hard cock before bringing my mouth down to his cock and pulling it into my mouth making him hiss at the feeling of me taking his full length into my mouth.

"Fuck," Carlos groans throwing his head back when I feel the tip of his cock bypass my gag reflex taking him all the way.

I start bobbing my head on his cock making Carlos tangle his fingers into my hair while Lando pulls my swim bottoms to the side where he started teasing my clit making me moan around Carlos's cock.

Once Lando felt I was wet enough he grips into my hair pulling me off Carlos's cock making me whine at the loss. Once Lando gets me situated on my hands and knees but this time facing Lando I realize all the prep he had done wasn't for him but was for Carlos.

Lando pulls his shorts off letting me take his cock into my mouth while I feel the tip of Carlos's cock teasing my clit making me pull off Lando's cock and trying to turn my head.

"He's wearing protection," Lando tells me softly making me nod my head and get back to work with Lando's cock. When I feel Carlos slowly sinking his thick cock into my tight pussy I whimper at the stretch. I can tell he's wearing a condom making me smile softly to myself knowing Lando was telling me the truth.

I knew I wasn't gonna last long but when I feel my orgasm build almost instantly I start freaking out slightly trying to pull my hips away from Carlos.

"Am I hurting you," Carlos asks letting my hips go letting me get away slightly.

"No! I was about to cum," I admit sheepishly making Carlos groans and sink his cock back into me in one quick motion before pounding into me and throwing me over the edge almost instantly.

"I don't care if you cum in 3 seconds or 3 hours, I want you to let go," Carlos groans fucking me through my orgasm before slowing down almost completely letting me come down from my orgasm without over stimulating me but once I got a few minutes of rest Carlos gets right back to it making me moan around Lando's cock making him whimper and pull me off his cock not wanting to cum just yet.

"Fuck, Carlos," I moan rather loudly letting my voice echo across the water coming out far louder than I was hoping.

"So fucking tight," Carlos groans clearly getting close to the edge making Lando shove his cock back into my mouth. I could feel another orgasm building deep in the pit of my stomach and once I finally release I feel Carlos shove deep into me one last time before filling the condom up with his cock. I feel Lando shudder one last time before a loud whine leaves his mouth and he starts cumming filling my mouth with his cum.

"Don't swallow," Carlos groans while slowly slipping his cock from my pussy making a me turn my head slightly and open my mouth showing him my mouth full of cum.

"Swallow some of it and spit the rest into his mouth," Lando says out of breath behind me making me look at Carlos who has a smirk on his face and he nods giving me permission. I swallow half of Lando's load before standing up and pulling Carlos into my mouth and pushing the rest of the cum in his mouth where he quickly swallows it and pulls me in for a quick makeout before pulling back and grabbing his discarded swim trunks.

Lando helps me get dressed before pulling me back into his chest and letting me cuddle up with him.

"Who else have you told?" I finally ask in a hushed whisper while Carlos starts moving the yacht to another location.

"No one I swear! But I'm sure Carlos will tell Charles, who will tell Pierre, who will tell Yuki, who will tell everyone," Lando admits sheepishly making my face grow hot and a groan to leave my lips.

"Great so I'm about to become the paddock whore," I saw with a cringed look across my face.

"No, I'm positive if anything they'll just want a taste," Lando tells me softly making me groan and throw my head back.

"That might even be worse," I groan again making Lando laugh softly.

"You do what you want. If someone tries anything and you don't want it you tell them to fuck off," Lando says as if this was the most normal situation in the world.

Over the next few weeks the group chat that started with just Lando, Carlos and I had slowly grown in size. While I wasn't sure how word had spread so fast I was positive that my life was not the same one it was at the start of the season.

[verycoolusername1]

Maybe It Was Fate

Summary: During the 'hughesbowl' as fans may call it, you are caught in a trance that is Quinn Hughes... unaware that he is your coworkers' oldest brother.

Quinn Hughes x photographer!reader

A/N: I was debating whether to make this nico or quinn as the love interest and Quinn won in the end(nico does have a cameo however)- This was also supposed to be posted the day of the hughesbowl, but stuff came up so here it is now!!

AND I'M CHANGING THE SCORE IN THIS BECAUSE WHATEVER HAPPENED ON OCTOBER 30TH, 2024 DID NOT HAPPEN WHATSOEVER

It's a shock to you that you work with professional athletes, considering you hated sports as a kid. Even now, you still don't know what's going on in hockey. With the players too fast around you, it's hard to keep your eye on one player.

It was the 3rd period, the score being 5-3, the Canucks slowly but surely catching up.

You held your camera in hand, watching the big screen to keep focus... that was until someone catched your eye. You couldn't see his last name, only his face and man was he pretty.

He had green eyes flickered like sunlight within the leaves as he looked up. You could run your hand through his brown locks for days if given the chance.

You shook your head, he was most likely a player on and off the ice. You knew that without a doubt, knowing all about Jack's relationship with women(due to being best friends) but you couldn't help but wonder, would it be different with him?

The fans becoming louder as the game came to a close, the devils capturing the win. You snapped your camera a couple of times towards the devils and secretly took more of the mystery man.

You turned your camera off and it held loosely around your neck as you waited outside the locker room, waiting for Jack to take you home.

You had your back towards the door as you flickered through the photos that you took, your cheeks heating up when you saw the man again. He has a 43 just like Luke but you didn't think anything of it, players share the same numbers all the time. It was just a mere coincidence, right?

"You got all my good sides right?" Jack asked, you quickly turned the camera off.

"Jesus Jack, warn me next time gosh." You hit him on the shoulder.

He only shrugged in response. "Can't really text in the locker room."

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually an idiot."

"Only act like it to make you look smart." He muttered under his breath.

"And what are you two arguing about now?" Luke approached the two of you.

"They called me an idiot!" Jack exclaimed.

"They must have been reasonable to do so." Nico chuckled as he walked past you three. "Don't kill eachother please!"

"Make no promises cap!" You snapped a photo as he looked back at you with a smile.

"Oh Y/N! We want you to meet someone." Luke began to drag your arm in the other direction.

"And before you groan out a half assed reply, I think you'll really like him." Jack added.

You were now beginning to regret telling Jack that you wished you could put yourself out there again considering you haven't been on a date in two months due to your conflicting schedule.

"Do you two know him or-" You looked between the two of them.

"Oh yeah we do." Jack answered. "Very well."

"What does that even mean?" You narrowed your eyes at him, Jack chuckles in reply.

"Trust me, you'll like him." Luke eased your worries.

You finally stopped and Luke dropped your hand as you realized.

"He plays for the canucks? They just lost tonight. I'm sure the last thing he would want to do is go on a date with someone that works for the devils." You explained.

"Well he likes us and we play for the devils sooooooooo you'll brighten up his mood. Ha get it cause you're a photographer and the camera flashes." Jack stopped explaining the joke when he was met with your stern face.

Luke cleared his throat. "There he is now."

You snapped your eyes to the door and realized that was the man that took your breath away moments before just as he is doing now.

"Y/N this is Quinn, our brother. Quinn this is Y/N, the person we've been telling you about." Jack introduced the two of you.

"Brother? He's your brother?!? You guys never told me you had a brother!" You made a mental note to swear at Jack later, with no audience.

"Oops?" Luke giggled. "See Quinn, look they're a photographer. Show them some photos you took tonight." He encouraged.

You quickly shook your head. "No I couldn't possibly do that, I-I mean I still have to edit them and wait..." You looked down to your neck strap and saw that your camera was gone and in Jack's hands.

All three hughes brothers looking at the photos.

"Wait no!" You exclaimed but it was already too late you assumed, Jack was looking at you with a knowing look while Luke and Quinn were shocked.

"How come he gets all his good angles and I don't even one photo?" Luke asked you, in a mocking tone.

"I was distracted," You looked away, embarrassed.

"Yeah because you were too busy looking at our brother." Jack remarked, jokingly.

You rolled your eyes. "I didn't know he was your guys brother."

"I think these look nice, thank you." Quinn finally spoke, looking you in the eyes.

"Oh um you welcome. It's nothing really, it's just kind of my job." You shrugged.

"Then you most definitely picked the right career choice." He smiled softly at you.

Jack and Luke were nowhere to be seen, seemly left the two of you alone for a while.

Your face flushed at his words, he held the camera in his hands handing it out for you.

"You're gonna need this to edit all those photos of me." He joked.

"And I'm gonna need your number to send you all those photos." You held the camera and its neck strap, putting it in your bag.

"Well that was bold, Y/N." He chuckled not nonetheless gave you his phone so you can type out your number, he sent you a quick text.

"It was nice meeting you Quinn, it's getting late. I would head home but Jack seemed to have disappeared." You looked around.

"I can take you home." He offered. "He obviously went to the bar with the team."

You looked up at him and smiled. "I would like that."

[midnightspasms]

Pairing: Professor!Geto x reader

Synopsis: Geto likes your type. The kind of girl who'd never risk her future by engaging in any sort of inappropriate rendezvous with her nasty professor, him. So when you apply to become his teaching assistant, he can't let the opportunity go.

Content warnings: Swearing, male masturbation, lewd/perverse behaviour, age gap, teacher x student relationship, spit sharing if you squint, Geto is a creep and a pervert!

Suguru wouldn't exactly consider himself a moral person. Sure, he didn't steal or kill, but that was the bare minimum. He wouldn't ever fail a student purely because he didn't like their face, but maybe he'd put much of the topics they struggled in in the test. So sure he wasn't exactly Jack the Ripper, but he wasn't that much of a good person.

The first day you walked into his class, he could tell that there was something in his chest for you. It wasn't serious, wasn't plentiful. Truly, if you dropped the class, he'd probably end up forgetting you entirely.

But you didn't, and the more he saw you, well...

He likes the kind of girl you are; the pretty, wealthy heiress with gold on her wrists and diamonds on her ears. You're the girl with a meticulously crafted reputation. The model student with big brains and a nice ass but doesn't show off the latter. The one that's gonna graduate Summa Cum Laude and pretend like that's what landed her summer internship and not daddy's connections.

Oh, he likes your type. The kind of girl who'd never risk her future by engaging in any sort of inappropriate rendezvous with her nasty professor, him.

When you apply to be his TA, he's pleased. He picks you without hesitation, throwing the rest of the applications in the bin.

When you step into his office with your not-too-tight top and not-too-short skirt that does nothing to hide that ass, he grins at you lazily, pleasantly, as you sit before his desk and he begins giving you the rundown of your work as his TA.

"You can begin with grading those papers," he says afterwards, voice smooth like velvet, deep like a 15-foot well as he gestures to the pile of test scripts on his desk.

You look over to the pile of test scripts at the edge of his desk. "Sure," you hum as you stand and pick up the stack.

You look up at him, Professor Geto, "Is there a marking guide I could use?" You ask him slowly as you stand before his desk.

Out of all your professors, Geto was probably the one that intimidated you the most. And not in a scary way, it was the way he was; the languid yet confident way he carried himself that made him seem untouchable, made him seem so far away from the other academic staff.

You became his TA because of his connections in the world of academia. Otherwise, he unsettled you.

Geto cocks his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest, as he regards you with a languorous blink. He's amused, though for what reason, you don't know.

He lets out a small huff, a sort of exhale through his nose as he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a slender booklet. It's a copy of the marking guide; crisp and new. He hands it to you, eyes never once leaving your face.

"You're a smart girl," he says lowly, voice honeyed and smooth.

You take it from him with your free hand, "Thank you."

You turn around and wake over to the smaller desk next to his, putting the pile of scripts down on the wood. "Do I have a time constraint, sir?"

Geto sits back in his own chair, the leather making a quiet creaking noise as he folds one leg over the other, ankle over knee. He leans his elbow against the chair handle, his jaw propped on his knuckles.

"No, not exactly," he replies with a shrug. "Do it in your own pace."

You hum as you take a seat, your lips pursed. "Alright." You say as you pick up the first script.

You sit with your ankles crossed, the marking guide to your right as you begin grading the scripts. It's the scripts of freshman students, and it's obvious in the way the answers are structured.

You furrow my brows as you lean closer, trying to grade it the way your professor does, strict but not harsh, and with comments on how to improve.

All the while, Geto watches you. There's something almost voyeuristic in the way he does so - as if he were a photographer taking a candid picture of a woman without her knowledge. His eyes slowly drift over your form, the way the sunlight shines on your hair, the way you push a stray strand away from your face, the way your skirt tightens over your thighs...

It's strange. He doesn't even really like you, but there's something about you that pulls him towards you like a moth to a flame.

And you can't deny that the atmosphere is calming. The silence in the air and the air conditioning has your focused, and you finish the scripts in a little over an hour, silent as you put the last paper on top of the pile. "I'm done, sir." You call out to him as you finish, turning to look at him.

When you turn to look at him, he lifts an eyebrow, and his mouth slowly quirks up. "All thirty test scripts in an hour?" he says disbelievingly, but the impressed tone in his voice betrays his words. "I knew you were smart, but God damn."

You purse your lips as he speaks. "Would you like to go over them?" You ask slowly, eyeing the scripts. Now that he's expressed such surprise in the time you'd used, you can't help but doubt your work.

He lets out a low chuckle as he uncrosses his legs and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders back as the muscles in his back flex. He's a tall man with a wide chest, a lean swimmer's physique, all lean muscle and languid grace.

He walks over to your desk, and looks down at the pile of testscripts before he picks one of them up, thumbing through it.

You sit forward on your chair, a leg crossed over the other as you eye him tensely. Your elbows on the desk, fingers holding your pen to your mouth as you slowly, absently chew on the cap at the end of it.

Geto's gaze is how it always is, meticulous and calculated, as he scans through. The way he flips through papers, the way he stands, the subtle yet immense precision and grace in his posture as he examines your work only makes you more on edge.

While you sit there, tense and with a pen in your mouth, Geto stands tall and relaxed beside you. He reads through some of the answers for a minute, before he hums and nods to himself.

Then, slowly, he sets the paper down and looks down at you, and his gaze drifts down to your mouth, where your pen is in between your teeth.

He reaches out, and without saying a word, he gently pulls the pen from your mouth with his fingers.

Your lips partly just slightly as he pulls the pen from them, and you say nothing about it.

Geto holds the pen in his hand, idly spins it through his fingers with a practiced dexterity. His gaze drifts to your mouth, now open slightly, before it slowly lifts to your eyes.

Then, he lets out a huffed laugh, and looks away.

"Your grading is good," he says slowly, a hint of amused surprise in his voice as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "You picked all the correct answers, and you gave just enough critique. Good girl."

The praise feels inappropriate, but then again, everything about Geto does.

"Thank you, sir." You murmur as your gaze drifts down to the pen in his hand. Embarrassingly, you can see the shine of your saliva on it, and a weird feeling spurs in your belly at the thought of your professor holding that pen. "I tried to emulate your grading."

As you mention emulating his grading, he hums, a languid sound in the back of his throat as he glances back at you. He doesn't smile, not really, but the amused look in his eyes only deepens.

"You did a good job of it," he says lowly. "You've a knack for this."

You can't help but smile. It's a slow, little one, but there's a tiny hint of pride in your eyes. "Thank you. Honestly... I didn't think I'd do this cause of scheduling difficulties." You murmur. You already have a lot on your plate. Truly, you only applied to be his TA so you could get recommended for Master's programs.

His eyes remain on you, taking in the small, slow smile that curves your lips. He's never really seen you smile in class, and the way your small mouth curves up on the edges makes you look so different.

Your phone buzzes then. You look down at it and Geto looks down at you.

"I have a meeting now, sir." You say as you stand, relieved to finally be done after grading those scripts.

"Sure," he says, voice deceptively light as he lets the word roll off his tongue. "Have fun, darling."

You offer a noncommittal hum as you grab your bag, hanging it over your shoulder as you turn to leave.

"Good night, sir." You tell him slowly as you bow once before making your way out of the room.

Geto's eyes remain on you as you walk out the door, watching the way your hips sway.

Once the door closes after you, he stands in place for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then, he sits back down in his chair with a huff, picking up your pen again, tracing his thumb over the cap.

Even as he sits alone in his classroom, Geto thinks about you.

That small, barely-there pout you had on your face as you left, the way you walked away from him with your hips and ass swaying, the way you sat before him and focused on your grading for an hour.

He brings the pen to his mouth, and before he can even fully register what he's doing, he sticks the tip of the pen into his mouth, tasting the drying remnants of your saliva on the cap.

He's not quite sure what he's doing, but once he tastes the residue of you on the tip of the pen, a single thought runs through his head.

What would you taste like?

He pulls the pen out of his mouth with a quiet pop as his thoughts wander, a sly, serpentine smile on his lips.

He looks down at the pen, tracing the writing on the body idly with his eyes, before he lets out a soft hum.

Oh, he's going to have fun with this...

He slowly pushes back from his desk, the chair letting out a creaking noise. He stands up from his chair and walks over to the door, quietly opening it, peeking his head out and looking at the quiet, empty hallway.

He can't see anyone. It's completely deserted, not a single person in sight.

Geto steps back into his office with a satisfied hum and locks the door with a click. The silence in the room is deafening. No one's there to interrupt him. He walks back to his desm with no apprehension.

Geto leans back against his chair, palms planted on the wood of his desk as he stares down at the pen he still holds in one hand. He holds it up in front of his face, and he slowly runs his tongue over the plastic.

Your saliva tastes slightly sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Intoxicating. Just like you...

Geto lets out a quiet exhale as he imagines the taste of you in his mouth. He's never tasted you - of course he hasn't - but the thought of that saliva being on his tongue and not on some inanimate pen is enough to make him shiver.

He looks down at the pen again, at the saliva shine, the way it gleams in the light...

He pops the cap into his mouth and swirls it around with his tongue. A quiet grunt escapes his chest as he tastes you on the plastic, and he slowly brings a hand down to his trousers...

He knows he really shouldn't be doing this, not in his office, not after hours, not as your professor. But something about you turns him on, badly. Maybe it's the way you bite your lower lip when you're focused, maybe it's the cute way you chew on the pen caps, maybe it's the way you look him in the eyes with that tiny, little pout...

The thought of you looking up at him, down on your knees, mouth open in front of him...

He lets out a hiss, leaning back against the edge of the desk as he palms himself through his pants. He closes his eyes and lets out a low moan as he pictures it, one hand cupping his bulge through his trousers and the other keeping him steady on the desk as his mind conjures up images he's never had before.

You're not just a pretty girl, no, you're a smart, pretty girl. The kind that gets straight As and knows how to use your words.

You could probably talk him into almost anything, if you tried. That thought makes his knees almost buckle.He knows that you're too good, too pure to be as dirty as him, too innocent to be as perverted as he is right now, but still, he can't get the images out of his head.

Imagining you in front of him, on your knees, wearing that pretty green skirt of yours, looking up at him with that little pout on your face as he tells you to do whatever he says...

"Darling." he murmurs your name, voice husky and rough as he unbuckles his belt one-handedly and spits out the cap of then pen unto his free palm before dropping it on his desk. The metal of the buckle clinking against itself. He unzips his trousers quickly, hands almost shaking in his eagerness.

He knows this is wrong, that it's wrong to think about you like this, but God, he can't stop. He lets out a quiet moan as his hand wraps around his already hard, the head already slightly sticky with pre-cum. He strokes himself once, twice.

He's used to imagining nameless, faceless girls, the kind they use in porn, the kind that don't make the right noises, but instead of that, instead of them... he's imagining you now.

You're not even here right now, but he can almost hear you. The way your voice gets all soft when you're focused, the cute little noises you make when you're concentrating on your work.

He can practically see it now. You, on your knees, looking up at him between his legs, watching him with that cute little pout on your face as he tells you to do whatever he says...

He can't hold back from letting out a moan as the thoughts continue to spiral. He imagines you looking up at him through your eyelashes, pink, little tongue sticking out of your mouth, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Darling," he says breathlessly, eyes still closed, "Open your mouth for me."

He tightens his grip around his cock, stroking just a tad faster as the scene changes, imagining you in nothing, looking up at him with your eyes wide and eager on your knees.

And, because he knows you're good, his brain even supplies him with the image of you begging him to do it. "Fuck-" He chokes out a groan, squeezing at the base of his cock.

It's all slimy and moist at this point, his purple head still bubbling out pre as he masturbates to the thought of you, hips bucking into his hand like a schoolboy virgin.

He can't hold back from letting out a moan as the thoughts continue to spiral. He imagines you looking up at him through your eyelashes, pink, little tongue sticking out of your mouth, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

"Shit baby," he says breathlessly, eyes squeezed shut, free hand tightly gripping the arm of the chair till his knuckles are white. He's going to cum soon and he knows, the room filled with the nasty schlack schlack of his hand furiously stroking his dick. "Open your mouth for me, baby."

God, he can't get enough of the thought. You, with that cute little pout, opening your mouth, wanting to do as he says, wanting to be good and swallow all the cum he's goibg to release.

"Oh Godddd," his head falls back, neck against the headrest as his hips buck up into his palm and his body goes tight like a bowstring.

His dick spurts it out when Getou finally cums, ropes of sticky, white arousal landing on his stomach and his slacks.

He's breathing heavily when he finally comes down, limp dick still in his grip as his eyes catch the pen cap on his desk. Your pen cap.

"Fuck- I have to fuck her."

[ishomieokay]

ALONE TOGETHER — homelander ♡ 18+

HOMELANDER x CLEANER READER

you're homelander's cleaner, but he's found a different use for you

✰ tags // warnings: cleaner!reader, non-con, dubious consent, objectification, forced relationship, naked/clothed, vaginal sex, power imbalance, cockwarming, references to gangbang/oral/anal (not between h/r, just in a tacky porn video).

✰ summary: homelander uses you as a fleshlight while watching porn on his big tv wall. you're not into it, but you kinda are. inspired by this post.

✰ author's notes: not for the faint hearted. seriously guys, this is foul. re-uploaded/edited to be more inclusive. find the original here.

✰ taglist: @welikeimagines-andfandoms

"So, whataya wanna watch?" he asks as he runs a hand down your naked back. You stifle a sound, feeling a shiver run through you. After all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to it—the feeling of his leather gloves against your exposed skin. 

“I don’t know, Sir,” you reply, hoping he will drop it. “I don’t watch porn.”

He's not hard. Sometimes it takes him some time to get there. You never comment on it, of course, afraid that he will lash out, that he will blame you. Still, he’s a warm, unsettling presence inside you. You can feel yourself dripping around him, aching for movement, for stimulation of any kind. You hate it.

“Yeah, yeah, all women say that. I wonder what I would find if I searched your browser history, though. Bet there’s some freaky stuff there.” Homelander takes the remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV. It’s obnoxious looking, large enough to cover the entire wall. The type of purchase men only make to flex and show off wealth. You had never seen him use it before. You’re not surprised to learn he bought it with the exclusive purpose of watching porn. 

Homelander paused, then, as if something had just occurred to him. “You ever starred in a sex tape, Becky?”

You clench your teeth, struggling not to snap at him. He keeps calling you that, no matter how many times you remind him that’s not your name. “No, Sir,” you reply curtly.

“Aren’t you a dream? ‘Sir, this,’ ‘Sir, that.’ They sure trained you well when you first got hired.” Homelander said, placing a hand around your hips, as if to keep you in place. You bite into your lip, struggling not to grind against him, not to search for contact. “You called me something else the other time, though. You haven’t forgotten, right? When I was fucking your ass raw against the dinner table?”

No more, master. Please, no more.

Just the memory has tears of shame and anger flooding your eyes. You refuse to let them spill. Over time you��ve come to learn that only arouses him more. “Master?” you repeat with a frown. You don't even know where that came from. You'd just been trying to appeal to his ego, to get him to stop hurting you.

“That’s the one! Love the sound of it, you say it so prettily,” he states, and you know he’s mocking you, that he doesn’t mean a word. If there’s something you’ve learned in your time working at Vought is that there’s always a double-meaning in Homelander’s praise. “You’re gonna call me that from now on.”

“Yes, master,” you say, cringing. There’s really no end to the humiliations this twisted pervert can come up with.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What are we watching?” he asks, pushing the remote into your hand. There’s no point in fighting him and you know it. You turn your head towards the TV Screen, quietly examining the adult website he’s chosen. It’s a catalog of his favorite videos. You struggle not to roll your eyes. What kind of loser catalogs his porn? God, he’s fucking pathetic. 

As you scroll down the list, heat builds in your lower stomach. You don’t like what you’re seeing. Porn is violent and demeaning and you’ve never liked it. You’ve been aroused for some time now, though, and you can feel your judgment slipping. It’s been over an hour since Homelander ordered you into his bedroom, forcing you to abandon your domestic chores to attend to more pressing matters. An hour since he had you undress and sit on his lap, warming his limp cock while he lounged about on his leather armchair. You know he’s teasing you, leaving you aroused, wet and unfulfilled on purpose. It’s a game he likes to play.

“I like this one,” you say, opening a random video. Homelander huffs out a laugh.

“Ohhh, would you look at that? Girl on girl action? I knew you were into weird stuff,” Homelander says, and he sounds amused, almost gleeful, but there’s an edge to his voice—an underlying irritation that lets you know you’ve committed a mistake. He grabs you by the throat, then, fast, roughly and without warning. “You’re not a lesbian, are you, Becky?”

“No, master,” you say, trying to stay calm, to not let your fear show. That only makes things worse. “I like men.”

I like you, it’s what he wants to hear, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“Good. Didn’t feel like watching that, anyway,” he says, taking the remote from you. You struggle not to make a face. Of course he asks you to choose, only to have the chance to say no to you. He’s such a manchild. “Oooh, this one’s better. Girl gets gangbanged at local billiard. That will get us in the mood.”

You can feel heat rising up your throat, and force yourself to take a deep breath. It abates the nausea, to an extent. It’s not a stretch to say that vomiting right now could very well be the death of you. He skips the video forward, seemingly too impatient to power through the foreplay. He stops at a frame of the woman laying on a pool table, surrounded by at least 15 men, her legs spread and completely naked. You swallow hard. She looks like you.

He doesn’t strike you as the type who likes sharing, and he’s much too fixated on power to be a cuck. Still, you hope he’s not getting any ideas. The video starts rolling. The woman moans, loud and shamelessly, those fake high-pitched sounds only porn actresses make. A man is fucking her on the front, another in the ass, and a third one is using her throat like a fleshlight, unbothered by the spit and the gagging sounds. The other men are masturbating to the sight, waiting for their turn, ready to cum all over her. It’s disgusting, and you have to look away. 

Homelander is pulling you by the air in a second, forcing you to look. You don’t fight him. You stare towards the screen, unblinking, unseeing. He’s finally getting hard. That’s a good thing. The sooner this torture ends, the better. 

When he’s done, he comes inside you. That’s a given with him, although he never bothers to use a condom. You fish some wet wipes from your purse and clean yourself up as best as you can. His eyes are on you as you put your mandatory pink uniform back on, along with the tag with your name on it. You don’t stare back. Not until he addresses you first.

“What do you say?” he asks, a twinkle in his eyes. 

You swallow your pride, as you’ve done so many times in the past. “Thank you, master. I’m always glad to assist you.”

Homelander smiles at you, wide and unsettling. “You’re a good girl. Now, go finish with the living room, will ya,” he says, spanking you as you finally make your way out of his bedroom, “this place’s a fucking mess.” 

[jisungiesvzz]

You Need To Eat Well

Han Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: eating disorder, panic attack, anxiety, throwing up, fluff at the end?

Word Count: 1.8k

P.S. This is my first post so please let me know if I’ve missed warnings! Also, this is NOT proof read so send in any typos or wtvr lol.

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

It was around lunch time when you were with Jisung and his members in their practice room. They were arguing over a particular dance move while you lay on the couch in the corner, mindlessly scrolling through a social media app. 

“Alright enough!” Bangchan said, raising his voice a bit.

You flinched slightly at his sudden unexpected tone change. The members went silent but Jisung stared at you, noticing your sudden movement. You noticed him staring and quickly went back to looking at your phone.

“Clearly we are all frustrated with each other and arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

The other members nodded their heads in agreement as a bunch of sighs went around the room.

“You’re right,” Changbin chimed in. “It is a little past lunchtime, let’s grab something to eat and start up again after.”

You shuttered at the idea of eating in a group.

“Yeah, I could really use some food.” Hyunjin agreed. The other members simultaneously shuffled off to their bags to grab what they needed before regrouping at the door.

You saw a shadow approaching you and you set down your phone, sitting up to see who it was.

Jisung.

“You should come with us, you need to eat too.”

“Uh… yeah no I’ll go with you guys.” You replied back, making sure to avoid the part about you actually eating.

You grabbed your phone and wallet and walked out the door with the group. You tried to subtly walk behind the members to avoid the topic of food without making it obvious. Seungmin and I.N were debating very loudly over which ramen place would be better to eat at. Hearing the word ramen made you feel physically ill. You did your best to put on a smile but Jisung noticed you were a little pale and matched your pace to walk next to you. 

“How are you feeling? You look a little pale.” He asked, trying to sound calm but his concern was more evident in his voice than he intended.

“Oh I’m pale? I feel fine though.” You said trying to sound convincing.

“Are you sure?” He asked, not believing you.

You nodded your head with the best reassuring smile you could muster up. You could tell he didn’t really believe you but before anymore could be said you had arrived at the restaurant.

The group grabbed a table and you tried not to sit next to Jisung to avoid him noticing your eating pattern. You sat next to Felix and Bangchan which made Jisung frown a little but he shrugged it off and sat next to Felix.

Minutes went by and your mood began to change for the better as Felix started excitedly talking  to you about his upcoming Louis Vuitton photoshoot. You slowly forgot about where you were until the waiter came up and started taking everyone’s orders. It came to your turn and you were already dreading everyone looking at you, waiting for you to order. You pretended to look at the menu and then ordered a small appetizer. 

The waiter finished writing down the orders and walked away.

“Y/n-ah you should’ve ordered more, that won’t fill you up,” Lee know stated from across the table.

Your stomach dropped. Everyone was looking at you.

“I uh- I ate a big breakfast, I’m just… not that hungry right now,” you felt so pathetic through the lie. 

“Breakfast was so long ago, we’ll order you some ramen,” Bangchan said, waving down the waiter before you could reject his statement.

The food arrived moments later, and the second the bowl was put in front of you, you felt so nauseous. 

It’s too much food. You look like a pig eating this in front of them, Don’t it eat, they’re judging.

