#this sitch is getting way out of hand

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[blunderpuff]

not the beloathed homeschool mom (tm) using her nine year old autistic son’s meltdown for sympathy from other moms

[parfaitblogs]

baby it's halloween ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a mutual friendship leads to a run-in with your ex, and it's halloween, which means you can be anything. even normal with him right?

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: garcia party in rossi HOUSE 💜. alcohol consumption. reader's dressed as a swan (stunning gorgeous amazing). pre established friends with benefits (don't fuck your exes). s10 bau team is there in spirit i think. crazy spare bedroom hookup. brief nipple play. oral (f receiving). fingering. p in v. he dresses you afterwards. porn with plot. oral fixation. soft dom!spencer.  word count: 3.8k a/n: ex spencer reid makes a comeback. this is separate from bad idea right? but same pairing same sitch kind of same everything. LOL. thanks for giving me costume ideas guys. parfaitblogs revival!!! happy birthday spencer reid!!! happy halloween criminal minds tumblr!!!

"Penelope, what the fuck are you wearing?"

It was a very loud exclamation, over the sound of party music that certainly didn't match the overall theme of Halloween. It was only nine o'clock but the fox eared blonde in front of you had lip liner painting her chin, a pink flush on her cheeks barely hidden beneath a layer of makeup, and two cans of some multicoloured premixed vodka drink you weren't sure about trying (despite her holding one out to you). 

"Fox costume. I'm Agnes! From Fantastic Mr. Fox!" Penelope says, cheerfully, urging you to take the drink she had in her hand, not relenting until you did.

"We agreed on swans," you huff, feeling awfully stupid now, in your all white costume, a pair of fluffy wings settled on your back. 

Penelope looked genuinely apologetic for changing her costume idea on you with no warning, and so as she rambled about how she got excited after seeing fox makeup on her phone, you decided it wasn't actually that big of a deal. She finished her spiel with a comment about still technically matching because you're both animals, and it was enough for you to accept. 

She led you further into the house. House, because she had convinced one of her coworkers to let her host a Halloween party at his, claiming her apartment was far too small for such a thing. Apparently he was very easy to convince. 

It was a quick tour of where all the most basic of amenities on the first floor were, before she was shoving a shot glass of vodka into your hand, and encouraging you to take it. 

So you did. 

Perhaps it was a loosening up technique she was using in an attempt to keep you from ripping her head off when she began another conversation with you with the words,

"So, I need to preface before you get too drunk—" a sentence you really had never hoped to hear in your life "—that Spencer's here."

You're not too sure why your world begins to crumble around you at that fact. You figured he would be. In fact, when you were choosing the articles of clothing for your costume a week ago, you had the idea of Spencer Reid seeing you in mind. You had mentally prepared for seeing him. And yet; panic. 

However, instead of making a scene about how anxious that thought made you, you force a small smile onto your face and murmur out, "That's fine."

"Are you sure?" Penelope presses. "You can hover around me the entire night to avoid him, if you want. I'll stay away from him. I'm really sorry for inviting him."

You didn't like that. "No. Pen, it's okay. He's your friend."

"So are you."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at her words, a warm feeling spreading throughout it. But, ultimately, you were not the person who wants perfectly good friendships ruined because you're too scared to hold a relationship together. 

"I'll get drunk enough and start talking to him anyways. It's fine," you reassure her. 

And get drunk enough you did. 

You had bumped into him a few times already, making awkward eye contact when you passed him on your way to the kitchen for another drink, or to the bathroom to fix your corset that felt like it was getting tighter every breath you took. 

Yet here you were, stuck between the fridge and him, a collection of things you wanted to both beg him for, and cuss him out because of, sitting delicately on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the right trigger word from him.

Unsuccessfully, for he was rocking back on his heels, clasping his hands around the glass of water he was nurturing, keeping the peace between you two and staying silent. 

And you couldn't have that. 

"Hi. How are you?" you chirp after closing the fridge, a can you were getting for Penelope and not yourself now settled between your hands.

"Hi. I'm good," he says, sending you an all too familiar tight lipped smile. One he always did when he was feeling awkward. "How are you?"

"This is really formal," you say, tilting your head to the side. "I'm good."

He nods his head in agreement, and you find every curse word you had ready to yell at him dissipate in an instant. "I like your costume. Swan?"

"Yes," you nod your own head, forcing the flutter of your heart to stop.

You weren't sure what he was when you had first arrived to the party, but a few short exchanged words between the two of you revealed the fake teeth he had settled in his mouth, confirming Penelope's earlier guess that he was a vampire. 

Fitting, you had almost said then. 

"I like yours too," you say after a few beats of awkward silence and you realising you hadn't said much after his compliment. 

"Thank you."

It was an awkward song and dance around the elephant in the room (your relationship, or lack thereof). An even more awkward interaction of him reaching behind you into the fridge to get out a drink for Morgan, and then a breathless apology when he had gotten a bit too close and you hadn't had a conscious enough mind to step back.

"I don't like this," you blurt out.

"What?"

"This. Us," you clarify. "Being awkward. Not talking. We talk fine when we hook up."

Because yes, there's that secret you were keeping hidden away from Penelope. 

"We're preoccupied during that."

"I'd argue seeing each other naked once a week is much more awkward than bumping into each other drunk, at a party."

"I'm not drunk."

Right. You knew that. Spencer Reid didn't drink. It was why the cup in his hand was only water, and the alcoholic beverage in his other wasn't for him. 

If you were any less buzzed you probably wouldn't say the unfortunately very embarrassing sentence you let leave your lips, that sounded a little foreign even to you. 

"Then do we need to see each other naked tonight to make this not awkward?"

His lips parted and he froze, rightfully so. You weren't sure how you'd react to somebody asking you that either. It seemed awfully blunt for even you, and if you were any sane person, you'd probably be backtracking to take it back. Instead, you were just as frozen as him, fearful for how he would respond. 

"No," he says, but there was a strain in his voice that told you otherwise. Thankfully, you had enough self restraint to not call him out on that. 

"No?" you tilt your head to the side.

"No, we don't need to. Do you want to?"

Does it make you a horrible person to say yes? To take advantage of one of the many rooms littering the Rossi house, and use a situational run-in to have sex with your ex-boyfriend?

Probably.

"Yes. Do you?"

"I like how you look tonight."

Your heart rate speeds up. "That isn't an answer."

"Yes," he says. "I do."

The kitchen was left empty with a glass of water and two unopened cans on the countertop, that Derek Morgan was no doubt bound to discover when Spencer never returns. Followed closely by — probably — Penelope discovering the same about you. Which would probably lead to the discovery of the friends (were you friends?) with benefits situation the two of you had. 

You've barely stepped into the spare room he had located before he's kissing you. Feverishly, devouring you whole, as your back is pressed up against the door. Your wings dug into your shoulder blades, the feathers tickling your arms, and yet you couldn't find it in you to care. 

"Spencer."

His response to your plea of his name is to kiss you harder, fingers entangling in your hair, and you think if he pushes against you any more, you'll meld to the atoms of the door. 

"You taste like alcohol," he mutters against your lips. 

"Funny that."

"Are you drunk?"

"I'll remember this all in five minutes, if that's what you mean."

"Sort of."

His mouth detaches from yours, and there's a desperation in the way he kisses down your neck you don't think you'll ever get used to, no matter how many times he does it. 

It was a heartbreaking reality of the difference between how he would have sex with you then, and now. 

It's his grumbling that forces you to focus on him again, and not the comparative thoughts you have whirring in your brain. His fingers are fumbling with the lacing on your back, as he says, irritation you find almost hilarious in his tone, "I hate corsets."

"You said you liked it earlier."

"I liked it when I wasn't trying to take it off of you."

You smile. "I'll wear something more convenient for you next time."

"Yes. Thank you," he nods, successfully loosening the lacing enough so he could take the corset off of your body. "T-shirts are good."

"Duly noted." 

"Or nothing. Nothing's better," he adds, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands dropping to your chest — completely bare, considering you couldn't justify the wearing of a bra beneath the corset. 

"I'll ask the board."

You feel him smile against your lips, his hands cupping your chest, thumbs delicately running over your nipples to elicit a breathless whine from you. Ever so careful, he uses his thumbs to circle them, amused with just how easy it was to fluster you.

His lips trail down from your lips again, his hands dropping to your waist, using his hips to nudge you towards the bed.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you wince, although any pain dissipates as he murmurs a gentle apology and lowers the two of you to the bed. 

It's quite amusing; the articles of clothing you're removing from your bodies. You didn't think feathered wings and a Dracula-esque cape piling together on the floor would be a sight you ever saw in this context, and yet. 

"What do you want, honey?" he asks you, though your brain is a little preoccupied with his pulling of your skirt down your legs, fingers brushing against your skin. He forces your focus back onto him again with the calling of your name, and a kiss to your inner thigh. 

"What're you willing to give me?" 

"You know I'd do anything."

Your heart soars. Yes, you do know that. He loves to prove that feat to you. 

"I don't know," you shake your head. "Whatever you want. You choose. My gift to you this Halloween."

It was a tradition you had started with him three years ago, on your first Halloween together. You knew how important the holiday was to him, and so you had bought him a plethora of decor for his apartment (on top of what he already had). You had helped him set it up, and later that week he had gifted you a charm bracelet with a pumpkin clasp. Every Halloween since, you bought him more decor, and he bought you a Halloween inspired charm for the bracelet. 

This was your first Halloween where you weren't together. 

"I didn't get you a charm."

"That's okay," you reply, earnestly. 

"You're so wet," is voice is breathless, changing the topic of conversation awfully quickly. For his eyes had dropped to the only item of clothing you still had on, and his fingers had trailed far enough up your thighs to brush over it. 

"Do something about it then," you retort, bluntly, and he smiles amusedly. 

He probably murmurs something about you being a brat, but his hands were pulling your underwear down your legs, and you should not be expected to focus on two maddening things at once. 

Thankfully, he does do something about it. And quite quickly, too. Wasting no time teasing like he usually does, instead attaching his lips to your core, tugging a moan from your lips. 

His tongue licks a stripe up the centre of your folds, circling your clit, expertly so. 

"Oh God," you whine out, breathlessly, head falling backwards and digging into the mattress beneath. Sinful as it was, Spencer's tongue on you did feel like the closest thing you'd ever have to a religious experience, a thought that had crossed your mind the many times he's done this before. 

Once he's sure his tongue flicking over your clit had worked you up enough, you're forced into shock as you feel one of his fingers at your entrance. Lack of hand-eye coordination aside, he's well versed in the art of using two different body parts at once to make you come, and yet you're still writhing beneath him like it's the first time.

Sometimes it felt like it was. 

"Spencer," you nearly cry out, if not for your hand flying to your mouth to muffle how loud you had anticipated you'd be. 

He pulls his lips away at that, instead lifting his head to hover over yours, as he pushes a single finger inside you. Even when your eyes flutter closed and your head tilts back further, you can still feel his gaze on you, as if in awe of the way you looked. 

"That was so easy," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "You really did want me to do this tonight, hm?"

Too wrapped up in the feeling of being touched by him again, all you can do is nod your head, and you feel him smile against your cheek. 

"Yeah, I know, sweet girl."

He captures your lips again, swallowing a string of moans that leave your lips when he begins to move his finger in and out. Finger that becomes fingers, for he's pushing another one in, and you're arching your back up as you attempt to accomodate to the stretch. 

"I know, I know," he repeats when your head jerks back as your lips part in another, this time silent, moan. "I shouldn't have missed last week, hey? I'm sorry I was out of state."

You want to tell him it's okay. That you didn't really mind being celibate for an extra seven days on top of the six the two of you leave between your nights together. Unfortunately, growing accustomed to a once a week cycle meant the interruption of it left you overwhelmingly easy to shatter with the simplest of touches. You did mind, so you kept your thoughts to yourself. 

"Please," you ask him, almost pathetically, when he curls his fingers and your entire brain goes fuzzy.

"Please what, honey?"

You're not sure what. More of his fingers? His tongue back on you? You want it all. Yet, time was unfortunately of the essence, and you were acutely aware of the ticking alarm clock in view on the bedside table. You did not have the minutes to receive absolutely everything you wanted from him.

"Want you to fuck me," you murmur. 

He breathes out a laugh. "I know. I'm going to, I promise. I just need to get you ready first, okay? How're you feeling?"

"Ready." Your voice is an impatient grumble, one that amuses him greatly, which frustrates you even more. 

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, pushing his fingers back inside of you to elicit a sharp whine from your lips. "I want to do this a little longer, anyways."

"Spencer."

Your protest and attempt to bribe him with a kiss is hopeless, for he is continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, using your arguably selfish kiss to quiet every single sound you make. 

It isn't until you're quite literally writhing beneath him and begging him with an incessant repeat of his name, does he pull his fingers out of you. Tapping your lower lip with them, you take his fingers into your mouth, despite your panting and attempts at catching your breath. 

You want to close your eyes, but the way he's looking at you as you suck on his fingers is borderline ridiculous, and you should probably be locked up for just how attracted to it you are. 

He trails his fingers out of your mouth after a few moments, but any desire to protest that is lost on you when your eyes catch his removal of his boxers. 

He disappears from above you for only a minute, though he knows you too well and says, "I'm getting a condom," before you have a chance to start complaining about it. By the time he's returned, he's kissing you again, and you've forgotten all about your irritation.

The head of his cock pushes at your entrance, and you're already a mess. He's slow as he eases into you, and you're eternally grateful for it, because your entire body tenses up, and he's forced to pause, and ease your muscles with his hands kneading your thighs. 

"I'm sorry," he says, genuinely, when your eyes squeeze shut, and you're back to remembering why you're not happy about the dreadful thirteen day celibacy he forced upon you. But he's so nice, and so apologetic, that as he bottoms out, your hands are wrapping around his neck to provide him with silent forgiveness. 

He stays still for a few more moments, his lips tickling your jawline. His breath fans your skin, warm, and just as desperate as your own, which is comforting. 

"Tell me when you're okay," he says, quietly, breathing out a moan when your walls flutter around him. 

After a beat, you murmur, "I'm okay," and he pulls his hips back, before rolling them back into you, slowly. 

