#i overuse this gif so much but whatever

[paladinsbrainrot]

just realized will's playlist is 3hr 22min long...

#i overuse this gif so much but whatever #yes it is weird that will's birthday was literally never mentioned in s4 and it was severely ooc for him to not bring anything up!! however #they clearly remembered his birthday and there's a reason st4 takes place on that day for a reason. #anyways. #will byers #ally talks #birthdaygate #byler #pb analysis

[viennakarma]

My dearest friend and enemy

Part 1 | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: You and Fernando always dreamed of the day you'd get into Formula 1. Unfortunately, the competition, the pride and the stubborness, get in the way of a beautiful friendship.

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: female!reader, driver reader, coming of age, ups and downs of a friendship, brocedes coded, very very angsty, cursing, anger, fights, overuse of flavio briatore as a plot device, lots of low blows, sprinkles of romance, kissing, making out, happy ending, not beta read

Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Note: Someone requested this, with this very detailed request, and it has consumed my every thought for the past week or two. I had to tweak some things from the request here and there, hope it's ok. It's heavily inspired by brocedes. Obviously we don't have all the facts with whatever happened to Lewis and Nico, but I have my own theories, that I tossed around this story here and there. (There is a lot of info that is wrong or inaccurate, I did this on purpose to fit my narrative, if you catch them, please ignore)

I'm sorry if it feels rushed, this was getting way too long and I just wanted to follow my heart. Feedback and opinions are appreciated xx

[If you have never listened to Tamino, or never heard this song, please do a favor to your brain and heart, and listen!]

Find me on Twitter!

PART 2 (END)

You wouldn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry.

You repeated those words to yourself as you stared at your fucked up kart, it wasn’t even starting. You didn’t have any more money to repair it, and if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be able to keep going in the competition.

“Hey, are you alright kid?” Someone stopped you, and your tears fell down. You used the sleeve of your overalls to wipe your face.

“I won’t make it to the final round of the competition,” you pointed to your kart.

The boy knelt down beside you, taking a look at your kart. It was the first time you really looked at him. He was a bit older than you, probably two or three years, since you had seen him in the next category, and you knew he was one of the best from what you could see.

He walked away suddenly, but came back a minute later with a tool box. He knelt down and started tinkering with your kart.

“What- what are you doing?” You asked crouching beside him. He only hummed, seemingly concentrating on his work.

After a few minutes of silence, he asked you to test to see if it would work, and you started your kart, and it did work.

“Oh my god!” You smiled, leaving the kart, “how- how much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry, I wanted to help,” he shrugged, putting back his tools.

“Are you sure?” You asked again.

“Yes,” he stood up, and as his eyes found yours, shining under the sunlight, you smiled at each other.

“Thank you so much!” You said, offering a hand for him to shake.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, and as you said your name back, he smiled a little shyly and just said, “I know.”

“You know?” You whispered.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you in your kart. You’re good.”

You bashed under his praise, cheeks warming and stomach full of butterflies.

From then on, you and Fernando became friends, always meeting up in karting competitions, despite being usually in different categories, since he was a bit older than you. But you’d always be seen together on those occasions, or either of you on the stands, cheering for the other. Your parents knew you were close friends, and after a while, your parents would take turns at taking you two for competitions, usually going together.

You met again when you got to the Spanish Junior Championship, it was your first time at that competition and it would be Fernando’s third. Your rivalry was mostly playful in that competition, you were still the best of friends, even when you got close to his score, you still managed to leave the rivalry on the track. When it ended and you stared up at Fernando from the second place podium, you felt proud of him, happy even. You understood that he had more experience than you, winning that competition three times in a row, and you always would have next year to catch up to him.

That day when he took your hand to walk back to his dad, he held your hand tight. And when they dropped you off at home, you winked at him.

“I’ll catch you next year.” You walked to the door hearing him and José Luis laughing back in the car.

You didn’t manage to catch him next year. Fernando reached new heights as he moved up to world championships. Life took you apart, and without your greatest opponent in the championship, you took it home for three years in a row.

The next few years, you and Fernando were mostly apart. The distance was eating you thin, even when you two managed to talk for a couple of hours on the phone, or whenever he sent you letters talking about his biggest achievements. You still saw each other over summer and winter, which was what mostly kept your bond strong. You also managed to kart for fun sometimes, or go for ice cream, or just sit on the porch of your house, talking about life. You two always shared an ice cream on your birthdays, a tradition that was born ever since you were 13, and you and Fernando gathered together every coin you had to be able to buy one ice cream cone that you happily shared sitting on a sidewalk.

“We’ll make it to Formula 1 one day, Nena.”

You laughed. Despite being the greatest dream of them all, by that time, it had been twenty years since the last woman had been in a Formula 1 car, really competing. You wanted to, so bad, but you didn’t want to get any hope for it to be crushed later on.

“You, most likely, Nano. You’re brilliant, I’m sure you’re going to be a world champion one day,” you said, playful, “just don’t forget us peasants when you’re rich and famous.”

“You have too much faith in me, Nena,” he shook his head.

“No, I just know stuff. When you get your world championship, I hope you will hear my voice in your head telling you I told you so.”