You tried to wait a couple minutes before excusing yourself to the bathroom but you almost threw up just thinking about picking up the chopsticks. 

“I’m gonna head to restroom real quick,” you said quickly and you sped to the bathroom.

You swung the door open, not bothering to lock it behind you. You immediately started belching and throwing up into the toilet. Tears streamed down your face as you continued throwing up. The door cracked open and you faintly heard someone’s worried voice.

“Y/n-ah…?”

A second later, someone was dashing towards you and holding your hair back. You shuttered aggressively once you stopped vomiting and let out a shaky whimper. You felt someone’s hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles on it. 

“What happened...?” You recognized the voice. It was Jisung.

You sighed not wanting to speak.

Jisung grabbed your chin and turned head to look up at him. He looked you in the eyes and he could see the hurt in them.

“Talk to me. Please, Y/n…” he quietly begged.

“I just feel sick, it… it could be a c-cold.” You stammered through your lie.

It was evident in his eyes that he didn’t fully believe you but after a few moments of thought he let it go.

“I’m gonna tell the members you’re not feeling well then I’m taking you home.”

“Ji, I’m fine-”

He cuts you off, “Y/n don’t argue with me. You are sick and you need rest.”

You sighed and gave in, nodding your head. He helped you stand up and headed back to the table to grab your things.

—————

You lay in bed staring up at the ceiling with Jisung laying next to you. It had been quiet for a while, leaving plenty of time for Jisung to think. He noticed you were pale again.

“Do you think you can get down some broth?” He broke the silence.

You internally gagged but he didn’t notice.

“I’m not hungry,” you reply weakly.

He sat up, slightly hovering over you, “Y/n, I’m worried about you. You’re super pale, it’s not normal.”

He thinks you’re ill. You can’t eat. He’ll laugh at you for wanting food.

“Stop, please…” you begged, rubbing your face “I can’t think about food anymore… please, just stop.”

The tears were forming again and that’s when Jisung caught on.

“Are you… Y/n when was the last time you really ate?”

“I told you, I ate this mor-”

He cut you off, “Don’t lie Y/n, when was the last time you ate.”

Silence feel between you two. Tears pricked Jisung’s eyes as his suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t say anything before getting up and leaving the room.

He’s leaving you. He thinks you’re pathetic for not eating. You can’t eat. Don’t eat. He’ll think you’re a pig.

The thoughts kept rolling in and you started to panic, your thoughts consuming you by the minute. A couple minutes go by and Jisung comes back in with a small cup of broth. He sits on the edge of the bed and moves the cup towards your lap. You shake your head but he just looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Think of it as flavored water, yeah? It’s not food.”

“I- I can’t…. I-” 

The panic is setting in. Your breathing became labored and you started shaking uncontrollably. You desperately tried to calm down but everything felt like it was caving in on you; the ceiling, the walls, the mattress pulling you into an endless abyss as you gripped at them tightly. 

Jisung practically threw the cup onto the nightstand as he saw you panicking.

“Hey what’s wrong?” He asked, concern evident in his voice.

You tried to answer but your breath kept getting caught in your throat. You begin clawing at  your chest as you felt like you were about to combust, tears now pouring out of your eyes. Jisung knew you were choking on your words and grew scared that you soon wouldn’t be able to breathe at all. He wrapped you in his arms, your head flesh with his chest.

“I need you to take deep breaths, love” he spoke, trying to sound grounded. “Listen to my breathing.” 

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. You roughly tried to follow his breathing but it didn’t seem to be enough. You wanted to speak again but he stopped you.

“Don’t. Please, just… just keep breathing,” he took one of your hands and put it on his chest so you could feel his heartbeat. It was slow and steady, reminding you that he was there with you. He soothingly rubbed your back as your breathing began to slow down and your shaking subsided.

You sniffled softly before Jisung spoke again.

“What’s going on in your head, Y/n? You need to let me in. You’re not okay.”

“I don’t think this is something you can fix.”

“I can try. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I… I just feel like I’m constantly getting judged by people when I eat. I’m constantly comparing myself to how much others eat and I constantly feel like I’m defined by how much, how little, or even what I eat.” You sniffled and blinked trying to hold back your tears again.

‘Oh y/n…” he cooed, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. ‘That’s not true. You need to eat well. People care for you and we aren’t judging you.”

Jisung’s voice cracks as he also begins to tear up, “It hurts me to know that you feel this way. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, every step of the way. I’m going to help you through this, okay?”

You lifted your head off his chest, your eyes irritated  and red from crying. You looked him in the eyes and saw his hurt,  but through that hurt you saw comfort, reconciliation and… love. His gaze softened as he cupped your cheek with his hand.

“You are loved. You understand that? I…” he paused for a moment. “I love you.”

Time froze. Your heart melted at his words.

He loved you. 

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. He leaned closer leaving barely any space between you, giving you a chance to back away. When you didn’t move, he closed the gap between you in a melancholy kiss. He conveyed his love for you in that sweet moment and you felt his love radiated throughout you. 

Jisung broke away from the kiss and leaned his forehead against yours, slightly short of breath.

There was a moment of silence between you but that was all you needed. 

“I love you too.”

[kaiserio]

Seishiro Nagi x Corporate Worker!Reader

A short drabble on coming home to Nagi after a long shift in the office🩵

wc: 639

cw: none, just domestic, fluffy Nagi!

Nagi doesn’t quite understand your way of life. He’s told you time and time again that you don’t need to work. He earns enough to comfortably support your lifestyle. And as much as you appreciate this, your pride and eagerness to make your way up the corporate ladder means that you still (reluctantly) drag yourself to your dull office job Monday to Friday. Nagi just doesn’t get it.

Much like he doesn’t understand how much you do on a day to day basis. ‘Sats? Average handling time? Aftercall? Direct Debit payments?’ Nah. Never heard of her.

When you drag yourself into your shared apartment after a particularly ball-busting 9-5, Nagi will always be found in one of two places; the sofa, or your bed. Always horizontal, always with his face in a mobile game.

Today was Thursday. A working day which resulted in nothing but non-stop meetings with rude clients. Your head is battered, you’re tired physically and mentally, and to put it bluntly, you look like how you feel.

On days like this, you lug yourself up the stairs to your apartment, one by one. You enter the living room, drop your bag to the floor and slump yourself down on the sofa by Nagi’s feet (because OF COURSE he’s having some horizontal time, what else?🤭)

You sit in silence for a moment. You huff once, twice, three times….. Nothing. You huff again, extra loud and dramatically. He finally lowers his phone from his face. “Oh, hey.”

This is the point that your rant begins. Nagi may not be the most attentive boyfriend, but he is wonderful to spill the tea to. He always seems like he isn’t listening, but in reality he clings on to every word you say. He’s all caught up on the workplace scandals, who is your colleague sleeping with now?? He knows each name. Is your manager still being a bitch??? A question that he asks regularly.

He lets you let it out. All that pent up anger and frustration that built up during that 7 hour shift. Once your rant is over, you sigh and revel in the moment of silence that follows.

You look back at Nagi, who is still looking at you intently, his slate grey eyes examining every inch of your face. He doesn’t say anything, but just opens his arms, inviting you into his soft embrace. You fold immediately, climbing over his legs and slumping on top of him. You breathe in his scent and you’re overcome with instant relief.

Have you ever smelled the Men’s Green Fragrance by Ralph Lauren? That’s what Nagi smells like. At. All. Times. It’s such a comfort to you.

He wraps one arm lazily around your waist, and his other hand strokes through your hair for a moment whilst he places a series of tender pecks to your forehead.

“You can quit anytime, you know. You don’t have to ask me.” He mumbles into your hair.

“I know.” You reply. “But not now. I’ll get there one day.”

“Sure you will. Because you’re awesome. And beautiful. And I love you.” Nagi tells you nonchalantly whilst picking his phone up with his free hand. “Anytime you’re ready babe.” Your heart swells. How can someone so detached be so precious?

You don’t say anything in return, but you nuzzle your head into his chest further and just take some time to breathe. To be y/n, and not just a number in a corporate company.

Nagi may not be the perfect boyfriend. He’s messy, he’s lazy, he sometimes seems distant and acts a bit silly. But he’ll be damned if the one he loves feels worthless, or stressed because of work. One thing he will always do, is be there with open arms ready to embrace you at the end of a shitty, shitty shift.

My first ever bllk piece🤭 Honestly - this is just me being sick of work and projecting with a hint of Nagi. I actually wrote this during work whilst multitasking looool, please mind any errors 🩵

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Title: Home is Where...

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Tags: Yandere!Shigaraki, non-consensual somnophilia, sex toys, anal fingering, handjobs, semi-public sex, crossdressing, forced feminization, domestic submission, abusive relationships, anal sex, dacryphilia, League as family. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: A commission for @psi-neko , who wanted to see Yandere!Shigaraki, domestic submission, somnophilia, and more family moments with the League! 

The League has moved into a new safe house and Dabi is on lockdown after garnering too much attention from the police and heroes. He finds himself slowly but surely taking on more of the household chores, and that Shigaraki seems to be watching him at every moment. That's nothing to be worried about though, right? After all, the smell of rain that he keeps waking up to must just be his imagination, he always locks his door at night after all. 

Dabi is not entirely sure how they went from living on the streets to Shigaraki calling them all back to a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs. He really has no fucking clue how the boss somehow got a three-story house with four bedrooms and a finished basement, fully furnished with the utilities on. No idea if this was a safe house or something that AFO had before that he somehow managed to figure out was still safe prior to Kurogiri getting arrested or what, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth too much. Really, really not going to complain when, despite arriving last, he ends up with one of the bedrooms upstairs with Duster, Compress and Toga in the rooms on the second floor, and Twice and Spinner taking the basement. 

They all get settled in, making sure that the blinds are shut tight in every room. If they can just do their best to not draw any attention from the neighbors then they should be able to stay here a while. But once they've gotten the lay of the land they all end up back downstairs in the living room for a debriefing, first one they've all been around for at the same time since just after dealing with Overhaul. And everything is fine, he would dare say normal even. He's been out recruiting, Toga and Compress have been doing spy shit, Spinner and Twice have been trying to find anyone that might be able to reproduce the quirk erasing bullets for them. All the stuff they're supposed to be doing--

"For the next few weeks, you four can also start looking for recruits again, but anyone even remotely interested has to be vetted by myself or Dabi prior to any meet-ups, understood?" Shigaraki doesn't even glance in Twice's direction as he says it, but they all feel that slight sting. Yeah well, none of them are mad at Jin about that-- he didn't know how much of a psycho Overhaul was gonna be. But Magne is still gone, Compress is still permanently disabled. It still was something that hurt them and they're making do in the aftermath. Whatever. "Dabi, you'll be at base until further notice. You can help me coordinate and decrypt the files my teacher left behind." 

He blinks. "What? No, I'm in charge of recruitment, Giran said he had something interesting in Fukuoka--" 

Shigaraki levels him with flat red eyes, "No. You've drawn far too much attention to yourself in the past few weeks. You're the most recognizable of us and your quirk is the most obvious and easy to trace. You're on house arrest until things cool off." 

He is really about to start bitching in earnest, but then he notices that Shigaraki isn't even clawing at his neck anymore. Which means he is dead set on this and just as ready for this to be a physical fight as Dabi was gearing up for a verbal one. He grits his teeth and bites out, "Fine." Which is a lot less of a fight than he would have put up at the beginning. At least they have a whole house to hole up in. Better than the shitty bar or the shack they were using a few weeks ago. 

The others seem to let out the collective breath that they were holding and Compress speaks up next. "I can check on things in Fukuoka, if you'd like." Dabi waves him off. They can do whatever the fuck they want. He doubts it was anything that interesting anyway. 

They finish up the meeting and when that's done, there's a pause. Been a long time since they had somewhere safe and comfortable to stay. Takes all of ten minutes before they all start to break off to do their own things. Thinks Toga is going to take a bath, Compress heads towards the kitchen to make sure that the rest of them actually eat, Spinner and Duster start in on some game from the ancient console gathering dust under the TV with Twice cheering them on, and he makes his way up to his room. As annoying as being locked down is, he has been doing the most running around for the past few months, has barely had a place to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. Can't exactly say that he's going to resent the opportunity to pass out for a solid eight hours in an actual bed. 

The others, very wisely, don't bother him once he shuts himself away for the night. 

///

Dabi learns three things very, very quickly once he is on house arrest. The first is that he is bored all of the time. He always bitched at the others for being sat around doing nothing when he popped back into base with updates, but he gets it now. There just isn't that much to do. He and Shigaraki work on trying to coordinate and run down leads based on what they still have from AFO, but that's a lot of putting out lines and waiting for a bite. They can't train with their quirks without drawing attention, and they can't leave the house. Thank god they have power and internet here at least because he's pretty sure he would be pulling out staples just for something to do otherwise. 

The second thing that becomes increasingly obvious is that the rest of his cohorts have never lived in a house like this, or if they did, they were never responsible for its upkeep. Spinner and Twice are so bluntly and obviously reclusive bachelors and they are always leaving dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer. Pretty sure neither of them have ever touched a fucking vacuum in their lives either. Toga knows how to do chores and usually doesn't make too much of a mess, has gotten glimpses of her room and it's cluttered with as many cute things as she can get her hands on to make her space feel warm and homey, but generally clean. Compress, unsurprisingly, seems to know how to keep things in order, but he's not around as much since he has been traveling the most. Shigaraki, from what he can tell, also knows how to clean up after himself, but he definitely wasn't doing the majority of housework with Kurogiri or AFO. And Dabi is trying very, very hard not to care, or think about any of that. He lasts all of nine days. Gets up one morning and finds the sink piled high with dishes and mud tracked in from the back door and unfortunately cannot contain himself any longer. 

By the time the others are making their way downstairs he's vacuumed and scrubbed the floors, dusted everything from the baseboards to the ceiling fans, wiped down the counters and furniture with cleaner, cleaned the bathrooms, washed and put away the dishes, made breakfast, and written out a grocery list to plan for the rest of the week. There's definitely a confused, sleepy air hanging around the others as they come into the kitchen, an island at the center and dining area tucked off to the side before leading into the backyard, and find food laid out and waiting. 

"You... cooked?" And Spinner sounds genuinely baffled. 

"Yeah well, none of you fucking can." He snaps, Compress excluded, but he's not in a particularly charitable mood at the moment. 

"You cleaned too." And Shigaraki's tone is more considering. 

He sneers at them all. "Clearly none of you are capable of that either. If you make a mess on purpose I'll fucking incinerate you." Turns back to the sink to finish rinsing the cooking dishes and get those loaded into the dishwasher. "Food's getting cold." 

Really not expecting Toga to press along his back, catching him in a tight, warm hug that does something unforgivable to his chest, as she murmurs, "Thanks, Dabi." 

Genuinely glad he always sounds gruff with them when he mutters back, "Whatever, leech." 

So he takes over the household stuff, and that only alleviates his boredom about thirty percent of the time. Unfortunately, that does lead him to his third observation: Shigaraki seems to be always watching him. 

That's something he becomes aware of by inches. At first, he just noticed that he started seeing Shig at least once a day, then a little more often. He chalked that up to the fact that he started cooking most meals now that they weren't living off of convenience store food and cup noodles, but no. Whenever he was in one of the other rooms, Duster would wander in and find a reason to stay. Usually didn't make small talk with him, which he was perfectly happy to avoid, but he didn't know why the other man would keep getting into his space. Definitely didn't like how Shigaraki always seemed to be watching him with those sharp, creepy blood red eyes whenever he glanced up from whatever he was doing. Something about the look robbed him of the attitude he would have leveled at the others for staring. 

Maybe it was because Shigaraki never did it when the others were around, which left some kind of alarm bell ringing in the back of his mind. But their creepy boss hasn't done anything yet. Doesn't know how he would even bring it up without sounding insanely paranoid on top of his usual bitchiness. So Dabi doesn't say anything. 

Probably should have. 

///

Things come to a head one night after dinner. The others are still all out, might not come back for a day or two depending on any difficulties they might find traveling. He and Shig eat, they don't talk much, not usually in an uncomfortable way. More in a  not really knowing what to even talk about when it's just them that's not work, and they've already dealt with that today. So instead things are quiet as they eat. When they're finished, Dabi starts to clean up. The annoyance about doing the housework had worn off stunningly quickly in the wake of not having much to do. At least he can be useful while trapped in the house. And the cleaning, cooking, just... putting things in order, it taps into something in his head. Calms him down. Can't control how fast he's going to get to his revenge, hasn't been in control of most of what's happened to him for the past decade, but at least in this place, he's able to exercise some control over his situation. 

He's fucking glad they have a dishwasher though, because the seams across his palms are already not thrilled with how much he's been irritating them with scrubbing floors, and tubs, and surfaces. Lets out a soft hiss of breath as the hot water hits his seam and that one has just had it with his bullshit today. A thin trickle of blood goes pink and washes away with the water. He turns off the tap and is about to reach for a towel, but he's abruptly paused when Shigaraki is right in his space. His skin heats sharply as his panic spikes when the other man catches him with four fingers around his wrist. Duster acts as if he hasn't even noticed, like this is normal, before bringing the towel to his hand and gently drying his skin. He's careful not to pull at his staples any more than Dabi already has, but it's still so strange that Dabi can't relax. 

"I didn't realize you would be such a good homemaker." Definitely hasn't ever heard Shigaraki's voice low like that and it has his skin bristling. Especially when he tries to pull his hand back and Shig holds a little tighter, raised finger dropping just enough to keep him from giving a more insistent tug as his nervousness spikes. 

"...Better soldier, if you let me stop spinning my wheels." He tries to sound mostly unfazed, but he doesn't think he pulls it off. 

"No, I like having you right here, where I can see you. Where I know you're being so well-behaved for me." His mind goes unhelpfully blank when Shigaraki lifts his hand, dips his head, so he can press a soft kiss to his aching seam. Dabi bristles slightly. Tries to pull his hand back again, and that last deadly finger lowers a little more. He stills. Lets Duster press his palm briefly to his cheek before he straightens and lets go of him. It takes more restraint than he knew he had to not snatch his hand back from the space between them, to move slowly and deliberately, leaving the rest of the dishes and stepping around the other man who has practically trapped him between the sink and island. 

"Not sure what it says that you're turned on by housework, but I'm not interested, Duster." 

Sends something very cold through his gut when Shigaraki keeps watching him with those dissecting red eyes and the barest touch of a smile curling his lips. "You will be, firefly." He really does not like how sure the other man sounds and as soon as he's far enough away that he'd be able to set off his flames faster than he thinks Shigaraki could reach for him, he turns and heads swiftly back upstairs to his room. Throwing the lock into place isn't really that much of a reassurance when the whole door could be turned to dust in a few seconds, but that would be pretty hard for Shigaraki to explain to the others. Still has a hard time falling asleep that night. 

///

Shigaraki doesn't treat him any differently while they're working, but he is always watching him while he's in the common areas of the house, especially when he's cleaning or cooking. Doesn't try anything again, but those red eyes are following him into his sleep. 

The first dream happened after he finally managed to sleep the night Shigaraki cornered him in the kitchen. Had been so simple. Cool lips against his cheek through the dark, fingers trailing along his throat, down his chest, stopping as they drifted low on his stomach. And then nothing. He woke up the next morning foggy and confused, but didn't think too hard about it. Not until the same thing happened the next night. The lips in his dream trailed a little further along his jaw, the fingers starting on his thighs and working their way up. He did his best to ignore it, but when he swore that he was starting to come out of sleep with the smell of petrichor in his nose, the smell that follows Shigaraki around, he started to question if it was just paranoia and weird dreams. Still hasn't said anything though, doesn't know how he can even bring it up without stirring the pot in a way he really doesn't want to, especially when his door is always firmly locked when he comes to each morning. 

Wakes up this morning with the memory of lips pressing softly to his own and resolves that he's going to have to do something about these weird ass dreams before he loses any more of his mind. He gets dressed, though he's given up on his villain gear, sticking with casual clothes until he's allowed out of the house again, and heads to go get started on breakfast. Not expecting to nearly trip on a small brown box as he opens his door. Dabi pauses, nudges it with his toe, half expecting it to be some kind of prank. He would absolutely not put it past Toga to try to glitter bomb him-- but the box is light and inert against his socked foot. He picks it up and retreats over to the desk to get the scissors. 

When he gets it open he finds a pair of black rubber gloves inside. It's a gift that only serves to confuse him more. Isn't sure if it's an apology for being so weird the other night, or if Duster is just that level of inept that the whole situation came off so much creepier than he'd intended. 

Either way, his seams are a lot happier with him when he wears them as he's wiping down the counters after breakfast, and Duster looks a little self-satisfied as well. He doesn't thank the other man. An additional fee for being such a creep. 

///

Dabi is starting to think that there is a plot happening in the house, and paranoid or not, it definitely seems to be conspiring against him in particular. Because this is the second time in as many days that he's walked into a room and conversation has abruptly died. 

"What the fuck is going on?" Maybe a touch nastier than he usually is with them at this point, but he does not like how they all are suddenly pretending to be busy with their own things as he comes in to get started on dinner, the kitchen open to the living room. 

"Nothing!" Toga says too loud, too quick, too bright with a big smile full of fangs. Doesn't believe her for a second and she must know it. But she continues anyway, "What's for dinner?" 

"Fucking nothing unless you spill the beans, brat." 

"Oh, that's alright, Dabi." Compress says as he pushes off the couch, already undoing his cufflinks to roll his sleeves. "You've been doing so much of the domestic chores, why don't I handle dinner tonight?" 

And he really doesn't know what to do with the way that makes his chest kind of hurt a little. "Whatever, do what you want." Feels incredibly petulant when he turns his ass right back around and heads upstairs. Fine, if they don't want him to know whatever's going on, if they want to mock him for trying to find ways to occupy his time, then they can fend for their fucking selves. He drops onto his bed and figures he'll go down and eat after the others are finished. He hears Duster pass by his room and the door shut softly half an hour later. 

He wasn't even tired when he laid down, but in a matter of minutes his eyes are so heavy he couldn't keep them open if he wanted to. 

///

Cold hands on his body, cool lips against his neck, a weight settled over him. Dabi squirms in the dark, trying to shift away. Something in him knows that the sensations are wrong, that something is going on, but his mind is so thick and foggy he can't pay attention. The dream presses in closer. It pushes up his shirt to expose his chest and there are lips and fingers there too. Teasing little licks and tugs at his piercings that are making his skin go hotter. A lot hotter when there's pressure against his crotch. When after a few teasing strokes and squeezes, a hand is slipping into his pants. Oh. Dabi lets out a thin moan, forgetting the discomfort from before as he has good friction against his cock for the first time in ages. Can't even remember the last time he jacked off. Just knows that having a cool, firm touch against his overheated skin is sending his pleasure higher. The touches are firm and sure, they move against him and he lets himself be swept along by the sensations. His skin is nearly humming, everything feeling so much more intense in the blackness of his dream. Wonders if that's why he imagines the smell of petrichor again. 

"Shigaraki?" His tongue is so heavy, the word slurred so much that he barely thinks it can even count as a word in the first place. But the hand around his cock stills for a second, but then it's moving again, firmer, faster, and the lips are back at his neck. Makes everything feel so much better with an insistence that has him moaning and squirming again, his cock dripping against the phantom palm stroking him. Is teetering on the edge of his orgasm so soon. Is sent over the edge when teeth start at his neck, licking and sucking, and then biting hard enough that he's whimpering as that little flare of pain is enough. His orgasm feels so good as it washes over him. It leaves his muscles trembling softly as he settles again. As the teeth pull themselves from his skin and lips press another kiss there instead. 

The darkness feels much heavier again and the rest of his dream is blissfully empty. 

///

"Dabi?" Toga's voice coming through the door, accompanied by a knock. Fuck, he feels like he got hit by a train. Can't remember the last time he slept so hard. He starts to shift and is abruptly more awake than he was a moment ago because the inside of his sweatpants is soiled and sticky with old cum. His face burns and he glances at the door, overwhelmingly relieved that it's locked as she tries the handle gently.

He thinks he manages to sound annoyed instead of embarrassed when he snaps, "What, leech?" 

There's a slight pause, "We made breakfast, are you going to come down?" Breakfast? He glances over at the clock and blinks. Nine a.m. It was definitely barely after seven when he came in here last night. Doesn't know how that happened. Fuck, the others probably thought he was acting like even more of a mopey teenager than he was. 

"Yeah, I'll be down in a bit, brat." Anything to get her to leave so he can be mortified about the mess he's made of himself in private. Hears her footsteps going and gets out of bed, stripping out of his sweats and trying to clean up a bit with some tissues before he has to make his way to the bathroom. He thought he was in a coma during the embarrassing wet dream years, really didn't think he was going to have to deal with them now. Must have been more pent up than he thought to have such a weird dream. 

He's not really thinking that much when his hand moves to his neck, to where he remembers teeth. It's tender to the touch and the blood drains from his face. throws on clean clothes and heads to the bathroom. The mirror offers no insights, his skin too dark to see a bruise. Dabi tries to calm down. His door was locked, he'd unlocked it himself, heard it rattle soundly in place when Toga tried. Must have just slept weird and his dreams turned the ache into a sensation that went along with the rest of the dream. He tries to shake the uneasiness from his mind as he cleans up and gets ready for the day.

By the time he's made it downstairs, he can already hear the others all lively in the kitchen, food already on the table. 

"Yo, there you are, what happened to you last night, man?" Spinner greets from in front of the fridge, taking out the pitcher of orange juice. 

"I tried to knock last night and you didn't answer," Shigaraki says dryly, not even looking up from whatever game he's tapping away at on his phone. Shigaraki? Tries to shake himself quickly before heat can head to his face. Must have heard him through the door. Must have been why he'd thought of him--

"I put on a book," taken to listening to them while he's been working around the house with his headphones on. "And it literally bored me to sleep." Not really expecting a palpable release of tension to be banished from the room, but the others all seem to perk up, except Duster who looks completely nonplussed by the whole situation. 

"So you're not mad?" 

Definitely was last night, but that feels a million miles away now. "No, is that about to change abruptly?" 

"It depends on how you feel about puns, I guess," Spinner says, which instills no confidence in him as Toga rushes over to the table and pulls a flat box off of his chair, before bringing it back to him, nearly bouncing. 

"Open it!"

"We wanted to thank you for everything you've been doing for us over the past few weeks," Compress tells him more calmly as he hesitantly takes the box. Kind of wants to crawl out of his skin as he opens it under their watchful eyes. 

The ache in his chest goes so much sharper as he pulls the bundle of blue and black fabric from the box. An apron, messily died into a black and blue gradient, puffy paint messily declaring 'If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!' on the front. Little blobs of blue paint frame the kanji on either side that he thinks are supposed to be flames. He doesn't say anything for an agonizingly long moment, doesn't know how to speak when his lungs feel like they've collapsed in on themselves. It takes him a second to look up and he finds that they're all watching him, an earnestness across their features that he thinks is going to tear him open at the seams. 

"You're all a bunch of fucking saps." But his voice is not as even as he'd like it to be. 

Says something about how well he's let them know him that none of them comment on it, instead letting him slip into his chair at the table and starting the usual chatter as they start to eat. They still leave to go out on their jobs, he's still on house arrest, but when he goes to clean up the mess from breakfast, he does it with his gloves and apron on. 

///

Things go back to normal, for everyone else. The others were apparently sneaking around the house and whispering because they were trying to figure out how to make the gift and were worried about him overhearing, but now that the cat is out of the bag, they're all back to normal. And Dabi is still having wet dreams like a horny teenager and he's absolutely fucking mortified about it. He's been sleeping so deeply, feeling hands all over him in the dark, stroking him and bringing him off, kisses pressed along his jaw, cheeks, and neck, fingers toying with his nipples, he feels so filthy every time he wakes up with cum staining the inside of his pajamas. Never had this happen before and what's worse is that every dream is full of indistinguishable heavy darkness and the smell of rain. Which means that he's dreaming about Shigaraki every time and he really doesn't know what to do about that. Only just started getting along with him for work things a few weeks ago, didn't think that would develop into anything else, but apparently, the other man had infected him with that kiss against his seams to have his subconscious so needy for him. 

Not that he's ever going to let Duster know that. 

The dreams become such a persistent and embarrassing routine over the next week that Dabi finally gives in and tries to cut them off. Fine, he's clearly more sexually frustrated than he thought he was, okay, so he deals with that. He honestly is more interested in going out and railing or getting railed than masturbating, but since he's still on lockdown, he settles for this. Digs out a packet of lube from the bottom of his duffle and gets on his bed. Tries to think about anything besides the dreams and his creepy boss, but the four-fingered touches keep coming to the forefront of his mind as he starts to stroke himself. By the time there are thin wisps of smoke coming out of his seams and he's dripping against his palm, Dabi has his knuckles pressed to his mouth, trying to muffle any sounds. Would be absolutely mortifying if, 

"Tomura," Shigaraki heard him gasping his name through the wall as Dabi stripes his hand with his cum. Mortifying enough as is. He cleans up, pulls his pajama bottoms back on, and hits the light, hoping that he's staved off the dreams for the night. If he can just avoid waking up in soiled sweats again, then he will accept this as a win. 

///

Hands on his body, rougher than before. They pull at his pajamas, never tugged at his clothes like this before, taking them off as lips move almost frantically across his jaw. Until they seal over his own. Definitely never done that before. Fingers on his jaw as soon as he's pulled away his sweats, pulling his mouth open so a tongue can push greedily inside. Dabi lets out a muffled sound, not sure what's happening why the dream is so much more than it usually is, jolting slightly when the hands go back to his thighs and spread them wide so that a solid weight can settle between them. Dabi feels more overwhelmed, more devoured by the touches than he has in any of the dreams before, the mouth barely leaving his long enough for him to breathe, and he starts to struggle, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations. It has the hands around his thighs tightening sharply, hard enough that it pulls at the staples there and sparks pain across his skin. 

He lets out a sharper gasp as his eyes open, trying to flinch away from the pressure. Shigaraki holds him still as he presses in to kiss him again. 

Dabi lets out a thin sound of shock as reality comes crashing in on him. Not wet dreams, not a dream, Shigaraki touching him, coming into his room-- Panic, fear, disgust, all spike so sharply in him as he reaches for his quirk, as he tries to get his sleep-heavy limbs coordinated enough to push him away, to light him on fire for touching him-- and his quirk doesn't react at all. His arms feel like noodles as he gets his hands against Shigaraki's chest. Can't put any force behind the movement. Tries to bite him, and it's barely a nip. 