You're a puddle of content and pleasure and love as he repeats the gentle motions of fucking you, moaning and squirming beneath him, despite his hands on your hips in an attempt to keep you still. 

"Doing so well for me, honey," he tells you after a few minutes, and heat warms your cheeks at the compliment. He laughs at your bashful smile. "You feel so good."

He moves his hips a little faster, and you're moaning again, hands dropping from his neck to the mattress. At that, he picks up his ministrations once again. All up until all the tender, slow motions are gone, and he's listening to your throat produce broken whines and pleas, his own presenting breathless groans.

"Spencer," you gasp out at one particular thrust, and he's instantly repeating that same deep movement. "Oh fuck."

"Like that?" he asks you, tenderly, and you're frantically nodding your head. "God, look at you. You're so pretty when I do this to you, you know?"

Vulgarity — in any form — coming from Spencer Reid's mouth should sound foreign, and yet it doesn't. Though, perhaps you're too lost in the pleasure of just how good he feels to believe he's anything but perfect.

"I want to come," you tell him, a disguised plea.

"Okay. I can make that happen."

You know he can. He's proven it a thousand times, you're sure. 

One of his hands drops to your cunt, fingers finding your clit and timing the circles onto it with his thrusts, until you're pretty sure there is no longer a coherent thought in your brain that isn't simply him.

If his aim was to turn you into a mess with very little time, he was excelling above average. Your hands had grabbed fistfuls of the duvet cover atop of the bed, your mouth producing nothing but a constant repeat of, "Please," and "Spencer," one after the other. 

He wasn't surviving very well, either, you found. His breathing heavy and his thrusts growing sloppier by the second, until he was feeling your own walls clench around him with your stomach tying itself into a knot. 

He forced his hips to keep moving, albeit much more messy now, as he moaned against your skin, his own orgasm wracking through his body, while still attempting to chase your own. 

It didn't take much more than that, to be honest, and your entire body went boneless and shattered beneath him as you came too.

Jelly seemed like an apt description for what you felt as you relaxed in the bed and your nerves began to calm down, Spencer breathing heavily above you. Up until he was sliding out of you, and standing up on legs you could see shaking, perhaps just as much as your own. 

He's disposing of his condom as you lay there, attempting to regain your breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling above you. He's shuffling around more than you'd expect for a simple trash trip, but then you feel hands on your ankles, and your head snaps down to find him kneeling at the foot of the bed, gently tugging your underwear back up your legs. 

"I know it's not ideal," he says, when your face scrunches up as the piece of fabric lands back on your hips. "But I also know your skirt is too short to not wear these."

"I'll get over it," you reply, letting him redress you with delicate fingers that leave your entire body hot, with goosebumps rising on the skin.

"Yeah," he agrees, though half-heartedly, expert fingers clasping your bra back onto your body. 

Once your skirt is back on, he helps you up into a seated position, helping to reapply the feathered head piece you had on. 

It's oddly intimate, way he's kneeling in front of you, breath warm against your face as he clips the feathers into your hair. Your breathing hitches as his hands drop back to your thighs upon finishing, and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

"Everybody's gonna know what we did," you say, quietly, for it was true. You two had been gone for too long of a time for people to not draw correct conclusions. 

"They already know we do." Hook up.

"What? How?"

"You need to stop telling Garcia things."

Your face falls, and he smiles, sympathetically, thumbs drawing gentle circles on the skin of your thighs. 

"At least you don't work with them."

"I guess there's that," you confirm with a small nod.

He's silent for a few more moments, simply staring at you and studying your face, before he sighs, and goes to pick up your corset. 

"You need to go to the bathroom after this," he instructs you, though gently, motioning for you to stand up and turn around so he could do up the dreaded lacing. 

"I know. Don't worry."

"Good," he replies, your skin tingling with every extra bit of pressure he put on your back as he laced up your corset. "You feel okay?"

"Yes," you nod your head. "Do you?"

"I do," he confirms for you, tying off the lacing and tapping your hip so you could turn back around. 

You do, and your eyes flicker up to his face. "Do you also promise not to make me wait two weeks again?"

"I'll talk to the board."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[maxlarens]

perhaps bsf!reader and ibiza!lando in a sitch where like, lando isn’t getting girls in the clurb bc everyone thinks reader is his girlfriend and he ends up pushing her away????????

-🧃

perfect and beautiful thank you!!! i feel like it’s been five hundred years since i wrote or posted anything, i sooo hope u guys enjoy this! not much lando when i read it back but i guess i had some emotions to hash out here?🤨

There's a certain level of willingness to be observed that you have to subject yourself to in being Lando’s friend. You know that full well. Have been more than aware of it in the past few years, as Lando performs better, becomes more and more known.

You’re used to it for the most part.

The wandering eyes that slide right off you and Fewtrell, to instead favour Lando’s head of dark curls. The skeptical ones that linger, wondering what someone like you is doing around someone like him.

At least you have Max to commiserate with. To share that pulse of shame that beats like a second heartbeat occasionally. To remind yourself that Lando is your friend, not some burning star whose wreckage you’re caught in.

You’d never want him to feel like his success is a burden, or that it’s not always the easiest thing in the world to be his friend. That’s not really the case anyway— you’ve never had a friendship like the one you have with him. Max might be a close second, but it’s not the same. Point is, you’d move heaven and earth just to continue being friends with Lando.

It’s just— the eyes—

There are a lot of them on you here.

Appraising (but never of you independently, always in relation to Lando. You can tell), skeptical, jealous, bitter, even pitying. You think it must have something to do with Lando and the way he’s got his arm slung over your shoulder. The way you’re leaning into him as he bops to the beat of the music. The way you’re holding his drink in your hand, lifting it up for him occasionally so he can gesticulate in his conversation with some friend of his that you’re only vaguely acquainted with.

You feel the eyes on you as you half listen to them chat. Something dislodges, seems to wriggle around under your skin, or settles in the pit in your stomach and gnaws. Anxiety, something like it. Shame again perhaps? You just know Lando’s arm feels heavy. Your clothes don’t fit right, on your body or in this club. You’re suddenly sure that you’re an imposter, a fraud.

You look for Max, eyes darting around but only find unfamiliar faces looking back at you.

It’s not that your chest starts to feel tight or anything like that, it’s just that out of nowhere there seem to be one million ants crawling around inside your body. You take a deep, steadying breath and it burns. The back of your neck seems to give way, your head spinning.

You blink hard, bring yourself back.

You duck out from under Lando’s arm and mutter, “Be back soon. Bathroom.”

Lando nods absently, lets his arm drop back to his side. You’re not sure what to do with your drink or his, he doesn’t seem to care. So you drop them on an empty bar table and flee to the toilets.

They’re semi-private, dark and (best of all) quiet. Apparently soundproofed from the club outside of it, there’s some crackling lo-fi playing on low volume and blissfully no one else seems to be in here with you.

Because it’s apparently a bathroom for the upper-echelon, there’s a plush armchair in the lounge section that you immediately collapse into. You shove your face into the cushions and breathe slow until your heartbeat returns to what feels like an appropriate pace.

You pull out your phone to text Max,

Ever reliable and always understanding, Max talks you down from the proverbial ledge. He convinces you to go back out and to talk to Lando, who’s always been able to kill the nervousness in your gut when he puts his mind to it. If that fails, then Max promises to order you a taxi back to the hotel.

You thank him profusely, apologise for interrupting anything he was doing with Pietra and gather yourself as effectively as you can—

(“Hey. Is she your girlfriend, man?”

Obtuse as ever, Lando frowns, eyebrows furrowing with it, “What? Nah, she’s my best mate.”

Tony, tips his head back and laughs, “Doesn’t look like it to me. Are you sure?”

Lando nods, crease creasing even harder, “Definitely.”

“Dunno mate, you’re all cozy with ‘er,” Tony shrugs, “If you’re looking to get some this weekend you might want to dial it back.”)

—and back into the crowd.

You fight through to the booth where Lando, his friend and a few others, that you’re again, only tangentially acquainted with are. Lando has moved to sit down on a couch, still wrapped up in conversation with the same guy. He’s got another drink.

You’re half-expecting him to hand a vodka soda with lime to you when you sit down next to him. You feel a confusing mix of guilt and upset when he doesn’t, only barely turns his head to acknowledge you. You sit for a moment, adjusting your dress your bag. Not needing him to stop talking altogether, but hoping to be brought into the conversation. Even for Lando to move so you’re not just staring at his back.

Okay, you blink, maybe this is on you? Maybe you shouldn’t expect drinks from him like that, maybe you should be grown up enough to know how to enter a conversation. Maybe you shouldn’t be sitting here feeling sorry for yourself as you watch him lean over and talk to a girl on the other side of the railing.

You’re ignoring the burning thing in your eyes as you survey the back of Lando’s head and the pretty girl that he’s hanging out of his seat to talk to.

She doesn’t look anything like you.

You feel pathetic just watching them. Especially when her eyes flit briefly to you and you offer up a well-meaning smile. It’s a little weak, a little cobbled together but you’re not a bitch. She might be though— she sneers at you. Only for a short moment, when Lando’s not really looking, but you see it nonetheless.

Oh. Alright. That one’s gonna stick with you.

You turn away immediately, blinking quickly, but tears dropping anyway. You pull your phone out, admit defeat and try to at least quell the thing that’s lodged itself in your throat all of a sudden.

You sling your bag back over your body, then reach out to grab at Lando’s shoulder. You squeeze a little, wait for him to turn his attention to you while you press a knuckle not-gently into your eyeball.

He half-turns, looking up at you but holding a hand out to someone who’s talking to him. Still half-listening to them. You frown, feeling confused over anything else. This… isn’t like him. You don’t get it, why isn’t he treating you like he normally is? You’d understand if he wanted to spend time with other people over you, you get that. Why wouldn’t he just say that if that’s what he wanted? Because that’s clearly the case.

You manage to choke out, “I’m gonna head off.”

Eyes glittering and huge in the dancing lights of the club, his mouth parted, he nods up at you in confirmation. Briefly, you make eye contact before he’s being drawn back into conversation by a shout.

“Sure, yeah. See you later,” he says, patting the hand on your shoulder, then dismissing you as he turns away to pay attention to someone else.

You can’t tell if he’s being a total asshole or you’re pathetic. You know what Max would say. And you’re leaning towards the same thing right now— he’d have known. Seen it plain as fucking day in your expression when he’d looked at you. You don’t know what to make of it. You think you just feel sick.

It’s not like you need him to cater to your every whim. You’d just expected a little bit more. At least for him to notice that you’d nearly had a panic attack in the bathroom. At least for him to not go from being totally normal to icing you out all of a sudden—

and you know he’d done it on purpose, intention aside. You know. Because, historically, he’s been no stranger to it. He knows exactly how it feels.

You’re more hurt by that than anything else.

this turned out longer than i expected lol. but yeah, angsty sorry i didn’t prepare u guys😵‍💫 i’ll either write a part two or i’ll write something else for them in ibiza that isn’t so angsty soon!!!!!

[bittervalentine]

absurd that the typical background rosemary dynamic in any given davekat fic is "rose helps her poor socially inept brother get an alien boyfriend and discreetly flirts with kanaya in the background" when in canon it has always been the other way around. rose and kanaya have no idea what the fuck dave and kat have goin on whereas dave is standing watch as roses eternal wingman while karkat is desperately waving his hands around trying to talk quadrants with kanaya.

where is "dave has to babysit his adult sister for at least 24 hours before her date lest she try to haphazardly dye her hair bright green out of stress"

where is "karkat has to frantically switch between texting dave and texting kanaya while trying to both flirt with dave and give kanaya flirting advice and he keeps getting his wires crossed"

where is "dave and rose go to a fancy clothing store to get dressed for their respective dates and dave has to talk rose down from buying half the stores inventory in sheer panic"

where is "karkat keeps asking kanaya for updates on her sitch with rose and every time shes like Today I Asked Her If I Could Borrow A Book while karkat is losing his mind trying to explain the concept of Romantic Gestures"

and stop asking poor rose for romantic advice!!! she doesnt know what shes doing!!!! (affectionately)

[thaliagracesgf]

i get a boyfriend

part two of the casual series! (requests are in progress, i just churned this out because it is my baby)

warnings: making out and luke being cocky asf

wc: 1.2k

the sun streamed through your eyelids in the morning. you shifted in bed, cozying up in rebellion. you really did not want to get up. you felt luke behind you, starting to move, and you closed your eyes. you knew he wouldn’t be able to wake you up just yet. 

his head finds the crook of your neck, and his curls brush against your face. you’ve never felt so safe. 

“jesus christ,” you’re rudely disturbed. you keep your eyes shut. maybe beckendorf will leave. 

a knot grows in your stomach as luke grumbles from behind you. “fuck off, man. i was sleeping.”

“yeah. i noticed.” 

“what are you doing here? this isn’t your cabin,” he said, sleep evident in his low voice. 

“yeah, isn’t hers either. so are you two a thing now? you finally hook up last night? what’s the sitch here, because silena needs her update.”

with that, luke pulls himself up. “shut up, man.” he looks down at your ‘sleeping’ face, hoping you didn’t hear. “have some respect.”

you did hear, of course, and at first it did make you feel gross, but the ‘finally’ catches you, and you remember that luke wants you. he isn’t jack, who just wanted to fuck somebody, he’s been waiting, and yeah, the older kids at camp sometimes fuck. it’s relieving to realize that beckendorf doesn’t know about last night— he would never had said that if he did. besides, luke’s attempt at a defense, though hampered by his sleep-addled brain, is adorable. 

“i’m just saying! don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. every person in this godforsaken camp can see it, ’cept maybe her.” 

“can you seriously fuck off? i’ve got my girl, don’t make it my problem that you’re scared of yours.” 

you laugh softly at that one. you don’t open your eyes, but you can feel luke freeze behind you. beckendorf doesn’t notice, but your gig is up anyway. 

“your girl?” you mumble, a smile crossing your lips. beckendorf stifles a laugh. 

“alright, i’m heading out! good luck with this one, man.” you open your eyes, and even as they’re adjusting to the light in the cabin, you swear you can see him wink. you’re not sure which one of you it’s to. 