He laughed it off.

Fernando extended you a bottle of cheap wine, it was his way of celebrating your 18th birthday, now you were of age. The wine warmed you up, leaving a pretty stain in both of your lips. 

“What about that girl you liked? Are you dating her yet?” You asked to break the silence.

“No…” he shrugged then took the bottle from you to take a chug straight from it, “she’s not for me.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, even though he didn’t look particularly unhappy about it.

“Don’t be. It was just a silly crush,” his lips turned down, “The girls don’t find me attractive enough,” he shook his head, feeling shy for having this conversation with you, “and I don’t know, I’ve always been a little shy, I guess. I don’t have much experience in romance. None, if I’m being honest.”

“None?!” You sounded shocked at his lack of romance. He just shook his head. 

At eighteen you had your fair share of teen love, having crushes here and there, sometimes even sharing kisses under the bleachers at school. Fernando was your best friend and you knew him like no one, and you could see that he was lonely and feeling embarrassed, up until that point, his life had been school, karting and work to fund his karting.

“Would you like to?” You asked, suddenly turning to him after drinking a sip of courage from the wine bottle.

“Like to what?” He frowned.

“To be kissed?” You whispered, and looked behind you, inside your house, where your parents were inside.

Your heart raced faster than you ever did, his pretty eyes looking for your face, trying to find any sign of joking, like you were just being silly. But you were serious, looking at his face intently. You were about to back pedal when he nodded softly.

“What-” his voice failed, and he gulped nervously, “what should I do?”

“Just follow my lead, and you will feel what to do,” you said, extending a hand and holding his face, “close your eyes.”

He did, and you just closed the distance quietly, but when you had barely touched his lips with yours, he bursted out laughing, leaning back. You also laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

“It’s ok, we don’t have to, Nano” you recovered, but he shook his head, giggling.

“No, sorry, sorry! You’re my favorite person, I trust you,” he sighed, closing his eyes again.

You held his face, trying to get closer again, and this time he let you. With a soft press, you pecked his lips for a couple of seconds. You felt butterflies in your stomach, and they pushed you to push into his lips, mouth opening a little and him following your lead. One of his hands found your face, and you deepened the kiss. He was inexperienced but surprisingly patient, letting you lead and slowly picking your pace and moves. Your kiss turned into an almost make out session, lasting long minutes, with Fernando getting the hang of it with every passing second. When you parted, his cheeks and lips were red, and you two smiled nervously at each other.

“Was that ok?” You asked, suddenly insecure.

“More than ok,” he whispered back, “I think we-”

A loud noise from inside your house made you two jump away from each other, and a second later, your mom’s voice boomed through the door, reminding you of your curfew, and checking your watch, you noticed it was almost eleven.

“Sorry, Nano. I have to go,” you stood up and he followed you.

“See you Saturday to go karting?” He asked just to confirm the plans you had made earlier.

“See you,” you waved awkwardly before sprinting inside your house.

Skipping to your room, you locked the door behind you and pressed a hand to your lips, still warm from kissing your best friend. Going to your window, you pulled on the curtains and watched through the gap as Fernando left, calmly walking down the street.

You never talked about it. And when you met again at the end of the week, none of you mentioned the kiss, things quickly went back to normal as you two pretended it never happened. Over a few months, your heart never let you forget about the kiss you shared with your best friend, and whenever you laid in bed to sleep, your mind would wander back to that specific night. You spent months building up the courage to confess you had feelings for him, and you wanted to be more than friends. Your choice was to tell him on his birthday, when you usually would go for a birthday ice cream.

“I need to tell you something-” You said at the same time he muttered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to you, but at that point, your bravery quickly faded.

“No, you first. You’re the birthday boy!”

“Uh, I’m dating a girl. I’m going to introduce her to you and my family at the birthday party tonight.”

That moment, with a smile frozen on your face, a small part of you was ripped forever. The excitement and fear of a young love turned into stone at the pit of your stomach. To this day, you don’t know how you managed to not burst into tears that very moment. Instead, you kept smiling, asking Fernando for more details so he could get distracted and not notice the pain in your eyes.

Managing to bury what you decided to call a silly teen infatuation after a few months, your friendship with Fernando became even stronger everyday that passed. 

You made it to the international and European competitions, winning the former twice in a row, and the latter once. You were in the Euro Open when Fernando made it to Formula 1.

He told you personally, when he signed with Minardi, and you were so happy you jumped on his arms, hugging him tight and screaming.

“I told you! I told you!” You shouted, as he carried your feet from the floor, “My best friend is in Formula 1! Oh my god, Nano!” You let go of him, your smile barely fitting your face, “I’m gonna be insufferable! I’m claiming bragging rights right now!”

He only laughed at your happy ramble.

You balanced your competitions with working double shifts for almost two months, so you could afford to go to the Spanish Grand Prix the year of his Formula One debut. He didn’t win anything that year, but he still had your immense support every step of the way. When waves of self doubt came and left him shaken, you’d hug him and whisper softly how he was just a rookie, how he would still have time to prove himself.