Shigaraki pulls away after a moment, red eyes locking with his and dark with his lust. "There you are, firefly. Was hoping you would wake up for this." 

"G...et off," hard to speak too, fuck, everything feels heavy and hazy. Been sleeping so hard lately, fuck, not sleeping. Drugged. Doesn't know how Shigaraki has been doing it, but he must have been. Dabi is far too paranoid to sleep through someone sneaking into his room. 

"Oh sweetheart, why would I do that?" Dabi is choked with panic as he feels Shigaraki wrap four ungloved fingers around his half-hard cock, stroking him like he's already figured out every way to make him hot. Has, probably, in the week he's been molesting him in his sleep. "When you wanted me so badly earlier you couldn't even wait for me to come and see you, pretty boy." 

He tries to shake his head, tries to squirm away, can barely move at all. "S-stop," 

"Been waiting so long for you to show me that you were ready for more." Terror and anguish crash in on his chest when wet fingers start to rub against his hole, making him nearly whimper. 

"Don't!" Can't get as much force behind the word as he wants, but the more he tries to focus, the easier speech becomes. If he shouts--

"Shh, don't want the others to hear you, pretty thing." Duster sinks a finger inside of him and Dabi lets out a harsh pant. Can't move enough to fight him, can't use his quirk for some reason, if he has to scream for help then fine, anything to keep from being raped by his psychotic boss. The hand around his cock shifts to his thigh, Shigaraki starts to drum his fingers against the skin over his artery, a deliberate, threatening rhythm as his mouth trails along his cheek so he can murmur in his ear. "You wouldn't want them to come knocking and find you like this, would you? Pretty cock dripping and hole stretching so eagerly around my fingers, door locked, not even struggling? Do you really think they would believe you if you said you didn't want it?" He pushes in a second finger as he's speaking, rubbing and stretching, and then crooking-- Dabi lets out an involuntary moan, his eyes squeezing shut as Shigaraki rubs against his prostate and sends unwanted pleasure spilling out across his nerves. "When your body is so clearly desperate for my cock, sweetheart? Scream if you want, precious, happy to show off the cute sounds you always make when I'm touching you." Lips pressing softly and sweetly against his cheek as Dabi whimpers, words dying in his throat. The fingers keep tapping along his thigh. Prepared to kill or maim him if he tries anyway. 

He grits his teeth and swallows away any screams or further protests as Shigaraki keeps working him open. Gets him stretched and wet, his body forced pliant from whatever the other man dosed him with. And then he's shifting, pulling his cock free from his sleep pants and Dabi can't help it, lets out a weak sob. He doesn't think he's ever felt more helpless since he was a child as Shigaraki spreads lube over himself before resettling between his legs and pushing his thick head against his hole. Duster presses more soft kisses against his cheeks, under his eyes as the first drops of blood slip over his cheeks, shushing him gently. 

He cries harder as Shigaraki presses inside of his body. Wanted to be full like this a few hours ago, and his body keeps betraying him by feeling so good as he's stretched so full of Duster's cock. Bites as hard as he can at his lip, trying to chase away the pleasure dancing along his nerves, but Shigaraki must want it to feel good. Kisses him again and again, hands moving over his body, one returning to stroke his cock in time with his deliberate rolling thrusts that have him sinking in so deep and rubbing over his prostate each time he moves. A slow, deliberate, building rhythm that soaks his body in unwanted arousal even as his stomach curdles. Can't help the little breathless whimpers that keep sneaking out of him. 

"Perfect, baby, so pretty when you cry, feel so good," fucks him leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. "So glad you finally called for me, firefly. Didn't know how long I could keep waiting," more kisses, hands holding him a little tighter. "Told you that you would want it, can't wait to have you like this every night." 

Doesn't know if it's terror or shame that consumes him as Shigaraki keeps murmuring in his ear as he works them both steadily towards their climaxes. Just knows that by the time it's over he's been broken again in some new, fresh way he has no idea how to cope with. 

///

Dabi's not quite sure how it could even happen, but somehow he managed to pass out after that. Wakes up feeling foggy and a little sore, his gut hollow, and skin cleaner than it should be. And cuddled up against Shigaraki's chest, deadly hands petting softly over his skin and face pressed into his hair. Dabi tenses, reaching for his quirk--

"None of that, firefly." A burst of pain starts somewhere near his lower back, a spike of something numb and cold before agony creeps through him and he loses all of the breath in his lungs in a split second as he hears his skin crack. Dabi sharply drops his temperature again, doesn't dare try to reach for his flames again and the pain stops. The whole room is spinning as he realizes that Shigaraki just used Decay on him. Hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look up, and Dabi can't help the muted sound of terror that slips out of his lips to have him touching him there. Duster's eyes are warm, a soft smile on his lips, "Shh baby, it's alright, can you take a slow breath for me?"

Can he? Dabi forces himself to as Shigaraki rubs his thumb just under his eye, can feel four points of contact against his cheek. He manages to suck in a breath. 

"Good boy, out." He listens, trapped between deadly hands, until he's not hyperventilating anymore. But the pain still radiating out from his back is sharp and raw. "There." He holds very still as Shigaraki leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

"Shigaraki this is-- you can't do this," He doesn't know if he's ever heard his voice so thin and terrified. 

Shigaraki's voice has no right to be so soft as he pulls Dabi even closer until their foreheads are pressed together. "Why not? You came and found me, you decided to stay by my side, you've been so eager to show me how useful you can be. You've been practically begging for me to make you mine." One hand stays on his cheek, but the other wraps back around his waist, pulling their bodies even closer, and Dabi's panic spikes. "I was going to wait a little longer, until you came to me again, but last night, you were so needy, so desperate to be claimed, I couldn't leave you aching." Lips against his temple. "And now you don't have to worry about that again. Never going to be needy now that you're mine." 

"Shigaraki--" Words turning to ash in his throat as the hand trails down to his ass, swallowing hard and trembling, not sure if he's more terrified of the sting of Decay or if he's scared of him forcing his fingers inside dry. 

"Mine, Dabi, you understand that, don't you, sweetheart?" 

"Stop, Shig, please--" 

"Mine," Duster murmuring the words against his temple, "Because everyone knows you're with the League, because if you try to run, no one will help you. Because if you try to use your quirk," the hand moves up to his back again, pressing roughly enough on the wound that he cries out softly. "I'll have to use mine." Did it over one of his patches of scars, he realizes dizzily. Even if he told the others, if he tries to show them proof-- probably just looks like one of his staples tore loose. Anguish is building in his chest. "I don't want to do that. You're so beautiful, I don't want to have to punish you, but I will if you make me."

"Don't," Always thought Shigaraki was kind of creepy, but Dabi never expected to be scared of him. "Please, we can forget about this, I won't say anything--" Has had so many horrible things happen to him, what's one more? Can put this away, can hide it, and hold on until he finds an opportunity to burn Shigaraki out too. 

Shigaraki ignores him, "There are some rules that you'll have to follow now that you're mine, baby boy. And as long as you follow them," fingers digging into the wound again, making black spots burst across his vision, "I won't have to punish you again. Understand?" 

He really thinks he might vomit, but he forces himself to nod. 

"Good boy, we're going to go over them now," Shigaraki presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "On your hands and knees, baby." 

Dabi gives a weak sob even as he starts to move.

///

That was three weeks ago. Shigaraki made sure that he was settled into his ownership, made sure that he was used to his new routine and Dabi had a few more patches of Decay across his body from fighting at first. Stopped soon enough when he realized just how unhinged Shigaraki is, when he was made abundantly aware that if he kept struggling that he wouldn't even make it to a fight with his father. 

The others still come and go for their own jobs, Shigaraki still has him working on things he doesn't need to leave for, and... has him doing the housework. Mocked him for that before this started, but now it's become clear that's part of whatever delusion the other villain has constructed. That this is their home, not just a safe house, that Dabi is doing all of this as an act of service, of devotion. Makes him sick to his stomach because it kind of was before Shigaraki twisted it. Started cleaning just because he couldn't stand the mess, but then the others had been so surprised, so happy with it all. He'd started doing it for them. Thinks that's the only reason he doesn't hate it now as he keeps at it even when--

"Are you almost finished, baby?" Deadly hands catch him around his hips as Shigaraki's body presses along his spine. He doesn't even shiver anymore. Routine. 

"Yes, sir." Was cleaning up after prepping things for dinner. The others won't probably be back until late, just wanted to have things ready to throw in the oven once they came back. Routine to have Shigaraki peppering kisses along his neck, a hand slipping over his ass and making him all too aware of the plug keeping him ready to take the other man's cock whenever he wants him to. 

Routine to have him wake every morning, shower, prepare himself for the day, and then have to go into Shigaraki's room, get on his hands and knees, and let the other man open him up and slip the plug inside. Makes him wear it until they turn in for the night, only takes it out then. At first, he thought that would mean that Shigaraki would be using him every day, but he doesn't. Just wants the constant knowledge that he will again to sit on his nerves. He belongs to Duster, keeping him full of the plug is a reminder. 

But Sir does actually seem to want him right now. He can feel him pressing half-hard against him as his mouth moves over his skin, the other hand snaking around to slip under his apron and shirt to toy with the seam curving across his stomach. Dabi hates how quickly he's learned every place that can make him hot, how he always makes sure his need is so high against his will that by the time Sir's cock is buried inside of him, he can't do anything but sob and moan, his body betraying him when he rocks back to get more friction. He does his best not to squirm as his face starts to heat with his humiliation. 

"Please sir, just a few more minutes? I just want to keep things tidy for you." 

"Yeah, sweetheart?" But his mouth is more insistent against his neck. Sensitive there from his scars and none of his other partners ever touched him there because of them. Between that, the probing touches slowly drifting lower across his stomach, and Tomura grinding his cock against him, it has him close to trembling embarrassingly quickly as sour arousal starts to slip along his nerves. "Always being such a good girl," Dabi's humiliation spikes sharply, his face burning as he really does start to shake. Another thing of Shigaraki's. Likes to call him that, treat him like his little housewife. Makes Dabi disgusted with himself because it has his cock starting to harden. Worse because Duster chuckles against his skin, knows how hot that makes him too. "What if I want you to be a mess, precious?" 

The hand moves from his stomach up to his mouth and Dabi opens automatically. Knows that he's supposed to. Sir presses his fingers past his lips, has him lick at them. He's already wet, but he would rather have more than less when it comes to being split open around Sir's cock, so he licks at his cool skin until Tomura is satisfied. Is expecting the other man to make him bend over the island again and tug his sweats down so he can remove his plug and fuck him full, but instead his wet hand slips down his front, under his waistband. Dabi lets out a thready moan as he wraps his fingers insistently around his cock and starts to stroke and tease him. Doesn't know if this is better or worse, but Shigaraki doesn't always want to get off himself when he corners Dabi. Seems to take so much delight in making him 'feel good' like for every second of forced pleasure, Dabi isn't left sobbing just as long. Tomura's mouth goes back to his neck as he strokes him, his other hand slipping under his shirt to toy with the piercings through his nipples. Dabi tries to ignore everything else, just let it happen and then it will be over again. 

At least... at least Tomura's obsessions all just want him subservient, want him... enjoying himself if not happy. Doesn't seem to delight in any greater cruelty than making him cry. Doesn't seem to actually enjoy hurting him with his quirk when he misbehaves. It could be worse, it could be so much worse, he remembers how his mother used to not be able to walk, how her pale skin would be mottled with bruises over and over again until she finally got pregnant with Shoto. If he has to endure this, then he'd rather Shigaraki be obsessed with the idea of them as a happy couple rather than as a plaything to be used and ruined at his whim. 

"Tomura," Gasped out because he's starting to drip as the other man plays with his ladder, his mouth sucking a bruise no one will be able to see on the sensitive patch of skin just below his ear. 

"That's it, princess, show me how much you want it." 

Hard to make his shaking muscles comply, but he forces himself to start to move, fucking into Shigaraki's hand as his arousal creeps higher and higher. Will probably be over once he cums. Tomura will probably want him on his knees later before he takes out his plug. Tries to put that out of his mind. Friction is friction. 

He's so close when he hears the front door unlock and his veins are drenched with ice. He tries to twist away from Shigaraki. The others don't know about this. Doesn't want them to know. Doesn't know how he would tell them. What Shigaraki would do to them if they tried to stop what's happening? Duster is more than willing to use force to get what he wants, has let so many other members of the League be tossed aside if that would get him closer to his goals. Would he hurt them to keep him just like this?

Sir's hand moves faster over him, keeping his pleasure sharp as he hears Spinner enter the house with a loud, "Yo," in greeting. 

"If you track in mud," Dabi is almost proud of how little his voice shakes, how agitated he manages to sound instead of humiliated, "I'll kill you, gecko." Rain has been pattering against the roof all day. Must be soaked. He's dripping all over Tomura's hand. Dabi shoves his knuckles between his teeth to muffle any sounds as Duster twists at his piercings and sinks his teeth into the other side of his neck. Just hard enough. Learned that just the right spark of pain--

"Yeah, yeah, I'm taking off my boots." 

Dabi lets out a harsh pant and a muffled cry as Shigaraki rolls his hips against his, making his plug shift inside of him, and that does it. Spills all over his boxers and sweats, his legs wanting to drop out from under him. Can't let the unwanted pleasure of his orgasm shake through him for too long, realizes that he did exactly what Sir wanted and made a mess as he moves away from him, going over to wash his hands before helping him to put things away. Dabi is about to be absolutely mortified when their companion walks in before he realizes that his apron is hiding the wet spot from view. 

Spinner comes in and starts to give them an update about a potential group of recruits he's found and Dabi pretends to pay attention. Can't focus on anything but the cum drying against his skin. 

///

Dabi feels even more off than he has for the past few weeks by the time he gets up the next morning and makes his way to Shigaraki's room. He barely knocks, Duster always seems to know where he is, and at this point, he's absolutely positive that the whole house is bugged in some way or another, and Shigaraki's door is always unlocked for him in the morning anyway. He steps inside and abruptly realizes that Shigaraki's room must also be soundproof because Tomura is on the phone. He's still in his pajamas, his plug isn't waiting for him on the bed or nightstand, Shigaraki sitting at the desk tapping away at a tablet that Dabi hasn't seen before. 

"--press is extracting that information as we speak." Duster also has the box of quirk-erasing bullets on the table. "Once that's finished we'll be moving to a location closer to your main lab." Oh, talking to the monster maker. That's actually probably good news as far as their goals go. Means that they might be moving forward soon. Shigaraki glances up at him and waves him off. Never let any of them talk to the monster maker, clearly doesn't want him eavesdropping on this conversation. Dabi is more than happy to leave the room without the unwanted accessory. He starts back towards his room. None of the others are home this morning, as far as he's aware, and he might as well wait for Duster to finish his call before he starts on breakfast--

A recklessness surges through him. He gets dressed in his civilian clothes, doesn't dare try to grab his bag, doesn't take anything that would make it obvious that he's not coming back. If things are bugged then Shigaraki is likely to stop him if he sees even a trace of his intentions. He heads downstairs and writes a note, just says he's going to pick up a few things for later, even takes his phone with him. He'll ditch it on the street near the shop and hop a train. At least then if Duster can somehow track it, he might buy himself a little extra time. Dabi doesn't waste any more time and starts on his way. It's the first time he's been out of the house in... god, months? 

He makes his way as swiftly as he can in the direction he wants to go, but it's not raining for the first time in days, and even overcast, people are all over the streets, trying to soak up the fresh air while they can get it. It makes moving slow going and frustrating. Not going to be able to just slink along the main streets, too risking with so many people out and about. Going to have to take side streets and back alleys. Wouldn't normally be a problem but that slows his progress to a crawl. He was always planning on hopping a train in the seedier part of town but this is torture. Takes him an hour just to get into the commercial district. 

Really shouldn't be surprised that he's barely there when his phone chimes. Not surprising at all that it's Shigaraki's name that pops up with the alert. 

Duster: I didn't give you permission to leave. 

He takes a breath, tempted to ditch his phone right now and just sprint to the nearest train station. But Shigaraki didn't call him. Duster always calls them when he wants something. He doesn't like having anything written down in case one of them gets caught. Did he not call because he's already following him? Because Dabi would be able to tell he was moving and not in the house? Never seen Shigaraki text unless he was giving Kurogiri an extraction point--

The next text comes through with the name of the street he's on and Dabi's gut goes leaden. Should have known better. Duster never thought to lock him in the house, just told him to stay and he had because Dabi knew that getting away would be impossible. He takes a shaky breath and responds, 

Dabi: I just wanted to pick up something special for tonight. It's just going to be us, isn't it, sir?

Keeps going without a response. 

Dabi: I'm being careful, I promise I'll be home soon.

Duster: One hour, Dabi. 

Doesn't make an overt threat over the phone, but Dabi knows that he's in for hell if he doesn't make it on time. Has only been punished for small things, flinching away from his touch, trying to push him away, talking back. He doesn't want to know what Tomura will do to him if he's not perfect. 

His eyes scan the street a little franticly. Needs to find something to make his outing seem worth it, and he needs to do it quickly. 

///

It's honestly a miracle that it starts raining as he exits the grocery store. It means that people start to tuck themselves back inside and he's able to run and it just looks like he's trying to keep his shopping from getting too wet on his way to his destination. The rain is probably the only thing that keeps him from being late as he slips back into the house fifty-five minutes after Tomura's warning. He lets his quirk vent through his skin, his tension over the past almost-hour high enough that as soon as he loosens his hold on it, the water starts to evaporate from his clothes. He moves to get out of his boots and pauses at the array of shoes his are joining. 

"Dabi!" Toga's voice is bright from the living room. 

"Don't track in mud," Spinner mocks him from the same direction. He catches his breath, stops steaming, and hangs up his jacket before making his way in their direction with his bags. 

Sure enough, the rest of the League is there, Shigaraki included, all gathered around in the living room. Looks like someone brought back takeout for lunch. "Don't you all have jobs?" They weren't supposed to be here. His eyes flit to Duster's and Shigaraki is watching him, but doesn't say anything as he pivots and starts to head towards the kitchen. 

"Circumstances ended up bringing us all home a bit early." Compress remarks. 

"Aren't you happy to see us? Bah, he's never happy!" 

"What'd you get?" Toga asks as she bounces over from the living room to the island as he puts the bags down. Immediately reaches for the black bag that's clearly not from the grocery store and he reaches out and smacks her hand away reflexively, a few harmless sparks leaping off the back of his hand. 

"None of your business, leech." 

She sticks out her tongue as she moves to the other side of the island and he pulls the bag away and puts it beside the fridge so she can't grab for it again as he starts to unpack the groceries. 

"Sorry for not giving you more forewarning," Compress tells him more reasonably. 

Dabi can feel Shigaraki watching him. Knows that the longer that he waits to talk to him, the more trouble he'll be in. God, he's not even wearing his plug. He's going to be in so much trouble-- "You should be," Keeps turned fully towards the fridge and does his very best to not let his voice shake at all as he continues, "You're interrupting date night." Things go so quiet that he can hear every raindrop pattering against the window and then--

"Date night?!" 

"I told you! Shiggy's been smelling like love for months!" 

"There's no way-- I totally saw this coming!"

He feels his face heat, chances glancing at Duster while the others are getting so animated. Tomura is watching him, looks a little surprised himself, and then, his eyes go soft and warm. Maybe he is in love with him. Maybe whatever this fucked up thing he'd pushed on him is the only way he knew how to act on that. Doesn't exactly think that All For One or Kurogiri were teaching him any kind of sane form of affection. No excuse for what he's done, what Dabi knows he's going to keep making him do, but it's going to happen either way. An easier-to-look-at veneer is more for his sake than anything else. 

"You know it's been ages since we went to Giran's. What? We just saw him--" Spinner elbows Twice hard in his sternum to cut off his contradiction. 

"You're right dude, we should go over for poker night since we're all free for once." 

"Aw but--" Toga immediately whines, wanting to soak up any potential threads of romance like a sponge. 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Jin why don't you give him a call?" Compress says pointedly. 

It's genuinely astounding how fast the others clear out, at that. And Dabi's gut turns at how... excited they are. Toga is beaming, hugs him and Shigaraki, Spinner gives Shig a thumbs up when he thinks Dabi won't notice. Happy for them, they make that abundantly clear before they're all gone again, willing to get soaked and head two districts over to go see Giran just to give them their privacy. Fuck, that would be so sweet of them if this were real. They're all gone in a matter of minutes and Dabi finishes putting the groceries away, sure that he's in for a punishment, and just waiting for it. 

He tries to keep his quirk from spiking his temperature with his panic when, as soon as it's quiet in the house again, Shigaraki is moving towards him with deliberate steps. Opens his mouth to apologize, to say anything as he turns to face him, anything to try and make what happens next not hurt as badly-- Dabi doesn't expect for Shigaraki to catch him around the waist and pull him in, pressing in for a kiss. He lets out a soft sound of surprise, but Shigaraki just takes that as an opportunity to lick deeply into his mouth, backing him against the edge of the counter and holding him there. Keeps kissing him like neither of them need to breathe. Until Dabi has his hands tangled in his hair and he's trying to gasp against his lips to just get a second of reprieve,

"Tomura," 

Duster kisses any other words out of his mouth. Keeps going until Dabi's dizzy and his body is a little too hot. Not sure if it's his quirk or not. Doesn't think Shigaraki has kissed him like this before. Dabi... isn't sure anyone has ever kissed him like this. Like they can't get enough of him, like the thought of a millimeter of space between them is unthinkable. When Shigaraki does finally pull away, Dabi is dazed and then gagged with his nerves when those red eyes are so warm and so close to him. Adoring. 

"I'm so proud of you, firefly." Knuckles running gently over his cheek. "I was beginning to think that you would never be ready to tell the others. Should have known you would surprise me. You always do." 

Doesn't even mention his leaving. Not even a whisper of threat in his tone that warns him of an oncoming punishment. Okay, that's good, okay. He can... play along. That's what he's been doing anyway, hasn't it? "Barely seen you all day, didn't want them to spoil tonight." 

"Yeah?" Tomura's tone is slightly amused as he presses a kiss to his cheek and along his jaw. "And what do you have planned for tonight, firefly?" 

Humiliation turns his gut into sour knots, but he makes himself mirror that sweet smile on the other man's face. "Can I surprise you? You've been," he tries to put whatever is left in him to protest away. He needs to stay alive long enough to fight his father, keeping the monster obsessed with him happy is the only way that's going to happen. And after that, it won't matter anymore. He just has to get there. Already planning on doing anything to make it. What's one more horror? "So good to me while I've been getting used to things. I want to show you how much I appreciate that." 

If anyone else had ever kissed him the way that Tomura does after hearing him say that, then Dabi thinks he might have doubted the end he'd been planning for himself. Because Shigaraki kisses him like he believes every drop of his affection is real. That this is love instead of something brutal and twisted. Dabi pretends for a second too, is breathless again by the time he's released. "Alright, precious. Do you need me to help with anything?" 

"No, sir. I just want to make things perfect for you, Tomura." Hesitates with bile in the back of his throat as his face heats with his shame. Duster sees his hesitation and waits, "You were busy this morning, will you," really thinks he's going to be sick but if he can avoid getting maimed--but he still can't bring himself to ask for the plug. "I want to be ready for after dinner." 

The next kiss has a little more heat in it as Shigaraki starts to steer him towards the stairs, "Of course, pretty boy, always happy to fill up your needy hole." 

"Thank you, sir." Hopes he mistakes the thinness in his voice for arousal as they start to move towards the stairs.

///

There's real work to do through the late afternoon, the others gave updates while they were here, the monster maker is interested in rekindling their working relationship. It's all good stuff for the League, movements towards their goals. But Dabi is only half paying attention. Is really using the bout of normalcy to meditate on everything that's going to happen as soon as they stop working. Feels like that time comes in minutes instead of hours, but eventually Dabi excuses himself to go get started on dinner. Shigaraki lets him go, eyes still way too affectionate as he does. He preps for the meal meticulously, making sure that everything is as perfect as he can get it, and loads the final dish into the oven to cook while he goes about tidying up the rest of the downstairs. 

The others came and went like a tornado which means that by the time he's finished cleaning it actually looks like he did something. But all too soon he's finished with that. Usually leaves prep dishes for after they've finished eating, but he isn't even sure they're going to get to eating tonight, certainly doesn't think he'll be able to delay the inevitable by claiming he needs to deal with them, so he might as well just take care of it all now. When everything is spotless and the smell of dinner is starting to waft around the house he stops dragging his feet and goes upstairs to get changed. 

The black bag wasn't from anywhere particularly scandalous, it's not like there was a fetish store right next to the grocer, but he did not know how he would explain the clothes he got from the modest boutique any more than the plug he's been wearing around. He thinks that he would almost rather pull his skin from his staples instead of slipping into the lace-edged navy panties and matching bra and the dress he'd managed to grab. It's probably a good thing that he's so thin and not too tall, or finding anything in the shop that would have fit him at all would have probably been an impossibility. As is, the A-line black cocktail dress probably wouldn't have fit his broader shoulders if he had picked anything with sleeves instead of straps, but the fabric is just thick enough to cover his bra and sit comfortably over his shoulders, trailing down into the fitted bodice and flared skirt. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to puke. Doesn't know how Shigaraki could look at him and see a housewife, but this will likely not dissuade him from the notion. Whatever. As long as he doesn't say anything about it in front of the others. 

He forces himself to head back downstairs, giving a brief knock against Duster's door and calling, "Dinner should be ready in ten," before swiftly heading for the stairs. He puts his apron back on to keep his dress as tidy as everything else as he takes the chicken from the oven. Both it and the vegetables roasted alongside come out without any notable issues and he starts to plate things as he hears Tomura coming down the stairs. He is pulling the wine from the fridge when he comes into the room and doesn't force himself to acknowledge him a moment sooner than he has to. 

Really not expecting to find he's not the only one who's dressed up as Shigaraki picks up the plates off of the counter, wearing black dress pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled. Never seen him in anything besides his villain stuff and his sleepwear. Takes him a second of his brain trying to play catch up with how well this 'date night' excuse has gone to cover his escape attempt before he remembers, 

"You don't need to do that, sir. I'll get them--" 

"I know, precious, but your hands are already full. You've already done so much today, baby, come sit down." Pauses him to press a kiss to his cheek and Dabi picks up the wine glasses and follows him over to the table. Tomura pulls his chair out for him like he's a gentleman and not a monster. "You look beautiful, precious." 

He hates himself for how his face heats and how the blush doesn't feel as unhappy and humiliated as it did before. "Thank you, sir." 

Dinner is kind of a blur. He thought he would be playing the simpering housewife, and he is to a degree, but not as large of one as he thought. Shigaraki wants him docile and adoring, but he still wants him, and the conversation shifts easily from work to books he's been reading, to things the others have been getting up to, and all the like. It's calm. The food turned out well. Dabi forces himself to eat even though his stomach is still tight with his dread and finds himself wishing he could drink enough to numb what's going to happen when they're finished, but with how high his nerves are he's more likely just to burn off the alcohol and end up being hung over in half an hour. 

When they're finished eating, Dabi expects to be pushed along upstairs to get on his knees or roll over for the other villain, but Shigaraki helps him clear the table instead. He lets Dabi pull on his gloves and apron and start to wash the dishes, and to his surprise, Duster starts to dry them and put them away, the conversation continuing from the table. And for a split second, he feels it, sees it. The domesticity that could have been real if it had been allowed to bloom naturally. But it doesn't last long. Already mostly washed up before dinner, so soon enough Duster is putting away the last plate and Dabi is reluctantly taking off his apron and gloves again. Not a surprise when Shigaraki moves closer then, catching him with four fingers around his waist and he makes himself tilt his head to accept the kiss immediately. 

"Let's go upstairs, beautiful." 

"Okay," not like he really has a choice about that. 

Shigaraki laces most of their fingers together on one hand and he follows along up the stairs. Is in Duster's room all too soon, and that is a bit of a surprise. Unless he's putting in his plug, Shigaraki always fucks him in his room. Makes his sheets smell like sex that Dabi can't escape without doing laundry constantly, hasn't ever fucked him in his bed before. He shivers slightly when Duster's cool fingers catch the edge of his jaw. Still not used to the coolness of his skin, doesn't know if he ever will be. But he lets the other man kiss him, heat starting to build in it as he's pulled in even closer. 

He makes his hands work, reaching to start to undo the buttons on Tomura's shirt as the kiss deepens. He has to do this, has to survive. What's one more horror? Dabi forces himself to pretend. At least Shigaraki always wants it to feel good for both of them. At least he doesn't think he needs to be scared about being torn open and left bleeding on the sheets. He makes himself stop thinking. Anyone's hands on him, gently pushing him back until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Someone else's shoulders he's pushing the fabric of their shirt over as he sinks onto the sheets. Doesn't work very well as he spreads his legs so that Duster can climb between them and it's a careful four-fingered touch that's just starting to push up the hem of his skirt. 

"So beautiful in this, baby girl. Didn't know you wanted to get dressed up like this." Mouth moving across his jaw to find the sensitive parts of his neck and send heat spilling out alongside his humiliation in his veins. 

"...I thought you would like it, sir." 

"I do, princess." Voice dripping with his affection and arousal as he finds the zipper running down his back. Dabi blushes hotly as he arches up, pressing more of their bodies together so that he can catch it and start to tug it down. Hates how good the coolness of Shigaraki's body feels against his heated skin as he does. Pulls the zipper low and then starts to slip the straps from his shoulders as he kisses along the same path his hands are traveling. "Do you want to dress like this for me again, sweetheart?" 

No. "Okay, but," his face is so hot as Duster pulls the bodice down his body and sees his bra. Red eyes darken and he can feel him hardening against his thigh. Mortifying how seeing that want, feeling it, is making his own start to spike nervously higher. "Just for you? I-- I don't want anyone else--" 

Tomura catches his lips in another more demanding kiss, swallows up his breath and words before he has him kicking away his dress as he settles back between his legs. Can't help the startled moan that slips out into the kiss as his hands move across his body and tease at his nipple piercings through the fabric cupping his chest. "That's fine, precious, I know you're shy. Can just be something for us." Eyes dragging over him and lingering half hard and already straining the soft fabric of his panties. "I'll have to get you some more things to wear. Will hardly be able to keep my hands off of you knowing you're dressed so cute under your other clothes." 