“die,” luke calls after him, throwing his head back on the pillow, but pulling you into his chest. 

“hi.” you say, still facing away from him, and he tucks his head into your neck again. 

“hi.” luke says. 

you turn yourself over to look at his eyes. they’re such a deep brown. he tilts his head forward. you smile. you let his lips graze yours. 

it’s exactly like it was when you were fourteen, and a million times more. he’s soft and gentle, pulling back between each kiss. your arms move around his neck, his wrap around your waist. you’ve never felt so secure in your life. 

but you have to pull away. “i— i…” you start. 

luke sits up. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i’m so sorry. fuck, that was so stupid of me. i’m so sorry, gods, what was i thinking?” he ran his hand through his hair. it was adorable. you reach out to his arm. (gods, he’s jacked). you wish you had allowed yourself to stare sooner. you’d been depriving yourself. 

“it’s okay, luke. it was…it was really nice.” it seems like such a cheap thing to say, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t all that convincing. “i’m not… this is just a lot to process.” 

“in what way?” he probes. you aren’t used to people asking questions. usually hannah just stares you down until the words come out of your mouth.

“i mean,” you try to word it in a way that won’t set him off. “it would be kind of shitty to jump into anything, right? after what happened with jack?”

luke gives a contemptuous look at the mention of his name. “no,” he scoffs. he’s still sitting up, looking down at you lying in his bed. you figure it might be a bad time to tell him how badly you want him to kiss you again. 

“well, i don’t know. doesn’t it look like i’m just hopping around from guy to guy?” 

“ok. first of all, i’m pretty sure there are only, like, four people who know about you and jack. second of all, at the risk of sounding like an absolute dick, aren’t you supposed to be in love with me or something?”

you gasp. “what the hell?”

he grins. “it’s just what i’ve heard. you know what the camp gossip mill is like.” 

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “this is so not fair.”

and he laughs, he really laughs. “how is it not fair?” 

“you are such a dick. this is so embarrassing. i’m going to kill you.”

“you seem pretty content under those blankets for someone plotting a murder.” you look through your fingers. his smile is so, so, unbelievably cute. “how is this not fair?”

“because you totally know everything and i don’t know anything.” 

“okay. what to you want to know?”

“shut up. die. i hope you drown today.”

“are you really going to make me say it, jack-jack?”

“i hate you.”

“i like you.” you go quiet. “i really, really like you. i think i’ve had a crush on you since we were fourteen. and i fucking love you. not like we already say everyday. like i think i’m actually fucking in love with you.”

he lays down beside you. you’re facing away from him, so he traces swirls on your shoulder.

you turn to face him, and for a second he has the decency to look nervous. 

you narrow your eyes at him. “so how do you really know i’m not just in this for the sex?” and he bursts out laughing. and before you know it, you’re laughing with him. and he loves the way your eyelids almost close when you do. 

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he grins.

“well, who are you hooking up with these days? i’ll have to see if you have good reviews.”

“good luck with that, it might be difficult.”

“what, like you’ve never hooked up with an aphrodite girl after a bonfire.”

he shakes his head, and you’re honestly stunned. luke castellan, the most gorgeous boy on long island, is a virgin? 

“i mean,” he starts. “it’s not like i haven’t had offers.” 

“oh, shut up, you asshole,” you try to turn away from him, but he wraps his arms around you, and at his next words you freeze. 

“but i was holding out hope that it would be with you.” 

fuck. that was really hot. 

you look up, into his eyes. “i hate you,” you roll your eyes.

“i love you,” he murmurs, his eyes on your lips.

this time when he kisses you, you’re never letting him go. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him atop you. it takes everything in you not to roll your hips into his, but you don’t stop yourself from reaching down his torso to find the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and running your hands along his stomach. fuck, you think for the second time that morning. he’s jacked. he smiles into the kiss, and you know you’re stroking his ego right alongside his abs. 

“so,” you say, biting your lip as his trace your jaw and neck. “what was that about ‘your girl’ earlier?”

you’re expecting a sly remark, a grin, or something. instead, he doesn’t hesitate—“be my girlfriend,” he almost moans. “please.” 

and you don’t have it in you to leave him waiting. 

“okay,” you whisper.

[siriuslylantsov]

birthday kiss

pairing: roomate!spencer reid x reader

description: its readers birthday!

tags: fluffy fluff, first kiss, gn!reader, expensive watch but its okay because papa pasta paid for it, idk bro there are no warnings this is just cute.

a/n: more roomate spencer because i am a sucker for close proximity. this is the watch for reference (i rlly want it, let me live) and im choosing to be ignorant about spencers financial sitch, but in this its a tad too expensive for him. watched gilmore girls before writing this and had the overwhelming urge to write (somewhat) snappy dialogue. happy reading!

wc: 882

“make a wish.”

spencer holds out the cupcake with a single candle on it infront of your face. you blow out cold air extinguishing the frame with your eyes closed. 

“what’d you wish for?” you.

“i can't tell you, it won't come true.”

the two of you are sitting on the couch, facing each other. it's midnight, which means it's officially your birthday. spencer picked up a cupcake on the way home from work, it was red velvet with assorted coloured sprinkles, very festive. you split the cupcake with him, laughing when he inevitably gets frosting on his nose, swiping it off with your thumb. 

“so i got you something,” he starts as stands up to go get it.

“oh?”

“yeah,” he hands you a neatly wrapped box, sitting back down next to you, a little closer this time to  gauge your reaction. you peel away the paper and a red leather box reveals itself, and in small print; cartier.

“spencer, this isn't funny,” you look up at him, eyes wide.

“open it,” he urges.

you open the box, and your breath hitches. the most beautiful silver watch sits inside it–one you've had your eye on for months.

“this isn't funny,” you repeat, looking at the watch in disbelief. 

he swipes the box, taking the watch out and putting it on you, seeing as how you're frozen. he holds your wrist gently, admiring the piece he got you. he can't help but lift your wrist up and press a kiss to the soft skin, letting his lips linger there for a moment before putting it down.

his tenderness makes you frown. you look down and let out a slightly incredulous scoff. “i can't believe you…” you trail off before returning your glance to him, “how did you afford this?”

“i've got money.”

“i know you do. but you're also splitting the rent with me so that has to put up some spending limitations.”

“ok fair enough,” he surrenders, “rossi hooked me up, and by hooked me up, i mean he paid for most of it.”

you smile, a bright beautiful smile that loves. “that sly fox,” you chuckle, “remind me to kiss him next time i see him.”

“he gets a kiss and i don't?” he fake pouts.

“no, you get a kiss,” you lean over and lightly peck his cheek, you stay close. your lips are still curled up but this time it's a giddy grin.

you have an idea.

“i got something for you too.”

“it's not my birthday, why would you get me something?”

“it just came up,” you shrug.

“okay…” his uselessly veiled scepticism is very obvious.

“close your eyes.”

he does and a small crease forms between his eyebrows in confusion when you don't get up, he can feel the way the cushions dip as you shift in your seat, you're moving closer? why haven't you left to go get it yet? maybe it's in your pocket? maybe-

all rational thought vanishes from his mind when he feels your lips on his, soft. your hand is on his cheek as you kiss him. it's gentle and hesitant and he feels as though he might explode. careful not to make you think he doesn't reciprocate, spencer kisses you back, with a touch of desperation. you hum quietly into the kiss and pull back, resting your forehead on his.

“thank you,” you whisper, the soft puffs of your breath can be felt on his face and he relishes in the proximity.

he laughs, low and behind closed lips. “you're welcome. if i had known that getting you a watch would have earned me a kiss, i would've done it a lot sooner.”

“don't get too excited, dave gets one too.”

he shakes his head with a scoff, forehead still pressed against yours.

“thats what i wished for by the way.”

he leans his head back to look at you, “us kissing?”

“mhm, something like that.” you wished for a lot more than kissing but for now this was perfect.

“well, you know what they say…”

“what?” you inquire, amused.

“if the wish is granted within five minutes of the wish making, you're allowed a second one.”

“really? where'd you hear that?”

“i read it somewhere.”

“no sources?” you retort.

“nope, forgot.”

“likely story.”

you roll your eyes yet you humour him, picking up the liner filled with the mound of frosting you picked off your share of the cupcake earlier and sticking the previously lit candle into it. spencer grabs the match box and relights it.

you get all up in his space again, face dangerously close to his with the contraption you've made held next to you. “i wish you'd kiss me again,” you request, turning your head to blow out the flame. 

his fingers catch your chin to bring your face back to him, “we can definitely arrange that.”

you giggle as his lips hover over yours. “if this wish gets granted within the first five minutes too, do i get a third?”

“you can have whatever you want, angel.”

“good deal,” you murmur against his lips as he kisses you.

it was just a little over 15 minutes into your birthday but you could say with full certainty that this one was going to be your favourite.

[monzabee]

déjà vu (beyoncé’s version) – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where a bad prank leads to you and Lando exploring an option you thought was not an option.

Pairing: lando norris x bestfriend!reader (nicknamed Tink)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: smut elements but no actual smut, cursing, pining and of course fluff!

Request: “Haiiii. I love your style of writing Lando and feel like you would 100% do a request justice to scratch the itch in my brain Reader and him have been childhood friends, mutual pining with some sexual tension but never crossed lines other than a new years kiss with friends etc. So reader ends up training and qualifying as a physio/masseuse and travelling with Lando bc fun besties on tour together yay! Thinking she ends up getting to know his body really well from that and has to massage some intimate area- tension builds blah. They have a cosy night in together after front row quali to prep for the race, face masks cuddles bc really physically comfortable together and then some confessions happen. After this going out to celebrate home race (not jinxing tomorrow!!) and reader ends up dancing with another driver, Lando gets jealous fully opens up and they go home together (as much detail on that as you feel comfortable with) No probs if it’s something you don’t feel inspired to write! Pls continue writing whatever you love because I love to read your stuff!!”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! am i back after a literal month of no fics?? i hope so!! thank you so much for being patient with me you guysi i appreciate it, and i just want to say that this was the first time i wrote for lando (and you can definitely thank @userlando and her lando brainrot posts for that) and i’m kind of obsessed!! so as always, thank you to the anon for the request, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Being friends with Lando has resulted in both of you getting in trouble way too many times, you realise. The most recent case? The both of you ended up in a supply closet nearby the Aston Martin hospitality, hiding from a very, very, angry Spaniard. The close proximity and the limited space wouldn’t have been a big issue, for if Lando wasn’t looking at you with that look in his eyes. Under normal other circumstances, your reaction would’ve been much more different to the one you give him now – which is a glare that shows him you are not happy with the situation the both of you are in.

You’re about to scold him, but the words on your tongue quickly die as he presses his index finger to your lips. “I know you’re about to yell at me,” he whispers as he tries to keep his voice as low as possible, “but I really don’t want to be found right now.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before, you bloody idiot.” You hiss while slapping his hand away, which wins you a mock pout in return. “Why would you play that song every time he walked into a room?”

“It’s his name,” Lando tries to reason, “I thought he’d be used to it by now!”

Here’s the sitch. Lando, being the absolute prankster he is, decided to play ‘Fernando’ every time his former teammate entered into a room that morning – which resulted in the Spaniard becoming more and more annoyed with him until he snapped and Lando had to find himself a hiding place. How did you get roped into this, you may ask? You have absolutely no idea, other than your best friend dragging you into a nearby storage closet as you were walking back to the McLaren hospitality after meeting up with some of your friends for a cup of coffee. And now? The two of you are stuck inside a closet which is obviously too small for you both, and Lando has to bend his neck in an uncomfortable position.

“Lando,” you whisper in an attempt to keep your voice down, “don’t bend your head like that, you’ll strain something.”

“Well it’s not exactly comfortable, Tink.” He grimaces as one of the shelves hit his neck, which causes him to let out a low groan.

Ignoring the nickname he’s used for years, you motion him to move lower. “Just– let me see, okay?”

He begrudgingly nods as he bends his body towards you to accommodate you. You let your fingers run across his skin to find any knots along his shoulders. He lets out another low groan, but this one is more appreciative as you work some of the knots your fingers end up finding.

You watch as Lando’s expression changes from painful discomfort to relief as your fingers work their magic on his tense muscles. For a brief moment, it's just the two of you in the confined space, and you almost get lost in the comfortable silence. “Feels good,” Lando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I swear you have magic hands or something.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I just know your body, Lando.” After realising the words that come out of your mouth, your face flushes with embarrassment at the unintended implication of your words and you scramble to add, “Not like that, I didn’t mean–”

He smirks playfully, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, really? My body, huh? You think about my body often?” he teases, his hands squeezing your waist – and being lost in the moment, you don’t even know how they ended up there.

Your cheeks grow even hotter, and you feel your heart rate quicken. “No, that's not what I meant,” you stammer, trying to regain your composure, “and you know it’s basically my job to think about, you know?”

The mischievous glint in his eyes shine brightly as he decides to play dumb, “To think about what, baby?”

Your heart skips a beat at his teasing, and you can't help but let out a small laugh, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Don't be ridiculous, Lando,” you retort, trying to act cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I meant knowing your body like an expert, considering the fact that you pull a muscle every time you decide to do a physical activity.”

He chuckles, and his hands, still resting on your waist, give you a playful squeeze. "Sure, sure, Tink," he replies, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "But let's be honest, it's not just my body you know well. You practically read my mind too."

You roll your eyes, trying to playfully push him away. "Oh, please. You're not that hard to figure out."

Lando leans in a little closer, his grin still evident. "Is that so? Then tell me, oh expert of Lando Norris, what am I thinking right now?"

You raise an eyebrow, not falling for his trick. "You're probably thinking that you got away with the Fernando prank and now you owe me big time, your brain is empty most of the time."

He smirks, impressed by your response. "You're good, Tink. But you're right, I do owe you one. What can I do to make it up to you?"

You pause, the closeness between the two of you making it difficult to think clearly. "Well, for starters, maybe you can stop dragging me into your pranks and getting us into trouble," you suggest with a hint of a smile. “And I don’t know, maybe take pole for me, you know?”

As the playful banter continues, you both seem to forget about the predicament you're in. The confined space of the closet no longer feels suffocating; instead, it becomes a haven for shared laughter and camaraderie.