“You’re gonna be one of the best there is, Nano.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He also would show you support whenever your schedule at the Euro Open didn’t coincide with his at Formula 1. It was one of the best feelings to get to the podium and see your best friend as you held the trophy. When you finally found him after the podium, he hugged you for a moment, commenting on his favorite moments from your race. As you stood, he gestured to someone, and a beautiful girl came closer.

“Nena, this is my girlfriend, Lucia,” he pointed. Your smile froze for a second. Another one, since the girl from last year couldn’t handle the distance of dating someone who was constantly traveling the world.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand, suddenly self conscious of your frizzy hair and sweat damp overalls. She was so pretty. So much prettier than you. 

Lucia was pretty and kind, a little bit clingy, but she treated you very well, and wasn’t jealous of your friendship with Fernando, different from the last one. All your flings never went as far as becoming boyfriend or girlfriend, so you decided to focus more on racing and trying to make a name for yourself.

“Fernando,” you called one of the rare days you two were both free and could laze around, this time, sitting on the ground of the garden, staring at the clear sky and sharing a pint of ice cream.

“Hm?”

“I talked to your dad, and you’re going to be free the day of the last race of the Euro Open, so I was wondering if you will come to see me become the champion?” You turned to him, a smile adorning your face.

“Confident, are you?” He teased your certainty that you would win the competition.

“Not confident, just focused,” you corrected him, and started explaining the date of the race, but as you talked, his smile quickly faded and you stopped.

“I’m sorry, Nena. It’s Lucia’s graduation that day, I can’t miss it.”

You swallowed, thinking it would matter so much to you that he’d be there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to be selfish or make it seem like you’re competing with the girl he loved. You tried to disguise the disappointment in your face, but he noticed. At that point he knew you for half of your lives, he knew very well when you tried to mask your sadness. And unfortunately, he had been on the receiving end of that sad face one too many times.

“Oh,” you nodded, “Don’t worry, I totally understand.”

Fernando pressed his lips thin, your meek voice doing nothing to soothe the squeezing in his heart.

The day you won the Euro Open, you could barely contain your happiness as you stood on the podium, showing your trophy to your parents, who were watching you all emotional. As the podium ceremony finished, you walked back to your parents, your mom wiping her tears and your dad the happiest. Then, you finally noticed Fernando was with them.

“Nano!” You hugged him.

“Congratulations, champion!” He said. Your heart was so full you thought it would explode, so all you managed to say were two words.

“You came.”

“You called.”

Later you found out through your mom, who found out through Fernando’s mom, who found out from Fernando’s dad, that Fernando and Lucia had broken up. They said it was because of the distance and the relationship didn’t last more than seven months. You couldn’t blame her, you as his best friend barely saw him that year either.

You became a reserve driver for Renault in 2003, meeting Flavio Briatore yourself after you won the Formula 3000 two years in a row. You knew that, by that time, Fernando had ties with Flavio, but the man assured you it had nothing to do with Fernando, and everything to do with you being extremely talented.

Still, that same week you found Fernando, to inquire if he had anything to do with Flavio’s invitation, but he assured you that you’d achieved that with your own merit. The unexpected chance to race came when by the end of the following year, Fernando’s teammate was fired by the end of the season. So you had to replace him for the remaining three races of the season, the team fighting for P2 in the constructors championship. The first two races you went alright placing P7 and P5, but still not where you wanted to place.

“Hey, you’re doing great, Nena,” Fernando told you right before the race started. He knew you were upset, frustration practically emanating from your body.

“Not as great as I can do,” you shook your head.

“Just do your best, ignore everything else.”

You nodded, before closing your overalls and gettin ready to get in the car. That race, you and Fernando managed to race just like in your karting days, with a silent partnership never seen before coming from Fernando. You placed a 2-3 podium, him ahead of you.

When you got out of the car, you jumped straight into his arms, screaming and celebrating. Your first ever podium in Formula 1.

During post race interviews you accidentally let out to the media that you and Fernando were childhood best friends, which they took as a personal reason to go digging into your lives.

Next season, Flavio signed you with the team. But before anything, he sat you down for a talk. He explained how Fernando would be top priority this year, you were a rookie, and they would offer you all the support but you had to help Fernando first.

“You will gain experience, work together with your best friend, and we can achieve great things this year. And depending on how good of a performance you show this year, next year you will be able to race for the championship, yes?” Flavio explained.

And you were fine with that, Fernando would be the main priority while you took the year to get used to the car, to being in an entirely new category, while helping your best friend reach his peak. It was the dream, finally. It was the thing both of you had daydreamed together, nothing could get in the way of that.

So you did just that. You kept your head down, fighting fiercely against your rivals, and keeping yourself out of the way whenever you and Fernando were close in a race. Your time would come, as Flavio had promised. That season you managed good results in the points, and even got five podium finishes, which landed you fourth in the drivers’ championship and managed Renault to win the constructors.

That day in Interlagos, during the Brazilian Grand Prix, you woke up knowing Fernando would become world champion. You didn’t tell him to not put any more pressure on him. He only needed a podium to mathematically become the champion of the world.