Lets that tangle up in equal parts arousal and misery as he realizes Tomura is going to keep him in panties as constantly as he keeps him full of his plug. But Sir is trying to make the arousal sit higher in his veins. Seems to want to work him up tonight and knows all of the places that he needs to touch to get that happening faster. Made worse by the constant press of the plug in him, and as his arousal grows, it makes his prostate more sensitive. Every little shift has it prodding against him more intensely and he can't help it when he squirms just wrong and it settles with a pressure firm enough to have a loud moan slipping from between his lips, his hips immediately jumping, wanting to get friction against his aching cock and back again against the plug. He whimpers when he feels how hard Tomura is too. 

"Ready for more, baby?" Lips pressing sweetly against his as fingers trail lower, until he's stroking him through his panties. Dabi's insides tighten unhappily, but that just puts more pressure inside of him, makes his nerves tingle with more of the unwanted pleasure. But he knows what he's supposed to say, 

"Please, sir?" Glad that Duster kisses him again, that he can pretend that he's just so needy for more that it's impatience that has a weak sob slipping from his lips as the sound of him undoing his belt is so loud in the quiet room. He doesn't have long before the last barrier between their skin is removed and he's trying to shift to get onto his hands and knees. Prefers that when Shigaraki does this. At least then he can hide his face against the pillows and sheets, can muffle some of his sobs, and save himself a little of the indignity he's being forced to endure. 

But Shigaraki stops him today, makes him settle with his head against the pillows, and his legs spread wide for him. One hand comes up to stroke his thumb across his cheek. Smears away one of the thin trickles of blood that have managed to sneak out from his eyes. "Stay like this, darling, I want to see you." The other hand moves to catch the base of his plug and Dabi wants to hide, wants to turn his face away as he lets out another moan as it drags along his slick, twitching walls as it's pulled free. "Always blush the prettiest pink when we make love." 

His whole body tenses before he can stop himself, his temperature spiking slightly with his distress. Doesn't know why that upsets him so much, already knew in the back of his mind that's what this was for Shigaraki. But hearing it makes a pain blossom inside of him that he doesn't know what to do with or even where it's come from. Hits him so hard that his distress is plain even through the delusion that Shigaraki has constructed for them apparently, because the next second he's pressing their foreheads together and shushing him gently. 

"It's alright, baby boy. I know you're not there yet. I can wait for you to be ready, as long as you know how much I love you, firefly." Tomura, thankfully, doesn't make him respond. Just gives him more sweet, soft kisses as he starts to press inside. Dabi throws himself into the way his nerves all lit up at being so much fuller, anything to distract him from the agony alight in his chest that he hadn't expected when he'd been resigning himself to the horrors he knew would be coming for him tonight. It's easier for him to suffuse his body with the shame that his reluctant pleasure gives him as Tomura moves inside of him, as his lips and hands move over his body than to accept anything else that is happening in his chest or head now. 

Tomura makes love to him, fucks him, uses him as a receptacle for his fantasies. Makes him fall apart again and again until he's barely conscious, and then pulls him close and keeps murmuring his affection against his hair and skin. It's a mercy when the blackness of sleep finally comes for him, even if that doesn't guarantee that Shigaraki won't use him again while his mind is quiet. 

///

When he wakes next it's to light pressing in against the curtains, blankets angled around his naked skin, and his face tucked tight against Duster's chest. Clinging to the other man in his sleep. His distress and disgust swell because the hands petting along his back are so light, not holding him here. Dabi tries to disentangle himself without getting dusted and startles when he feels a weight around his wrist and hears the tinkling sound of metal on metal. 

The suppression cuff is hooked around his left wrist when he pulls his hand into view. He tries automatically, stupidly, to bring his quirk to the surface of his skin, but it's like missing a step in the dark, leaves him fumbling and terrified. "Tomura?" 

Immediately gets a kiss pressed to the crown of his head before Duster catches his chained hand and laces most of their fingers together. "Last night was wonderful, sweetheart, I loved my surprise. But I told you that you had to stay put. You still deliberately disobeyed me." Brings their entwined knuckles to his lips so he can press a kiss there too. "So from now on you're going to come to my room when it's time for bed, and we're going to sleep like this until I can trust you to be good again." Never going to let him sleep in his own bed again, he knows instinctively. Going to keep him as close as possible until he's his docile, perfect pet, or at least until Dabi acts like it. 

"Yes, sir." His voice is barely his with how small it is. As far as punishments go, it could still be so much worse. Not like having a separate place to sleep ever protected him from Shigaraki in the first place. Doesn't put up any resistance when he catches his chin with two more fingers and tilts his head up to give him a kiss. 

"Good boy. Are you ready to get up, sweetheart? Not sure when the others will be home, want to make sure you're all ready for the day." 

///

They didn't need to rush, though Dabi was honestly more than happy to exchange the handcuff for the more familiar helplessness of his plug, because the others creep in around the mid-afternoon, poking their heads into the living room like they're afraid they're going to find them fucking on the island. Not that Shigaraki hasn't fucked him on the island before, but whatever. As soon as they see they're just sitting in the living room, finished with work stuff, and Dabi's just listening to one of his books while waiting for the laundry to finish as Duster taps away at one of his games, their trepidation quickly leaves and they pour into the room. 

"How was--" Spinner cuffs Toga across the back of her head and parries the immediate retaliation of one of her knives to cut off her question. 

"Welcome back," Duster says with some amusement. Dabi decides, for his sanity, he's going to ignore it all and pulls his headphones off of his ears. 

"You guys eat yet?" 

A round of negatives and he starts towards the kitchen. It's kind of a surprise that Compress follows him there as Toga definitely tries to get any details she can out of Shigaraki, and Twice and Spinner try to reign her in. At least Compress knows how to cook, and they start to make lunch in a mostly comfortable silence as the others grow more raucous in the room beyond. It's only when Twice has launched into a rambling story riddled with loud contradictions, that Mister catches his attention and speaks softly under the din. 

"Thank you for everything you've been doing, Dabi." 

He shrugs, "It's not a big deal, barely have anything to do while Duster has me on lockdown." Not expecting Compress to gently catch his elbow and he really hopes the leather of his gloves is thick enough that the older man doesn't feel his temperature spike with his fear. 

"It's a bigger deal than I think you know, Dabi." Still careful and soft, speaking quietly enough to not draw attention from the others even as his eyes stray back towards the living room. "I don't know what your family situation was like," and god fucking damn it, does Compress just seem to be finding every sore spot to poke at right now. Though thankfully he doesn't keep touching his arm when Dabi pulls away. "But it's clear that the others have never had a home before. I don't think any of them are even capable of telling you how much it means that you've been going out of your way to care for them, and the house, and to treat them like family. This fight will be long, drawn-out, and brutal, and for as much conviction as Shigaraki has, we already know that all of us may not survive to see the end of it. You showing them what it's like to have a home may be the only time they ever get to experience it at all." 

A lump swells in his throat. Toga snarking at Spinner. Twice is gesticulating wildly as he continues to tell his story to Shigaraki, his cheek resting against his knuckles and listening with a wry, amused affection that he never saw on him while they were in Kamino. A home. A family. Shigaraki raped me. The words are choking him. He could say them. He could turn to Compress right now and tell him, ask for help. Compress isn't like the others. He's older, more level-headed, definitely the most stable and mature. Compress would help if he thought he could. And Dabi would destroy the home the League has made here, found with each other. Sour every good memory they have in this house. Doesn't even want to think what Shigaraki will do in the wake of his delusion being broken. If he'll receive the brunt of his retaliation or if the League will. No. He swallows the lump, hides away the words. Locks them up deep inside where he's locked up his name. He's already going to burn one family to ashes. He's not going to do the same to the one he actually... likes. 

"God you're way too melodramatic, Mister." His voice sounds more level than he'd expected it to. Finishes getting things swiftly enough and then calls to the others, "Yo, food's ready."

They make their way into the kitchen, still lively as ever, Spinner's got some new game for them to play after they actually debrief. They get their food with scattered thanks and Dabi waits until most of them are headed towards the table before he catches Duster's sleeve between two fingers to pull him to a stop. Only manages to take a shaky little breath before he closes the space between them for the first time. Tomura stills, thinks he might have actually surprised the other man again. But then he curls a hand around the back of his neck and turns it softer and deeper than Dabi would have on his own. 

When he pulls back Dabi barely manages to breathe, "I love you." The words aren't for Shigaraki. Not now. Maybe someday he'll be able to pretend that they're real, pretend that he means them. But right now he says those words while looking at the monster who's taken more of him than he even thought he had left, and he whispers them for the friends who are whistling and mocking them from the other side of the room. He's only ever endured his suffering for hate before, and that left him half insane in his isolation before he found them. Maybe enduring this, knowing that they'll get to hold onto their happiness a little longer for each moment he does, will be easier with his love for them sitting in his chest and worn on the apron draped around his neck. 

Check out my pinned post for commission info!

[iknityounot]

(Long post, sorry y'all)

A little more than two years ago now, my grandmother passed away. She and my grandpa had moved down to my home town a few years before so we could take care of them. I brought them groceries once a week, helped them write checks, fixed tvs, and found lost things. I was really close with my grandma.

In addition to her hilarious personality and dry wit, one of my favorite things about her was that she was a painter and a crafter like me! She used to crochet, and I took her to the craft store a couple of times so she could get more yarn and books on crochet. But her arthritis and the shaking in her hands kept getting worse, so she eventually had to stop.

She kept her most recent project, a granny square blanket, safely packed away in a plastic bin. She told all of us she was going to finish it one day.

Her hands never got better, and when she got sick, and we found out it was cancer, she rapidly deteriorated.

After she passed, I went to work helping my mom clean out my grandparents apartment so we could move my grandpa in with her. In our frantic cleaning, I found that bin again:

DOZENS of granny squares, dozens of half used skeins. I asked my mom what she wanted me to do with it, and she said she didn't care. I set it aside and later took it home.

Maybe a month later, that tumblr post about the Loose Ends Project was going around. It felt like a sign--I was never going to learn to crochet in order to finish my grandmother's blanket. But they might be able to help!

So I filled out the interest form. They got back to me SUPER quick. And maybe 2 weeks later, I was paired with volunteer in my state (only 2 hours away!) and the box of yarn, granny squares, and my grandmother's crochet hook were in the mail. That was at the end of January this year.

Over the next couple of months, my "finisher" emailed me regular updates on her progress, and asked me questions on my preferences for how she constructed the final blanket.

At the end of August, the blanket was done!

I had always intended the blanket to be a gift for my mother. So I cleaned it up, put it in the only bag I had big enough to fit it, and drove to my mom's. I gave the blanket to her and she was gobsmacked. I explained to her all about Loose Ends, and how someone volunteered to finish the piece for us. She was speechless. (I was quite pleased with this, because I am not the best at giving gifts, so this was a pretty exciting reaction!)

She said that it was the most thoughtful gift she had ever been given. She said "your grandma would love this". To which I replied, "yeah, I know she really wanted to finish it a couple of years ago". But that was when my mom dropped the bomb of a century on me--she told me that my grandma had started making those granny squares OVER 30 YEARS AGO. She had started the blanket when my grandpa was staying in the hospital, but that was back when my mom was younger than I am now! My grandma had packed them all away, planning on finishing it, when my grandpa was sent home from the hospital. Then it went from house to house, from condo in Chicago to their apartment in my hometown. All that time and my grandma had wanted to finish it, but couldn't. First because she was busy, then because she forgot how to do it, then because of her arthritis, and then because of the cancer. My mom said she had given up on expecting my grandma to finish it. 

She said I brought a piece of her childhood with her mom out of the past.

And really, all of this is to say, if you have seen or heard about the Loose Ends Project and have an uncompleted project or piece from a loved one who has passed away--these are your people. They were so kind and treated my project with such care. That box probably would have been found by my own grandkids one day if I hadn't heard about Loose Ends.

Five stars, absolutely worth it!

(From what I understand, you can sign up to volunteer too! If you have time to share, it might be worth checking out!)

[lipringlrh]

HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER.

lando ending | logan ending

summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

The music was too loud but Lando was so close that he didn’t need to alter his volume - he was talking at the perfect volume that only you could hear him. Each sentence was getting lower, deeper and quieter, but your own mind made him louder, filling up every space in it with replays of him. He was engrossing. He was all you could think about.

He almost dropped the cup in his hand as he took the final step closer, not that the cup would've mattered to him, his only concern would’ve been making sure you stay dry. Still, your throat turned dry at the little distance between you both; at the prospect of what was surely about to happen.

His free hand drifted to your jaw, holding it so delicately and manoeuvring your face gently to face up at him at the perfect angle for him to kiss you. When it was just right, and he could no longer remove his eyes from your lips, not even for a second, his hand moved to the back of your head, holding you in place.

He leaned down, oozing out confidence despite the absolute fear inside of him, and rested his forehead against yours. You had closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you, but you opened them again when you realised he wasn’t, pulling away only slightly due to the hand on your head preventing it further.

“Lan,” you breathed, your tone showing everything that you weren’t saying, “What are you waiting for?”

His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily like resisting kissing you was the hardest thing that he’d ever done in his life. “I’m just making sure you want this,” he paused, opening his eyes and flicking them between your eyes and your lips, “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” you responded instantly, your desperation being evident from miles away. He held back a chuckle and instead revelled in the fact that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “Please, Lan.”

“So polite,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse. He titled your head again, bringing you impossibly closer. You could feel his shirt against your chest and his breathing on your face - there was no going back and you both knew it.

He was going to kiss you, he was leaning down, too slowly for your liking but it was happening and so you weren’t complaining. You felt a ghost touch against your lips - the slightest feeling - but it was there before being harshly ripped away in an instant.

“Mate! I’m going now, congrats on the podium,” Carlos said after walking up to Lando from behind, a hand on his back, the other one shaking his hand.

“Congrats on your win, more like it,” Lando replied, a half smile on his face, trying to be as genuine as possible and not show his annoyance that his moment was ruined.

Carlos looked towards you, about to share a goodbye with you, before noticing your dazed look and shifting between you and Lando as he noticed what was happening. “Shit- sorry, man- carry on, I’ll see you later, yeah?” he said, not letting either of you reply before wandering off, towards the door.

You both stood there frozen for a while, not speaking or moving, just staring into each other's eyes, begging the other for an answer.

Quickly, Lando had given up and stood up straight, looking into his cup and swirling what was left around. “I’m getting another drink, do you want anything?”

“No,” you said, barely audible and no longer looking at him or in his general direction. If you hadn’t shook your head as you spoke, he wouldn’t have known what you said and he really didn’t want to get into an awkward cycle of asking you to repeat yourself a few times before he finally heard you.

“I’ll find you,” was all he said as he left. You watched him as he cut through the crowds to the bar and ordered a drink and a shot, downing the shot the second that he got it.

He turned around and scanned the room, briefly meeting your eyes. You could tell he was debating whether to come back or not but you didn’t know what he decided as he began to stand up, so you made the decision for him and walked away to the side of the club, hopefully weaving through the tides of people enough that it would take a while for him to find you.

You ended up in one of the back corners of the club, pushing yourself into the wall so that people could squeeze past you and so you could people watch better. You were busying yourself giving strangers names and storylines, trying to distract yourself from whatever just happened, or could’ve happened, when you almost threw yourself to the floor in shock from a sudden hand waving in front of your face.

“Don’t jump - I was just trying to get your attention. I called your name a few times,” Alex said. You turned to look at him, slouching right next to you against the wall.

“Sorry, loud music,” you replied. It wasn’t a lie, the music was loud, but you could barely hear it over your thoughts whirring anyway. You watched Alex grimace and shake his head, somehow knowing it wasn’t the music distracting you.

“I saw,” he hummed as you took in a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t-”

“You kissed him, finally, then what happened? Why are you all alone?” he questioned, his eyes scanning the place for Lando, knowing he’s not usually the type to leave you alone in places like this. He could tell you were upset and confused, and he needed to get to the bottom of it in order to work out whether he’d need to drive his car into Lando’s during the next race or not.

“No- he almost kissed me. Again. Carlos interrupted and he left. He left, Alex. Asked if I wanted a drink and left,” you spat, a mixture of uncertainty and anger clouding your voice. Why did he leave? He started it and left knowing exactly what was happening whilst leaving you with nothing - it was unfair.

Alex sighed. He wasn’t happy with Lando but knew what he felt for you and ultimately wanted to give him the chance to tell you without any mistakes.

“Maybe talk to him about it. He might just be unsure of where you’d like it to go-”

“He called the shots, Alex, he does it whenever he’s drunk, I don’t think he gets to be the confused one,” you sighed, looking at your feet. Alex paused and tried to think of another way to give Lando another chance to tell you how he feels without ruining it.

“Maybe talk to him when he’s sober. He’ll-”

“He doesn’t want me when he’s sober,” you whispered but wanted to scream. It hurt you to say it but you felt like it was true. Alex felt his breath hitch and his heart ache to scream at you that Lando does want you.

“That’s not right. Who wouldn’t want you?” he could see how it was affecting you and wanted nothing more than to make you feel better, but his train of thought was abandoned when he saw your body recoil into the wall in disgust.

He followed your eyeline to find Lando towards the middle of the room, kissing some girl that you had never seen before. He was leaning into her as if he’d die if he let go, and his hand was on the same place on the back of her head as it was on yours.

“Oh,” Alex said, not really knowing what else he could do. He was furious and wanted to mortify Lando in front of everyone in the room.

“Yeah, oh,” you repeated sarcastically. Your knees felt weak and your eyes were on the brink of bursting - it was impossible to hide if you tried. “I’m going to go home,” was all you could get out, your voice choking on every word.

You tried to convince yourself that you weren’t upset and rather you were disgusted but you couldn’t after the image of Lando sucking some other girl's face was plastered in your mind and you shed tears the whole way home. Lando didn’t know - in your mind he didn’t even care but as you were crying to Alex and Lily in an uber, he was looking for you everywhere. But as it hit him, the guilt and weight of what he’d done, and the realisation that you must’ve seen, he prayed that you’d let him explain, like he did every time this happened, whilst you would tell yourself, again, that you meant it this time; that he was too late.

lando ending | logan ending

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT 1

simon riley / reader

FIND PART TWO || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: any triggering acts such as harassment/sa are done by a third party, not simon!!! also the sa is not vague or implied, there is a written out scene so please be mindful when you read! thank u to @allsaiint for reading over this and helping!

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

part 1: 17.8k total: 35.8k

Your muscles were stiff, thighs twitching and trembling as you laid in bed, staring at your water stained ceiling. Your chest rose and fell in time with rapid breathing. You had worn yourself out, caused a wet spot on your bed, yet you remained completely unsatisfied. Your fingers were cramped up and you let out a groan of frustration, rolling over to crawl out of bed. 

It had become a daily ritual at this point, you with your hand between your thighs, rubbing and touching, only to get into the shower completely unsatisfied and embarrassed at your own inability to get yourself off. 

People your age didn’t struggle like this, you convinced yourself.  Your cheeks burned as you stepped under the warm spray from your showerhead, the creaking pipes just background noise to you now. You were broken, that was the only explanation you could think of. 

By the time you got out of the shower and changed your sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washer, it was evening and a familiar knocking rang through your apartment.

You didn’t even have to answer it before the lock was clicking and the large form of your best friend Simon ducked in. 

“Hey, Simon!” you called cheerfully, excitedly bounding into the room and wrapping your arms around him in greeting. 

He grunted, harshly patting your back in the familiar way he always does before kicking his boots off. When he straightened up, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you. 

“What's with you?” he asked, a thick, dark brow raised suspiciously. 

“Um,” you stepped back, shrugging as you tried to look nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

“You look…” his eyes raked down your body, clearly assessing you, “You look tense.”

Immediately, your cheeks erupted into flames. Your face felt so hot that you had to bring your hands up to cool them before laughing nervously, “That’s no different than usual.”

He was silent for several, long, grueling seconds before grunting and breezing past you to the kitchen, clearly letting it drop. You took a moment to catch your breath before following him, finding him hunched over looking into your barren refrigerator. 

“Where’s all your fuckin’ food?” he snapped, straightening back up with a huff when he heard you come in behind him.

“Didn’t get a chance to shop this week, Si,” you replied stiffly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Why?” he demanded, slamming the appliance closed before heading to your cabinets to do inventory there too.

“Paycheck was short again this week,” you answered, speaking quietly in hopes he wouldn’t look into it anymore than that. 

He angrily slammed a cabinet closed and leaned on his palms against the counter, head hung between his shoulders, “Your boss fuckin’ stiff you again?”

“I-It’s not a big deal, Simon–” you attempted to quell him.

“Not a big deal?” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the counter, making you flinch at the noise. You knew Simon would never, ever hurt you but his anger was something to behold nonetheless, “It is a big deal when you can’t even afford to fuckin’ eat!”

“Simon…” you whisper, anxiously picking at a string on your cotton shorts, “I wasn’t going hungry, I have like…ramen and stuff…”

He says your name through gritted teeth, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t afford proper groceries?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it, Si,” you mutter, “I-It’s my problem, not yours.”

He gives you a long, unblinking stare. His usual soft, puppy dog brown eyes now felt intimidating. One thing about Simon was that he never hid it when he was clearly upset with you. And knowing he was right now made you hang your head pitifully.

He moves suddenly, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a small stack of clean bills, slapping them on your countertop.

“Simon, no–” you attempt to reach out for them, willing him to take the money back.

He grabs your hand immediately, shoving the appendage away from the money, “You’ll take this and you’ll go to the store tomorrow and get some damn food or I’m going to go to the bar and wrap my fuckin’ hands around your boss’s throat until he coughs up your money.”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon!” you argue, exasperated, “Y-You don’t have to take care of me like this.”

“Yes, I fuckin’ do!” he counters, “You’re my responsibility and I’m not going to let you exist on fuckin’ cup noodles until that shithead pays you properly, not when I can take care of you. Now stop arguing and put this in your wallet now.”

He used that damn Lieutenant voice, leaving no room for argument. You bit your lip and slowly picked up the bills from the counter.

“Thank you, Simon…” you whisper, clutching the money close to your chest as you offer him a wobbly smile.

“Shut up and go,” he huffs, though his voice is much softer and affectionate now. 

You turn on your heel and go to the table by the door, slowly taking the time to place the money safely inside. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You were so, so lucky to have someone in your life that did everything in his power to take care of you, to look after you and make sure you had food on the table. No one had ever cared about your well-being the way Simon did, and your heart felt incredibly full because of it. 

You could hear him still stalking around the kitchen, grumbling to himself in annoyance. He comes out of the kitchen, phone in hand, before he’s taking a seat on your old, creaky couch. His knee is bouncing up and down in that way it always does. It’s like he’s always a live wire, ready and waiting for something to happen.

“Is something wrong?” you ask, still standing by the table.

He grunts, shaking his head, “Orderin' dinner.”

“Oh,” you mumble, “What’re you getting?”

“Gettin’ from that breakfast diner you like,” he responds quickly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You don’t even like that place,” you giggle, “In the mood for a breakfast sandwich?”

“Not for me,” was his clipped response.

“What?” you whine, “Simon, don’t order me food!”

“Did you eat today?” he asks quickly, placing his phone on the table, clearly done with the order.

“I had cup noodles!” you point an accusing finger at him, “So yes!”

“That’s not real food,” he leans against the back of the couch, closing his eyes with his arms crossed over his chest. End of conversation. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You debate continuing to pester him about it but you hear your washing machine begin to ring the jingle signaling the cycle is finished. You cast one last, unseen glare to the man on your couch before heading to the washer, methodically taking the now clean sheets out. 

You finish placing it in the dryer and turning the machine on, stepping back into the living room when there’s a knock on the door. Simon is on his feet in seconds and at the door before you can even react. When he slams the door shut, he holds the bag of food up for you to see, dropping it on the coffee table before taking a seat again. He resumes the same position, arms cross over his chest and eyes closed. 

“Are you tired?” you ask softly, taking the empty seat beside him. He hums in response, “You want to spend the night?”

“Guess so,” he responds after a few seconds, “You work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night,” you mumble, reaching for the bag of food, untying the knot so you can get inside, “I hate working Friday nights.”

“I can stop by tomorrow if you want,” he offers, finally opening his eyes.

You think it over for a minute. It wouldn’t be the first time he sat in the bar on a busy Friday night, nursing a half-drunk bourbon, as he waited for you to get off, “I think it’ll be okay. Last week was fine.”

He simply stares at you in silence before sighing through his nose. But he doesn’t argue and you’re thankful for that. 

Simon’s been looking after you like this since you turned 18 and moved out on your own. There have been many, many days and nights that you’ve taken up his time and energy and as you grew older, you tried to do it less. He had an incredibly busy job and life and the last thing you wanted was to add weight onto his already heavy shoulders. 

The evening turned to night and before you knew it you had a full belly and leftovers to store in the fridge for breakfast. You folded your dried sheet and placed it in the hallway closet, acutely aware of the sound of Simon showering in your bathroom. 

It wasn’t a very big shower and you sometimes wondered what it looked like for him in there. Surely he had to hunch down to properly wash his hair and shoulders. But those thoughts always turned into something less than innocent. 

You imagined what he looked like, all wet. How big he surely looked in there, no doubt he would dwarf you. He would be able to easily crowd you in the corner, make it so you couldn't escape as he blocked the exit – not that you would want to escape. 

You slapped a hand against your forehead, shaking your head violently to rid yourself of those thoughts. You tugged a spare blanket out of the closet and slammed it closed, rushing to your bedroom to place it on your bed. 

Your cheeks burned with shame over having such unsavory thoughts about your best friend. As much as you liked to pretend that the crush you had on him when you were children had faded like typical puppy love, you knew your feelings were alive and well deep inside where you had pushed them when he rejected you when you were 14. 

It was just because you were so pent up, you convinced yourself, you would have those thoughts about any man that was inside your shower!

You crawled onto your side of the bed, flopping back into your pillow as you waited for him to come in. You completely ignored the throbbing between your thighs, a feeling you were more than used to by now. But your fingers itched to reach down, slip beneath the band of your shorts and touch your clit, the little bud throbbed so desperately that when you clenched your thighs together, a shiver would go down your spine. 

Just as you started to reach down, just to try and relieve the ache that settled there, the bathroom door opened. You yanked your hand back up and tried to look casual as you heard his heavy footsteps move towards the bedroom door.

He pushed the door open wider so he could come in, having to duck his head down to avoid hitting his head. He placed his towel in the laundry basket and slowly crawled into bed beside you, placing his pillow flat so he could comfortably lay down.

Some people may find it strange sleeping with him like this, but your couch was much too small for him and he would rather cut his own fingers off than make you sleep on the damned thing. It was old and so uncomfortable that it caused you to be sore if you sat on it for too long. Plus, you never felt uncomfortable having him in the bed with you like this. He was warm and safe and he always smelled like your grapefruit body wash after he showered. 

It made your heart thump in your chest, knowing he walked around the next day smelling like you. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you mumbled, reaching over to turn your bedside lamp off.

He grunted quietly, rolling over so his back was facing you. You smiled in the dark and snuggled down into your own blanket, closing your eyes as well. 

The next morning, you woke up and the bed was empty. As usual. 

Even when he was home, Simon functioned off of the strict military schedule he’d been accustomed to for his many years in the military. You sat up and stretched your arms above your head, tossing your blanket off of you. The floor was chilly against your bare feet, making you shiver. 

After going pee, you ventured out into the living room. Simon was lounging, quietly watching TV – the morning news, it seemed.

“Good morning,” you called. 

“Eat,” was all he replied, not even breaking his gaze off of the TV.

You purse your lips but do as you’re told – not because he said so, but because your stomach was painfully growling and the breakfast sandwich in the fridge sounded delicious. 

As you heated it up in the microwave, you hummed to yourself.

“I’m going to go to the store after I eat,” you called, “Do you want to come?”

“Nah,” he grunted, “Gotta go soon.”

“Oh,” you tried to hide your disappointment, “Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he responded, your disappointment only growing at that. 

The microwave beeped and you pulled your plate of food out, bringing it back to the living room to eat it beside him. He took up an absurd amount of space given how large he was and how small your couch was – but you didn’t mind being pressed up against him. You didn’t think he minded either because he never bothered to move away. 

You quietly ate your breakfast, finishing up just as the news segment ended. Simon stood, knees popping as he did, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet before pausing, looking around. 

“You leaving?” you ask, placing your plate on the table as you followed his lead, standing.

“Got to,” he mumbled, still glancing around, “Where’s my phone?”

“You leave it in the bedroom?” you offer.

He sighs and disappears down the hall for a split minute before returning, tucking the device into his pocket. He grabs his coat off the table by the door, slipping it on and zipping it up. You approach him by the door, watching him slip his boots on and tie them. 

“See you later, Si,” you say, trying your best to hide your disappointment at him leaving. 

You never wanted him to leave, always feeling painfully lonely without his presence in your home. Since he was gone for long periods so often, you liked to enjoy his company as much as you can when he’s home. But you would never be the type to ask him to stay when he couldn’t because you knew he would run himself ragged to keep you company even when he was exhausted and had other things to do on top of it. You never wanted to be a burden to him.

He straightens up, stomping his feet a couple times to make sure his boots were on fine. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. You wrap both arms around his middle and hug him tight.

“I’ll come by when I can,” he mutters, pulling back to press a kiss to your forehead.

Then he’s gone, the door slamming closed and leaving you by yourself in the doorway, already feeling an emptiness that would remain until he returned. 

Just as you promised, you went out and bought groceries, courtesy of the money Simon had so kindly given you. You made sure you had some meat, fruit, and veggies, along with some canned goods. You made sure you didn’t buy cup noodles because he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to know you bought that since he was so vehemently against them being in your diet. 

When you got home, you put all the groceries away and quickly realized that you had some time to spare before you had to get ready for your shift at the bar. 

As you sit on the couch, mindlessly watching some random show you’ve seen a hundred times before, you suddenly realize you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

And your panties are feeling awfully sticky. 

Your body heats up as you find yourself cupping your breasts through your shirt and bra. But you quickly realize that’s doing nothing for you and you strip your shirt off, pulling the sports bra over your breasts to cup them without the fabric restriction. You sigh and relax into the couch as you pull and pinch your nipple, tugging them and rolling them beneath your fingers. Your thighs clench and rub together as you tease yourself. 