Just as the two of you are lost in the moment, the closet door suddenly opens, and you both freeze. The angry Spaniard stands before you once again, but this time, his expression has softened, seeing you and Lando in a surprisingly intimate moment.

"Am I interrupting something?" Fernando asks, his tone amused.

Your face turns beet red, and Lando lets out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, hey there. Just having a chat, you know."

But Fernando raises an eyebrow, still looking amused. "In a supply closet?"

You and Lando exchange a sheepish glance, realizing how the situation must appear to Fernando. "Well, we kind of got caught up in the moment," you admit, hoping he doesn't read too much into it.

Fernando chuckles, and there's a warm glint in his eyes. "I see. Well, it's none of my business, but you might want to find a less cramped place to chat next time."

You nod in agreement, grateful that Fernando seems to be taking the situation lightly. "You're right. We'll keep that in mind," you say, trying to sound casual.

Lando adds with a grin, "Yeah, and we promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on." But he’s quick to correct himself when you give him a glare, “I promise not to play 'Fernando' every time you enter a room from now on."

Fernando chuckles again, seemingly amused by the whole ordeal. "I'd appreciate that. Anyway, carry on. I won't keep you two any longer."

As he walks away, you let out a sigh of relief. "That could have been a lot worse," you say, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

"Yeah, we got lucky," Lando agrees, giving you a playful nudge. "But you know what they say, Tink, nothing like a bit of closet bonding to strengthen a friendship."

You roll your eyes at his playful banter, but there's a fondness in your heart as you look at him. "You're incorrigible, Lando Norris."

He grins, "You love it, though."

You can't help but smile, knowing he's right. “Come on,” you say, “you have a quali to attend.”

The tension from the qualifying session had left you on edge, your heart pounding with every lap, and your nerves had gotten the better of you, leading to some slightly bloody nails from biting them in anticipation. But all that anxiety melts away when you see Lando step out of the car, grinning ear to ear. As soon as he catches sight of you, he opens his arms, and you don't hesitate for a moment. You rush into his embrace, holding him tightly, relieved that he's safe and thrilled that he performed so well.

"You were amazing out there!" you exclaim, unable to hide the pride in your voice. "P2, front row! That's incredible!"

Lando chuckles, his arms still wrapped around you. "I don’t know how we did it!"

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, your heart swelling with admiration for your best friend. "I never doubted you for a second," you say earnestly.

His grin widens, and he playfully ruffles your hair. "I know you didn't. Seems like you’re my lucky charm, hm?"

“You know what that means?” You ask him return, a playful smirk on your lips.

His answer comes quickly, and his look seems to reflect your own, “Pizza and a movie?”

Your reply is just as enthusiastic as you throw your arms around him and give him a big smile, “Pizza and a movie, baby!”

Eventually, you manage to escape the whole hustle and bustle of the circuit, and you and Lando find yourselves back at the hotel, with you on the couch trying to find something to watch and him deciding to take a quick shower after the stressful day of qualifying. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. You smile to yourself, glad that Lando is taking some time to relax after such a demanding day. As you wait for him to finish, you finally settle on a movie to watch with a small grin on your face, clearly pleased with your choice. Just as you're about to start the movie, you hear the bathroom door open, and Lando emerges, looking refreshed and relaxed.

After he gets the pizza box out of the oven, he walks over to the couch, wearing sweatpants instead of his jeans, and flops down next to you. "That shower was exactly what I needed," he says with a contented sigh.

You chuckle, glancing at him, while also trying to actively ignore the fact that he’s wearing grey sweatpants. "Feeling better now?"

"Definitely," he replies, flashing you a grin. "So, what are we watching?"

“Mamma Mia,” you scoff, “of course.”

“A classic, nice.” He nods in understanding, extending the pizza box to you for you to take a slice. “It’s still warm.”

You wordlessly grab a slice and pass the box back to Lando as you settle in your seat, ready to focus on your choice of movie. The comfortable silence between you feels familiar, like the unspoken language of best friends who have shared countless memories and moments together. Throughout the movie, you can't help but notice Lando's occasional stolen glances at you, and you find yourself stealing glances right back. He even winks at you with that boyish grin every time he catches you staring at him, making you giggle as you quickly turn your attention back onto the screen. You somehow find yourself sprawled out on the couch once the pizza box is emptied and discarded, and it’s harder for you to keep your eyes open. With your head on Lando’s lap, he plays with the ends of your hair as the two of you try to keep your attention on the screen.

‘Try,’ being the operative word here, since Lando realises that you end up falling asleep in the middle of the movie where Sophie realises all of the men she invited to the wedding thinks they are her father, and though he finds some kind of comfort in the chaos knowing that it will get resolved eventually, he can’t help but take his role as a makeshift human pillow very seriously. As the movie continues playing, Lando tries his best not to disturb your peaceful slumber. He leans back against the couch, adjusting his position so you can rest more comfortably on his lap while also trying so hard to not wake you up. He can't help but smile to himself as he plays with your hair, finding himself mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathe.

With a sudden realisation that maybe it is not the best thing to stare at you while you sleep, he tries to occupy himself with something on his phone while also trying to keep still so that you don’t wake up. However, the text thread between him and Max quickly makes him realise that the thoughts that he tries so hard to keep away. He never gave himself the opportunity to think about the two of you that way, he supposes. Not that it would be weird or anything, but in his mind, he’d seen, and been in, far too many relationships form and de-form to know that not all is permanent when it comes to relationships and it’s also not something he’d want to risk when it comes to you. Although the unwarranted thoughts of the two of you together, as a couple, have been haunting him for the past couple of months, he did a great job of sending them away and finding something else to focus on – up until now, that is. And now that he’s pictured the two of you together, holding hands in the streets of Monaco, going on dates, doing more than what ‘best friends’ are meant to do, it doesn’t seem that daunting to give it a try.   

He carefully shifts you onto his lap with gentle movements, surprised that you don’t wake up and also trying to figure out the best way to wake you up without startling you. As he gently brushes your cheek, your eyes flutter open, and you look up at him with a sleepy smile. "Did I miss the end of the movie?" you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Lando chuckles, shaking his head, but not stilling the movement of his hand. “No, we just finished. You fell asleep somewhere in the middle.”

You sit up slightly, rubbing your eyes with a small yawn. “I'm sorry,” you say, sounding apologetic.

“No need to apologise,” he assures you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You looked adorable sleeping, Tink.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, and you give him a playful nudge. “Stop teasing me.”

Lando grins, but there's a tenderness in his eyes as he looks at you. “I'm not teasing, Tink. I mean it. You always look adorable, no matter what you're doing.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his sincere compliment, and you can't help but smile back. “Thank you,” you say softly, feeling a warmth spreading through you, “I, uh, I should probably go to my room and let you sleep.”

“What? No, you don’t have to go.” Lando’s eyebrows furrow on their own, “I mean, you could stay over, it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

You give him an unsure look, “I don’t know, Lando, you have a race tomorrow.”

“And we’ll sleep,” he shrugs, “the name ‘sleepover’ implies that, baby.”

You end up giving in and nodding, albeit a little hesitant. "Alright, I'll stay over."

Lando's face lights up with a bright smile, clearly pleased with your decision. "Great! It'll be fun, just like old times."

You chuckle softly. "Yeah, just like old times."

And you’d expect it to feel like the old times, because the two of you said it would be like the old times – the times where you’d spend the night over at his house because his mother picked you up and you didn’t want the playtime to be over. But instead of the excitement of a prolonged play date with your best friend, you find yourself anxious in the hotel bathroom over the fact that it’s him out there, and there is no way that he is not aware of the way you feel about him. You take a moment to compose yourself, splashing some cold water on your face to calm your nerves. This situation is new territory for both of you, and you don't want anything to ruin the friendship the two of you have. When you eventually make your way out of the bathroom, you desperately want to go back in, feeling undoubtedly exposed under Lando’s burning gaze.

“What?” You ask, your voice coming off weaker than you hoped, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

It takes a minute for him to answer you, mainly because of the fact that poor Lando is having a brain malfunction at the sight of you in his shirt – which he gave it to you because it was the only logical option for sleepwear, you know? Suddenly regretting his possessive streak, he attempts to clear his throat, “Nothing, you look good in my clothes.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you try not to let yourself become reduced to a blubbering mess, “Oh, well thank you. It’s yours,” after a brief moment of realisation you quickly add, “but you already knew that.”

“Tink,” he calls out, snapping you out of whatever embarrassed state you’re in, and your eyes quickly snap to his. “Come here,” he pleads as he extends one of his towards you, he’s quick to draw you into his arms – and just like that, you find yourself straddling your best friend.

“This is crazy,” you whisper as Lando grabs you by the waist to still your movements as you try to find a comfortable position while not realising just how uncomfortable it becomes for him.

“It doesn’t have to be,” his whisper is just as soft as yours as he looks up to you, “we don’t have to make it weird.”

A compromise, you’ll take it. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” As much as you hate it when he replies to your questions with his own, you nod your head with a sheepish look on your face, though it doesn’t satisfy Lando as a valid answer. “I need you to say it, baby.”

You answer comes of in an instant. “I do, please.”

“Such good manners,” he mumbles while giving you that boyish grin you love oh so much. When he catches biting the corner of your lip, you’re broken out of your daydream by his thumb pulling your lip free. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” his thumb caresses the side of your lip, “that’s my job, anyway.”

Your cheeks flush at his playful comment, and you can't help but smile at his words. "Your job, huh?" you tease, feeling the tension in the air starting to dissipate.

Lando chuckles, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your waist. "Among other things," he replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you give yourself the opportunity to overthink, you lean in and press a soft kiss to Lando’s lips – it’s only a peck, a hesitant one at that, but not completely uncharted territory when you think about it. The two of you have shared kisses before, at Christmas or New Year’s at midnight, but somehow this simple peck feels different than any of those other occasions. Lando doesn’t rush you. He’s a patient man after all, and he knows that the feelings he has for you are reciprocated by the feelings you have for him. So when you look him with widened eyes, he gives you a soft smile and it does wonders to calm your nerves. It doesn’t take you long to press your lips against his once again, but this time the kiss is deeper, more passionate, and filled with the unspoken words that have lingered between you for too long.

It starts off with another peck, but this time you take the initiative to deepen the kiss, and the appreciative groan that leaves Lando’s lips makes you feel butterflies in your stomach. His hands move from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, while yours tangle in his hair, revelling in the softness of his curls – and the fact that all of this feels almost familiar in some kind of a way. He’s not shy as he lets his tongue explore your mouth, in fact, he encourages you to do the same. It’s a messy kiss filled with colliding tongues and mixed breaths, and the hands that were on your waist one moment are now on your hips, encouraging their slow movement against his groin. It’s not a subtle build-up for any of you, either. It a matter of seconds, you find yourself dry-humping your childhood best friend in his hotel room, and in a couple more, both of you are whimpering into the kiss.

You’re both out of breath and breathing deeply as you rest your forehead against Lando’s. Thankfully, his hands continue to guide your hips as their movement get more and more erratic, and you him groan out, “Slow down, baby.”

You let out an objective whimper in return, whispering out a weak, “No.”

“No?” Lando repeats, his breath hitting your exposed neck in a light chuckle, “Do you want to come?”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, letting your hands grab handfuls of his hair, “but you can’t fuck me.”

The whine that comes from your lips can only be described as bratty when Lando forces your hips to cease their movements, raising an eyebrow at you as he grumbles, “Excuse me?”

“You can’t fuck me, Lando.” You mumble, trying to move your hips again, but his hold is too powerful against your attempts. “At least not tonight.”

“And why is that, Tink?” He takes in your wide eyes and shuddering breath in, thinking he’d done something wrong, something you didn’t like. “You want to come, no?” He thinks at that moment, as you give him a nod with that dreamy and almost innocent look on your face, he could die and he’d be happy with where his life has led him, but he gives you a confused look, “Then what is the problem?”

“Um, you have a race tomorrow,” you explain as your fingers gently slide down to meet at the nape of his neck, “I don’t want to jinx anything.”

As a respond to your words, Lando gives you a look of disbelief, “You don’t want to jinx me having a good race,” he mumbles.

You give him another nod, “Are you mad at me?”

 “Am I mad at you?” Lando repeats the question, and he flips the two of you over in a smooth motion so that you're lying on the bed with him hovering above you, his eyes locked onto yours. “Answer the question for me, will you?”

You take a moment to catch your breath, your heart racing as you meet his intense gaze. “No,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “Why would you be mad at me?”

Lando's lips curve into a playful smile as he leans in, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, “Good girl.” As he moves down your body, you let out a protesting sound, but he quickly shushes you as he positions himself between your legs. “I’m going to make you come, and you’re not talking to Micheal Italiano ever again.” He taps the side of your hips to signal you to raise them up as he carefully takes off your underwear and then murmurs to himself, “Pretty girl, too.”

With a blush which is quickly spreading onto your cheeks and neck, you raise yourself onto your elbows as you watch him give you the do-over. “Lando,” you plead.

“Oh baby, you're wet,” he teases, “don’t worry, though, I’ll help you with that.” He also gives you a look while grabbing both of your thighs, “And the shirt fucking stays on.”

After the events of the previous night with Lando working wonders between your legs for the remainder of the night, he honestly didn’t expect to start the morning with you returning the favour. Alas there you were, between his legs, with sleepy eyes and an innocent smile as if you hadn’t just given him the best blowjob of his life. And as the two of you make your way along the paddock, he wishes he was back in his hotel room with you in his arms. You try your best to distract him from overthinking everything and costing himself the race, and Lando is aware of what you’re trying to do – though that doesn’t mean you succeed completely.

You can tell by the small frown of eyebrows that he is lost inside his head, probably double guessing every aspect of the strategy his team debriefed him about this morning. With a deep inhale, you give his hand a small squeeze, halting your movements to stop him alongside you. “Hey,” you call out gently, “you’re going to be amazing out there, okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know, it’s just the pressure is getting to me.” You watch him sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to regroup his thoughts, “I’ll be fine before I go in the car, I promise.”

You nod, giving him an encouraging smile, “I know you will. After all, you feel the–”

“Need for speed.” He completes the sentence without thinking, which makes the two of share a short laughter. “Thanks, Tink.”