He finished P3, and you finished P7. Seeing Fernando radiantly happy, dancing, shouting and jumping was etched forever in your brain as one of your happiest memories. The way he eventually found you, holding you firmly against him, the both of you crying happy tears became headlines all around the world.

“I told you, didn’t I?” You broke the hug so you could stare into his red rimmed eyes.

“You did. You’re right more often than not, I’ve come to realize.” He whispered. When someone tried to put a mic in your faces, Fernando pushed it away.

“This is your moment, go.” You gestured to the other side, where he had to go before the podium.

Looking up from the ground to Fernando, you were so happy you thought your heart would burst open. And you couldn’t wait for it to be your turn, to feel this happiness the other way around.

That night, you, Fernando and the entire team got ready to party, to celebrate his championship. You dressed up to the nines, putting makeup and spending a good half an hour styling your hair. When you left the elevator, meeting the whole team at the lobby, they shouted and whistled saying you were pretty. It made you a bit shy but you liked the attention.

You and Fernando danced and drank like crazy that night, going strong all the way into the morning. When the party ended and you two sat on your suite balcony, watching the sun rise, you bought out an ice cream pint you had kept in the room minibar.

“How do you feel, Mr. World Champion?” You sat cross legged in front of him.

“Like a dream come true, sometimes I don’t even believe it’s real,” he said, staring into the horizon.

“Remember when we would talk about this moment?” You took his hand in yours, as he nodded, “Wow. This is great. I’m so happy for you, and happy for fifteen year-old Nano, the bright eyed boy that fixed my kart charge free.”

It’s barely a second after you finished speaking that Fernando leaned into your space and just kissed your lips. It took you a second to understand what was going on, but when his hand found your hair, you reciprocated. His lips, that had been cold from the ice cream quickly became warm under your ministrations. You held his shoulders and let him pull you closer, until you were straddling his lap. The kiss was messy, all over the place, clanking lips, teeth and tongue. You moaned softly as he squeezed your ass, and you pulled his hair at the nape, grinding down on his lap, making him groan too.

“We should not,” he said, breaking the kiss. You nodded, panting.

“Yeah, totally, we-” you tried to speak but he nipped at your neck and you lost all train of thought.

“No, we won’t ruin-” he tried again but you pulled his hair, forcing his head up so you could kiss him.

“You’re right-” you muttered against his lips, right before smashing it when you kissed him again. You stayed there, kissing, making out like you were teenagers again, too scared to reach for each other's clothes and take the next step.

When the sun was fully up in the sky, and whatever was left of the ice cream had melted, your alarm rang, and you and Fernando parted. You were about to invite him to sleep with you for a few hours when he paused, his face worried. Fernando took one of your hands.

“This is a one time- thing, right?” He frowned, and you swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, of course.” You don’t correct him with memories of your eighteenth birthday.

“I just, I don’t want anything to ruin our friendship,” he stared at you, visibly scared for your friendship, and you didn’t have the heart to ask for more.

“It won’t ruin, I promise. If you want, we can forget it ever happened,” you said, hoping and praying he would change his mind. But he looked relieved at your words.

After he left, you sat down on the bed, disheartened, knowing that these scraps of affection would have to be stored in a safe spot inside your heart, and would be nothing more than memories, and what-ifs you’d only dare to look at late in your sleepless nights. You wondered how many times he would have to undervalue your romantic affections for you to understand he didn’t want you and never would. That was the second time you shared a moment, and the second time he had dismissed it. It’s not meant to be, you whispered to yourself.

When the new season started, you had gotten a grip over your feelings for him, focused on moving on. Being in love with your best friend for around a decade was pathetic enough.

Fernando was great during the start of the season, scoring two wins within the first three races. And despite not being the results you wanted, you placed top ten in all of them, even managing one podium finish.

When the fourth race came, though, it was when you and Fernando started to collapse. It was a very carefully plotted race for you and your team, and after managing your tyres with care, you didn’t have to pit twice. And you won, for the first time ever, you stood on the top of the podium. Unfortunately, Fernando didn’t get a podium. Holding your trophy, you looked down from the podium looking to your team, and searching for Fernando.

He wasn’t there, and your heart shattered a bit with his absence.

Maybe he had a problem and couldn’t be there for you. Maybe he was busy.

You went down to speak to the press, happily talking about strategies, how you and your team masterminded it, how you managed to preserve your tyres for longer than expected.

“How do you and Fernando manage to balance your friendship out of the track with the rivalry happening inside the track?” Someone asked. You were caught by surprise, taking a few seconds to actually compute the words he said.

“Well, I haven’t seen Fernando yet, but I believe he’d be happy for my good result as much as I’d be happy for him,” you told him, but immediately regretted it as the reporter had a gotcha expression on his face.

“Well, actually, this is what Fernando said a few minutes ago when he gave an interview-”

The man gave you a tape recorder attached to a pair of headphones, and your stomach filled with dread as he pressed rewind and play.

“Fernando, today’s win puts your best friend as a contender for the championship, what do you say?”

“Well, I believe she is talented, but too young and not yet ready to face me and actually compete for the championship.”