But you tire of that quickly, knowing you could do something that felt so much better. 

Your fingers tremble as you tug the button of your jeans open and kick them off, letting your panties go down with them. You take note of the fact the center is completely sticky and wet. God, how long had you been dripping into your panties like that?

You lean back on the couch, placing your feet on the cushions, letting your legs open nice and wide. Your folds flower open, embarrassingly wet and shiny. Your clit is hard and swollen between them and you can practically see the bud twitching. 

With two, shaky fingers, you reach down and swipe over the bud. Your entire body twitches at the contact and you sigh as you slowly circle it, using your own slick as lubrication. 

You bring a finger to your entrance, prodding at the stickiness there. It’s embarrassing how wet you are. Your pussy makes loud noises as you touch but it doesn’t really provide you much pleasure so you bring your finger back to your clit. 

You circle it, pinch it, and roll your fingers over it. You’re quietly moaning, lidded eyes hazy as you watch your fingers play between your thighs. It feels good, a warm feeling settling in your gut the more you touch yourself. 

But then the inevitable happens – it’s like you hit a wall. 

You whine in frustration, speeding up your movements to hopefully reach the edge that you know is right over the wall. But you don’t get any further, if anything you feel that warmth vanishing at an alarming rate. 

Tears sting your eyes, “No, no, no…” you beg no one.

You grit your teeth in frustration, yanking your hand away to watch your pussy clench and throb over nothing, drooling and dripping slick onto the couch. But you’re too frustrated to try anymore. 

You close your thighs and flop down onto the couch, letting a few tears escape.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly complain, slapping the couch out of frustration.

Your lamenting is interrupted by your phone going off. You look at it on the table and see it's the alarm you set to let you know to start getting ready. 

Great, you spent 45 minutes playing with yourself and still didn’t get any further than you had for the last 20-something years of your life. 

You were starting to think you should schedule an appointment with a doctor and find out if you were well and truly broken, but quickly decided against it. That would be fucking humiliating.

What would you say, “Hi, I can’t make myself orgasm and never have, please doctor, tell me if my vagina is broken?” Absolutely not. 

You collect your clothes from the living room floor and toss them in your laundry basket in your room before you take a very fast shower just to clean your own mess up. Then, you get dressed and ready for the shift you know is going to suck at the bar. 

At the door, you make sure you have your belongings. You turn out all your lights and lock the door behind you before setting off to the bar. 

It’s not a long walk, about 15 minutes away. But just the idea of stepping foot inside the bar fills you with dread. 

It was a little hole in the wall place, shady and seedy were the best ways to describe it. You got pretty good tips from the patrons most nights but your boss was the biggest piece of shit you’d ever had the misfortune of being in close proximity with. 

He had a very bad habit of putting his hands where they didn’t belong and cutting his employee’s pay for no reason – or reasons he completely made up. Your last paycheck was short because he claims that you ‘got enough in tips to make up the loss’ – you didn’t. And when you argued, he threatened to fire you. 

You were already living in the cheapest flat you could afford; it was run-down and poorly maintained. But it was better than not having a roof over your head. And it was a fight to even get hired at the shitty bar you worked at now, you weren’t willing to go back to looking for work. 

So you simply bit your tongue and took what money you could get. It wasn’t the first time he did it and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

You got to work as soon as you clocked in, greeting your coworkers with a tense smile that they returned. Everyone was in the same boat as you, after all. No one would choose to work here unless they were down on their luck like you.

The night started slow, slower than usual for a Friday night. Despite the place looking like it was going to fall down around you and the occasional rat that scampered across the floor, the bar was actually kind of a hotspot. The alcohol was cheap and your boss never cut anyone off so patrons were free to get as sloshed as they wanted. 

That also meant the customers tended to get rather unruly. 

Which is exactly what happened when the night inevitably picked up. More people came in, more drinks were ordered, and you were running around the place like mad to get drinks where they needed to be. 

You cast a glance to the clock behind the bar, sighing in relief when you realized you had 10 minutes left of this hell. 

You were sure you were a sight, clearly run ragged and ready to get the hell out of there and go home. Your feet were sore from the old, worn shoes you wore. They looked fine on the outside, cute, but the soles were worn down and provided absolutely no cushion. It was hell. 

“This goes to the corner table,” the bartender called over the loud voices of the bar. He was a nice guy, couldn’t be older than 20, but you honestly couldn’t even recall his name. 

You took the tray of shitty beer from the counter and quickly made your way to the corner table in the back, careful not to spill a drop. You placed the tray down and gave the guys at the table a charming smile.

“Here’s your drinks,” you said, placing a glass in front of all 4 of them. 

“Thanks, beautiful,” one of them slurred, given a drunken wink.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” you asked, ignoring his flirting, as you picked up the tray. 

“Maybe,” another one chuckled, leaning back in his seat, raking his eyes down your body. You wished you could crawl into a hole at the feeling of his gaze on you. Despite being fully clothed, it made you feel incredibly naked – like he could see through your clothes. 

It certainly wasn’t the first time a customer or two flirted with you. It was sort of a rampant problem in this bar, if you were honest.

“What is it you need?” you asked, wishing so badly you could just be free from the conversation. 

One of them pulled out a stack of money, waving it in front of your face, “I’ll tip you this if you show us your tits.”

Your cheeks burned hot in humiliation as the other three laughed and jeered. You shifted on your feet, tapping your fingers anxiously against the metal tray in your hands, envisioning yourself slamming it over their heads. 

“N-No thank you…I-I don’t think that would be appropriate,” you hope that they can’t hear the way your voice trembles over all the noise in the bar.

“Come on, sexy,” the one with the money grinned, licking over his teeth as his eyes narrowed on your chest, “Bet they’re real nice. C’mon, you need the money right? Why else would you be working at a place like this? Go on, just lift your shirt up and let us see them tits!”

“M-My shift is over, I really need to go,” you shakily smile and take a step back, “I-I hope you enjoy your night, boys.”

Your attempt to diffuse the situation and get out of it proved futile because when you attempted to flee, one of them clapped a firm hand around your wrist and tugged you forward. You stumbled on your feet, dropping the metal tray with a gasp, finding yourself nose to nose with one of them. The smell of alcohol was potent on his breath and it made your lip curl in disgust. You tried to tug yourself free of his grasp but his grip was too strong. 

The guy sitting on the other side of the one who had a hold on you reached over his buddy to yank the neckline of your shirt down, the cheap, worn material stretching with ease until it tore at the weakest point. You let out a horrified cry when your bra became visible to the group, all of them cheering and shouting degrading things right in your face. 

The one across the table reached down, you felt his hand against your breast through your bra and a lightning bolt of pure terror ripped through you. It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You could feel his thumb hook under your bra and start to tug, tears flooded your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You raised a hand and as hard as you could, slapped the one still holding you clean across the face. 

The entire table went still but his grasp loosened enough for you to turn on your heel and bolt as fast as you could into the staff room, covering your exposed bra with your arms as best you could. You passed one of your coworkers, her eyes wide in concern when she saw your state. 

She followed you into the staff room, closing the door quietly behind her. You stood in front of your locker, ripping it open as you attempted to collect your things but your mind was running too fast for you to actually make any meaningful movements.

Your coworker called your name and you paused.

“Hey, take a breath,” she whispered softly, placing a hand on your back. You realized you were hyperventilating. You attempted to level out your breathing, wiping the tears off of your cheeks only for more to replace them. 

“What happened?” she asked softly, “Do you want me to call someone? The police?”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to respond but only a little sob comes out. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed. She looks nothing but sympathetic, softly patting your back and encouraging you to breathe deeply. 

The staff room door suddenly slams open, making both of you jump. Your boss storms in, completely red in the face and furious. 

“Get out,” he snaps at your coworker. 

She casts an apologetic look to you, squeezing your hand before she ducks her head and leaves the staff room. He slams the door behind her, locking it for good measure – leaving both of you alone. 

He advances on you faster than you can react, he wraps a hand around your throat and slams you against the lockers. It hurts but you can’t get a noise past the grip around your neck. You blink back the tears that are still coming, trying to see him more clearly.

“Are you broke in the fuckin’ head?!” he screams, a volume that makes your ears ring. You wonder if the patrons can hear it outside, “You put your hands on a customer?!”

“Th-They put their hands on me first!” you defended yourself, hoarse and choked under his grip, “They touched me!”

He only looks more furious, eyes falling to your ripped shirt and exposed bra. He grabs one side of the already torn shirt and yanks, ripping it the rest of the way. Your eyes go wide and your first instinct is to kick him but you’re panicked and uncoordinated so it misses its mark.

“I don’t give a shit if they forced you over the table and fucked you!” he howls, spitting all over your face in his rage, “You better think fast and hard about how you’re going to rectify this. Do you understand me?”

His grip tightens a bit more around your throat and you hastily nod, blubbering mindless apologies to try and appease him. He doesn’t look any less angry but lets you go nonetheless. Your knees are too shaky to hold you up so you slide down the lockers until you’re sitting on the dirty floor.

“You go out there and you apologize to them,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “Or I’m going to fire you and you’re gonna be out on the fuckin’ streets, got it?”

You nod your head, holding back your sobs but can’t control the tears that fall down your cheeks. He sends you one last glare before turning back to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open. 

You’re left there, trembling on the floor and quietly crying to yourself. Your heart is racing and you’ve never felt more terrified and humiliated in your life.

The door opens again and you look up in horror at the idea of your boss coming back. But it’s your coworker again. 

She quietly crouches next to you and gives you a once over, “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I-I have to apologize t-to them,” you manage to choke out. 

Her eyes widened, “No way! You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I can’t lose this job,” you sob, pressing the heel of your hands to your eyes as you cry, “I need this job. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t apologize!”

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go with you, okay? You can apologize and then you can go, that’s it.”

You nod your head and stand up, using the lockers as a crutch. Your coworker helps you steady yourself before she sees your shirt is ripped even more than when she left.

She whispers your name, “Are you sure he didn’t…”

“He only ripped it,” you assure her, sniffling softly, “But I can’t go out there like this.”

It dawns on you that you forgot a jacket. It was a little warmer today than it had been in days and you had simply neglected to bring one. 

“You can borrow my hoodie,” she assures, opening her locker to tug it out, handing it to you, “Go on, you can return it to me another day.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, clumsily sliding it over your head. You feel much better now that you’re covered up, you feel less vulnerable. You quickly collect all your belongings so you can leave as soon as you get this over with.

You let her lead you out of the staff room. The second you’re out, the blaring noise immediately proves to be too much. You wipe your eyes, using the sleeve of the hoodie. You make a note to wash it properly when you return it. 

You feel the eyes of strangers on you and it just makes you feel worse with every passing second. You want to go home. You want to shower. You want to crawl into bed. You want Simon. 

You let her lead you to the table, all the men are still there laughing and drinking their beers. They fall silent when you approach, four pairs of eyes falling on you, making you feel humiliated and small. They look expectant, the one who ripped your shirt tapping his fingers against the table. 

“There you are!” the one who had held your wrist grinned. It was a predatory smile that made your heart race anxiously, “Thought you were gonna run away without apologizing for bein’ a raging bitch.”

You flinch at the insult and your coworker squeezes your hand in support, “I-I’m sorry for slapping you.”

“That’s fuckin’ right!” another one jeered, “Practically ruined our night. How are you going to make it up to us?”

“I’ve got a few ideas!” a different once laughed. The other three joined in eagerly.

“How about you stay back late and really make it up to us, huh?” you squeezed your coworkers hand in yours, already feeling the tears returning with a vengeance.

“How about I bring you a round on me, huh?” she quickly intervenes, “I’ll buy.”

That seems to do it for the 4 men and they rambunctiously cheer and slam their hands on the table obnoxiously. You think you hear her promise to be back with their drinks as she pulls you away from the table. You both hide away in the staff room again and she holds both your hands in hers.

“Go on home,” she says softly.

“I-I’ll pay you back for the drinks–” she shushes you quickly when you start.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she coos, “Go home.”

With a gentle nudge to the back entrance, she casts you one last kind smile before slipping out of the staff door. 

You don’t even remember the walk home, your mind completely fuzzy. But you’re sobbing again by the time you stumble into the door. You collapse onto the floor in front of your couch, wailing into the cushions as the weight of the night fully and entirely collapses on you. You can barely breathe through your tears, hiccups and coughs breaking up the endless crying only to resume when you catch your breath. 

You have no idea how long you sit there, crying louder and harder than you have in a very, very long time. 

You hear your front door creak open before the living room light flips on. You go completely stiff, your crying finally going silent as you hear the familiar heavy footsteps step into the living room before they fall still when he sees you.

He calls your name, soft and gentle in a way that is completely unlike him. Simon isn’t soft, he talks to you in a cold, apathetic and teasing tone. He’s always clipped and blunt. Sure, he’s kind but never gentle.

Just the sweet tone makes your lips wobble and suddenly you’re sobbing again. His boots hit the floor fast, taking quick, big strides so he can reach you as fast as he possibly can. Two strong hands hook under your arms and turn you towards him. He takes a seat beside you on the floor and tugs you into lap.

You melt into his chest, secured by his embrace as he holds you. One hand cups the back of your head and the other wraps around your back. 

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” he explained his arrival, lips pressed to the crown of your head, “Got worried so I rushed over.”

You grip his hoodie in your hands, anchoring yourself to him as you cry and cry. He remains silent, content to hold you and let you cry out everything you’re feeling. 

Just having him there, holding you and comforting you, is enough to ease your tears until you’re just a hiccuping, sniffling mess. You’re taking those quick, stuttering gasping breaths that signify the end of your meltdown and Simon slowly eases his hold on you. 

He cups your cheek in one hand, raising your head up so he can really look at you. He rubs a thumb under your eye, wiping away your tears. He looks so concerned, brows furrowed and a frown on his lips. 

The sight of his face makes your lips wobble again, “Si…” you finally manage to choke out.

His gaze softens immediately, his other hand coming up to cup your face as well. He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he finally asks, letting go of your face to hold your waist, keeping you curled up in his lap. 

You think about it. You want to tell him all about it, to get it off of your chest and figure out how the hell you’re supposed to move past it. But you know that if you tell him, he’s going to march his ass to your job the second he gets a chance and put your boss’s head through the wall and find those assholes from the table. 

You really can’t afford to lose your job. Your bills are tight enough as it is, you’re scraping by by the skin of your teeth. If you’re jobless for even a week, it’s going to fuck everything up. You’ll never make rent and you can’t end up on the street. 

“Just a…bad shift…” you supply lamely.

Simon stares at you, jaw set and tense, “I don’t know what’s worse. The fact you’re lying in the first place or the fact you don’t think you can tell me what really happened.”

“Simon…” you whine, pushing yourself off of his lap, “Just let it go, please.”

He follows your lead when you stand up. He still hasn’t taken his boots off, still too concerned about you to care. Every step he takes is a loud sound of his weight in those boots. 

You pace back and forth, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not letting it go,” he responds, “I think you know me better than that.”

“Simon, please!” you feel the tears returning again and you suddenly realize how tired you are from crying. Your eyes are sore and you just want to sleep. 

“I want to know what happened,” he argues, clearly growing exasperated. 

You know he’s not going to let it go. He knows you too well to believe any lies. You press your hands to your face and let out a noise of frustration and despair. You can feel his eyes on you, unwavering and firm. You feel hot, like you’re overheating and suffocated. With trembling hands, you haphazardly tug at the hoodie – you need it off or you’re going to go mad. 

Simon reaches forward to help you, watching your rising panic but you slap his hands away. He looks stupefied at your reaction but retracts his hands. 

But you can’t get the damned thing off, you’re uncoordinated and clumsy, unable to pull your arms through the sleeves so you can get it off. Why won’t it come off? 

“G-Get it off,” you finally cry, completely unaware of the pure horror in your voice.

Simon’s hands are back, “I’ve got you. I’ll get it off ya.” 

True to his word, he tugs it up and it slips over your head with ease. You feel like you can take a deep breath finally, feeling the cool air of your living room against your skin again. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to calm yourself. 

He says your name softly but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. You jump when you feel the ghost of his fingers against your stomach – the skin is bare and it makes your eyes fly open. You look down and remember that your shirt was completely torn open, the hoodie had been hiding it, and now Simon is seeing. You can see the realization in his face.

He’s not an idiot. If anything, he’s more intelligent than anyone you’ve ever known. 

Suddenly your stomach turns and you place a hand over your mouth. You’re running down the hallway, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet as you heave. 

You don’t hear any movement from Simon. He doesn’t follow you to the bathroom. You’re briefly thankful for the escape as the nausea disappears before you suddenly crave to have him near you again.

“Simon!” you cry, his footfalls an immediate response. 

He crouches beside you, placing a hand on your back, “You finished?”

You nod, spitting one last time into the toilet, “I-I want to shower.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he stands, stepping past you to turn on the shower for you. He places a consoling hand on the top of your head in passing before he goes to leave you alone. You reach out and grab his hand before he can get too far.

He pauses and looks at you, easily understanding. He brushes his thumb over your hand, “Not goin’ anywhere, love.”

He takes a step outside of the bathroom and stands there, hands held in front of him as if he were on guard, like a security guard. You flush the toilet and shakily strip your clothes off before stepping into the shower, letting the warm spray ease your sore body and clear your sinuses. You’re terribly stuffy from crying so you can’t even smell your grapefruit body wash this time.

You finish your shower, making sure you scrub your body as best you can before you step out and wrap a towel around your body.

“Are you hungry?” Simon suddenly asks.

“No…” your tone is flatter than you had intended and you realize that you’re completely emotionally drained. 

“Alright,” is all he says in reply.

You approach the door, where he’s still standing. You place your hand against his back and he quickly steps aside to let you by. You hear his boots behind you as he follows you to your bedroom. 

You sit on the bed, completely exhausted. Simon makes himself busy with going through your dresser, pulling out some clothes for you to wear before he places them on the bed beside you. You don’t make any movements. 

He sighs, softly saying your name before crouching in front of you, taking your hands in his. 

“Was it your boss?” he asks softly. 

“Him and some assholes I was serving drinks to,” you tiredly answer. You don’t have it in you to fight in anymore. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” he pries, squeezing your hands.

“Because I know you, Si,” you sniffle, “You’re going to go down there and put them all in the hospital when you find them.”

“And?” he scoffs, “They fuckin’ deserve it. No one gets to put their hands on you like that and get away with it.”

“Because I can’t lose my job, Si!” you finally cry, “I barely make ends meet as it is! I-If I lose my job, what am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to afford rent. I’ll be on the streets!”

“I would never let that happen,” he says firmly, “You will never be on the streets, love. I will always take care of you, you know that.”

“I can’t do that to you, Simon,” you mutter, sniffling again, “Y-You already have so much on your plate I don’t want to be another problem you have to deal with.”

“Is that what you think?” he scoffs, standing up, “That I deal with you? You’re important to me, I take care of you because I never want anything to happen to you. I’m not going to let you work at that shithole for a minute longer.”

You hang your head, unable to supply any arguments to him anymore.

“I’m going to make you something small to eat. You’re going to eat and drink some water and then you’re going to get some rest, understood?” he gives a satisfied hum when you nod your head in compliance. 

Once you’re alone, you go over his words again. You’re important to him, that’s what he said. It was the most clear he had ever been with his feelings towards you since you confessed your feelings when you were young. 

As you methodically got dressed in the clothes he picked out for you, you reminisced. Memories of him were always something that made you inexplicably happy – except for one memory.

You were 14 and he was 17 at the time. You’d known each other for your entire childhood after his mother had brought him over for a playdate despite the age difference and the fact you were closer in age to his brother. 

He had always looked after you and taken care of you, walking you home after school and simply looking after you when your parents were busy. It was inevitable that you would grow feelings for him. You remember the way your heart would race every time you looked at him. You remember telling your friends that he was your boyfriend, hoping he wouldn’t find out.

You had told him one evening when he was hanging out, having dinner with your family, that you liked him – like liked. 

You remember how you cried into your pillow night after night when he rejected you. Told you flat out that you were an idiot and to drop it and never, ever bring it up again. That he didn’t feel the same. And that was that. 

You never brought it up again. 

But the crush never once waned. You decided that his friendship was more important than your feelings for him so you would never let him know. And that’s how it had been ever since. 

Simon’s voice calling your name ripped you from your reminiscing. You tied the drawstrings of the sweats he had picked out and quickly made your way to the kitchen. 

Simon was washing a pan by the time you arrived but he nodded to a plate he set on the counter for you. It was just a small omelet he made, complete with a light drizzle of ketchup. 

He knew you well, you couldn’t deny. You picked up the fork he’d placed on the plate for you and slowly began to eat. 

After being sick, your stomach was painfully empty so you were happy to have something on it once again. Simon quietly finished washing the dishes he had dirtied before he placed them on the dish rack and dried his hands. 

“Um, Simon?” you called softly, receiving a grunt in reply, “Didn’t you have something going on tonight?”

“Was gonna be out the lads,” he responded, “Doesn’t matter, can hang out with those idiots anytime.”

“You shouldn’t talk about your friends like that,” you said, shaking your head as you took a final bite of your omelet.

“Aint my friends,” he reached down and took your plate from you, tossing it into the sink.

“Simon Riley doesn’t have friends?” you asked, eyes following him as he locked up your apartment and started to turn out the lights.

“Got you,” he said as you followed him down the hall, “All I need.”

A fond smile made its way across your face as he yanked his shirt above his head. You began to make yourself comfortable in bed, trying to keep your eyes off of him as he got dressed for bed. Despite the way you wanted to take the chance to look at him.

Friends. That’s what you were, you reminded yourself. 

Finally, he climbed into bed beside you, making himself comfortable before you turned out the light. 

Yet, despite your exhaustion from the night, you felt like you couldn’t close your eyes. You felt like you couldn’t relax. The tension in your body was so much that you were sore. Like you had gone to the gym instead of went to work. 

“Simon..?” you whispered into the dark. He was silent for a second before he hummed in response, “Can I…tell you what happened tonight?”

He was quiet again but you felt him move, a hand blindly reaching over to you to find your hands. You took it in both of yours, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. 

“This stupid group of guys were sloshed beyond belief,” you began to tell him, aware of his gaze on you through the dark, “They were just chattin’ shit, saying they’d tip me if I showed them my tits,” he scoffed beside you, clearly displeased, “I said no and tried to leave and they wouldn’t let me. One of them ripped my shirt and tried to pull my bra up so I slapped him.”

“Fuckin’ bastard deserved to get his teeth knocked down his throat,” Simon growled from beside you.

“I got away and went to the staff room but my boss came in and he was so fucking angry, Si,” your voice shook as you remembered the way his face had been so red and a look of pure hate had been in his eyes, “He grabbed my throat and pinned against the lockers. He was angry that I had struck a customer.”

“Of course that’s all that bastard would be angry about,” Simon spit, not bothering to hide his distaste.

“I tried to tell him that I was defending myself but he said–” your voice broke and you struggled to blink back the tears. Simon sat up a bit, pulling you into his chest, letting you curl against him, the rapid hum of his heart loud in your ear, easing you immediately, “He said that he didn’t care if they put me over the table and fucked me, he would fire me if I didn’t apologize to them.”

Simon’s arms tightened around you immediately, cursing under his breath, “He made you apologize to them?” 

You nod your head, “It was so humiliating, Si. B-But I just didn’t want to lose my job. They just laughed at me and made a joke of it.”

“Pieces of shit,” he hisses, pressing a kiss against your temple, “They better hope I don’t find them.”

You’d really love to see them blubbering on their knees, crying and terrified like you had been. They wouldn’t be so awful in the face of a guy bigger and stronger than them – someone like Simon. 

“I should have gone to the bar tonight,” he sighed, “Even though you told me not to, I wanted to.”

“It’s okay, Si,” you sniffle, “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

You wrap your leg around his waist and snuggle deeper into his chest, finally feeling content to sleep so long as you got to be in his arms. 

You wake up late, well into the afternoon. You’re groggy and struggle to pull yourself out of bed. Simon isn’t in bed, so you force yourself up in search of him. 

As you left, you noticed that the clothes you were wearing last night were gone and weren’t in the laundry basket. You knew for a fact that you left them on the floor. 

He’s relaxing on the couch as usual. His hair is wet and you can smell your body wash wafting off of him when you crawl onto the couch beside him. He reaches a hand out and pets your head gently as a greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asks. You nod your head, “Hungry?” You nod again.

He huffs through his nose and stands up, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head to go prepare something for you to eat. The sound of Simon bustling about the kitchen filled the apartment and you found yourself relaxing into the couch. 

“Simon?” you called, getting to your feet to make your way to the kitchen. 

He had his back to you as he fried up something in the pan but he hummed in response nonetheless.

“Where did my clothes from last night go?” you ask softly.

He pauses his stirring of the food, “Threw them out. Figured you wouldn’t want to see them when you woke up.”

“Oh,” you respond. 

Your heart feels full at his show of care. It was quiet actions like that that just made you feel so…in love, you think before correcting yourself. Fluttery. Cared for. Loved. 

No, he doesn’t love you.

You shake your head and move to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, going to sit on the couch to wait for Simon to finish cooking. 

The day was spent like that, just you and Simon in your flat. Him just keeping you company and keeping your mind off of things. 

You were curled up against him, listening to the beating of his heart and watching the movie he had decided to play. It was peaceful. He smelled nice, like you. And he was so comfortable beneath you, firm and big. 

His thighs were spread wide, one of your legs thrown over one of his, only serving to make you more aware of how big and firm he was. Solid. Well-built. 

Handsome.

You cast a glance at his face. His brown eyes were half-lidded as he mindlessly nibbled at his bottom lip. They looked soft and shiny. You wondered what he tasted like, how he kissed.

Was he rough? Soft? Did he like to use tongue. 

You’d never kissed anyone before. You wondered if he would be okay with that. You knew some guys liked experienced partners and some liked them inexperienced. You wonder what he preferred. 

Just the idea of kissing him had your heart hammering in your chest and your face burning. You quickly looked at the TV, snuggling closer to him. He squeezed you closer, hand mindlessly rubbing up and down your back. 

Kissing Simon…you pictured him over you, cupping your cheeks in the way he always does. You imagine him pressing his pretty lips against yours, moving them softly against yours. You imagine what it would feel like for him to pin you down, sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned and whimpered beneath him, unable to move anywhere because he’s so much bigger and stronger than you. In charge. 

Your pussy clenches around nothing, already starting to drip into your panties. Suddenly you sit up, eyes wide and cheeks flush. Simon looks perturbed, an eyebrow raised at your sudden movement.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” you shakily supply before fleeing to the safety of the bathroom.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hand over your mouth to quiet your heavy breathing. 

What the hell was wrong with you? How the hell could you be thinking about sex and getting turned on after yesterday? How could you be thinking about Simon like that when he was right there? What the fuck was your problem?

You hastily reached over and turned the shower on, the pipes clanking loudly as the water flowed through them. 

Shouldn’t you be the opposite of horny after what happened yesterday? Maybe you really were broken. 

You strip and quickly step into the shower, turning the water as hot as it would possibly go. You needed it to hurt so you would stop acting like such a freak. Like a slut. 

You fight back tears as you begin to wash up. 

By the time your shower is done, you’re exhausted again. You dry off and wrap the towel around yourself, opening the door to find Simon standing on the other side. You jump and gasp, placing a hand over your heart to calm the beating.

“You scared me!” you whine, slipping past him to the bedroom.

“Wanted to check on you,” he says, following slowly behind you, watching as you pick out clothes.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “I just got really tired and I’d like to turn in early, that’s all.”

“Alright,” he replies, standing there for a second before making his way back to the door, “Just call if you need anything.”

“I will!” you offer him a smile, watching as he leaves, closing the door behind him. 

You quickly dress and climb into bed, turning the lights out before squeezing your eyes shut to will yourself to sleep. Surprisingly, it came quickly and easily – maybe you were more tired than you thought. 

Little did you know that Simon took the opportunity of you sleeping early to slip away and take a little 15 minute walk. 

When you start to dream, you’re acutely aware that it’s a dream. You’re not sure how but, you just know that you’re sleeping and none of this is real.

But god it feels real and you want it to be real so you go along with it. 

Simon is there, you’re both in your bed. He’s got his shirt off and he’s on top of you, kissing your neck softly. Sweetly. 

He doesn’t smell like your body wash anymore, he smells like his – a crisp, musky scent that you love so dearly. And he’s so warm against you. 

You realize that you’re only wearing a pair of panties when his lips suddenly attach to your breast, mouthing at your nipple. His tongue swirls over the bud and it feels so good you can’t help but moan. 

“Si…” you sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. He rewards you by surging up and pressing his lips against yours. He tastes vaguely like mint and it’s intoxicating. So simple, nothing special or poetic. Just mint. Simon. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kiss him back. Kissing is easy, you hazily think. You just move your lips in time with his and it falls into place. 

Simon’s hips move against yours and you cry out when you feel the hard swell of his cock press against you through his sweatpants and your panties. He’s so hard and it's so hot even through the layers of clothes. 

“Si…” you whimper again.

“I’m here, love,” he coos, “I’ve got you.”

He rocks his hips against yours and fuck, it feels good. You eagerly spread your legs and find yourself wishing that the panties weren’t in the way. You’d love to hear the sticky sound of your pussy against his cock through his sweats. You’d love to see the stain of your slick against them, knowing that you marked him as yours like that. 

You feel hot, that tense warmth growing in your tummy. The promise of pleasure that you’ve never been able to experience. Maybe Simon could supply it. You’re sure he could, actually, you convince yourself.

If he just keeps going, keeps rutting his hips like that, you could cum all messy in your panties. Just for him. Only for him. 

Just as you swear it’s going to wash over you, your eyes fly open and you gasp. Your entire body feels hot and sweaty and you realize you’ve thrown your blanket off of your body. The sun is shining through the window and Simon is nowhere to be seen in bed. 

You swallow, your throat feeling painfully dry. 

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaks open and Simon comes in with a laundry basket. He casts a glance at you and seems to relax when he realizes you’re awake.

“Was doin’ some laundry,” he explains, turning to open your drawers to begin putting the clean clothes away.

“Oh,” you whisper, sounding hoarse, “Thank you, Si.”

As you watch him, you realize he seems tenser than usual. You sit up and bed and watch him put the clothes away until he’s finished. He stands there for a moment before looking over his shoulder at you.

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I’ve gotta go tonight.”