“You’re welcome,” lifting yourself up on your tiptoes, you give him a soft peck on his lips, “I’ll watch the race with your dad, okay?” You chuckle at his reaction when he lets out a prolonged groan, “What?”

“He’s going to make fun of us, big time.” He says, rolling his eyes.

“Go,” you say in between laughter, “don’t be late and for the love of God, be careful!”

Lando chuckles at your playful warning, giving you a mock salute. “Yes, ma'am!”

It doesn’t take long for you to find Adam, who gives you a knowing look, in the sea of spectators in the McLaren garage. And as the race begins, you and Adam stand side by side, your eyes fixed on the track where the race is unfolding. The first four laps as the Lando leads the race makes your heart beat so hard, you can practically feel the excitement coursing through your veins. Each turn and straightaway that Lando navigates flawlessly adds to the anticipation building in the air. Even when he returns to his original position, you’re on the edge, praying to whatever deity up there for him to finish this race without and incident. You’ve told him million times before that you don’t get F1 at all, you’ve always thought the adrenaline linked with the sport to be a negative feeling – too heavy, too much and definitely not something you want to feel every weekend. But in the moment that Lando passes the finishing line P2, you realise why people are so obsessed with this sport. Because when Lando crosses the finish line, you find yourself cheering as loudly as anyone else. The rush of emotions, once alien to you, now feels like a shared celebration of human achievement and dedication.

Lando is all smiles when he finally finds his way back to you, and he’s giving you a kiss the moment he has you back in his arms; celebrating with the team in the paddock was a whirlwind of emotions. As he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, his big smile is infectious.

So you’re honestly confused when he starts dragging you through the hallways of the club you went to for his celebrations with the rest of the team. The beat of the music playing back in the dancefloor echoes in the hallway as he leads you down the hall. The lights, the laughter, and the energy of the celebrations in the main area of the club are still audible, but you can only hear the muffled sounds of the celebration being held for him. “Lando,” in hopes of finally getting some answers, you say his name for the umpteenth time, but he just looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, “what’s wrong?”

He's silent as he wraps his arms around your waist and before you can repeat your question he buries his head in the crook of your neck. While you’re thinking about what could’ve caused his sudden need to be alone with you, he’s very glad that you’ve opted to wear sneakers tonight instead of heels.

“Baby,” you murmur, your fingers running through his curls in an attempt to bribe him, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.” His voice is muffled by your skin and you can feel the breath he exhales on your shoulder.

You purse your lips and give him a few moments for him to break on his own, but when he doesn’t, you sigh softly. “Something is wrong.”

He raises his head momentarily to give you an unamused look, then bury his head back into your neck, “I saw you and Oscar.”

“Yeah, we were talking about the race.” Your confirmation leaves you confused as he lets out a scoff, and you find yourself warily asking, “Is there something wrong with that?”

You hear him scoff again and then, “Well I didn’t particularly like it.”

You gently push him off of you as you try to look past his confused expression and pouted lips, “You didn’t like me talking to your teammate… about your race.”

“Well when you put it like that–”

“Lando he is two years younger than us, and he has a girlfriend you do realise that, don’t you?” Your hands rest on either side of your body on your hips as you give him a small grin, “You were jealous, weren’t you?”

His eyes widen as he nods, “Well yeah, Tink, I think that one was very much obvious when I dragged you here.”

“I mean,” you drawl, “it was kind of cute, you know?”

As his eyes narrow, Lando walks you backwards until you’re pressed up against the wall. “Well I am a cute person.”

“Oh yeah,” you let out a giggle, “the cutest.” Your fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt while you look up at him to meet his eyes, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should probably get back to the party?” He mumbles, his eyes drifting as he looks around the hall.

You fist the collar of his shirt as you raise yourself up on your tiptoes, your voice lowering down for only him to hear even if it’s a deserted hallway, “You don’t have a race tomorrow.”

His eyes come back down to meet yours, “Well yes, it’s Mond– oh,” it takes a moment for him to realise what you’ve meant, and you’re thrown over his shoulder in an instant.

“Wha– Lando put me down!” You shriek, “What are you doing?”

His voice is playful as he starts walking towards the back door of the club, “We are not leaving that hotel room for a few days.”  

It doesn’t take long for you to start laughing, “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs the opposite shoulder, “but I’m your idiot.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, but you can’t help the small smile forming on your lips as you murmur, “Yeah, yeah you are.”

[helluva-bored-critical]

A Quick Review Of Helluva Shorts #4: Chupacabras

Hey everyone, helluva bored critical here to give a review of the newest HB short; CHUPACABRAS. I'll do my best to cover the plot, the goods and the bads, and to give my two cents.

First off, the composition of the title card is a bit awkward; the flashy text of "CHUPACABRAS" reminiscent of Mexican culture clash with the duller tones of the background, making it less appealing. If a different screencap was chosen, such as this:

I think the text would've fit better.

However, the plot premise is pretty good, let me talk about that if you haven't seen it yet; I.M.P. head out to kill a client, but they're surrounded by a hoard of goats and they try to clear 'em out. The client, Gerardo, wakes due to the ruckus, and Blitz is captured and mistaken for a chupacabra.

Note: the folklore of the chupacabra originates from Puerto Rico, though sightings of it have spread to Mexico and other parts of Latin America. Mexicans do know about chupacabra, but it's commonly misinterpreted as being of Mexican origin.

In Mexico, if I'm not mistaken, the chupacabra looks similar to a mangy coyote. Blitz is wearing more goat-like rags, which isn't entirely accurate.

Anyways, Gerardo has taken Blitz's gun and crystal, so he's unable to break out of his sitch.

The D.H.O.R.K.S., getting word of a "chupacabra" in Tijuana, head to Gerardo's display, where he's chargin' 100 pesos per view. The agent duo gets into a funny squabble about payment, and the tiny black goat that you see in the image above, meanwhile, heads over to Blitz. Blitz bribes it with a nice slice of cheese to help him out.

Gerardo is close to shooting up the D.H.O.R.K.S with Blitz's gun, but since it's demonic, it burns his hand and leads to an improbably catastrophe bullet ricochet that kills him.

The goat retrieves Blitz's crystal; Blitz and the D.H.O.R.K.S. make a hasty escape, and the episode ends with the small goat beginning its Cult of the Lamb arc :).

What was good:

Moxxie and Blitz's interaction at the beginning is a good joke, it got a chuckle out of me:

"I want to say these are Earth goats, sir." "I don't care how great they are, they are In. My. Way!"

The Hispanic voice actors did an awesome job.

The music is energetic and fun.

D.H.O.R.K.S. and Gerardo's interaction is well-executed, it was my favorite joke of the short.

Blitz's escape is well-animated and he looks like a rascal.

Background jokes, such as Agent #1's badge saying "Insert Text Here".

The art of the final shot, where the goat is ruling over its disciples in a candle-lit shed, has great composition and lighting. Whichever artists created this shot, you executed it damn well.

Along with this, the shot of Gerardo's house is beautiful.

The beginning frenzy was entertaining. I liked the shot of Blitz shooting like a madman:

What could've improved:

Millie had no lines in this short, despite being present in it. I wish she did; being a farm girl, she could've had some quick commentary 'bout the place or interact with Moxxie a bit.

Blitz's swearing in this short can drag on a bit. He's a crude imp, but some of the jokes just got the punchline of a swear. They could be crafted better.

As mentioned in the beginning, the title card could use some work.

Also mentioned, how the chupacabra is represented isn't accurate. I'm no expert though; if you're reading this and wanna counter me, I'm alright with that.

Other comments/opinions:

The pesos ain't exactly accurate, but they get the main idea across.

I ain't a fan of HB humor to be honest, but I won't fault you if you like it.

I.M.P. missions are starting to get restricted to shorts, which I'm not a particular fan of either. The show was originally advertised as a hitman dark comedy, but its main plot has changed to something that I can no longer be invested in.

I appreciate the background team and the music composer, Alexander Arntzen. I'm a big sucker for art.

Overall rating: 6/10 or 7/10. Nothing too spectacular, but it's pretty cool! Let me know what you thought of the short in the comments.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Peppermintkelly behind the cut; Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon feels all sleepy and heavy and good, and there’s a sheet draped over his back and his head is on . . . someone. He’s on someone. Laying on someone, he means. He’s not sure who, because he’s sleepy and heavy and doesn’t even want to move enough to open his eyes or focus his TTK, but . . . someone, yeah. Mm. 

It’s fine. He can hear Tim’s heartbeat, and it’s steady and calm, and not in the forced way it gets sometimes when things are actually not fine. So–fine, yeah. 

He feels really good. 

“Kon,” Tim says, and Kon feels a hand in his hair. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Green,” Kon mumbles back, although he doesn’t know why he says that instead of just “fine”. Just–that’s what he says. Tim huffs out a low little snort, and the someone Kon’s on top of laughs too. 

“I wish we could match that energy, man,” the someone says in amusement, and then Kon remembers– 

Oh. Huh. 

He focuses his TTK after all and blinks his eyes open, and finds his head laying on Bernard’s chest–on Tim’s boyfriend’s chest–and most of the rest of him crushing the poor guy on top of that. 

“Shit,” he mutters, moving to push himself up. Bernard does not need two hundred and fifty pounds of half-Kryptonian dead weight fully on top of him. “Sorry.” 

“Please do not move right now,” Bernard says feelingly, looping his arms around his neck. Kon–pauses. “Unless this is a ‘red’ or ‘yellow’ sitch, obviously. Then sure. But if you’re concerned about crushing me or something, I’d actually like extra-crushed. Like, fine-ground crushing, please.” 

“Um,” Kon says, and then remembers–“Is this like the weighted blanket thing?” 

“This is very much like the weighted blanket thing,” Bernard confirms, and Kon settles back down–carefully, a little, but . . . 

Bernard makes a pleased little noise and drops a kiss against his temple. Kon feels–weird, kind of. 

Feels warm, kind of. 

“Fuck yeah,” Bernard says, sounding even more pleased. “No offense, Tim’s just not usually much of a cuddler, so I’ve been being greedy while you were checked out. Also, you’re really warm, anyone ever tell you that?” 

“. . . did I actually pass out?” Kon asks, a little incredulous at the idea. Not that Tim and Bernard didn’t fuck him good, just, well–they’re only human, and he is very much not only human. Like, at least fifty percent not, anyway. 

“Not exactly,” Tim says, petting his hair again. “You dropped pretty far, though.” 

“‘Dropped’?” Kon frowns a little. Tim’s hand pauses in his hair. 

“Yes,” he says, his tone a little careful. “Have you heard that word before?” 

“I mean, yeah, but I feel like there’s maybe some slang or some subtext I’m missing here,” Kon says, frowning a little more as he resists the urge to push into Tim’s hand. Probably not the time, unfortunately. Probably this is talking time, from the way Tim sounds. 

“You had a safe word,” Tim says, just barely frowning himself. “I assumed–mm. Sorry.” 

“For what?” Kon asks, incredulous again, because that was possibly the best he’s gotten laid since the last time he and Cassie fell back into bed together and regretted it in the morning, and currently no one is regretting it, so actually it’s got one up on that time too. 

At least, he doesn’t think anyone’s regretting it. 

He hopes no one’s regretting it. 

He–keeps thinking about how much fucking Tim reminds him of fucking Cassie, doesn’t he. He’s not sure why he’s so stuck on that.

[angel-gone-dark]

Hey I came over from April's posts lol. I read the "She's my collar" fic and loved it

Would/ Have you write a Kyle x reader x Cartman? They don't have to please each other in any way since ok you don't like kyman. But lmk I'm super curious lol. ❤️

Cartman x F!Reader x Kyle

CWs: praise AND degradation, minor throatfucking, creampie, cum swallowing, kenny is the world's #1 instigator

Boy howdy did I take this and run with it

SMUT UNDER CUT. MDNI.

I stood at the bus stop like usual, tired out of my mind. I’d been up all night studying for a stupid quiz, and notorious asshole Eric Cartman let me know just the toll it’d had on me. 

“You look shittier than usual.” I rolled my eyes as he kept going. “I mean, you always look fugly, but now you look like you were hit by a fucking bus.” 

“Gee, thanks, Cartman.” I scoffed. 

“I’m trying to help you. You’re never gonna get a man like that.” Before he could say anything else, Kyle butt in. 

“Quit bothering her, fatass, clearly she doesn’t wanna talk to you.” The ginger stood next to me, looking me over. His tone was gentle when he addressed me. “You okay? You don’t look like you feel very well.”

“Just not a lot of sleep, is all.” Cartman took this and ran with it.

 “Woah, up all night sucking dick then? I knew you were a whore.”

“Shut up, Cartman!” Kyle snapped. His two friends were smartly standing away from us, ignoring the commotion and smoking cigarettes. 

“What? Ohh, I get it, she was up sucking your dick Kyle!” I rolled my eyes. The two fought until the bus came, and even then, kept snapping at each other across the aisle. Today was gonna be a long day. 

By the time lunch rolled around I was so fucking sick of it. 

“Can you two shut up?!” I snapped, glaring at the two that had attached to either side of me. “I’m so sick of hearing you assholes fight over nothing all damn day! If you two are going to be like this, then get the fuck away from me.”

I stormed off. 

“Woah, going somewhere?” Kenny smirked as I ran into him. 

“Yeah, away from your stupid ass friends.” I pouted and he patted my shoulder. 

“Okay, talk to Dr. McCormick- what’s the sitch?”

“They keep fighting over my head.”

“Why, what’s so good about it?” He grinned and I smacked him.

“Be serious, Kenny.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe they’re fighting because they can’t decide who gets to spend time with you?”

“Are you high again?” I set him with a stern glare that had him raising his hands in mock defense.

“No, ma’am,” he crossed his heart to emphasize he was telling the truth. “I’m just saying, they’re glued to your hips and harboring a lot of tension right now. Just fuck about it.”

“Gross. Goodbye, Ken.” I shoved past him. 

My thoughts turned, though, because he had certainly just planted a seed that I wouldn’t be able to uproot.

I’d planned on staying in that night, but my friend Lola dragged me out of bed and got me done up for some stupid party. 