His voice was bitter, like he didn’t see you as nothing but a bug under his shoes. Instead of making you sad, it only left you seething in anger, but as you removed the headphones, you controlled the urge to smash the headphones on the nearest wall and smirked coldly to the camera that was waiting for your reaction.

“What do you think about Fernando saying you’re still not ready to become world champion?” The reporter urged, waiting for a beef that he would successfully get.

“Well, I guess he feels threatened by me, so I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shrugged, not caring about adding more fuel to the fire. If Fernando thought he could go running his mouth and you’d be fine or not jab him back, he was in for a surprise.

After wrapping up the interviews, you finally managed to go to your room and take a shower. You were getting ready to leave when Fernando found you again, walking into your room without bothering to knock. You didn’t even look at him, just kept packing your bag.

“Nena…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me,” you shook your head, holding on to the anger instead of allowing yourself to be sad. How he was able to ruin your first ever win in Formula 1, you couldn’t know.

“Nena, please, just-” He tried again, blocking your path to the door.

“No! Fuck you, Fernando!” You took a step back, letting your bag fall to the floor, an accusatory finger pointing to his face, “How dare you do this to me? You know how many times I cheered for you? How many times I wasn’t even on the podium and still, I was happy for you? Huh? I was there for you every step of the way, and you can’t be there for me once? Now you go out there and disregard my win in front of the whole world? What did I ever do to you for you to say that shit about me?” Your voice trembled, but you refused to cry in front of him, “I’d never do that to you, you selfish asshole.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, but I was pole and didn’t even manage to turn it into a podium? I was upset, the strategy fucked me up! I know I should not have said that! You’re right! I was selfish and an asshole-”

“Damn right you were!” You shouted, then picked up your bag, “I don’t want to see you right now.”

You walked past him, leaving at once.

That night, you went to celebrate with the team and without your teammate, you got pretty wasted, dancing and drinking like you had never done before. You refused to let yourself feel down because of Fernando’s big mouth. Dancing the night away, you didn’t stop even when people on the team asked you to, since you were getting out of hand. You were grinding on a stranger, dancing to reggaeton when you felt a hand on your arm.

“Let’s go,” the voice said and you turned, seeing Fernando in front of you. He looked like he was dressed in pajamas and hair all disheveled.

He was asleep when someone on the team called him because they wanted to leave and you were being difficult, so they hoped that your best friend could come pick you up and convince you to leave.

“Excuse me?!” You pulled your arm from him.

“We’re leaving!” Fernando said, pointing to where your team was, seeing it empty, “you’re not going to stay here alone.”

Begrudgingly, you let him lead you outside, one hand in your arm, and the other one on your back. You stumbled in your heels, and Fernando pressed you against the wall, kneeling to remove your shoes and help you walk better outside. Silently, he drove you back to the hotel, while you were with your arms crossed and sulking.

He walked you to your room, helping you change into pajamas, then tucked you into the bed. He stood there for a second, pushing your hair away from your face as you closed your eyes, letting his knuckles run over your cheek softly.

“I wish-” you mumbled, sleepy, “I wish you were happy for me.”

His eyes filled with tears, seeing just how awful he had been to you. A dream was coming true and all he could think of was himself.

“I am, Nena. I’m so happy for you,” He said, but you didn’t answer, already asleep, due to being tired from the race and heavily drunk.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a stomach churning hangover. Still, you showered, drank tea and got ready to go home. When Fernando knocked on the door of your hotel room later that day to apologize, you were already on a flight to Spain. Your birthday would be later that week and your family wanted to throw you a dinner party. 

Your birthday was nice, despite obviously feeling Fernando’s absence.

You were sitting alone on the porch, after the party, when he showed up, late in the night. You didn’t say anything as he walked up to you.

“Peace offering?” Fernando showed you a small ice cream pint “I’m so sorry. I never meant to undermine you. I was a jerk, and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hesitated for a second, but his eyes were so gentle, remorseful, that you couldn’t help but give in. You jumped into his arms so suddenly he almost dropped the ice cream, but he managed to balance it and hug you back with the other arm.

“Happy birthday, Nena,” he whispered, 

“Thank you,” you said, without letting him go, “I’m sorry too. I apologize for implying you felt threatened by me.”

“You should have called me worse things,” he whispered.

You ended up sharing the ice cream once again, talking about life.

Deep down, you hoped things would go back to normal, but a part of you knew that things would never be the same. You two were too much alike for anything to work. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too competitive. When you were good, it was great, but when you were mad, your words were daggers.

The both of you tried to stay normal the next couple of races, but it was strained, forced, especially when you were racing each other. You supposed Fernando was used to you backing down for him, since it was all you had done the year before when you were a rookie. But now you were used to the car, to explore all the possibilities while pushing your tyres to their maximum, while trying insane strategies and making it work. You were a risky driver, just like him, often seen as reckless.

All the while, the media started catching up to it. They went digging to find pictures of you and Fernando when you were kids, in karting and junior competitions, finding out people to interview, old classmates, people you two had met over the years, telling everyone about your close friendship, about you growing up together. Despite you both refusing to comment on your past, the journalists would always find a way to learn more and more about you.