“Go?” you ask, eyes going wide. You don’t want him to leave, “Go where?”

“I’ve got some work to take care of,” he replies, “Paperwork I’ve been puttin’ off. Gonna pull a late one to get it done.”

“I-I don’t want you to go,” you confess softly, trying to blink back the tears that sting your eyes. You feel so pathetic, crying because he needs to leave. But you haven’t been without him since it happened and you’re scared to be alone with just your thoughts.

“I know,” he hums, taking a seat at the foot of the bed, cupping your cheek, “I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” you ask. He nods, teasingly pinching your cheek before you smile and bat his hand away. When he pulls it back you notice his knuckles – bruised and split open. They weren’t like that last night you were sure of it, “Simon…”

He catches you looking and gives you a tense smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and kisses your forehead before turning and leaving the room, leaving you to get ready for the day. 

Thankfully, Simon remains around for the day. You notice he’s on his phone a lot more, typing away. It’s unlike him, he’s more the type to do phone calls rather than text. When you ask him about it he just waves you off with an explanation about Soap being on his ass. 

You have a feeling he’s lying but you don’t pry. 

Before he leaves, he makes you dinner. You walk him to the door, unable to stop the pout on your face when he puts his boots on. You can’t help but wish that he’d change his mind at the last second and stay with you after all. 

But he doesn’t. He pulls his balaclava over his face and slips his hood up before turning back to you. 

“Don’t cry, love,” he coos, wiping a stray tear away, “I promise I’ll get all my work done and I’ll be all yours for a good long while.”

“Okay…” you sound so miserable but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’ll miss you.”

He brings you in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you nice and tight before he pulls back. He can’t give you his normal kiss because of the mask and that only makes you sadder. 

You don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to go. You want him to stay. You want to keep him close. He makes you feel safe. He makes you feel complete. You love him so much. 

You hold onto his hoodie for as long as you can until he has to shake you off and close the door behind him. And you stand there for a long time. Like a puppy who's been left home alone for the first time, just waiting for its owners to come back because it’s scared it’s going to be alone forever. 

By the time you bring yourself to leave the door, the food Simon made you is cold. That only seems to make you feel worse. 

Then you sit on the couch and watch TV, feeling hopelessly alone. You wished you had Simon to curl into and snuggle with. The tiny couch has never felt bigger. 

You shower and brush your teeth, pouting at the sight of his toothbrush, another reminder that he isn’t there. 

Before that night at the bar, you never would have felt so isolated without him; lonely, sure. But now that you’re experiencing this gut-wrenching emptiness, you feel close to tears every time you think about him. He was truly your rock, the only thing that brought you comfort. You loved him.

You flop against the bed and let the tears fall down your temples. You love him. You do.

You’re so fucking in love with him that it hurts. Your heart aches in your chest. You want him there to hold you. 

You know he doesn’t feel the same, you know it will never become anything. But you’re willing to take whatever you can get. Just his company. You can be content so long as he’s with you, as long as he’s in your life. 

But you can think about him, imagine yourself telling him how you feel. Imagine that when he holds you close that he feels the same too. That he loves you. You want him to love you so desperately. 

You wish that he loved you. 

You curled into his pillow, sniffling pathetically as you closed your eyes. You cry yourself to sleep. 

Your eyes fly open and the gasp you let out changes to a sob. All you can hear is your heart pounding in your ears. All you see is flashes of their faces in your head. All you can feel are their hands on you. 

A nightmare, your brain supplies but it does nothing to quell your anxiety and fear.

You reach for Simon, instinctive and desperate. But you only touch the cold mattress and you’re reminded that he isn’t home tonight. 

You fumble through the sheets to find your phone.

I’ll just be a call away, you know. If you need me, I’ll be there. 

He promised.

You can barely see the screen as you look for his contact. You call him, hands trembling as you hold it to your ear. It rings and rings and rings. Then beeps and goes to voicemail.

You hang up and try again. And again. And again.

He doesn’t answer. Why won’t he answer? He promised.

You call him again but it goes straight to voicemail. You can practically feel your heart shatter in your chest. He was ignoring your calls. He ignored you. 

But he had promised he would come when you needed him. And you needed him. 

Your phone becomes completely blurry through your tears as you begin to cry in earnest. You feel hurt, betrayed, disappointed, and angry. You’re fucking angry. 

You suddenly need to let it out. So you take your phone in your hand and throw it, listening to it slam against the wall. It’s loud and the light on your screen goes out. But you don’t feel better. You’re still a mess of volatile emotions. It feels like it’s all bottled up inside you and it hurts. 

You take his pillow and grip it in your fists. You want to rip it to shreds, want to tear it open and release all your anger on it. Instead, you just slam your fists against it. 

Then you do it again. And again. And again. 

You punch the damned thing as you cry and cry. You’re sure you must be a sight. You must be making so much noise as you sob and shriek. 

You were angry at what happened to you, you were angry you had apologize to them for hurting you, you were angry because you couldn’t even sleep peacefully without being plagued by a nightmare the first night you were without Simon, and you were angry he broke his fucking promise. 

Before long, all you were doing was sobbing into his pillow – wailing and crying your broken heart out. You tire yourself out, completely exhausted of all emotions. You lay there, quietly hiccuping and sniffling, just staring into the inky darkness. 

You’re there for hours, unable to fall back asleep. The sun slowly creeps over the horizon and begins to cast an orange glow around the room. 

You can’t even find beauty in it. You’re so exhausted. Your heart aches. It’s agonizing. 

It’s early morning by the time you hear your front door open. You don’t feel excited to see him. You’re not happy he’s back. You don’t feel anything, actually. All you can do is slowly blink, gaze focused outside the window where you can faintly hear birds chirping. 

You wish you were a bird so you could fly away wherever you want. You would fly away from here right now if you could. You wanted to leave. 

You didn’t want to see Simon. You were so angry at him. You’ve never felt like this about him before. You don’t know what to do. All you can think right now is how much you hate him. 

God, you hate him. 

He’s surprisingly quiet as he walks through your apartment. You hear him push the door open, your back to him. But you can feel his eyes on you, can feel how he hovers in the doorway. 

He wanders further into the room before pausing. 

He rounds to your side of the bed and sees that you’re awake, simply staring out the window. He holds your phone up, screen clearly shattered before he places it on the table beside you. 

“You called,” he says softly, shifting anxiously on his feet. Simon’s never anxious. But he is right now, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I was just…busy. Had some unruly recruits, you know how it is.”

Your eyes finally move from the window, landing on him. He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Just some jeans and white t-shirt. It’s a nice one, it fits him well and it looks comfy. 

Simon stands there under your gaze, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He’s not used to feeling scrutinized. And that’s exactly what your gaze feels like. 

Your eyes wander to a strange discoloration on his shirt. It’s tan, just a light stain. There’s a tiny smear of black as well. Then you spot the red on his collar, ruby red. 

He looks guilty. He would look like a kicked puppy if you didn’t know any better. This isn’t guilt because he missed your call. He’s guilty because he was too busy getting his dick wet to answer you. 

That’s why he ignored you? To fuck someone?

You’re no longer numb. You’re angry again. That overwhelming feeling that you have no idea how to let out. It’s like it just boils up inside you, like a pot boiling over. It has no place to go but out. 

You’re moving before you even have a chance to register it. You just need to show him how angry you are. Fucking furious. 

You grab the empty glass on your nightstand and wail it in his direction harder than you thought possible. Simon barely dodges, slamming himself against the wall as it shatters behind him. 

Now he looks angry. Good. Maybe he’ll feel a fraction of what you feel right now. 

“Are you out of your fucking head?” he snarls, animosity dripping off of every syllable. 

You don’t even answer, grabbing a book that you have stacked there before throwing that too. Then the second book. Then the third book. Then you throw your phone at him. Then you take the lamp, rip the plug right from the wall and throw that too. 

When you’re out of things to throw on the table you throw your pillow. It’s when you’re about to throw his pillow that he finally has enough. He rips it from your grasp and tosses it across the room. 

He’s standing there, fists balled at his sides and his shoulders heaving up and down as he tries to calm himself. 

“I hate you,” you finally spit, standing on your knees. You don’t have anything to throw so you slam your hands against his chest. You hit him, crying and sobbing as you wail over and over about how you hate him. You hate him so fucking much. 

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” you scream. You’re so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear but you don’t care. It feels good to let your anger out on him, to punch and slap and claw at his shoulders, chest, and arms. He doesn’t do anything but stand there and let you. He’d never lay a hand on you, even when you’re doing it to him, “I needed you and you were too busy fucking some stupid whore?!”

He doesn’t say anything but he’s trembling now. You’re not sure if he’s just that angry or if he’s holding himself back from wringing your neck. 

You pause to look up at him. His jaw is set hard but he’s staring at you, his usual lazy, lidded look nowhere to be found. He looks enraged. 

“Aren’t you going to say something?” you spit, raising your hand as if you’re going to slap him across the face but you stop. You don’t want to do that. 

“Say what?” he finally responds, voice so cold you swear it drops the room’s temperature, “I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. That’s the difference between us. You need me but I don’t need you.”

You sit back on your heels at that, the hurt clear on your face. Simon doesn’t seem to care in the slightest now, as tears trickle down your face. You must look a sight, pathetically gazing up at him as he glares down at you like you’re dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.

“You hate me?” he scoffs, “That’s just fine. We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

He turns on his heel at that and storms out of your room, slamming your bedroom door behind him. It practically rattles the walls. Then you hear the same thing from the front door. 

And you’re all alone. And you can’t do anything but cry about it. 

You find it impossible to get out of bed after that. You lay there for the rest of the day. Then all night. You fitfully sleep when you can’t bear to be awake anymore and then wake when the nightmares hit. 

Then you watch the sun come up and decide that it’s a good day to spend in bed. So you do. You sleep on and off, only waking to cry when you’re plagued with nightmares. 

You occasionally think about Simon. More than occasionally, actually. He’s always on your mind.

You think everything over and come to the conclusion that this was all your fault. From the beginning, really. You’d been keen on staying in his life since you were children, attached yourself to his side and weaseled your way into his life. Really, you gave him no choice but to put up with you. 

He was everything to you. He was right, you needed him. You didn’t have anyone else. No friends, no family, not even a pet. Just him. Always just him. 

What choice did he have other than to put up with you day after day? He didn’t need you like you needed him, after all. He’d surely been spending his days in dread of you – of your texts, your calls. 

This was probably what he was waiting for; an escape. He probably wanted to leave a long, long time ago. You were in love with him and he wanted nothing to do with you. 

What were you thinking? Actually believing that he would want to spend his days with you, taking care of you. Who were you kidding, you were just an idiot for letting yourself believe otherwise. 

You wake up one day and realize you’re not angry anymore. Just sad. You almost prefer the anger and emptiness compared to the unending waves of sadness. 

You cry all the time. Day and night. 

You try to use your phone, you want to call him but it’s broken. The screen won’t even turn on. You’re completely alone, can’t even contact somebody – not that you have anyone but him. 

God, that was embarrassing now that you thought about it. There he was going out and getting laid and you’ve been holding out for him since you were a kid. 

You’re suddenly aware of the fact you haven’t showered in days. You’ve barely eaten, only getting up once or twice to find something to nibble on in the kitchen – a slice of bread is what you usually settle on. 

You pry yourself up from your mattress and stumble to the bathroom. The clanging of pipes is louder than it’s ever been but the hot water is completely welcome. 

When you stand there, under the burning heat that makes your skin raw, you slowly sink to the shower floor. You haven’t cleaned it in a while but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You let yourself cry again, since it’s all you can do. By the time you’re done, the water is running cold and you stand up to quickly wash yourself with soap so you can at least be clean for the next few days until you can bring yourself to shower again. 

It’s when you’re crawling into bed that it suddenly dawns on you that you don’t have a job. You hadn’t shown up to your shift in days. And you don’t have Simon anymore. 

Panic takes shape and you realize you can’t relax. If you don’t find a job soon you’re going to be on your ass and homeless by next month. 

You haul yourself out of bed and begin rooting through your drawers for something to wear. 

Maybe you can go back to the bar and beg for your job back. You’ll do anything if you have to. 

You’re going to prove to yourself and to Simon that you’ll make it without him – and you won’t end up hanging from a fucking rope. 

The sunlight practically burns your skin from not feeling it in a while. Winter is coming in and it’s already damn cold out and you can see your breath. But you ignore it, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself as you book it for the bar. 

You’re filled with utter dread as soon as you open the door. There’s a couple patrons already drinking and you wonder what day it is. 

You look around, searching for your old boss. He’s nowhere on the floor so you make your way to the staff room and ultimately his office in the very back. 

You only realize you’re trembling when you raise your hand to knock on the door. But you bite back your fear when you’re reminded that you need the job. You need it. 

“Enter,” you hear his chilling voice call. You take a breath and push the door open. He freezes the second he lays eyes on you, he sports a black eye and a busted lip, “You.” 

“M-Mr. Dawson,” you shakily whisper, “I-I know I haven’t showed up in a few days and I’m really sorry but–”

“You want your job back,” he finishes, tossing his head back to laugh, “You want your fucking job back? After you sent that fucking lunatic here?”

“Sent who…?” you ask softly, willing your knees to stop quaking. 

“That asshole in the skull mask. Beat the shit out of me and my blasted customers. You think I’m going to let you back in after that?” he laughs again, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you dumb bitch.”

You wince at the insult, “I-I didn’t send him. H-He was a friend of mine and he did it on his own but–”

“You can have your job back,” he says suddenly, making you freeze, “If you come over here and bend over my desk for me.”

“What..?” you ask softly, watching him sit back and lick his lips as his eyes raked down your body.

“You heard me,” he snickers, “Bend over my desk and let me fuck you and I’ll let you have your job back.”

Granted, for a second, you think about it. You really do. To just let him do it. But you can’t. You know you can't, you would never do that to yourself. 

“N-No,” you find yourself whispering, “I won’t do that…”

His smile fades quickly when you say that and his lip curls in disgust and anger, “Should have let those blokes take you out back and leave you bloody in the alleyway like you deserve.”

You leave with your head hanging low and find yourself standing on the street, fighting tears. You only feel worse than before you went in. 

When you get home, you stand there and cry. That’s all you’ve been doing lately, crying. At this rate, Simon’s prophecy is going to come true and you’re going to be hanging from a damn rope. It sounds nice right about now, actually. Anything to stop the horrific pain that you feel. 

You crawl back into bed and don’t get back up that night. Or the next day. 

The only thing that gets you up the day after that is a painful twang in your stomach. You stumble your way to the kitchen and pull out the loaf of bread you’ve been nibbling at but frown when you see some pieces have begun to mold. 

You take a look in the fridge, finding it painfully empty. The vegetables and fruits that were in there have gone bad now. The meat you had bought was all used up from when Simon cooked. You didn’t even have any cup ramens because you opted to not buy any last time. 

So you resort yourself to tearing the moldy parts off the bread and eating what's left. 

As you stand there, you realize you feel so tired. Like your legs can’t hold you up, so you allow yourself to sink to the floor, back leaning against the cabinet. 

You almost want to laugh at yourself over what you’ve become. Eating moldy bread on the kitchen floor and crying to yourself. 

You place the bread in the refrigerator in hopes that that will stop its rotting process but you don’t have much hope. 

Then, you’re back in bed. And you’re so exhausted. It’s impossible to keep your eyes open any longer. So you sleep. 

But then you have another nightmare. You can’t even remember what it was about, you’re too exhausted to even jolt awake like you usually do. 

Instead, your eyes open and they’re already filled with tears before you even get the chance to register the fact you’re awake. 

So you lay like that. For a long time. Just staring at nothing. The tears stop on their own and you’re left exhausted as usual. It’s become your default state and you begin to wonder if you’re going to feel this broken and hurt forever. 

You zone out, letting your mind go hazy and erase all thoughts from it. 

You don’t even hear your front door open. Don’t hear the boots on the floor. Don’t hear your bedroom door open. 

You hear a call of your name and that gets your attention. But you don’t hear anything else. 

Your imagination? You don’t have a lamp anymore to turn on. You’d thrown it at Simon and it broke.

Suddenly, light floods your bedroom and you bolt up in bed. A large, familiar figure blocks your doorway, a silhouette against the now illuminated hallway. 

He calls your name again and your heart skips a beat. 

“Si?” you whisper, choking on a sob when he steps further into the room. 

He’s got you gathered up in his arms faster than you can think. He’s so warm and it feels so good to have him in your arms again. You wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him – hold him so fiercely that you’re worried you may actually break him. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, “It’s alright, everything’s alright.”

“S-Simon…” you can’t help but wail, clawing at the back of his hoodie as if you can feel him any closer than he already was. 

“I’m here,” he sighs, kissing the top of your head, “I’m here. It’s okay. Shit, just let it out. I fucked up, sweetheart, I did. Just breathe and we’ll make everything better, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” you find yourself apologizing through tears, “I-I don’t hate you, Si. I don’t, I promise. I-I was just mad. I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he consoles you, cupping the back of your head as you sob, “I’m the one who fucked everything up. It was a fuckin’ mistake.”

You can’t even formulate a response, too choked up with your cries that you let out into the soft cotton of his hoodie. You feel nothing but relief at having him in your arms again, you’re almost scared that he’s going to disappear if you let go. 

But he stays there, shushing you and occasionally kissing the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth on the bed. 

Before long, your cries finally quiet and you’re left curled up against him, quietly sniffling to yourself. His grip on you remains firm, unwilling to let you go. 

After several, long minutes, he finally speaks, “Why don’t you go wash up, hm? Nice, hot, shower. I’ll fix you up some food, sound good?”

You sniffle and blearily look up at him, your lashes sticking together from your dried tears, “I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll make you some ramen cups,” he responds. 

He doesn’t like them being part of your diet but it seems he was willing to overlook it just this once so could get something on your stomach. 

“Don’t have any,” you sound completely congested as you talk, sitting up a little to wipe your cheeks.

“None?” he asks, keeping his hands on your body even as you move off of his lap. 

You shake your head, “I didn’t buy any last time I went shopping.”

“What the hell have you been eating then?” he mumbles, slowly standing up from the bed. 

You wince when you hear his knees and back pop from the movement, “I haven’t had much of an appetite but I’ve got some bread…”

Simon is silent after that, nonsensically looking around the room, seemingly taking stock of what's around him. Then he sighs, running a hand through his cropped hair before patting you on the head.

“I’ll order then,” he assures you, “Go ahead and shower, yeah?”

You do as you’re told, eager to wash the drying tears off of your face and hopefully wash away the lingering sadness. You know that you and Simon have a lot to talk about, but you figure it can wait until you’re both mentally prepared for it. 

You feel more refreshed than you have in days when you step out of the shower. You feel a surge of anxiety in your chest when you think maybe he had left while you were showering but when you pause to really listen, you can hear him shuffling about the flat. 

When you slip into your bedroom, you’re shocked to see that your bed has been completely stripped. He also swept up the broken remnants of the glass and lamp you had thrown at him and picked up the books. He had picked up some scattered pieces of clothes and put them in the laundry basket where they belonged. 

You get yourself dressed and place your dirty clothes in the basket so you don’t undo the work that Simon had done. 

You hear a knock on your door and it makes you jump but Simon quickly answers it. He calls your name to let you know the food has arrived and you quickly make your way to the kitchen. 

He’s methodically separating the food he had ordered into two separate groups, clearly having ordered for himself as well. 

It smells positively delicious and you find your mouth watering as your stomach growls. 

You turn to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out of it. You notice that the loaf of bread you had in there is gone, most likely thrown out by Simon when he realized it was moldy.

You feel your cheeks burn in shame when you imagine him knowing that you had been eating moldy bread because you couldn’t afford to buy groceries – although, even if you had all the money in the world, you were sure you wouldn’t have felt like going out to get any. You wouldn’t have been able to order since you’d broken your phone. 

You open the styrofoam tray and immediately start devouring the chicken tenders he had ordered for you. It was simple, easy, and tasty. He clearly didn’t want to order you anything too hefty given the fact you’ve been existing on bread. 

He had a burger, taking slow bites of it and occasionally nibbling at his fries. You took the opportunity to look him over. 

He honestly looked the same as ever. He didn’t have dark circles or bags under his eyes like you did. He didn’t have red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes from crying for days. For some reason that made a pang of resentment surge through you. He seemed completely unbothered by everything that had happened. Unbothered, even. 

His words ring out through your head like a bell. 

“We’ll see how long you last without me before you’re hanging from a bloody rope.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes again but you bite them back, choosing to take a bite of your french fries. You realize now that you can hear the washing machine going. Clearly, he had put your bedding in there to wash. 

Maybe he was right, you couldn’t survive without him. Couldn’t even wash your own damn laundry. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he interrupts your self-deprecating thoughts. 

“Oh, um,” you scramble to think of what to say. Something not depressing or something that could upset him, “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to these few days!”

You try your hardest to sound chipper and interested. You’re positive he doesn’t buy the act in the slightest from the soft, pained look he gives you. But he thankfully plays along. You’re grateful because you don’t want to cry again.

“I was uh,” he cleared his throat and took a sip of water, “I was on base, actually. Nothin’ interesting, really. What, uh, what about you?”

You feel your smile falter and you look down at your food, “Nothing interesting. Tried to get my job back but that was a bust,” you chuckled, playing it off like a goofy anecdote, “Turns out your ex-boss doesn’t like when he gets beat to shit because of you!”

Simon drops his burger into his tray and his nonchalant expression turns sour in half a second, “You tried to go back to work at that shithole? Why the fuck would you do that? You know it’s not good for you!”

All over again, you feel your body flush with anger, and you’re shouting at him before you know it, “What the fuck was I supposed to do, Simon?! You left and I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to do without you. I assumed you were gone forever,” you voice pathetically broke but you ignored it, tearfully glaring at him, “All you said was that I was gonna end up killing myself and I was doing everything in my power to prove you wrong.”

“You should have known me better than that!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the countertop, “I never would have left you–”

“That’s exactly what you did!” you shriek, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You left me! You ignored me when I needed you to go get laid and then left like I was nothing to you! Look at you for fuck’s sake, I’m a fucking wreck and you look like you couldn’t have fared better! I almost let that scumbag fuck me just to get my fucking job back, Simon! All because you left me.”

For once in his life, Simon seems utterly lost for words. The only sound in the small kitchen was the steady dripping of your leaky sink and you’re stuttering, sharp breaths as you force yourself to not break down all over again. 

“I should have known you better?” you whisper, resting your hands on the countertop, hanging your head so you can catch your breath, “Apparently I should have. Maybe then I would have known better to depend on you like that.”

Simon stands there, across the counter from you but feeling like he was miles away. You could hear his breathing stutter every few seconds, like he was gearing up to say something but he seemingly changed his mind every time. 

The washing machine jingle rang through the apartment and he immediately stepped away. 

Typical. Simon was never the type to truly let himself be emotionally vulnerable so there was no reason for you to expect it now. 

With him out of the room, you took the chance to wind yourself down, taking a few more bites of your tenders. You could hear Simon moving the laundry to the dryer, slamming it closed before turning it on. 

But he doesn’t reappear, evidently hiding out in the tiny room off the kitchen where your washer and dryer were. He was probably collecting himself just like you. But he appears a second later, lingering out of the corner of your eye. You can see him looking at you but you can’t bear to look back at him.

“I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a breath, “I wasn’t…” he lets out a sound of frustration before he tries again, “I wasn’t okay while I was gone.” 

He doesn’t say anything more. It was evident that that was all he was willing to give up in the moment. But you want more from him, you need more. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get past this, Simon,” you whisper, “Everything’s so fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“I am too,” he says softly, drumming his fingers against the counter, “We’ll fix it.”

His assurance marks the end of the conversation and you both resume eating the dinner he had ordered. But it’s silent and neither of you make an attempt to fill it. 

Once the food is eaten, you take a seat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as Simon takes your laundry basket from your bedroom and puts the clothes in the washer. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and you wish so desperately that you could crawl into bed and sleep. You suddenly realize that you have no idea what time it is. 

“Simon?” you call out when you catch him passing by. He stops at your calling, raising an inquisitive brow, “What time is it?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it so he can see, “9:20.”

“Oh…” you respond, tucking your head back into your knees. 

Simon walks away at that and you briefly wonder what he’s doing now. But your eyelids are so heavy and you’re finding it so hard to think clearly. 

You’re pulled from your sleep a soft hand petting over your head. Your eyes slowly drift open and you’re met with Simon’s sweet, brown eyes. 

“Made your bed,” he says so softly, thumbing over your cheek, “Go ahead and get some proper sleep.”

You nod your head and sit up, briefly wondering how you managed to flop over on your side without waking up. Simon takes your hands and helps you to your feet.

You stumble down the hallway and immediately toss yourself onto your bed. You don’t even bother to crawl under the blanket, simply drop your head onto the pillow and let sleep overcome you. 

When you wake up next, it’s from a nightmare. You gasp into consciousness, eyes wide open in the inky blackness of your bedroom. Your heart pounds in your ears and you find yourself panting, trying to stabilize yourself. 

A heavy weight tosses itself over your middle and you almost panic before you smell Simon’s cologne. Immediately, you relax and sink back into the bed. 

“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I’ve got you.”

“I want it to stop,” you find yourself whispering, feeling so utterly exhausted, “The nightmares.”

Simon tugs you over to him, tucking you securely against his chest, his arm like a heavy weight draped across your abdomen, “We’ll get you fixed up.”

As you close your eyes and sink into his embrace, all you can think is that you should have never been broken in the first place. 

You finally sleep through the night but you wake up feeling far from refreshed. What’s most shocking is that you’re still wrapped up in Simon’s arms – and he’s still asleep. The sun is well risen now, he should have been up and about a while ago. He never strays from his schedule.

You find yourself staring at him. It wasn’t often that you got the chance to see him so peaceful. His lashes were so long, brushing his cheeks. You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the deep sound of his breathing. Your eyes slowly drift closed again and you let yourself drift off to sleep once more. 

When you wake up next, it’s because Simon is trying to carefully move you off of his chest so he can get up. You whine and find yourself clinging to him again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he mutters, settling back against the headboard. He wraps his arms around you and lets you melt against him again, your head resting against his chest.

“You slept late,” you find yourself commenting.

“Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat and softly rubs your back, “I haven’t had the chance to sleep much. Base is pretty loud.”

You want to mention that it’s never been a problem for him before but you bite it back. Instead, you hum in response. 

As you’re left in the still quietness of the late morning with him, you realize that you still have no idea how you feel about him. You don’t know how you feel about him being back. On one hand, you’ve missed him so, so dearly and you feel so complete with him by your side. You feel safer and more whole, like you could actually start healing again. 

But on the other hand, there feels like there’s a wall separating you two. The fight you two had is a heavy weight that seems to continuously pull you under the water despite how hard you fight to resurface for air. 

You love him, you really do. 

But you’re still so angry at him. 

And it feels like neither of you are going to actually talk about it properly. 

The two of you eventually make it out of bed and get moving around. You still don’t have any groceries but Simon simply orders something for breakfast again.

“Somethin’ I need to ask you,” he says, suddenly terrifyingly serious as the two of you stand in the kitchen eating.

Anxiety flares through you but you try to appear calm and cool, “About?”

“You said that,” he takes a second to collect himself, seemingly searching for the right words, “You almost slept with that guy for your job back.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “Yeah…what about it?” 

Simon paused when he heard the defensiveness in your voice, “You really almost did that?”

You frown, “So what? I can do what I want, Simon.”

He sighs softly, holding his hands up, “I’m not tryin’ to fight, love.”

“I don’t know why it’s your business,” you mumble, using annoyance to hide the shame you feel, “I just needed a job is all.”

He nods, “You don’t need to worry about that, alright. I’ve got you.”

You take a bite of your sandwich, intent on trying to take the attention off of you, “There’s something I wanted to ask you too.”

“Go ahead,” he says softly, sipping on the drink he ordered – some kind of soda if you had to guess.

“That night…” you start, pausing when you notice the way he stiffens immediately. He plays it off by going back to his food, “You, um, you left to hook up with someone, right?”

He places his sandwich down and sighs, “Yeah.”

“...Why?” you finally ask, “I mean…”

You trail off and Simon remains silent. The tension is so thick you could practically see it between the two of you. Your heart hammers in your chest, anxiety steadily festering the longer he’s quiet. You think he isn’t going to respond at all and start to give up, hanging your head. 

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he finally says, “It was a…last minute choice and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He says it but you don’t feel any relief. That concrete weight on your chest isn’t eased in the slightest. It’s an excuse, something he’s saying to get you off his back. And that doesn’t feel good.

“I um…” you clear your throat to get rid of the way it sounds thick, “I’m sorry for that time, by the way. When I was throwing things and I-I hit you. I shouldn’t have done that, it was wrong of me. So, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively, “You were upset.”

“Simon…” you mumble, food completely forgotten in front of you, “I want to talk. About everything,” Simon seems annoyed immediately but he tries to hide it. You know him too well for that, though, “I-It was a lot and I think we should talk about it – really talk about it.”

He says your name exasperatedly, turning to open the fridge so he can put his leftover food inside before he slams the door. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“But I do,” you say, following him as he storms out of the kitchen, “You said some really mean shit, Si. I want to talk about it!”

He storms into the bedroom, slamming it open as he busies himself with picking up inside. You can tell he’s uncomfortable and simply trying to take his mind off of it. But you’re not going to let him avoid it.

“I don’t,” he snaps, final and harsh.

“I do!” you argue again, “I-I want to know why you said that to me. I want to know how you could–”

“Fuck sake!” he hisses through clenched teeth, ripping his hoodie off of a chair he had tossed it onto. 

He pushes past you, tugging it over his head. You follow him out of the room, watching with wide eyes as he picks up his mask from the coffee table. He tugs it on, painfully silent as he fits it into place. 

“What are you doing?” you finally ask when he gets to the door, slipping his boots on with a grunt, “Where are you going?”

“Out.” he growls, jerking the door open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

“Don’t run from me, Simon!” you cry, grabbing hold of his sleeve to keep him from stepping out, “Are you ever going to tell me you're sorry? Are you ever going to look in my eyes and tell me that you're sorry for what you said to me? For leaving me? Or are you just going to do it again?” 

You can’t fight the tears as you cry out, trying to tug him back into the apartment. But he gives you one final look before he rips his arm from your grasp and slams the door in your face. You’re left alone again, frustrated,  sad and utterly confused. 