I was still pissy by the time we got there. People looked at me concerned as I slammed down a drink the second I got my hands on one. Lola scolded me and I rolled my eyes at her, but agreed to just sip the second one. 

It was boring as all hell until Cartman leaned against the wall next to me. 

“Hey. Sorry about earlier, I really didn’t realize just how… much we were being.” He seemed genuine, and I relaxed. 

“It’s okay, Cartman, you didn’t mean to be an ass- in that regard,” I giggled, sipping at my drink. “I feel like you and Kyle just get way too into it sometimes and you don’t think.”

“Hard to think when I’m looking at someone so pretty.” I blushed and looked down into my drink. 

“Really?”

“Well, yeah.” I don’t know what had gotten into him to be so suave, or what had gotten into me to be so receptive. Alcohol, probably.

I looked up to the sound of footsteps approaching. 

“Hi, Kyle.” I smiled at him a little, eyebrows knitting together as I looked down at his hand. “…You broke your cup.”

“I am aware.” He seethed, eyes boring holes into Cartman. “Are you sure you wanna hang out with him?”

“You can’t police who I talk to just because you don't like him.” 

“Nobody likes him! I just-” 

I interrupted him, “Zip it. Both of you, follow me, now.”

“What-?”

“Zip. It.” I made my way upstairs and into the guest bedroom. They followed after a moment of hesitation, and I locked the door.

“Spill. Now. Why are you two fighting so aggressively around me?”

“No- no reason.” Kyle looked away from me and I could tell he was lying.

“Okay, y’know, if he’s too pussy to say something then I fucking will,” Eric started, making his way over to me and cupping my face in his hands. “You’re fuckin’ hot and we’ve been fighting over who gets you.”

I felt heat rising to my face and pooling in my panties. The realization that I was locked in a room with the two, music thumping so loud nobody would be able to hear anything, set in. Cartman backed me up until I hit the wall, Kyle looking over with wide eyes.

“...Both of you can have me.” I said, swallowing hard as I squeezed my thighs together.

“Oh, I just knew you were a whore.” The brunette ridiculed me, slamming his rough lips onto mine. 

He practically consumed me, tongue sliding teasingly over my teeth. When he parted from me, a string of saliva connected our lips. It drooped down between us, snapping when the tension was too much. Eric raised a brow at Kyle, as if taunting him. No words were said before I was sandwiched between the two, Cartman now behind me. As he ground himself into my backside and chewed up my shoulders, Kyle took his turn with my lips. He was a great kisser, bucking his hips up into me as he practically moaned into my mouth. The ginger nipped at my lower lip, and I whined. I felt both their cocks twitch at that.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, good girl.” Kyle mumbled into my neck as his fingers slid under my skirt and panties.

“Don’t praise her, she hasn’t done jack shit.” Cartman grunted, yanking off my shirt and bra. I winced when it sounded like a clasp fell off.

“Yes she has, Cartman, she’s taking it,” he moved his attention to me. “You’re so cute, you know that?” He trailed wet kisses down my collarbones and to my breasts, humming eagerly as he took one nipple into his mouth.

“Taking it isn’t doing anything at all, Kyle.” Eric protested, removing his own clothing as Kyle laid me down on the bed.

I was in heaven when the ginger boy tugged down my bottoms and ghosted his breath over my eager cunt. My breath hitched as he licked a long, wet stripe up my slit. The brunette watched with a smirk, stroking himself as Kyle worked me up with his tongue.

“Open up, bitch.” Cartman asserted, gripping my hair in his hand and shoving his cock between my lips. “Ohhh, fuck, yeah. I knew you had a good mouth on you, the sassy ones always fuckin’ do.”

My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I groaned, the noise coming out as a muffled gurgle thanks to the fat head of Cartman’s dick blocking my airway. Kyle kissed and left hickeys across my thighs as his fingers stretched me. I swore I saw stars as he curled them purposefully, hitting the soft spot inside of me that sent electric currents through my flesh. My throat tightened around the flesh that pounded the back of it, milking precum from the angry tip.

“Be more gentle with her, she’s being submissive.” Kyle scolded. Eric scoffed, ignoring him and using one large hand to twist one of my nipples.

The noises I made, even muffled, were driving Kyle crazy. I saw him strip in the corner of my eyes, and my thoughts were confirmed at the clink of his belt hitting the floor and the swipe of his cock against my entrance. I shuddered and trembled as he bottomed out inside of me. I’d never heard anything as sexy as the noise he made the first time he moved his hips. This was bliss.

Kyle rocked his hips slowly at first, but it was clear he couldn’t help himself as his rhythm sped. He drilled his cock into me, grabbing the back of my knees to fold me in half. I shook below them, pussy smeared with slick and mouth dribbling spit. I briefly felt guilty about someone else having to clean this mess, but the feeling of Kyle’s fingers coaxing my clit yanked me back to the moment. I felt hot, skin on fire as I was ruined. I gripped at the sheets, bucking my hips up to meet Kyle’s as he made me cum on his long fingers.

“God, the bitch can’t even wait to cum until her superiors have.” By the way his cock twitched in my mouth I could tell my shuddering was turning him on.

“Good… good girl,” he sounded as ruined as I thought I might if I tried to speak. “So fucking tight, good girl…”

As my walls pulsed around him, Eric pulled out of my mouth to stroke himself. 

“Mouth open. You’re gonna fucking swallow.” His laugh dissolved into a shuddering grunt as he came on my tongue. He swiped the tip on my lips and laughed, closing my jaw with the other hand. I swallowed, nearly choking after as I moaned.

“F-fuck, good girl, ‘m gonna cum. W-where do you want it?” It was clear that Kyle was nearly bursting trying to hold himself back.

“Inside, please, please?” I begged. Cartman laughed.

“Well, if she wasn’t a whore before she sure as hell is now.” His hands found my breasts again, assaulting them with squeezes and pinches alike.

Kyle slammed into me hard, hips jerking wildly as he filled me with his warm seed. I heaved under him, still folded, and he stole what remained of my breath with a long kiss.

“If this is what hanging out with Cartman means then I don’t think I mind it anymore.” He smiled.

word count: 1700

[ienjoywritingfilth]

its blackmail baby

hi: i wrote this for the 2024tropeoff challenge. its not edited but it is filthy so theres that.

frankie catfish morales x afab reader

trope: blackmail

warnings: dubcon, infidelity, voyeurism i guess i don't know whats its called in this sitch, cocaine, blackmail, degradation, face fucking, oral, creampie and i think that its but frankie is kinda a dick in this.

RATED 18+

"Give it back."

The Christmas party goes on upstairs, the music loud over the sound of the many guests. You're downstairs, secluded in the guest room with your older sisters boyfriend. All the coats are tossed on the bed. 

"Stop being a brat," Frankie growls as he reaches for his hat twirling around your finger as you giggle "You're sister is gonna be pissed. She's waiting for me." 

You pout emphatically before tossing his hat back at him. Frankie grabs it out of the air, sliding it back over his chestnut curls. 

You can hear the pulsing beat from the music upstairs. Your sisters shrill laugh sounds through it all and you wince. 

Living with her was supposed to be a temporary thing until you found another job (as she loves to remind you). Bumming around on her couch wasn't exactly what you pictured. Especially not when she lives with her incredibly sexy boyfriend Frankie Morales. 

"Why aren't you joining in on the festivities?"

"Not my thing," you shrug, watching him go through the pile of jackets. You're hiding out down here, avoiding the annoying crowd upstairs. You hate parties and you hate how annoying your sister gets during then. 

"Why are you down here? Not having fun trying to impress my sister's colleagues?"

Frankie's job as a helicopter repair and pilot is cool in some circles. But your sister is a high powered attorney whose friends with other high powered attorneys. You've observed the way that Frankie gets insecure around them during other parties. 

"That girl from her work, Michelle wants her smokes," Frankie mutters rifling through the cheetah print coat pocket

"And they sent you down here to get them? Aren't you such a good little errand boy." 

Frankie fixes with you a dark look before he retrieves the pack of cigarettes from the coat. You move across from him with your hand extended. 

"She's always ordering you around," you say taking one of the cigarettes front the pack and placing it behind your ear. "For later." 

"Since when do you smoke?"

"There's lots you don't know about me," you tease, winking at him. Frankie gives a brief smirk before reaching into the jacket again before sighing. 

"Pass me my jacket. She didn't bring a lighter. Pretty sure I have one in my pocket." 

You grab his dark brown jacket from the pile, recognizing it from the frequent times you've seen it slung around his broad frame. In your deepest fantasizes he wears it while he fucks you in his truck. 

Something falls to the ground and instinctively you kneel and grab it. It's a small baggie with white powder. 

"That's cocaine," you whisper with wide eyes. 

Your sister has told you about Frankie's recent sobriety. He's four months clean. His gaze is stuck on the baggie in your hand his face paling. 

"I just carry it sometimes," he says, looking anxiously between you and the baggie you still hold. "I swear I haven't used for months."

You look at his eyes, unsure if he's telling you the truth. 

"You can't say anything to your sister," he says firmly when you hesitate. "I'm serious." 

"She deserves to know."

"I'll do anything," Frankie says in a pleading voice. "Please. You know your sister. She'll never understand." 

You stand listening to him before you open the side of the baggie, tugging your shirt down to reveal more of your cleavage. Frankie swallows in anxiety. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not my sister," you murmur, tapping a line of the white powder over the swell of your breasts. 

Frankie eyes your breasts and the line of cocaine there. His fingers twitch anxiously at his side. 

"You want this, Frankie? You can have it," you purr. "I want you to take it." 

You hand him the baggie, watching as he takes it and shoves it into his back pocket. He stares at your face for a moment frowning. 

"Its a bad idea." 

"Just a little taste," you whisper. "I won't tell."

Frankie knows he needs to stop but he doesn't. He crosses the few steps between you and grabs your middle. His nose grazes your clavicle and you feel him snort the cocaine off your chest. 

"Good?" You ask with a teasing smile. 

He sniffs, nose wrinkling as he stands, wiping his hand under his nostrils, clearing the powder that remains. 

"That all you want, Frankie?" 

Your fingers play along his belt buckle and you don't miss how his cock lengthens under his jeans. 

"Your sister---" Frankie mutters as he watches your palm slide down, going to the vee of his legs. 

"Doesn't appreciate you," you finish for him cupping him through his jeans. You make your voice breathy. "But I do."

Frankie's voice is reedy and shallow in your ear. 

"I can't fuck you," Frankie groans as you squeeze him. 

Your hand moves under his waistband, curling around his already throbbing cock. He doesn't stop you. 

"Just wanna suck your cock" you whisper. You take his hand, bringing it under your skirt so he can feel you wear no panties. "Just the thought has me so wet." 

"They'll find us," Frankie pants looking at the closed door, his fingers sliding along the velvet lips of your pussy and groaning . "Someone could walk in."

"Doors locked."

"I've been gone a while."

"So cum fast."

The cocaine is hitting his bloodstream. He feels himself growing erratic. His cock is throbbing. He rips down his jeans, gripping his hard cock at the base. 

"Need your cunt."

Before you can reply he's crowding you against the wall, lifting your dress to your waist and entering you. You're wet, so wet that he doesn't even feel resistance. 

"Fuck me hard, I wanna feel you tomorrow." 

"You will," Frankie slurs as he pounds you against the wall. His eyes are shut and his face is tilted to the ceiling. He's trying to be quick, to fuck you so hard he can stop the filthy the thoughts he's been having about you since the two of you met. 

Frankie moans sawing himself in and out of you. He urges your thigh to go around his back. He's desperate to bury himself in your cunt to the hilt.

You watch his face twisted in pleasure. His hips slapping yours as he fucks you. He doesn't care about you pleasure but you don't care. You just wanted this, wanted to feel him. 

"Fuck you feel so much better than your sister," Frankie grunts without thinking, pounding into you now, face buried in the curve of your neck. "Your pussy is so fucking tight." 

You smile in victory, feeling him bury himself deeper with you, nudging your cervix. 

"I shouldn't be doing this," Frankie shakes his head even as his hips continue to thrust between your thighs, leaving wet noises to fill the air. 

You're about to say more when footsteps approach the door. The two of you tense up, but Frankie doesn't pull out of you. You feel too good, he doesn't want to stop. He continues to bury himself between your legs, a hand over your mouth to keep your gasps silent. 

"Frankie? Did you get those cigarettes?"

It's your sister. 

Frankie knows he can't pretend there's no one in here. When his girlfriend sees the locked door she'll panic something is wrong, or that he's using. He attempts to pull back from you, but you climb him, ankles locking behind his back. 

"Uh yep," Frankie calls back, panic in his voice when he feels the velvety clench of your pussy. "I just n--needed a breather."

Your hips are gyrating, urging him to keep going. He stares at you, silently begging you to stop before your pussy begins to milk him. You shake off his hand covering your mouth. 

"You wanna cum inside don't you, Frankie" you whisper. "Wanna fill me up with it?"

His eyes cheat to the back of his head. 

"Yeah," he groans. 

Your sister's voice comes through the door, increasing in panic. 

"You sound weird. Do you need me to come in?"

"No no, I'll be fine," Frankie insists, grabbing your ass and holding you down on his cock, trying to stop your squirming.  

"Okay." Your sister taps her foot. "Well, have you seen my sister?"

"Nope," Frankie says, his eyes on your face, noting the smirk you wear. You're getting off on this. He pins your wrists to the wall, trying to gain a semblance of control. But you just smile wider, hips rolling. 

"Honey, are you having a panic attack?" Your sister calls. "You're breathing weird." 

Frankie holds you against the wall, trying to keep his breathing even as he flexes into you before you both hear the doorknob rattle. 

"Just gimme a sec, babe."

He pulls off of you, pushing you slightly back when the doorknob continues to rattle. He grips it with his hand, eyes blown wide. His wet cock bobs between you and he shoves it back into his jeans going to the door. 

"If you're having a hard time I wanna be there for you," your sister says sweetly. It makes you roll your eyes before dropping to your knees. 

Frankie watches this and his hand goes to your face, thumb trailing over your damp lower lip. He pulls it down gently and you look your tongue out for him. 