Eventually, it got to your nerves, harsh words were often said whenever questions were thrown at you. You were in a press conference, where Fernando was also there along with a few other drivers.

“It is noticeable that you and Alonso’s driving style is very similar, would you say that he taught you everything you know?”

You didn’t like his tone, you hated whatever he was implying, not because of Fernando, but because it meant to reduce your efforts and abilities.

“No, Alonso has no part in my racing,” your tone was firm against the mic, and you could feel Fernando’s eyes on you, two chairs away on your left.

“But you grew up together?” The man insisted, and you loudly sighed, exhausted from everyone trying to make you talk about it all the time.

“And that doesn’t mean anything!” You said with gritted teeth.

There was a moment of silence right after your outburst, and you didn’t dare to look anywhere besides ahead. When the questions moved on to other drivers, you breathed again. Finally sparing a glance to Fernando, he only looked at you for a fleeting moment, but you knew him so well, you could recognize his teary eyes. Only then it dawned on you how badly you fucked up by insinuating he didn’t mean anything to you.

When the conference ended, you watched as Fernando left really quickly, not even looking in your direction. You ran, trying to find him, going to his room that was right beside yours.

“Fernando-” You walked inside, not even bothering to knock.

“So, our friendship means nothing!” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Nano!”

“Now I’m Nano again?” He scoffed.

You wanted to cry and plead, to explain that you never meant it this way. You were just tired of people trying to attribute your success to others. You were tired of people comparing the two of you, and saying everything you were came from him, just because he joined the category five years before you. 

“Fernando, please-”

“Leave.” His eyes were cold, almost detached when he pointed to the door.

“Please, Nano…” You whispered, feeling your own eyes welling up with tears. He just shook his head ‘no’ again.

You walked out quietly, not allowing your tears to fall down as you got into your room, inhaling and puffing your chest. You didn’t let up, trying to talk to him again, because it was just a misunderstanding.

Three days later, you tried to find him again, after the race ended, hoping he would have calmed down after a good result, a P2 in that race. You knocked on his door and entered. He was changing clothes as you walked in, he finished dressing a shirt.

“What?” He said, barely looking at you, as he sat down on the sofa, brushing his hair.

“I wanted to talk about what I said during-” your words were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Fernando said, and soon, two pretty girls walked in, wearing pretty dresses, one blonde and the other brunette, “pretty girls!”

You recognized they were grid girls, and they looked familiar from this weekend.

“Can we talk?” You said, trying to make him at least send the girls away for a moment.

“I’m listening,” he smirked, and you gulped as the blonde ran a hand up and down his chest. The brunette leaned into his ear with a seductive smile, whispering something.

“Fernando, please…” You asked again and he didn’t even look at you, laughing at something the girls whispered to him, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, before turning in your heels and leaving his room.

Shame and jealousy burned inside you.

He started giving you a silent treatment from then on and three races later, your silent strain came to a head, once again.

You were right behind him at the race, you P3 and him right ahead, but you had enough speed to outpace him soon, maybe a couple more laps and you’d equal him enough to try and overtake, you rode turn 2 smoothly, but as you two kept going, Fernando half a second in front of you, he suddenly hit the brakes, making you hit his rear.

“What the fuck? He brake tested me!” You shouted into the radio, reassessing, you gulped, noticing the damage to your front right tyre, “I’ve got damage!”

You called into the box to change your tyre, which fucked up your entire strategy, and made you go from the P3 to P9 in the grid. You managed to recover a little bit, but still ended P5 and out of the podium.

The rage was burning your chest as you went to the garage absolutely fuming. After all the podium proceedings and celebrations, you waited for Fernando, but he just walked past you without a care in the world. That made you even more pissed, and nobody managed to hold you when you tossed your helmet aside and marched up to him.

“That was really fucked up, Fernando!” You cut his path, making him stop short. Suddenly a bunch of people started gathering around you two, everyone ready for a show.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He shrugged, but you knew him like the palm of your own hand, and you knew that condescending smile he showed you.

“You are a fucking coward if you have to brake test me just to get a podium,” you said, venomous, feeling your dad trying to pull you away and dissipate the commotion. But you weren’t done, “you’re pathetic, Fernando.”

“That’s enough!” Your dad said, pulling you back.

“Or maybe you’re just not good enough, have you thought about that?” Fernando said back, and you jumped on him, trying to get close enough for violence, but your dad held your waist, removing your feet from the ground and pulling you back.

“Man up, Fernando! You fucking asshole!” You shouted as your dad dragged you back into the garage.

Your dad placed you inside your room, grabbing water so you could drink and calm down. When he turned back, a sob broke from your throat, and you covered your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the sounds of your crying. You shook as you cried again, your dad hugging you close and murmuring to you to let it all out.

You never thought your friendship with Fernando would ever come to this. You weren’t even sure of how the buildup happened that led to this.

“I don’t recognize him anymore, Papá. I don’t recognize my best friend anymore,” you shook your head, your voice breaking in hiccups. You pressed the plant of your hand to your eyes to try and stop the tears falling down, but it was useless.