You wished he would stop leaving. 

You decide to stay up a little later than you had lately, waiting for him to come home. The oven clock read a little past midnight when you finally called it and crawled into bed. Tugging his pillow to your side, you wrapped yourself around it and tried to imagine that it was him in your arms again. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to stay up and wait. 

You’re jostled awake by the weight shifting on the bed. Your eyes flutter open as it creaked under the additional weight. You know it’s Simon, even though your back is to him. He remains silent, clearly trying not to wake you and unaware that he already has. 

The heat radiates off of him in waves, comforting and nice. But despite that, you feel tears welling up until they finally trickle down your cheeks. You can hear Simon’s soft breathing and you can feel him shift every once in a while as he tries to sleep. 

“I can’t do this, Simon,” you find yourself whispering. It’s quiet but you know he hears it, “I want to feel better again. I want to stop being so fucking angry at you but you won’t let me. You just leave me again and I want you to stop. I want…” you suck in a breath and find yourself struggling to continue, simply dissolving into cries. You quiet them as best you can into your pillow.

Simon is painfully silent and still. You’re positive he’s not going to say anything. He’s going to pretend to sleep so he can avoid talking about it because that’s what he does best – avoid. When things get too hard or emotional, he avoids it like the plague. 

You suppose it’s from the way he grew up. A mama’s boy who was punished by his father for showing any kind of emotional vulnerability. It led to him being terrified of it as an adult – he refuses to let himself show that kind of weakness, even to someone who means something to him. And you know that you do – mean something to him, that is. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, just an echo in the darkness of the room. But it draws you to silence, “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice thick with emotion, “For what I said to you and for the way I acted that night. I fucked up, I know. It never should have happened. What I said should have never–” he lets out a heavy breath, “I never should have said it.”

You roll over, blinking the tears out of your eyes, which tumble down your cheeks. With a sniffle, you scoot closer to him, his warmth welcome and comforting. He opens his arms for you, letting you situate yourself against him. You rest your head against his shoulder, letting your hand rest against his chest. His own hand comes up to take it in his, bringing it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You mean…” he trails off again but you remain patient, knowing it’s difficult for him to fight through his desire to flee, “You mean a lot to me. I never want to lose you. You’re…important.”

You nuzzle your head against him, a silent acceptance of his apology. He kisses the top of your head and pulls you more firmly against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again for good measure.

He didn't look you in the eyes and tell you he was sorry but he did the best he could. In the inky blackness of your bedroom, as you shared a bed, and he held you so sweetly, he finally said what you needed to hear. And that's truly all you could ask for.

PART TWO.

do not modify, translate, or repost.

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ ♡🍨 content warning: smut, innocence corruption, masturbation, use of toys, oral (f!receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, sneaking around, getting caught, forbidden, small age gap (both characters are adults), pervy!matt, brotherbsf!matt, innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡🍨 summary: your older brother is back in town for summer vacation, and he brings home his childhood best friend, matt sturniolo, who can't seem to keep his eyes off how much your body has changed since he's last seen you.

જ⁀➴ ♡🍨 this fic was requested/inspired by this ask! enjoy. (p.s. sorry i made matt so pervy in this. honestly idk what got into me. 🙈)

young god

You were in your room, listening to music, headphones in and volume on full blast while you sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through your playlist when some movement out of the corner of your left eye broke you out of your focus. You glanced up at your partially open door to see your older brother peeking through and tapping on the barrier to try to get your attention.

He was finally home for summer vacation from his second year of college. "Hey!" You jumped up, taking out your earbuds and throwing your arms around him in a big hug. "Hey, little sis. It's been a while," He greeted you, not having seen you since winter vacation earlier that year. Behind him was Matt Sturniolo, his childhood best friend who you hadn't seen in even longer.

"Hey, Matt," you said, your gaze traveling over towards your brother's best friend, who looked as attractive as ever. You'd always had an insatiable crush on him, and it didn't help that he had more facial hair, more tattoos, and a more chiseled jawline since the last time you'd seen each other.

He always hit like a drug, like a habit you couldn't kick, like a long-term addiction you couldn't shake. He flooded your system with cascading waves of dopamine whenever you looked at him and interacted with him. You craved him. However, you knew you couldn't ever pursue him.

Your brother had always warned you about him. "I know as you get older and start developing feelings for boys, you're gonna wanna start dating. But whoever you date, please don't date my friends, especially not Matt Sturniolo. I know he's my best friend, but the kid's bad news. He's only after one thing when it comes to girls, and he's off-limits to you," you recalled your brother saying to you.

After you'd started going through puberty, your brother had been hyperaware of the way your behavior suddenly changed towards his best friend. He'd started picking up on the way you'd been interacting differently with Matt, trying to get his attention more often and trying to find excuses to be in the same room as him, which terrified him.

You didn't know what he meant by that, only after one thing? You didn't know what that one thing was, but you secretly found yourself curious about it, and you wondered if it was something you could give to Matt. But you nodded at your brother, promising to stay away from Matt despite the way your stomach dropped when you looked at his friend.

"Hey, you're all grown up," Matt replied, bringing you back to the present. He subtly checked you out before pulling you into a hug, leaning down, hooking his arms around your waist, and picking you up. He let out a soft grunt as he lifted you into the air. He loved the way your body felt writhing against him as you giggled. "Put me down," you half-heartedly said, secretly loving the you felt in his arms.

Your brother shot him a look as he placed your feet back down on the hardwood floor beneath you. "I'm going off to college after the summer ends. Can you believe it?" You asked, swaying back and forth. "No, I can't. The boys at school are going to adore you," Matt said, nibbling on his lip and doing nothing to conceal the hungry look in his eye.

You didn't notice, but your protective older brother did.

"Hey, Matt and I are gonna go grab some dessert. He's gonna stay the night here. We'll be back," your brother said, wrapping up the conversation so he could go scold Matt in the car and remind him of the rules about hitting on his little sister. "Can I come?" You wondered, your eyes lighting up at a chance to be in Matt's presence once again. "I don't think that's a good idea," your brother started to say.

"Come on. Let her tag along so we can all catch up. I'll buy," Matt offered, looking back over at you with a smug smile. "Fine," your brother hesitantly said, leading the three of you out to the garage. You sat in the backseat in the middle and clicked your seltbelt closed.

On the way to get a sweet treat, Matt sat in the passenger seat with his head craned all the way around, his eyes lingering on your sweet treat between your thighs. You'd forgotten you were in a skirt and were innocently sitting with your legs splayed out while your pink panties peeked out from underneath the short fabric.

Your brother, who was focused on the road, was completely unaware of the show you were unknowingly putting on for Matt.

"So, what have you been up to since the last time I saw you? You got a boyfriend now?" Matt lustfully cooed, not that he cared if you did, while studying the outline of your puffy lips through your underwear. He bit down on his lip while his cock jumped in his jeans at the sight.

Your brother glared over at him, recognizing the tone of voice he was using on you. The same he'd use when trying to take girls to bed. "No. All the boys my age are so immature. I don't want to be with any of them," you said, making a face. "Oh really?" Matt replied in a smug voice.

You guys had arrived at your destination, and after you guys had all ordered your desserts to go, Matt was handing his card over to the employee and giving you sly looks while he undressed you in his mind.

The three of you piled back into the car to head home. Matt watched intently as you swirled your tongue around on your strawberry ice cream, imagining you were lapping up something else. "Thank you for the dessert, Matt. It's so good," you said, letting out a soft moan while you savored the taste. You weren't trying to tease him, but you were driving him wild.

"Oh, a little is dripping onto the sides there," Matt pointed at the melted, pink liquid leaking down the waffle cone, and you licked a long stripe up the dessert, cleaning it off with your tongue. "Almost got it. Give it one more good lick," he urged you.

"That's it. Good girl. You got it," Matt purred, licking hot fudge off his spoon as you dragged your tongue up the length of your cone once more. His eyes flashed back to your panties, and he noted a small damp spot on the front of the pink cotton. Blood rushed to your cheeks as Matt watched you.

Your brother reached over and slugged Matt in the arm, almost making him drop his hot fudge sundae. "Hey!" Matt exclaimed. "Hey, why'd you do that?" You innocently asked, secretly enjoying the way Matt was watching you and talking to you. "Don't worry about it. Matt's just being a perv," your brother scoffed.

You realized where Matt's eyes kept traveling back to when he wasn't watching you clean off your cone. Suddenly, you became self-conscious, slamming your legs shut and going back to eating your ice cream in silence while you looked out the window.

It's not so much that you minded Matt viewing you that way. It's that your brother was picking up on it. You avoided eye contact with both of them, worried that they had noticed how much you liked when Matt had called you good girl.

No one said a word the rest of the awkward car ride home. Later that night, the boys went into your brother's room, which was only ever occupied when he was home from school, to play video games.

You desperately needed to take care of the aching feeling between your legs you'd been wrestling with since Matt had picked you up earlier when you'd hugged him. You reached into your pink panties and started slowly rubbing yourself while you pictured Matt.

On the other side of the wall, Matt and your brother were tapping away on their controllers in front of their game. Your brother was quietly berating Matt for the way he was looking at you and talking to you earlier while they waited for the next round to render.

"Dude, that's my sister. Please don't try anything."

"Relax. I'm just having a little fun making her blush. She's really cute when she gets all worked up," Matt smugly responded. "Gross. Don't talk about her like that. If you lay a finger on her, our friendship is over. I'm serious," your brother said in a somber tone. How about in her? Matt silently wondered, smirking to himself.

"Seriously, I'll kill you if she loses it to you," he told Matt sternly, insinuating you were a virgin. "She hasn't lost it yet?" Matt's gazed off into the distance as a perverted scene unfurled in his mind. "Gross. Forget I told you that. Just stay away from her," your brother said, eating his words after he remembered Matt had a thing for innocence corruption.

"Don't worry," he smirked, holding up both hands up in a defensive position, despite the thoughts going on behind his eyes about stuffing you for the first time. "I'm going to bed after this game. I feel sick after watching you with her today," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Matt brushed off his friend's comments. It's not that Matt didn't value his friendship with your brother and love him dearly. It's just that he was weak to his carnal desires, unable to say no to them and unable to turn down temptation when it was taunting him. Especially when it was forbidden fruit.

After they finished their final round, they shut off the light and Matt laid down on the floor next to your brother's bed with a blanket and a pillow. Your brother had fallen asleep and started softly snoring, and right as Matt began to drift off, a low hum woke him up.

At first he thought he was getting a call, but when he peered down at a black screen after picking up his phone, he realized the vibrating was coming from somewhere else entirely. It was low, unwavering, and seemed to be coming from the other side of the wall, in the direction of your bedroom.

Matt stealthily got up and slipped out the room. When he stepped into the hallway, he realized a dim light was pouring out of your room and into the hallway through a crack in your door you'd left open a bit on accident. Matt approached your room and peered in through the sliver of space between the door and the frame.

There you were, bathed in warm candlelight, laying on top of your blanket naked, legs spread, and steadying a vibrator on your clit. Matt smirked to himself as he studied the way your thighs quivered while you used your toy.

Your lips were fixed in an o shape, your cheeks were pink, and your brows were pinched together. You shut your eyes and threw your head back as Matt's name slipped through your slew of whimpers.

He poked his head into your room, pushing the door open, and he slowly invited himself inside, approaching you to get a better look at you. He loved the way your slick folds glistened in the soft lighting, and the way your breasts started to subtly bounce as you started to violently shake.

You were right on the verge of greatness, slowly nearing a climactic ending, when your eyes fluttered open, and you saw Matt standing at the foot of your bed, staring down hungrily at your pussy. Immediately, you grew insecure about being watched, chasing away your orgasm.

"Matt!?" You said his name again, but this time in an aggravated whisper. "Poor thing. All alone in here. Why play with those toys when you could have the real thing?" Matt cooed, reaching for your pink vibrator. You handed it to him while it was still buzzing, and when he rested it back onto your clit, you let out a relieved sigh in response.

"Good girl. Just lay back and relax. Just here to help," he softly directed you. "Oh, Matt," you breathed out softly, lifting your hips up and grinding up against the vibrator in his grip. You glanced down at his smirk and how his eyes were fixed on the way you were clenching around nothing.

With his free hand, he took his middle finger and started teasing your folds with it. Your eyes widened as he sunk his finger into your drooling cunt. For a moment, you thought you must be dreaming. You let out a loud, satisfied sigh as he pushed it all the way in.

"You gotta be quiet, sweet thing. If your brother had any idea what I'm doing to you right now, he'd kill me."

You nodded at him and placed your palm over your mouth to muffle all the noise you couldn't keep yourself from making. "It's gotta be our little secret," he grinned at you as he added another finger, and you could feel the cold metal of his rings on the warm flesh of your thighs as he pumped them back and forth into your heat.

"You're so tight," he whispered, relishing in the way you clenched around his digits while they started to stretch you out. He shut off your toy for a moment, setting it off to the side, and repositioning himself.

He lowered his head between your legs while he fingered you, and he started to work his mouth on your special place, rolling his soft tongue over your clit and manipulating your folds with it. He closed his lips down around your bundle of nerves and gently hummed against it, recreating the feeling of the vibrator, only much better.

You arched your back up off the bed and rolled your hips forward, chasing the sensation of his tongue exploring places no one ever had before. "Like that, princess?" He asked you in between licks. "I love it," you whispered back.

Your eyes rolled back into your head, and your legs started to tremble as he continued stimulating you with his mouth and his fingers. "Good girl. You got this," he cooed while you got close. His fingers curled so perfectly, hitting all the right spots while you kept your hand held tightly over your mouth, desperately trying to avoid waking anyone up.

"That's it, pretty thing. Cum all over my fingers," Matt purred sweet nothings from between your legs while he felt you starting to tighten around his fingers. "Relax. Let it happen. Give in to how good it feels," he talked you through it while you shook beneath him, experiencing your very first orgasm given to you by another person.

You let out a few soft whimpers that you couldn't keep to yourself while you steadily throbbed around Matt's fingers that had slowed to a stop once you'd finished. He licked them clean, and he complimented your flavor as he started pulling his cock out of his sweatpants.

You couldn't see much in the low candlelight, but it was intimidating-looking. You could see the veins that texturized his thick shaft, and you could make out how swollen the mushroom-shaped head was.

"You ever had one of these in here, sweetheart?" Matt cooed, giving you a devilish smile, and introducing his bulbous tip to your slick hole. You bit your lip and shook your head from side to side, confirming your innocence to him.

"Oh, poor thing. Let's fix that. You're way too cute to not be getting fucked," Matt groaned as he pushed it in. You squelched around his thick rod, and he shoved it all the way in until it filled you entirely, the base of his dick resting against your entrance.

You felt your pussy expanding around him as he started rocking his hips back and forth, hitting a pleasant spot deep inside of you. You held your breath for a moment, still adjusting to the size difference between his fingers and his cock, and when you exhaled, a few stifled sounds came through. It hurt so good.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. Can't believe this is your first dick," he praised you softly while he delivered a few harder thrusts. Soon, there was no pain at all, only pleasure.

He grabbed you by your waist, steadying himself while he started to speed up, getting caught up in how good your virgin hole felt wrapped around him. He watched as he pumped back and forth, fixating on the way you coated his length in your arousal.

"That's it. Take it like the good girl you are. I know you've been dreaming about this for years," he smirked at you, and you eagerly nodded in response. It was like a fantasy come true, losing your virginity to a forbidden man, your brother's best friend, while your brother slept soundly one room over.

The bed started gently rocking and making a soft rhythmic thump thump thump as the headboard made contact with the wall. But each of you were too caught up in how incredible the other person's body parts felt to care about the noises you were making.

Matt picked up your toy again, and after propping your right leg up onto his shoulder to get a deeper stroke, he turned on your vibrator once more and held it on your clit again, sending your eyes rolling back in your head and causing your jaw to fall open in sheer desire. You'd never experienced stimulation quite like this, and you didn't know how badly you craved it until now.

When your gaze shifted back to Matt, he was peering down at you with glossed over eyes and a pleasure-filled expression. You were both at the gates of heaven, about to immerse yourselves into a shared orgasm that neither one of you could fend off any longer.

"That's it. Be a good girl. Finish all over my forbidden cock," Matt whispered, all too aware of the dynamic that existed between you, mocking your brother's attempt to keep you two apart, that instead drove the two of you into each other's arms in a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy.

You both tensed up, Matt injecting you with his seed and filling you to the brim while you throbbed around him, milking him dry. You guys softly moaned in harmony, your bodies moving in unison. The sound of the bed thudding against the wall came to a stop, and the buzzing of your toy dropped off when Matt killed the power on it.

"Wow. Your pussy is so pretty pumped full of my cum," Matt whispered with an edge of thrill in his voice as he pulled his meat out of you and watched the way it leaked out of you while you continued clenching around negative space, recovering from the orgasm Matt had just given you.

He was still admiring the mess he made inside you that started to leak onto your sheets when a stern and infuriated voice boomed from behind him, sending chills down his spine and sending a sobering wave of fear through his system when he realized the two of you had been caught. It was your brother, watching from the door way.

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"I thought I fucking told you to stay away from her, Sturniolo."

part two here 🍨

[fastandcarlos]

Taxi Driver : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: with his car in the garage, lando relies on you to get him home, much to the delight of his teammates in papaya

You honked the car horn as you noticed the door of the MTC opening up as Lando walked out, laughing and joking with a few other members of the McLaren team as they finished up for the day. 

“See you guys in a bit,” Lando shouted out, walking away from the rest of the group when he spotted your car parked up, hidden at the back of the car park away from the rest of the cars around. 

“Where are you going?” Oscar shouted back at him. 

Lando tried his best to keep walking, but the rest of the team didn’t stop looking at him. They were suspicious as Lando tried to brush them aside, with some of them looking, and failing, to spot where his car was either, the spot that he usually claimed vacant. 

You watched on from your car, confused as to why Lando wasn’t moving into your direction, soon spotting Oscar in front of a group of them, sinking down in your seat to make sure that none of them saw you. 

“How did you get here this morning?” One of the engineers asked Lando, smirking across at Lando began to get a little unsettled, keen to get over to him. 

His question had the rest of them looking around too, trying to piece together the clues that they were spotting that something wasn’t quite right with Lando. 

“I got dropped off,” he told them, taking a few more steps in your direction, only for the rest of them to take a step too, keen to see where Lando was going. 

“Who dropped you off all the way over here?” 

Lando’s heart continued to race, moving back away from your car to keep you hidden. He continued to pushed for details, none of them willing to let him go without probing him. 

“Did you go home last night?” Oscar asked him, “or did you get a lift from the person whose house you stayed in?” 

There was a nervous silence from Lando, his eyes momentarily glancing in the direction of your car. It didn’t take long before some of them picked up on who was behind the wheel, several cheers coming from them. 

“You’ve got your girlfriend picking you up!” Will called out, walking over to Lando and throwing his arm around his shoulders. “Look at you go Norris!” 

“She’s waiting, I’d just like to head home now please.” 

Lando started walking towards your car, but he had plenty of followers behind him too, unable to stop themselves from teasing him and playing with him. 

“Tell them to go away,” Lando chuckled as he opened up your car door, eyes asking you to help him out and get his team off of his back. 

You took your seatbelt off and climbed out to a chorus of shouts, with Oscar making sure that he was by far the loudest of them all. 

Despite it being his second season, Lando was still very much the newbie at McLaren and on the receiving end of many jokes. As much as he wanted to get in and drive away with you, he secretly loved being teased by them all and feeling as if he was part of the team. 

“Were you just going to hide from all of us?” Oscar challenged, placing his hands on his hips as he sassily looked across at you. “Weren’t even going to come and say hello?” 

Your eyes rolled at how dramatic he was before you. “Funnily enough Piastri, I didn’t drive all the way over here just to say hello to you, I’ve got much better things to do instead.” 

“I’m so offended, I’ll have you know I’m so much better than your boyfriend.” 

Before you could reply, Lando got in there first and hit Oscar against his arm. Lando then slid his bag off of his arm, throwing it in the back of your car before walking around to the passenger side and opening up the door. 

“You can’t leave so soon,” Oscar grinned, but you both shook your heads, getting into either side of the car and closing the doors behind you before Oscar could speak again, with Lando hurrying you to turn the ignition on. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Lando told you, slowly placing your foot down as the team moved away, several of them waving as you drove off just to try and embarrass Lando one more time before you headed back home. 

“They enjoy messing with you,” you laughed across at Lando, “they must be jealous they have to drive themselves home.” 

Lando hummed in agreement with you, “I could get quite used to having my own personal taxi driver coming to pick me up every day.” 

Your eyes rolled as you focused on the road, driving around the side of the building and up the driveway, catching glimmers of the sun heating the water out of the corner of your eye. 

A line of cars started to stream out behind you as you headed out, the team following behind you. “I feel a bit of pressure driving now knowing that there’s a line of racing drivers and racing experts behind me now,” you laughed as Lando glanced back too. 

“I’d drive slowly just to really annoy them and get them back for trying to humiliate me,” Lando suggested, watching as your smile turned up in reply to his idea.  

“How much do you think it would annoy them if I went down on the brake?” 

“Let’s try it,” Lando grinned, especially as he looked back and noticed that it was Oscar's car that was the one closest to you, watching you closely.  

You slowed your car right down, deciding to take the next corner nice and slow, glancing through the mirror to see the sudden braking that happened behind you. 

“He’s already getting irritated,” Lando chuckled, keeping is eye on Oscar through the reflection as he threw his arms up as if to ask what you were playing at.  

“What are we doing?” You grinned, taking a look for yourself as Oscar’s eyes rolled in frustration at the slow speed that you were going down the road. 

It didn’t take long before Lando’s phone buzzed in his pocket, glancing down to see Oscar’s name at the top of the screen. 

“Hello?” He innocently chimed down the phone as he answered the call. “You shouldn’t be on the phone whilst driving, I could get you in a lot of trouble.” 

“I don’t think you can call the speed that we’re moving at driving,” Oscar shouted down the phone, “you two better hurry up or I’ll drive you into the water.” 

“As long as you promise never to tease me for being picked up again,” Lando replied, much to Oscar’s disapproval. 

A groan came from down the phone, “I promise to never tease you for being picked up,” Oscar reluctantly told him.  

“See you tomorrow,” Lando laughed as you put your foot back down again, creating a gap between you and Oscar’s car. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “now I understand why you enjoy annoying Oscar, it’s actually quite fun.” 

“It’s my favourite part of the job!” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[evnseokz]

hii, hope you're doing well!

i'm thinking... bf!jungwon asks to record the sounds while doing sex and his gf decides to surprise him by asking him to cum inside

my first ever ask!! thank you so much for sending 🫶 hopefully i did this suggestion justice ^_^

pairing: bf! jungwon x f. reader

contents: p in v, unprotected sex (do nawt be like them), recording of moans/sex, pet names: baby, babe, kissing, nipple play

w.c. 640

his cock was nestled deep inside you, stretching you out so well. his thrusts were slow and deep, his tip kissing your cervix. your hands gripping his biceps as hard as you could, moans spilling from your lips.

jungwon was obsessed with the way you sounded, your moans being like music to his ears. an idea popped into his head. “baby, can i record your moans please?” he asked suddenly. your eyes which were closed previously, shot open, blush creeping onto your cheeks. “w-what?” you ask, slightly embarrassed at the question. “it’ll be for my ears only babe i swear, just for when i’m away and need to hear you.” he replied sensing hesitancy in your voice. you chewed on your lip as you racked your brain for an answer. finally you nod, jungwon not wasting another second to lean over to grab his phone off the nightstand and hit record. he set the phone down next to your body and focused his attention back to you and only you.

he continued his thrusts into you, light whimpers still falling from your lips, but now hyper aware of the phone recording you, you seemed to be holding back. “c’mon baby let me hear you” jungwon pouted. jungwon picked up his pace without warning, thrusting into you with speed, thus causing loud moans to fall from your mouth. jungwon smiled in satisfaction as he brought his hand down to your heat, and started rubbing circles on your clit. you cry out, the combination of him filling you up so well with his cock and the attention to your clit being all too much. jungwon smirked to himself, feeling you clench around his cock, he groaned slightly.

he can tell you’re close, his thrusts never slow and he leans down to capture you in a kiss. “feels s’good won” you mumble against his lips, he breaks away, and peppers kisses down your neck and to your chest. he brings his mouth down to your nipples, swirling and sucking on the sensitive nubs. the extra sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body, your orgasm ripping through you as jungwon continues to thrust in and out of you, seemingly chasing his own high. “w-where do you want me? i’m c-close” he stutters slightly. you contemplate in your head for a moment. “baby hurry and answer i can’t last much longer” he whines.

you wrap your legs around his waist trapping him in place as he continues to thrust inside you. you can tell he’s holding himself back from cumming, and you giggle slightly at his frustration. “baby it’s not f-funny” his head hangs as his balls begin to tighten. “i’m serious where do you want me” he says again. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to be face to face with you, “inside” you say simply. you bite your lip, starting to feel overstimulated from his thrusts. shock is written all over jungwons face, “a-are you su-“ “yes.” you cut him off before he can even finish his question. you smash your lips into his, clenching around him slightly as you feel a second orgasm bubbling up in your stomach. he moans loudly, his hips stuttering and his thrusts becoming sloppy, emptying his seed into your cunt. your second orgasm follows shortly after, milking him for everything he has.

he reaches to his phone, pressing end recording and then he collapses on top of you, you shrieking slightly at the sudden weight on your body. “wonnn you’re heavy” you whine. he slowly lifts himself up, looking you in your face, “sorry baby, you were just too good” he smiled before dropping down to pepper your face with kisses. you giggle, managing to capture his lips into yours for a quick kiss. he pulls away, “i love you so much” he says, “i love you so much my wonie.”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

He’s Not A Machine!

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

summary: when dean collapses from exhaustion, it takes everything in you not to beat the shit outta john

pairing: (stanford era) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 4.0k

warnings: hurt/sad dean, language, john being a terrible father, john being an asshole in general but what else is new

pairing note: reader washes/brushes her hair

author’s note: hiiii me again after many moons of zero contact with this lovely website. sorry for taking so long, hopefully i’ll stay a while this time lol.

It’d been nearly four weeks of back-to-back hunts. This was the seventh motel you and the two Winchesters had been at this month and you were almost ready to call it a night. 

“I’m gonna wash this wraith stench off of me,” you told Dean. You then added quietly so John—who was sitting at the table and cleaning his guns—wouldn’t hear; “Would you like to join me, handsome?”

“More than anything,” he whispered before he bent down and kissed you. John coughed loudly, and you weren’t sure if it was just a perfectly timed accident or a purposeful guilt trip. It was most likely the latter. “But… I think it’s better if I don’t, sweetheart.”

You smiled sadly with a small nod; “Next time, then,” you assured him. You looked up into his eyes and noticed the tiredness laced with the usual burden he carried. He blinked unusually slowly as if he was trying his damndest to stay awake, and you furrowed your brows. “How about you head to bed, you can shower after you get some sleep.”

“It’s alright, I’m not that tired,” he said.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” you asked him, barely above a whisper so that John wouldn’t hear.

John didn’t like you. He didn’t really trust your intentions with his son, and he thought you were just a distraction that would end up getting Dean killed if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t like how easily Dean would get ‘all giggly’ when he was near you, and he didn’t like that his son kept his guard down when he was with you.

He didn’t like the matching rings you wore, or that you too often referred to the other as husband or wife when a stranger would ask. You weren’t married, you were his fucking girlfriend and John fully believed you wouldn’t still be together by the time Sam finished his first four years at Stanford. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, matching your quiet tone. “I’ll shower right after you so don’t use up all the hot water, okay?” There was a teasing smirk on his face which made your worries subside temporarily.

“I promise to leave you some,” you said before you kissed him once more.

**

“Dean are you okay?” you asked, seeing the far-off look in his eyes when you left the bathroom.

“Yeah, I uh…” He rubbed his eyes as he tried to again focus on your face. He looked over at his dad, who raised a brow at his eldest son. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

You followed his line of sight and pursed your lips when you saw John.

“Dean says he’s fine, drop it Y/n,” he told you.

Against your better judgment, you decided not to ask Dean again. With your hair still wet from the shower, you took the brush from your bag and started fixing it. 

“Aren’t you gonna shower, babe?” you asked Dean, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. He started to kick off his shoes when he tripped and fell straight to the floor, his cheek now pressed against the carpet.

“Dean!?” you exclaimed and hurried over to him. You fell to your knees and took him into your arms, shaking him gently in hopes he’d just wake up. “Dean? Dean, honey, please? J-John he’s not waking up!” You pressed your lips to his temple; “C’mon, Dean!”

John had left his spot on the couch and was now hovering over you, as you looked up at him desperately.

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. John helped you lay Dean down so he could check his breathing.

“He seems fine,” John deduced. “Is there a wound we missed or something?”

“W-We need to call an ambulance,” you said and rushed to grab your phone off the nightstand.

“Y/n, Dean wouldn’t want us to call the cops,” John replied. He seemed a little too calm for your liking, so you weren’t about to let him call the shots regarding Dean’s wellbeing.

“I don’t care, we’re getting him to the fucking hospital,” you said as you dialed and made your way back to Dean. “Now hide your goddamn guns before the paramedics get here—I need an ambulance at the Rosebud Motel room 302, my husband just collapsed unexpectedly.” You ignored the look John gave you when you called Dean that. The operator asked questions and you answered each one; “Yes, he’s breathing… No, no bleeding… He’s twenty-five… Uhm, I’m not sure…” You pulled the phone from your ear; “Has he had anything to drink yet tonight?”

John was putting away the guns and paused to think before he shrugged; “I dunno, I wasn’t watching.” 

Your eyes widened and your teeth clenched, the fucking audacity. Looking at the table you saw three opened beers so you made an educated guess when you answered the 9-1-1 operator.

“He might’ve had a beer or two, but he’s not a lightweight, he’d never pass out after two beers… Yes, his dad is in the room with me… Yes, I can stay on the line.” You took in a shaky breath as you brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. 

“Just stay calm, ma’am, help is on the way.”

“I’m trying,” you replied, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kept his hand pressed to your lips. “Th-This isn’t like him, he’s–he’s always okay.”

**

You bounced your leg anxiously as you sat next to John in the waiting room. As you absentmindedly played with the ring on your right ring finger, you couldn’t help but think of the time when Dean had told you how much you truly meant to him almost three years ago.