He feels his breath catch when your mouth moves forward to capture his thumb in your mouth. His eyes are transfixed, watching as you suck the digit into your mouth, your eyes never leaving his. 

"I'm good babe," Frankie shudders. Your sister starts to go on about anxiety attack remedies on the other side of the door but it's all background noises. 

Frankie watches from under lowered lids as you begin to unzip his jeans. He feels his breathing constrict when you take him out of his boxers and his cock hangs there in front of you. It's already hard, brushing against your lower lip. 

Your sister is directly on the other side of the door behind you. This is wrong. You sit gazing up at him, tongue still out and mouth waiting. 

He shakes his head down at you kneeling between he and the door. You're going to get caught. 

But he can't say anything more because your mouth has found the tip and begun to lightly lick. 

His head tilts back and he grabs the door for support as all the blood in his body rushes between his legs. Your so fucking good at this. Your mouth and tongue are making him dizzy with desire. 

He gathers your hair in a loose first, guiding you and controlling the speed and depth at which you take him. His hips roll, his cock forcing itself deeper over your tongue, down your throat. 

His eyes crack open and he holds in a groan when he sees you there on your knees with your eyes looking up at him, pretty mouth stuffed full. You don't look worried at all, you look cock-drunk. 

You've always been a tease, flitting around in short skirts and see through blouses. Lingering hugs that make him tug himself off in the shower. And now you're here swallowing his cock. 

He wants to enjoy the sensation more but his girlfriend is trying the knob again. Frankie stiffens all over, panic swirling. 

"Frankie, I want to see you. Open the door."

He watches as you smirk up at him and he hisses when you pull off of him, your mouth wet with saliva. Your fingers reach behind you and Frankie is horrified to see you unlock the door. 

He shuffles forth in a panic, gripping the knob in his hand, pinning you to the door with his legs, one hand still holding your hair tightly. You grin up at him, mouth going to take his cock again, wet and warm. You start to bob your head along his cock, eyes rolling back. 

Frankie wants to murder you for this, but you're so goddam good with your mouth. He can't help himself. Your tongue flicks the underside of his cock and he bites down on a moan. 

Frankie opens the door while still gripping your hair with one fist, the other holding the door open only a crack. He pokes his head around the frame, looking at your sister with a calm expression. 

"Hey babe."

"Baby c'mon back to the party," she coos smiling gently at him. She doesn't see anything past his collar. Frankie is withdrawing to the tip before he slides himself back into your mouth. 

"I'm just taking a breather, babe," Frankie says patiently, steadying his breathing. "I'll be up in a sec, i promise. I just needed some alone time." 

You can feel his panic turning into adrenaline. The coke in his system and his cock in your mouth are making him feel Superman. 

"It's just with them smoking weed up there I needed a break," he continues, his hips bucking slowly as you grip his ass with your hands, nails dimpling the flesh. 

Frankie fights to keep his face stoic, but you're deepthroating him now, almost gagging. He's so thick. 

"Oh honey of course!" Your sister says with a crumpled brow. "You take as much time as you need." 

 Victoriously Frankie grins, even tilts his cock deeper as he gazes at his girlfriend. 

"You look so pretty tonight," Frankie tells your sister, even as his fingers slide to the back of your head. They tangle there, forcing you to take him to the hilt. Punishment for doing this to him.  

"Thank you," she replies with a giggle. 

"Gimme a kiss."

You feel your eyes widen as you hear that. It makes you suck him more furiously, hating that he's splitting his attention. You suck hard, satisfied when his thighs tremble. 

Your oblivious sister moves forward, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Frankie feels a surge of arousal go through him as he kisses one sister while he fucks the mouth of another. It's so filthy and he loves it. 

"You take as much time as you need, I'll be upstairs."  

With that she gives him another peck and goes traipsing up the stairs back to the party. Frankie glares down at you when he hears you giggling lightly. 

The door is closed and locked and Frankie forces you to the ground. You lay flat on your back, starfish pose. Frankie is frustrated with you and running high on coke. 

He straddles your face and forces your jaw open before shoving his cock back into your mouth. 

"You wanted this cock didn't you, you little slut?" He hisses viciously. 

He leans forward, his forearms on the carpet above your head. He's not even looking at you, just using your mouth as a hole to get himself off. 

His hips rise and fall on your face, fucking into your mouth like it's your cunt. His balls slap against your chin with violent cracks. He hears your moaning in between.

"Fucking shameless," he says, hips and ass bouncing off your face. 

All you can smell and taste is Frankie, the smooth of his skin, the heft of his sac and the crazy way he ruts against you. You want him to keep going forever, to use you like you've always imagined. 

His knees are on either side of your head, his soft lower belly smacking your forehead with each thrust. 

"Cock hungry slut," Frankie continues, unsure if you can even hear him. You're hands are gripping the carpet as his ass and hips rise and fall over and over, fucking you so deep he can feel the tight clench of your throat. 

"Don't deserve my cum but you're gonna get it," he growls when he feels that pull below his navel. "You don't spill a fucking drop." 

He explodes into your mouth, cum spilling over the sides, down your cheeks. He groans into the carpet as he fucks it into your throat, feeling the vibrations of your moans around his cock. He empties his balls into you before finally pulling himself off. 

You remain laying there with a face red and sweaty, hair stuck to parts of your face. Saliva and cum have dribbled down the front of your dress. You look absolutely ruined. Frankie is panting and he looks similarly affected to you, but his eyes are black. 

"Roll over."

You do without hesitation, pressing your belly to the carpet. You're curious when he pushes your dress up over your ass.

"Take it off."

Again you obey, left in nothing as you lay there. Your pussy is drooling And you squirm, eager about what's to come. 

But he doesn't touch you. You hear buttons pressed and rustling and then hear a tapping. It takes you a moment to realize that he's tapping a line of cocaine down your spine. 

You're silent as he does the line off your vertebrae, sniffing and then wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

He takes your dress, wiping off his slick softened cock and tossing it onto your bare body. You gaze up at him over your shoulder to see him holding the phone to face you. It's got a photo of you laying on the ground, ass up, pussy on display, a smile on your face. 

"Try to blackmail me about the coke and I send this to everyone in your family. I'm gonna tell them you sent it to me when I turned you down." 

Before you can even get dressed Frankie is gone, closing the door behind him and leaving you laying naked on the carpet with a satisfied grin on your face. 

[queer-overwatch]

Can I get one of OverWatch where the reader is the S/O of Genji, Hanzo, Junkrat, Roadhog, and Junker Queen? Like, How would they react to a reader who has a sword that looks normal at first but when their S/O sees their partner in danger, the sword reveals itself as a cursed sword where the blade changes color and their S/O changes into a demon form (whenever the curse takes effect) to protect their partner and change back once they're safe.

Genji,Hanzo, JQ, Junkrat, and Roadhog w/ a plant sword and demon powers

Sorry it's all headcanons -Xor & Frisk

Junker Queen

❦ ════ •⊰♔⊱• ════ ❦

Ms.Ma'am is FLABBERGASTED

Also lowkey jealous bc thats so cool???? If she could she'd yoink it but since it's your's she won't

She would totally say your sword and Gracie (her knife) are besties

Finds your demon form so incredibly cool

Would absolutely try and fight you while your in it, just to see how it'd go

She can handle herself so it probably wouldn't happen very often

But when it does she's lowkey so into it bc yeah, fuck shit up bbg

Roadhog

━━━━━━━𓃟━━━━━━━━

It's hard to impress this man .

Even harder so for him to get into danger he can't handle.

Seeing you use your sword for the first time absolutely left him keeling.

He was so lost for a moment because who in junker town uses a sword when most people have ranged weapons.

He was surprised at how well you handled yourself , especially with your short temper.

Watching you transform was something else , he half expected something else

But a demon that's something else

Left him speechless more speechless than normal

100% let you know how much he appreciates you afterwards.

Actually make that 200% with a side of approval and cuddles

Junkrat

⫷════ •⊰♨⊱• ════⫸

he's been trying to steal your sword it was why he got with you before he fell In love

the moment he sees what that can do he just wants it , he wants to hold it and tell you , that you've found something gorgeous

He completely forgot the danger for a second before a junker grabbed him by the throat

He was littleraly in awe watching you cut them down, until one of them managed to get the upper hand.

Immediately made the comment that he picked a "feisty one"

100% asks you to show him how you did all of that

Tried to bite your sword afterwards and chipped a tooth

Genji

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::[]==()

At first he's generally a little startled he never expected you to hold so much potential when Null Sector cornered him .

He loved watching the vines and flowers wrap around your sword it seems so cool and he definitely wanted to try it .

After you'd gotten hurt and decided as a last sitch effort to I leash your demon is he was worried about how the fight might go.

You were very injured at the end but watching you cut and claw down the massive robot he made sure you got the medical treatment you deserved

100% he teaches you how to defend yourself he doesn't want you getting hurt like that again

He also begs to try out your fancy sword , he lets you use his in returns

Hanzo

≫━─━─━─━─◈─━─━─━─━⫸

Bro does not know how to feel

Flashbacks to his brother

Also finds it interesting though in more of a "watching from a distance" way

Also isn't in danger too often though its more likely for him

Out of everyone would probably ask the most logical questions like where your sword came from, how it does all that cool shit, can he try it- etc etc

Would also probably wanna try fighing you though just to try and train for if he ever comes into contact with someone who had a similar ability

[mrs-monaghan]

there’s so much misinfo going round atm, see lots of people saying that after jk enlists with jm and does the boot camp he can apply for some special ???something and will leave separately where he is stationed or that just because jk / jm are enlisting on same day, they only will do basic training together then go to separate places ? and that they only chose the enlisting together option because it meant they could make sure they were out in time for june ?

ik it’s a bit hard to follow maybe with different sources and not real confirmation but do you know if any of it is true? my understanding was that they did the “enlisting together” scheme thing, (ie. it’s a purposeful application, they knew they were choosing this way) which meant they’ll at least be in same living quarters etc the whole time until they’re out ?

sorry for long Q! it’s ok if you dk it was just confusing D; thank you!

Hi anon. 😳 I am terrible when it comes to the serious stuff and have the attention span of a toddler when such topics arise. My mind registers them as boring and so I don't retain the in4. But my friends delved deep into this so I will gather as much as I can and do my best to explain the sitch

Let me start by correcting the biggest misinformation of them all. Thanks to fucking Mina with her fake subs and reaching conclusions, the vermin are confusing "Special Task Force" with "Special Forces"

JK said he wanted to join special forces. Well and good

But thats not what V is doing. V applied for Special Task Force which, while not easy (he said in the live its why he enlisted there, to challenge himself) its nothing compared to special forces. Special forces is HARD CORE. Its no joke. It's for those who actually want to go to war and proper fight for their country. Not for those fulfilling a mandatory duty... One they wouldn't do if they had the choice. Special forces, those people actually wanna be there. And if u know JK then u shouldn't be surprised that he would say something like this. Of course our dare devil bunny would enjoy joining something as risky as special forces.

But guess what? No one stopped him. He still could have gone there if he really wanted to. Just like in Winter package. No one told him to give up zip lining for beer tasting. He did that off his own volition since Jimin was going beer tasting. JK's happiness is where Jimin is. Period. (Suga's presence played a big part but we don't talk about Yoonmin)

(Edit: the whole thing takes almost 8 years to complete which again, is not something JK would actually do if he wanted to still stay a member of BTS. And of course satellite Jeon would again, never do it)

Jikook wanted to use the buddy system and they applied where Jin is on purpose because since the location is so risky, (front lines) not alot of people apply to serve there. So the chances of them being accepted were pretty high. I already talked a bit about that here.

Coldest and most dangerous. But before we panic, Jikook love snow so... thats good. But also;

2 things to note before we continue; 1) Tattoos are a none factor on why Jikook applied together or why JK couldn't be with V. They had 0 to do with that. And 2) All members and where they ended up it was their decision

So, here is a Korean explaining

They shall not be separated. They will train together and continue to serve together

One body. Shiet.

Nice. Even the breaks they will take together. Basically spend every minute together for those 18 months y'all.

They had to pass 3 rounds. Applying wasn't all. They had rounds to pass before getting accepted. So as we can see this was a whole ass process. They really worked hard on this to make it happen.

Apparently there is a show you can watch that explains the buddy system. Its 8 episodes, its called real man

The holding hands thing is legit 🤣🤣🤣

Jikook shouldn't have an issue then 🤭

Anon, people are in denial and the other half are trying to explain this away. If Jikook only went in together just so they could come out at the same time then they could have done what Vmon did. Apply separately at the same time.

This is one tough pill to swallow for antis. It's like the biggest fuck u Jikook could have ever done but at the same time I really don't think they factored anyone else but themselves when they made this decision.

18 months is no small amount of time so let's call a spade a spade; Jikook couldn't be apart that long. Fax 💯 JK wanted to be there for Jimin, Jimin wanted to be there for JK, of course. Them in the same place looking out for each other is all I as a fan who loves them can ask for. But at the same time, they needed this.

Anon, they will be together 24/7 for the entire duration of their time there.

Yes. Sleeping in the same quarters. It wouldn't make sense for companionship if they were separating the recruits who applied together. To be companions. Of each other.

The buddy system is there to help friends cope with this difficult mandatory thing that the government insists on doing to their young men. It's there to help them cope in any way possible. I imagine mostly mentally. So why would they train them together then separate them? ❓❓❓

It is said that you should make sure the person you apply with, is a person u get along with super well because for the next 18 months you will be together every moment of everyday. It's krazy to imagine that JK wouldn't rather do this with his actual boyfriend V, instead. Krazy. 🤯

Anygays, no need to worry my good people, Jimin and JK have got each other's back. All that's left is to wait for them and pray for them. May they always hold hands 🤭

Tihihihihihihi

[corn-fanfiction]

Mark Hoffman fluff?

Ask and ye shall receive, dear Anon.

Rating: M

Tags: language, drugs n alcohol, Eric Matthews being himself, fluff (I tried anyway), some descriptions of facial wounds

Not an Asshole (Mark Hoffman x GN!Reader)

-·=»◆‡«=·-♡·=»◆‡«=·-

"Ah!"