“It’s ok, bebé. You’re both hotheaded, you need to talk calmly, try and fix it.”

You didn’t try to talk to him. He was wrong when he brake tested you, and if he couldn’t apologize for that, and for the hurtful words he said, then it was better to stay that way.

It only got worse as the season went on, the team tried to force you to give him advantages, but you refused many times, making the competition for the World Drivers Championship be between the two of you.

“We need to talk,” Flavio called you a day after another one of your wins, one that Fernando placed third, one that he didn’t even look at your face when you were up there.

“What happened?” You sat down in front of him by the table.

“You have to follow team orders. When we say you have to switch places with Fernando, you switch. You are deliberately going against orders, what is going on? You and Fernando are now in a cold war, the media caught up, the other drivers caught up too, why-”

“Am I the only one getting lectured?” You crossed your arms, seeing Flavio getting red in the face, angry.

“No. I want answers from both of you, and the way you’re being aggressive with each other, we believe it’s better to talk to you separately,” Flavio sighed, “What is happening? Before it was interesting, a beautiful rivalry, but now you way past that. You’re harming your own races and the team.”

“You talk to Fernando. He thinks because I won’t back down he needs to use every dirty trick in the book to damage my race. If he can’t handle competition like an adult, then he shouldn’t be here.”

Suddenly, the door opened, which made you jump. Fernando walked inside, fuming.

“So that’s what you think of me?” He raised his voice.

“Yes, you have been acting like a fucking kid,” you stood up.

“Me? You told the whole world our friendship means nothing to you! Have you any idea how that made me feel?!” Fernando got closer.

“Do you know how many times people disdain my career to pin it to someone else? To attribute my successes to you, or to Flavio, or even my dad?! You’ve got no idea what it's like being a woman here!”

“Power got to your head! You think you have to walk all over everyone to get what you want!”

“Power?! Literally every man here does that! You do that too, Fernando!”

“Funny you say that since you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me!” He shouted, pointing a finger to the ground.

“Fernando, stop.” Flavio muttered, coming closer to where you were face to face with Fernando.

You frowned, your anger completely dissipated and what was left was dread. And a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You hated how your voice was nothing more than a vulnerable whisper.

“Fernando, enough!” Flavio commanded out loud, gesturing with a hand.

“What do you mean, Fernando?!” You asked again, ignoring Flavio trying to pacify the fight.

“I was the one to ask Flavio to sponsor you. I asked him to take a shot and invest in your career!” Fernando’s words were poison and in his eyes you couldn’t see anything left of your former best friend.

“Is it true, Flavio?” You asked but your eyes never left Fernando’s.

“Yes, but if we calm down, we can talk like adults.”

You couldn’t even come up with words, speechless not only from what Fernando told you, but from the tone he used. It was like he had punched you straight in the gut. You couldn’t contain your tears anymore, the lump in your throat threatening to suffocate you. You wanted to jump on him, to push him to the ground and punch his face. You wanted to scream in his face and call him all the dirty names you could think of. You tried to hold onto the anger but your limbs were still, and the pain expanded inside you like wildfire. He had lied to you, in the biggest step of your career he had lied to you. Even when you pressed for answers, he lied straight to your face.

You stared into his eyes one last time. It was the first time he had seen you really cry. He had seen you teary eyed or even emotional before, but it was the first time he had seen you truly cry.

“You’re dead to me, Fernando.”

Was all you managed to rasp, fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Flavio called your name as you walked away, but you never looked back and didn’t stop until you were inside your car, wailing like a baby. You sobbed all the way back to the hotel. You cried as you packed your bags, and tried but failed to contain your tears all the way back home, until you were at your parents’ door, sobbing on their sofa.

They didn’t ask anything until a couple of hours later when you managed to stop crying.

“I hate Fernando, so much, Mamá,” you whispered.

“Honey, don’t say that. Don’t do or say something you might regret later on,” She told you. You shook your head.

“I’m done with him. Done.” You bit back a sob, “he was so cruel, you had to see it.”

“He’s your best friend, dear. I’m sure it will be alright later on.”

“You should’ve seen the hate in his eyes, I don’t know him anymore. That’s not my Nano.”

So, your racing career was a lie. You didn’t make it because of your talent or your efforts. You were in Formula 1 because of Fernando. That was the cruelest thing someone ever said to you, not only because he was mean in the way he said it, but because with a few words he diminished your entire career. And what could you come up with to contest? He was right. You would never be there without him.

You wanted to give up so badly at that moment. You wanted to stay home and never come back, but you knew you couldn’t, your sense of duty was loud and you had to make it work. You had to prove that you deserved your spot in Formula 1, that all of Flavio’s forced investment on you was worth it.

You had to prove to Fernando you were more than a friend he pitied, more than a charity case he took so he could throw it at your face later.

It was one of the hardest things to realize and accept, the fact that he wasn’t your friend anymore. Maybe he never was. Despite all the disagreements the past couple of years, and all the beautiful history you had before the pinnacle of motorsport, maybe he never saw you as a friend. You thought you’d never treat a friend the way he treated you.

So you had to prove Fernando wrong.

NOTE: If you want to be tagged on part 2, please let me know in the comments!