* flashback *

“I got you a present.” His smile was adorable as he sat next to you on the couch. He saw your face light up and felt the need to downplay the gift; “It’s nothing much, don’t get too excited.”

“Dean, you could give me a dirty sock and I’d love it,” you teased, placing a quick kiss on his pink lips.

“Well… this is like one teer above ‘dirty sock’, I think.” He smirked and handed you the small velvet box. 

You opened it and your jaw fell open; “Oh my god, Dean!”

“I know how much you like mine,” he said quietly.

“I do like yous,” you took his right hand in yours and kissed the ring on his finger, “I love yours, Dean.”

“Well, this one is exactly like mine.” He smiled. “Except it’s in your size, obviously, so we can… you know… match.” You took the ring out of the box and admired it for a moment. You were about to put it on but he stopped you; “May I do the honors, sweetheart?” he asked. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips as you nodded and he took it from you. He slipped the ring onto your right ring finger before he kissed your hand. 

“I mean this in the most genuine way possible; this is by far the best gift anyone has ever gotten me, Dean! Ever!”

A sheepish blush was forming on his cheeks as he leaned over and kissed your lips; “I love you so much.” He pulled away so he could look at you; “And, I want you to know this isn’t a regular gift.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your smile growing. 

“Yeah,” he replied and kissed you again. When he pulled away again he chickened out a little and didn’t say what he was going to. “You’re twenty-one, which means you can now legally drink in all fifty states.” He stood up, pulling on your hand gently so you would follow him to the kitchen. He took two beers out of the fridge and put them on the table. He used the ring on his finger to easily open one then handed the other to you. “Why don’t you give it a try.”

It took you a few tries but you managed to open the beer using the ring he just gave you; “Okay, now that’s awesome!”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Dean said and you clinked your beers together before you both started drinking them. As he brought the bottle down from his lips, he watched as you kept drinking and smiled to himself. He suddenly felt the courage he felt when he bought the ring and decided to tell you his thoughts; “You know you’re the only girl for me, right?” You nodded with a smile. “I don’t just mean ‘for now’ I mean like forever. That’s the real meaning behind the ring, I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of our lives.”

You couldn’t help the happy tears beginning to sting your eyes as you looked up at him; “Forever?”

“Forever.”

* end of flashback *

You were shaken back to cruel reality by the sound of John’s voice beside you; “What’s taking them so long? We’ve gotta get back on the fuckin’ road.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you scoffed and looked at him. “Dean might be in serious trouble, and you’re thinking about the next hunt!?”

“Dean’s gonna be fine.” He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t know that,” you replied. You again started fiddling with the ring Dean had given to you.

“You know that ring doesn’t make you two husband and wife,” John commented. 

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to say what was running through your head; Yeah, and Dean being so fucking perfect doesn’t make you a good father.

“Dean Smith’s next of kin?” the doctor asked. 

“I’m his wife, this is his dad,” you said. “H-How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” she replied. “He has a very minor concussion from when his head hit the floor, but he just needs some rest.”

“What happened?” John asked. 

“He fainted from over-exhaustion, he’s gonna be okay.”

“Over-exhaustion?” You furrowed your brows, placing a hand over your chest. “B-But he’s been eating fine? A-And sleeping as much as me, I think?”

“Actually,” John interrupted, “he’s been helping me with research at night, he doesn’t sleep as much as you.” 

Never in your life had you wanted to knee John Winchester in the balls as badly as you wanted to at that moment.

“How many hours a night are you sleeping, hun?” the doctor asked you.

“Like three to five… every other night,” you admitted. “And that’s always been enough! If it wasn’t, Dean could’ve just taken a nap he didn’t have to—fuck.”

“Can we see him?” John asked.

“He’s still asleep but yes, you can go and see him,” she replied.

On the way to Dean’s room, you kept wondering how this all happened—how did Dean get so fucking tied he collapsed!? If he was staying up at night, why didn’t he just sleep in the car? You would’ve happily driven Baby, and it’s not like you hadn’t done that before—Dean’s love language was sharing that fucking car.

“This hasn’t ever happened before, right?” you asked John. 

“Never,” he replied. “Guess Dean’s just not as strong as he used to be.”

“Excuse me?” you seethed and stopped in your tracks, pulling John to a halt as well. “Dean is a fucking hero but he is not a machine, he’s a fucking human being who’s been treated like a soldier since he was six-fucking-years-old!”

“If you wanna say something, fucking say it!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, I am saying it! How fucking dare you work him so hard that he lands in the fucking emergency room!”

“We all know in this line of work, we have to do what we have to do!”

You slapped him hard across the face and your eyes widened when you realized what you did. 

“Dean is your son,” you said, quickly changing your facial expression back into one of pure rage. “He is your fucking child and you’ve been treating him like shit for far too long. He deserves better, he doesn’t deserve to be so fucking exhausted that he collapses.”

You walked away and into Dean’s room. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed made your heart break as tears welled in your eyes. 

“Oh god,” you mumbled. “Dean.” You quickly pulled up a chair so you could sit next to his bed and patiently wait for him to wake up. John did the same, though he seemed annoyed by the fact Dean was still asleep. 

You weren’t sure how long had passed before John got fed up; “Can you press the button for the nurse so we can ask when he’s supposed to wake up?”

“I think we should just let him sleep, don’t you?” you whispered, not knowing if Dean had been sedated or if he was just resting like normal.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I told you to call the damn nurse,” he said, raising his voice which caused Dean to stir awake.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean said groggily, his eyes half-hooded as he brought your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles. He then dropped your hand and rubbed his eyes to wake himself up. “This isn’t the motel,” he realized. He noticed John sitting at the other side of the bed and he sat up a little, trying to somewhat compose himself. “Wh-What happened?”

“I’ll fill you in,” John said. “Y/n, why don’t you go grab us some coffee so I can talk with my son?”

All your instincts told you not to leave the two Winchesters alone but what choice did you have? You didn’t want to start another fight with John, you were tired too, and you didn’t want Dean worrying.

“Yeah, sure,” you said. You took the time to bend down and place a loving kiss on Dean’s forehead, causing him to smile. “No coffee for you though, you need more sleep,” you told him before you left the room. 

About ten minutes later you walked back in and the sight practically made your eyes bulge out of your skull as your jaw flew open. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked and placed the two cups to the side. 

“Dad said there’s a hunt,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “I can sleep in the car or something, let’s go.” He started to stand up so you pushed him back down. 

“How fucking dare you!” you exclaimed at John, who stood on the other side of the bed. “How dare you tell him to suit up right now! He is staying here in this hospital, and he is getting some goddamn sleep!”

“That is not your decision,” John replied. “If Dean says he’s fine, then he’s fine.”

“You realize those are the exact words you said to me before your son collapsed, right?” you scoffed. “Dean lay back down now,” you told him as you began taking his boots off. “You are staying here for the night, you understand me?”

“Don’t you boss him around!” John exclaimed. “Dean and I are leaving here now.”

“You can leave if you want to, but Dean is staying put!” you replied, matching his tone. 

“No, he is not!” John yelled. 

You’d never fought with John like this, usually yelling and getting yelled at made your eyes tear up in the most inconvenient way. But this? Dean’s health? You were not about to back down. Not one single tear dared to appear in your eyes as you looked at John with such anger you wanted to slap him across the face… again.

“Why don’t we get a third opinion?” you suggested.

“Yeah, Dean, do you wanna sit here like a pussy or do you wanna go save some fucking lives?” John turned to look at him.

“Don’t answer that,” you said quickly. “I meant, let’s call the nurse and see what they have to say about it.”

Before John could protest, you walked over and pressed the button. It took half a minute—during which you and John stared daggers at each other—but soon the nurse walked in.

“How is everyone?” she asked, noticing the tension in the room.

“Do you think this young man here can leave yet? He’s doing fine and wants to go home,” John said. 

“Let me check his chart,” she replied before doing so. “I would have to no, he should definitely stay here and get some much-needed rest.”

“Is there a doctor—” John started but you stopped him.

“Goddamn it John!” you scoffed. “He is not leaving!” 

“You are not his fucking family!” John shouted, much louder than before. “I am! You aren’t his wife, you aren’t his sister, you aren’t his fucking mother—you are just his current girlfriend, and believe me that’ll fucking change in a heartbeat. You are not in charge of what Dean does, you are not family.” There was a short pause as your eyes brimmed with tears yet you refused to let them fall. John sighed and continued; “I am Dean’s father, I know what’s best for him, and I say he’s packing his things and getting the hell outta here.”

The nurse looked absolutely shocked, her jaw hanging open. The look John gave her made her hurry out of the room.

“Dad,” Dean said, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Dad, you can yell at me all you want, I’m your kid but…” He exhaled shakily as John turned to look at him with a frustrated look. “But you can’t talk to her like that, you just can’t. You might not think of her as family but that’s on you, she is a part of my family, Dad. And yeah, we might not be legally married or whatever but she’s not just my current girlfriend? She basically is my wife, we’re not just… dating?” Dean looked at his father with a sense of desperation, John just had to apologize and you could all drop it. Of course, John, being a stubborn bastard, held his ground and crossed his arms authoritatively. “I-If you aren’t gonna take back what you just said to her y-you can go on this next hunt alone.”

“Excuse me?” John scoffed. 

“You heard me,” Dean replied. “She’s everything to me and I can’t sit idly by while you talk to her like that.”

“So you’re talkin’ back to me now? Like Sammy?” John asked. “Refusing to take orders?”

“This isn’t about me, Dad!” Dean said, his face twisted with guilt. “You know I follow any orders you give, that I’m quick to obey. But you saying Y/n isn’t family? I-I’m sorry but I can’t let that slide, Dad.”

John huffed and abruptly left the room.

“I’m sorry,” you said to Dean the moment John was out of earshot.

“Me too.” Dean smiled sadly as you both wiped your eyes quickly.

“Why don’t we get these jeans off of you so you can be more comfortable?” you suggested patting his shin.

His brows shot up; “Really? Here? Now?”

“Dean, no!” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I meant comfortable so you can go to sleep!”

“Oh…yeah, that makes more sense.” His trademark cocky smile was back and that made your own smile return to your now tear-stained face.

“I’m serious about you staying put, you know.” You nodded toward his pants and he got the message. 

“You can be real stubborn, you know that?” he laughed as he hurried and slipped his pants off. You folded them up and put them on the chair along with his belt. He shrugged off his jacket and you tossed it on top of where the pants sat. 

“Get under the covers,” you said. He rolled his eyes playfully but he obliged nonetheless. 

“Happy?” He smiled when he was comfortable in the bed. 

You nodded; “I love you, Dean.” You leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips, causing his smile to turn more genuine. 

“Hey,” the doctor interrupted as she walked into the room, “Nurse Roberts just told me about the little outburst… everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just a little misunderstanding is all,” you replied. “But it’s all settled—Dean’s staying the night.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a smile. “I’ve gotta be honest I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, clearly anxious about her statement.

“I just meant that your husband is very healthy,” she assured you; “I’ve never seen a young, healthy man like him just collapse from over-exhaustion.”

“First time for everything I guess,” Dean laughed nervously.

You glared at him; “Not funny, babe.”

“She’s right,” the doctor backed you up. “Now, whatever you’ve been doing recently that caused you to lose this much sleep, get this stressed you need to quit it right here, right now.”

“It’s our job, we can’t just… quit,” you said. “But I will definitely keep a closer eye on him from now on, make sure he’s getting enough sleep.”

“You can’t put this all on her, you understand me, Mr. Smith?” She looked at Dean before he nodded shyly. “Mrs. Smith you need to fix your own sleeping habits as well — if you both don’t smarten up and take better care of yourselves, you will definitely be right back here before the end of the year. You got that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, I’m gonna give you a small dose of a mild sedative to help you fall asleep, alright?” She said as she made her way over to Dean’s IV bag to give him the sedative. “You ripped this out the second you woke up, didn’t you?” She asked him when she realized the needle was no longer in his arm. “You two, I swear!” She started preparing to simply inject Dean with the sedative but you stopped her.

“Is there maybe like a pill equivalent to what you’re giving him? He doesn’t really like needles,” you said. 

“There is, would you prefer that?” she asked Dean, and he nodded vigorously. “Alright, I’ll go and grab that for you then. Mrs. Smith the chair in the corner folds out into a small bed if you two don’t want to share one.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m not tired,” you said. 

She gave you a look; “Seriously? Hun, what did we just talk about?”

“I get that, but I know Dean’s not gonna sleep properly if he doesn’t feel safe.”

“This is a hospital, it’s safe,” she said. 

“Sorry,” you said with a small shrug, and again she sighed.

At that moment, John decided to walk back into the room, making your breath hitch a little before the doctor left to get the meds for Dean. 

“It’s alright, you two get some sleep; I’ll keep watch,” he said as he made his way over to the chair and sat down. 

“You sure, dad? I thought you said there was a job nearby?” Dean asked. 

John looked at you and smiled ever-so-slightly. Maybe it was something you had said to him, maybe John didn’t want you being alone with Dean while he was so weak, or maybe there never was a job and he didn’t have anything better to do than stay with his son. 

For whatever reason, John Winchester sighed and answered; “You’re more important, Dean. Your safety is more important. Now quit whining and get some sleep.”

Dean pulled the covers back, silently asking you to join him in the bed and, of course, you obliged. You gave him a quick kiss on the lips before getting comfortable in his arms.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, kissing your temple. 

“I love you more,” you replied, making him let out a soft laugh. 

“You always gotta one-up me, huh?” he chuckled. 

“Uh-huh,” you giggled. His arms tightened around your frame as he tucked your head under his chin. John couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for treating not only you but his own son so poorly. Every time John saw Dean be this relaxed and happy, you were always the cause. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

By the time the doctor got back about seven minutes later, you and Dean were both fast asleep; the latter letting out snores that gently moved your hair with each breath. She smiled a little at the sight and decided to duck back out of the room so as not to wake you two.

[depresssant]

Shades Of Cool

NEGLECTFUL!PLATONIC!YAN!batfam x GN!reader

synopsis : growing up with a shit mom and constant step-dads and mom's boyfriends, your view on life has grown pretty bleak. you just want to die, since it doesn't seem to get better than this. things can't get any worse, can they?

so reader is very flawed ppl. i’m trying to make this as gn as possible for pls bear with me. asks and requests r open. reblogs are also much appreciated. now that i’ve gotten my e-begging out of the way, enjoy this pathetic excuse of a story

warnings : child abuse, past sexual abuse, yandere, etc

you want to die.

you always do.

staring at the wanna be thug pointing a gun at you, you sigh and roll your eyes in exasperation. perhaps pissing him off will the best way to get him to curl a finger around the trigger. or judging by his temperament, you won't have to do much.

"you? i should give my money to you?"

"who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?" the thug screams at you angrily. his grip gets tighter and clammier. he's not experienced with this. he's probably ganged up with a bunch of thugs to pull shit like this. it wouldn't take much to disarm him. "give me the fucking money before i blow your head off!"

"to a junkie like you?" you are a junkie, too, so you're not too sure about making fun of him for that. "i don't give money to hobos."

that is wrong, too. but you want to piss him off.

"that's it, you stupid bitch!" the thug's stances becomes defensive. his hateful glare is pointed at you while he musters the courage to actually press the trigger. he doesn't look like he'll do it. you've seen countless like him roaming the streets, holding you at gunpoint. he probably won't do it. then again, this is gotham. you don't expect much. either he'll shoot you dead, forcibly take your stuff, flee the scene out of fear, or be dismantled by one of the city's vigilantes. perhaps he'd shoo—

"stop right there!"

damn it.

you think too soon.

a young robin is quick to have the wanna be thug tied up and beat down. you would've questioned why a kid who seemingly looked twelve can do such a thing, but you've learned to not question most things in your life. you merely sigh in disappoint and pick up your dropped backpack before beginning the journey to hell.

"excuse me? wait! where are you headed?"

gosh, his boy-ish voice grates your nerves. makes you clench your teeth. your gaze narrows, but you know better than to react. reaction gains a reaction—one that will never be in your favor. it'll lead to a fight—one that will never be in your favor. you'll end up broken, bleeding, and bruised. now that isn't something in your favor. now you're thinking of favor too much. forcing a smile, you turn around to face the pre-teen vigilante. "yes?"

"are you alright?" he asks with practiced concern. he doesn't actually care. it's probably just protocol.

"a-okay!" the words are hollow. they lack depth. like you. "thank you for your help. i don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't there."

you do know. you wish you wouldn't.

"you're welcome," robin replies with polished words like he's not exactly convinced. "would you like for me to walk you? the city hasn't been safe for some time now."

"when is it ever safe? but that's okay. i live just around the corner, so i think i'll be fine."

"are you sure—"

"completely."

please. why won't he just leave you alone? there goes your plan spoiled by him again. every time you've been in an attempted robbing, he's been there to destroy your chances of getting shot. of escaping. he always does this. this is a repeated cycle between the two of you. he's a flying bird until you shoot him down. your name clearly wants to escape from his lips, but robin nods his head in understanding.

"this seems to happen to you all the time. my wish is for you to be safe."

"this is gotham." the grip on the straps on your backpack tighten. "everyone's gotta go through this. anyways, i gotta go, you know. thanks for savin' me."

"of course."

you don't spare him a single glance. the sky is wrapped up in black clouds heavy with the burden of rain. icy cold wind sings a melancholy tune through the stiff air. the door to your apartment looks like the gates of hell. it's all futile. no matter how many sighs you sigh, how many wishes you wish, and how many curses you curse, you'll still land up in the same fate. without escape.

that is the summary of your life.

taking a few seconds to prepare yourself for the incoming session, you open the door to be met with radio silence. silence is never good. half the time, it means something is brewing for you, and they're taking their sweet time to scare you into thinking nothing will happen. sometimes. not all the time. the other time, it just means he need to rise from his pile of misery first.

the hand of your mother's boyfriend is instantly wrapped around your neck before you can even register why the hell the apartment looks like a tornado hit it. he squeezes so tightly you feel like blood is gushing out of your ears with how loudly they ring. white spots dot along your blurry sight as you struggle to breathe. you can hear a frantic voice telling him to let you go, but you're pushed up more against the wall. this is the norm. doesn't mean it hurts any less. he'll let you go, give you some time to regain your breath, and then rain down bullets upon you.

that's exactly what happens.

your hand goes straight to your neck as your raspy and shaky coughs wreck your chest. he squeezes hard enough for it to hurt but it not show. and then the kicks and punches come. with how much your chest and ribs are struck, you're a bit surprised at how you haven't broken a bone yet. your potential step-father screams at you, but you can barely hear it over the repetition of words in your head. he grabs your bloody face and shout something incoherent before letting you go to kick you.

leaving you in your own pile of misery.

it's normal. yes, it's completely normal. you're used to this. it'll get better. it always does. but you've got the crushing idea it never will.

gotham heights high school—the school you're forced to attend.

the class division is insane to look at, because it's there even from a short and near prospective. how the richest kids got put in a school with the poorest—you'll never know. the only thing you do know is that every one of these kids are pieces of shit. even the ones that pretend to be nice.

tim drake—or shall you say tim wayne—is no different.

even as he helps up the girl who just got roughly pushed to the floor, causing all her textbooks to scatter, you can only eye him with disdain. if he really cares, then he would've beat the shit out of those athletes. but he doesn't. they're all the same—privileged and all. sympathy shouldn't be given to them. not to drake or the wealthy yet somehow bullied girl.

"but y'know what i heard?" your friend drags your attention back to him. zarian leans against a locker lazily, but excitement practically buzzes off of him. "the bruce wayne is coming to our track meet today!"

your other friend, jaylene, rolls her eyes as she applies her eyeliner using the mirror hanging up on the inside door of her locker. she speaks exactly what you're thinking. "only because his beloved son is gonna be there."

"well, still. think about the connections we can make! all the famous people that'll be there."

"keep dreaming. asshat. i put all my money on the attention being on rich the kid. i don't even know why he joined track. varsity, at that, too. there has to be some sort of bribery going on."

an incoming argument is clearly brewing up, so you take in a deep breath to say something, but a new voice beats you to it.

"excuse me?"

you and your two friends turn to face the guy standing in front of you. charismatic, intelligent,  and optimistic—he's an enigma that shines on everyone. tim drake. his black, messy yet somehow in place hair does no justice for his good looks. he's the complete package. rich, good looking, tall, and empathetic. the mere sight of him annoys you.

zarian is the first to speak up. he quirks a brow and offers tim a grin. "what's up, man?"

"you're leaning against my locker." tim rubs the back of his neck. he smiles awkwardly in the presence of the three of you, and it takes your friend a beat to understand what he's saying before moving away.

"oh yeah. my fault," he says as he moved to stand next to you.

the school's very own bruce wayne only shakes his head and tells him it's okay while opening his locker and grabbing a few things. people flock around, waiting for him to be done with whatever the hell he's doing, so they can be back to his side like leeches sucking on blood. he surely can't be this dumb, no? these people don't want to be his friend...

well, it's not as if it's your problem. you wish it is. you and your friends turn to make way to first period, but drake clearly has other plans. he sandwiches himself between you and zarian with a grin of his own plastered on an unblemished face. one carefree of any worry or pain. "so," tim begins. "first track meet of the year, huh? aren't you guys nervous?"

jaylene merely hums in amusement and shrugs. "it gets better. when you've spent four years in track—in front of all those judging people—it wears off. hopefully, you'll get used to it soon."

that is jab, though, rich the kid doesn't seem to catch on. he laughs casually, but even you can sense the anxiety like it was radioactive. ""i hope so. i've sprinted so much i feel like i'll get shin splits again."

you zone out while he has a conversation with your friends. as if drake has ever had experience with track. it took you all of freshman year to just prove that you can actually be a part of the track team, and here tim drake is, parading around about getting on varsity without a single grain of hard work. he's a naturally talented person. good at everything. that's what makes you hate him so much. people like him get everything handed to them just because they're good at it first hand and leave behind people that actually work for it. you want to tell him to buzz off—that he can't talk about how much he's practiced and how nervous he is, but you keep your mouth shut. that is, until he directly addresses you.

tim's eyes narrow at you with comedic suspicion. "you know, you look like someone i know. a lot. the resemblance is crazy."

"eight billion people out there. you never know." your tone is flat, stoic, lacking any bit of emotion.

"gosh, you even sound like him! that's really terrifying."

"well, whoever, it is, i hope i never meet him," you murmur.

your two friends leave for their classes soon, and you and drake find your seats at the back of high school economics. exhaustingly so, you sit together in one of the many desk pairs, and drake uses this opportunity to annoy you any chance he gets. you give off the vibe that you don't want to talk to him. he doesn't get the hint. you don't tell him, though. maybe that's the problems. his shit-eating grin ticks you off when you look in his direction. "what?"

"let's be friends!"

"no."

"what? come on! don't be so cold!" he whines like a petulant child being told no.

"no."

"too bad! you're my friend now."

"tim," you sigh. it's wrong to scream. it's bad to scream. screaming leads to fights. fights lead to you laying in a pool of your own blood. laying in blood leads to missing practice. missing practice leads to less skill. less skill leads to less of a chance of getting the hell out of here. just smile. forgive and forget. know your persona. know who you are. kind. happy. funny. "fine." so you smile with gritted teeth. you smile like you played a cruel joke on him. "we can be friends... i guess."

his face brightens at your fake words like he is just given the the world.

tim drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully and nudges you with his elbow. "you know, i've been trying to get you to say that since school started?"

"really now?"

"really. i'm glad we're going to be friends. oh! should we go out to eat with zarian and jaylene after the meet?"

... there's a chance your mom's boyfriend will get pissed off. he'll probably beat the shit out of you since the track meet would have happened, and you wouldn't need to have an unblemished body for meets. he'd scream, yell, and punch... like his life depended on it... fuck it.

"yeah," you reply shortly after with a firm nod of your head. "we can go to this diner near the theater. i'm sure you'll love the food."

this doesn't mean you hate him any less. he's still rich scum⏤how you're poor scum. he's stuck up, pretentious, and sickeningly sweet. exactly what you hate. you just hope you can have a good time after the track meet. the mischievous glint in his eyes told you otherwise.

"and this is my dad, bruce wayne."

what the hell are you doing?

the sun is setting along the horizon, the air is getting cooler again, and you want to sink into the floor. the plan was to head straight to the diner after this, but rich the kid somehow roped you into meeting his dad?

nausea pools in your stomach from both hunger and the feeling of thousands of eyes staring at you. cameras are flashing at gotham's billionaire as he smiles and firmly shakes your hand. confidence drips off of him disgustingly. his high-tailored suit radiates wealth and money. his stoic demeanor gives off an aura of mystery. you want to lay on a railroad track with an incoming train speeding along the way.

"it's nice to meet you. tim has ranted about his track teammates quite a lot."

there's an eleven year old standing next to him. his eyes are on you like that of an owl's but you neither glance at him or bother to acknowledge him. you just want to eat some food before meeting your doom at that apartment for not placing first like your mom's boyfriend wanted you to. like a goat getting stuffed before slaughter. it always leads down to that. no matter how many times you try to wish it was different. no matter how many times you imagine it to be different. no matter how many times you try to make it different.

"nice to meet you too." you shake his hand as well with a polite smile on your face. polite. calm. gentle. proper. "and yeah, he seems very eager to be on the team."

"of course, of course. well, it is getting late. why don't you come over for dinner some time?"

"maybe tonight?" tim suddenly adds in. at your hesitant expression, he groans in exasperation. "who do you think we are? blood-sucking bats? come on, we can go to the diner some other time!"

you have just met him... you've just accepted being his friend... you aren't the most social person. you've never had much friends, but even you can understand that dinner with the family doesn't happen until the friend and person have come close in a long period of time. jaylene and zarian have other matters to tend to, so it's going to be just you and tim at a diner. not⏤

ding!

your phone's notification's alarm chimes, and when you check who has sent you a message, you feel like getting on the ground to pray to whatever deity for letting you have a moment of peace.

mom: ⏤he's heavily drunk. don't come home.

a part of you is hit with a strong current full of guilt. this is your mother. you're supposed to be there for her through thick and thin. you're supposed to protect her and be her wall of defense against monsters like him. family look out for each other. you have to take care of her... but she doesn't take care of you. this makes you a terrible person. you know that. she'll probably get beaten to an inch of her life and hide her heavy bruises under makeup that was terribly done in a rush. and then, she'll throw whatever object is in sight at you in a fury of anger.

telling you she made too many sacrifices for you. telling you that you're ruined her life. telling you that she should've aborted you like your father had told her to. telling you exactly what you believe yourself. a curse that should've never been born... she'll be beaten within an inch of her life. but you have already lost yours.

after pretending to text her and sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, you nod with a sigh of joking resignation. "sure. i asked my mom, and she said it's okay."

"wonderful." mr. wayne nods and gestures to the limo you can see in the parking lot. a bit of overkill, perhaps.

honestly, you're still surprised that gotham's billionaire is inviting you to dinner. this man is the topic of magazines, and you're about to take a ride in his limo. how the hell have you ended up in a situation like this? fate is still fucking with you, isn't it?

you find yourself seated next to tim while mr. wayne and his youngest son, damian, sit on the seats to your right. they're talking about something, but once again, you find yourself half listening and zoning out, staring at nothing until mr. wayne's questions pulls you back to reality.

"so how has school been faring for you?" mr. wayne asks in a cool and collected tone.

you laugh lightly and smile as politely as ever. "pretty good. i hope to leave gotham after graduation to study somewhere else."

"who would want to stay in gotham?" tim rolled his eyes, rolling the first place medal between his fingers. "by the way, remember when i said you looked like someone i know? i was talking about my dad?"

your brows rise in both exasperation and annoyance at his claims. now he's just plain, out right trying to make fun of you in front of a billionaire. your shoulders tense, ready to refute his claims, but mr. wayne surprisingly chuckles and rubs his chin while taking a good look at your face. "well, i can see it, but there's eight billion people out there in the world. i'm bound to look like someone. though, i didn't expect for it to be someone as talented as [name] here."

you force a quiet laugh along at the sound of his tone. foreboding. you know tones like this. like he's hiding something that they all know except for you. it means you've made a mistake in even giving in to tim drake's constant begging. why the hell was he so eager to have you become his friend? why is he so eager to maintain a friendship with you? why the hell has mr. wayne invited you to dinner when he's rumored to be mysterious, secretive, and a literal brick wall that nobody can get past?

"you've achieved so much for a child your age." mr. wayne sets his gaze dead on you. "your father must be so proud."

and his eyes glimmer with that same shine you saw in tim's.

ewwww

this was not proofread so forgive me and uh, i will be turning this into a series

um also making a tag list if anyone wants to be a part of it

[brokenmenswhore]

first | poly!marauders

pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader

summary: virginity loss trope :)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻‍♀️

────── ☾ ──────

“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”

“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.

You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”

“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”

“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.

“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.

“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.

“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.

You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.

“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”

“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”

You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”

“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.

They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.

You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.

“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”

Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.

“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”

Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”

“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.

“You guys are insufferable.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.

“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.

“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”

“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”

“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.

“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”

No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.

You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.

“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.

“What?” you replied.

“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”

Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.

“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.

“To one of us?” Remus asked.

You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.

Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”

The boys all exchanged a look between one another.

James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”

You titled your head up at him. “What?”

James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”

You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.

Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“

You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.

You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”

They were not prepared for that answer.

Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.

“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”

“Mhm.”

“Like at the same time?” he pushed.

“Sirius-“ Remus warned.

“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.

“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.

Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”

“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.

“Move.”

Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”

You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you retried.

Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.

You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.

Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.

“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”

Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”

Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.

James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.

“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”

James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.

“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.

As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”

“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.

“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”

“But I’m emb-“

“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”

Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.

“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.

“Yes, Rem, I-“

“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”

“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.

“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”

They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.

You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.

“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.

“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”

Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”

“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.

“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“You got a little more in you?”

“Mhm.”

“You want me?”

“Mhm.”

Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.

“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.

“Yes,” you responded.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”

Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.

“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”

Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”

You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.

“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”

Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.

Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.

A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.

“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”

“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.

“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.

“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”

James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.

“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.

Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.

“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.

“I know baby,” he replied.

“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.

Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”

Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.

Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.

“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”

“Rem- Rem- I-“

“I know angel, let go.”

Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.

“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.

“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”

Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”

“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.

“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.

“Mhm.”

“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”

“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.

Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”