You suck air through your teeth and cradle an ice pack against one side of your head while thick yet curiously nimble fingers work at the laceration on the other side. Mark has removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Things would be different if your vision wasn't still skewed from the tussle. For one, you'd be fixing your wound yourself. Also... you'd be able to better glimpse at Mark's face while he focuses on his work. His brow furrows differently than normal when he focuses, like the usual scowl is a front and this is him in his element.

"Am I gonna have to report this?" he grumbles, setting aside a bloodied alcohol wipe and readying a suture.

"I'm probably the last person you wanna ask."

"Why?"

He's mumbling, clearly looking to fill the silent space. You indulge him.

"Because you know what I'm gonna say."

"That I shouldn't report it?"

"Yep."

"You broke a pretty strict code of conduct," he murmurs so quietly it almost registers as a hum.

You had, in fact, broken quite a few codes of conduct, and in public no less. There's a reason you're in your apartment and not the hospital.

"He had it coming."

Mark 'tsked'. "Still."

You smirk. He agrees with you.

"Get that smile off your face. He's gonna run straight to the chief and tell. I give you a day, if that. Hold still; this is gonna hurt."

You clench your teeth and grip your whiskey glass so hard you're afraid it might shatter in your hand, and then Mark will have even more to clean up. He begins your sitches and you take a shaky sip.

"Still," he scolds you like you're a disobedient animal. You roll your eyes.

"Just take me out back and shoot me."

"You're so dramatic. They're stitches."

"Yeah, and they fucking hurt."

"Well, you fucking earned em, didn't you, Ace?"

Ace. Your nickname, or rather, his nickname for you. Because no one else called you Ace. It started out mean, critical. You were, after all, a rookie, and he your mentor. He was allowed to say basically whatever he wanted to you, and in the beginning, he did. He said things that had you crying in your car as soon as you were out of sight. Any stress, he took out on you. Even the shit that probably wasn't even related to work- it ended up on your shoulders.

It was like that for a while. Then, something changed.

To put it simply, you had saved his life. He was caught unawares, him, and you managed to talk the perpetrator down. More than that, you'd been stupid, deliberately putting yourself in harm's way just to save Hoffman from a beating or maybe a bullet.

So you're Ace. Hotshot, hotheaded. Everything Mark was before you entered the picture. Now, he finds himself taking on some kind of new role to balance you out, though he's not exactly sure what it is or how much he likes it.

"Not my proudest moment, admittedly," you say with a pained groan as Mark pulls the sitches through.

"I'd really hope a bar fight with Eric Matthews was not your proudest moment, no."

"It wasn't a bar fight."

"Ace-"

"It was outside the bar and he threw the first punch."

"He missed."

"Yeah, the first swing."

"I don't feel like arguing about this- hold still unless you wanna lose an eye."

Begrudgingly, you seal your mouth as he manages the last stitch. He pulls a particularly sensitive piece of skin, or maybe sends the needle a little too deep because you hiss and shoot a hand out to clutch his leg.

"Sorry," he mutters. You can't see him, but you feel his eyes hot on your hand and you pull it away, trying and failing to mumble an apology of your own. Even though he's literally sewing your skin closed, the hand to thigh contact is somehow the most intimate thing that's ever happened.

And you have to admit: you maybe had the occasional fantasy about Mark. It couldn't be helped. He's a man in a position of power and you have enough childhood whatever that it has a certain draw. But in any of those fantasies, it's you playing doctor to him. He's the more notorious hothead, after all.

"You're probably mad I'm stealing your title," you half joke. He snips the suture and dabs at it lightly with a fresh alcohol wipe.

"Oh yeah? You think you're gonna make head detective?"

The first part of your response is a gut reaction. "God no. I meant as the biggest asshole in the precinct."

His hands slow, and for a moment, though you're still coming down from your near blackout-level of drunkenness, you're scared you offended him.

"You're not an asshole, Ace. Well, maybe sometimes. But your heart's in the right place."

You're never one for serious or genuine conversations. You always want to leave a conversation with a joke or snarky remark. But here, now...

"And yours isn't?"

After a moment, he sighs and turns himself away. You're sitting on your kitchen counter and he's on a barstool. Even with these levels, he's as tall as you. You kick your legs as he stands.

"This isn't about me."

You hop down from the counter. "I think it is about you as much as it is about me."

He shoots you a grim look. "How do you figure that?"

"Come on. Matthews is pissed that you're good at your job, and by extension, I'm occasionally good at my job."

"That's vanity," he quips.

"But am I wrong?"

He struggles for a moment, caught between lying versus telling you that you're right. He says neither.

"Not the point."

He removes his gloves and tosses them in the trash, along with the wipes and leftover sutures. There's a moment of silence, of him watching you as you retrieve the whiskey and refilling your glass.

"Want one?" You ask.

"Sure."

You get another glass and pour. Like it's a strange instinct, you touch glasses before drinking.

"To being the two biggest assholes in the precinct," he says. You half expect the phrase to be some sort of sad, but he says it with a small smile, as if to say 'yes, we are, and that's just the way it'll have to be.'

You don't mind the idea.

You down your whiskey and pour another glass.

"Slow down there, Ace. How many painkillers have you taken?"

Honestly? You don't remember.

"...some. I'm fine."

To prove just how fine you are, you push yourself from the counter and immediately stumble.

"Alright," Mark sighs and sets his glass on the counter. "Where you trying to go?"

"Couch," you point. It would seem that yes, most of the substances you've ingested in the past two hours are combining at once.

Mark comes and hovers a guiding hand at your lower back to move you to the couch. You make it, plopping down and grabbing the remote.

"Whaddya wanna watch?" You ask, not quite slurring your words but definitely not enunciating them.

"I really oughta get home, let you rest."

"Noooo!" You groan. "At least not right now. What if I have a concussion? I can't sleep, right?"

Panic starts to creep in. You have been a little irresponsible tonight.

"And the drinking, and the meds- holy shit..."

You get woozy, start to fall on your bad side and Mark catches you and sits you up.

"Okay, where's the bathroom?"

You wave your hand to the hallways behind you and he leaves. Distantly, through your haze you hear Judge Judy on the tv. Mark returns with a cold wash cloth and the small trashcan from the bathroom.

"Here," he hands you the cloth and you set it on the back of your neck. Mark sets the bin by your feet. He straightens up and gets a good look at the state of you.

"Well, now I'm worried about you passing out."

And now you feel guilty about keeping him here.

"You're fine," you mumble. "Don't wanna keep you here."

Mark sighs, looks around the room, then looses his collar, undoes the first two buttons of his shirt.

"Scoot," he instructs, and you move yourself to one side of the couch. Mark kicks off his shoes and sits beside you.

"I'm staying until we're certain you won't overdose in the middle of the night. Deal?"

You would verbally respond but you're getting sleepy. You nod.

"Hey, wake up. Can't sleep yet."

"Whynot."

"Concussion."

You turn so your body is facing inwards, towards Mark. You toss the remote onto his lap.

"Pick something."

"This is fine."

"No, you hate reality TV."

"How do you know?"

"You told me once," you mumble with your eyes closed. You roll your head back and forth to keep awake.

"Oh," he says. "Well, I don't mind this one."

You crack an eye open. "You like Judy?"

He doesn't respond, just purses his lips.

You're not in your right mind. That's what you tell yourself every day since this night because it's the most dignified way you can justify your next move.

You've pulled your socked feet up on the couch and start nudging Mark's leg with your toes. His head swivels towards you.

"What?"

You clear your throat and squeeze your eyes shut to let a stab of pain pass.

"Lap."

When he realizes what you want, Mark sighs and moves his arm so you can swing your feet onto his thigh, snuggling even closer. He tenses, but doesn't move.

"You're not an asshole," you mumble. Your forehead gets closer to his shoulder.

"Yeah, I am."

"Not to me."

"I used to be."

"I know," you yawn. "I forgive you."

As you fall asleep, you think you might hear an apology slip through his lips.

-

When you wake up the next morning, Mark's gone. But you wake up on your side, covered in a blanket, the trash can placed strategically by your head. On your coffee table is a glass of water and two painkillers. And next to them is a sticky note.

Ace,

eat first. Don't take on an empty stomach.

-Mark

You smile and chug the water, then take the pills anyway. Your stitches ache, and your brain pulses against your skull, but you grip the note tightly in your hand, content to slip it into a drawer somewhere and 'forget' to throw it away.

Yep. Maybe an asshole. But not last night. Not today.

-·=»◆‡«=·-♡·=»◆‡«=·-

Sorry if it's OOC but Mark's not a super fluffy guy. This seemed like a natural-ish way to play it. Thanks for the req, anon!!

[sevs-corner]

Another quick shot ideas on- Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Link to Prev parts:

Currently on Ch 2- Mini Epilogue, and you can find it here :D 👇

A/N: 1st Edit of adding onto Price’s part + the other TF 141 boiyos will get their own on a separate post✨

So here’s the sitch folks

Price👏has👏the👏moola

Which means that he will not hesitate to spend it all for you

But he keeps it lowkey, he isn’t the show-y type (cough Soap cough)

So he starts slow, aside from giving you his apparels, he wants to give something to call your own

But if he asks what you want, you’d suspect him

‘Smart sweetie,’ he thinks, whenever he sees you give him that inquisitive look

Eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk

If only you knew the things you do to this man behind closed doors

He starts giving you simple stuff, a bracelet - something that was sleek in design but had good value (both sentimentally and economically)

Because, when he gave that bracelet to you

It was the day he, tells himself this, officially fell for you- wanting to do his damnest to court you however possible way he can

Imagine a cold December, the worst possible season ever for you.

You hate the cold, as much as how it cool it becomes when the rain rolls in and rattles your bones.

No, you’re not old, just weary.

You always hated the rain, but why- as you stood hand-in-hand with this mafia boss- did you want the rain to continue.

Currently, you were running through the rain with him, laughing all the way until you found a tiny closed up shop with an awning over it.

Pointing at it with a quick, “over there! Som cover!”

Price nods and speeds up his pace, making you squeal— complaining that he should slow down or you’ll both slip but he insists.

“I’ll catch you,” he says so reassuringly, “don’t worry.”

And you didn’t.

Even when you both slid under the awning, with you almost slipping past-- but luckily he was there.

You then realize he is a man of his word.

Catch you he will, and catch you he did.

With his hands on your waist, you swore to yourself that you haven’t felt this more secure than ever in your life.

John Price on the other hand, was tethering-- barely able to keep his hands to himself once he got a taste on holding you in his arms.

He pulled you closer, not letting his hands leave you for a second, as he lets his inhibitions go, resulting with his arms wrapping around you securely. (That even if you did try to escape you wouldn't be able to- not like you wanted to anyways.)

Once he fells no resistance coming from you, he breathes in deep, trying to live in the moment as much as possible as you relax in his hold- both of your giggles dying out and letting the patter of rain consume space instead.

"You know," you whisper, "I hate the rain."

You could feel Price's chest rumble, and his voice respond right next to your ear.

"I know that, lovie."

You let that stew in you, humming out a reply that just came to the top of your head.

"But I don't hate it right now."

Price wanted to ask why, but he knew-- inside he knew why you didn't at that moment. Though it didn't feel right to voice his thoughts at the moment and simply holds you closer instead, hoping to reassure you through it that,

'its okay to hate things most of the time, but then like it when you're with someone.'

And he thinks to himself, maybe... it was like that with you too.

He never liked going out on dates- he never had time for those frivolous things.

He wasn't a gift giver, but always found himself giving you whatever you wanted or needed.

He wasn't a lover, but damned the world and his existence would be if he couldn't find himself not to love you.

Squeezing his arms close to you made him snap back to his reality, the reality that you were in arms-reach.

And that tether?

Now fully loose and wrapped around you-- just as his arms are.

Once you arrived back at your apartment, John knew that now was the right time.

So he tugs at your coat from the bottom of the stairs, barely able to catch you before you leave his sight.

“Hey.”

He watches you turn around, a crooked smile on your face as you copy him.

“Hey?”

“I-,” he stumbles, “-could you..?”

He lips feels dry, the saliva he gulps becomes hard to do with his throat feeling like sandpaper, his hands get clammy and he has to shove it down his pocket to avoid you seeing it shake.

You stare at him, head tilted as you return back his words to him- hoping to coax out whatever he wanted to get out.

“Could I..?”

With a deep breath, he forces eye contact with and asks,

“Will you accept this?”

From deep within the recess of his pocket, he hands you a small dark navy leathered covered box, gold engraving on its front— and it made you pause.

“John…” you step down the stairs to stand chest to chest with him, “…what’s this for?”

You wrapped your hands around his, entrapping the box between his hands.

If there was moment in his life where he felt his heart drop in- this would be the number one.

What if he overstepped—?

Moved too soon, way too early? Fuck- he just messed up didn’t he-?

“John?”

But your voice forces him to resurface from the deep spiral and he shakes his head. Splitting him from fantasy and reality.

He tries to ground himself further by dropping his head to lock eyes with you, and he swore that the stars still shined in them, just as the day he met you.

“I,” he licks his chapped lips, “I thought of you when I saw this.”

You released his hands for him to open it and once he did, you gasped, eyes snapping back and forth from the silver bracelet and his face- oh his face.

It was so twinged in nervousness but at the same time, a sense of softness and vulnerability that you instinctively knew that he never shows this kind of side of him to anyone.

“I got a couple of charms on it,” he points out with a chuckle, “thought it’d be nice to add onto it whenever we go to places.”

“Like a keepsake…” you mutter, thoughts unable to be kept within as you feel your chest tighten.

He nods, “precisely.”

“And this,” he points to the rain droplet charm, “will be a reminder of today.”

Any thought that came onto your brain was incoherent and words, if it were to be spoken right now, felt too cheap to say.

So you settle for a hug, one so tight and comforting that Price greedily wishes that he could be in it forevermore.

Eventually you had to let go, dry your eyes, and tuck in for the night.

“John!”

You call out one last time by your window, and said man turns, his usual smile softened by the glow of the moon.

“I kinda like the rain now!”

His laughter resounds through the night as he carries your words next to his heart.

‘One day,’ he thinks to himself, ‘one day we’ll get to fill up that bracelet.’