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #brocedes #Spotify

[grandline-fics]

Hi! Hope I’m no bother but I fell upon your blog and I couldn’t help but love it. I wondered if I could have a hcs, drables, one shot, any format who arrange you, with Shanks and Mihawk (Sorry if you aren’t comfortable with those characters, pick up other if you prefer) who meet their first love after years and years of no see? I heard a lot that you will forever love your first love, so I wondered how they would reacted to meet them/her once adults and mature. They stay with their first genuine love quite a long time, 5-7 years, and broke up for no real valid reasons, just because they were young and else, they met their first love maybe at 16-17 yo. Sorry my English is awful :,)

DESCRIPTION: You’re their first love and reunite after so many years

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,388

A/N:  Sorry I've gotten so behind on these, it's been a rough few weeks but I'll hopefully be back on track soon. Thank you for this request. I really hope you like it!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

MIHAWK

Love wasn’t a word Mihawk considered to be heavily used in his vocabulary. Some would call him heartless and cruel but he was a realist. If anything he thought the world overused it to the point of it losing it’s depth and importance which was why he tended to rarely let it fall from his lips. Yes he had ‘lovers’ from time to time but were they ever considered someone he loved? No. None of them even came close to that. How could they when the one that had claimed his heart, the one that taught him the true meaning of the word love, was you. 

Although it had been so many years, the memories he had with you were still so clear and sharp that they could have rivalled any blade. Your paths had crossed at the very beginning of his travels across the world in the hopes of training and claiming the title of the world’s greatest swordsman as his own. He had been pointed to your home by the locals after asking who the best sword fighter was, eager to add another victory to his steadily growing list. However when he appeared at your home he was a little thrown to find you tending to a small plot of farmland. Mihawk knew you were the only one living here as the locals had told him that much, so there was no confusing you were the one he was looking for. He wasn’t expecting someone who looked as young as him to be his supposed opponent. Still he was proof that age had no bearing on talent. So he challenged you.  

Quickly he was thrown once more when you lifted your head from your work to fix him with a look he’d never forgotten. Your eyes were bright and silently assessing and whatever it was you saw in him made your lips quirk into an amused smirk that in his youth had made Mihawk skin prickle with an unfamiliar warmth. He could only watch as you rose with the basket of freshly pulled vegetables in your arms and firmly refused his challenge and walked towards your house. He’d never been refused before and demanded to know why, following you inside. “I don’t need to give you a reason.” Had been your cool reply before you looked over your shoulder at him. “I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not leaving until you fight me.” Mihawk had boldly declared, the intense sincerity of his words causing you to laugh. At the sound, he had originally bristled but it wouldn’t be long before he found that it was his among his favourite things in the world. True to his word, Mihawk had stayed on the island far longer than he had intended. Every day he came to your home and challenged you. Every day you refused and watched him storm away. Eventually though after your refusal you would invite him to stay; sometimes to share something to eat, or even to go on a walk, or to help you with your chores. At first he hadn’t understood why he so readily spent the time with you but then he did. He wanted to be with you more than he wanted to fight you. When he realised that, his time with you each day grew more and more until he didn’t go and stopped challenging you completely. 

You loved him completely and never wanted to be apart from him, because even though you were both young you knew what you felt was real and unshakable. However you knew that it wasn’t right. He couldn’t remain on a tiny island when his ambition lay out in the large and unseen world. As much as it pained you to do so, you insisted it was time to stop things. Mihawk had to go and become the greatest swordsman and you had to stay on the island because as it stood, you were the only one that could protect the others living there. Your reputation kept many away but as Mihawk had proved, some would come looking for a fight or to cause harm to the innocent. Begrudgingly Mihawk saw the sense in your words and he left but you were never forgotten. 

Now here he stood in some nowhere town on some random island, watching you talk to an elderly woman tending to a flower stand in the middle of the market square. It was you, he knew it was you. Time had aged you like the finest of wines, your beauty matured for all to see. Then you laughed and it proved what he’d already known. After all this time without you and even though any free moment he had he thought of you, to see you now and know that you were just a few feet away from his touch he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder about you beyond his fondest memories. What if you’d married? What if you didn’t remember him? What if you didn’t want to see him? 

When you said goodbye to the woman and started to walk away, Mihawk found that his previous worries disappeared instantly, not wanting to risk losing this chance. Immediately he set off through the crowd in the direction you went in. Thankfully you hadn’t gotten too far and when he was close, his hand lightly touched your shoulder and took a step back when you turned suddenly to face him. 

Your expression flickered from confusion to shock and then joy at the unexpected sight of your first love standing in front of you. It gave Mihawk a feeling of relief to see the smile light your face before your expression became playful. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” Mihawk blinked in confusion but quickly he realised you meant a challenge and let out a small breath of amusement. Slowly he shook his head. 

“No, I just don’t want to.” He answered simply, smirking when you finally stepped closer and slid your hand around his arm.

“In that case, I’m not leaving you until you do.” Mihawk chuckled and started walking down the street with you. Finally reunited with the only person he ever loved? There was no way he was going to let you go again. 

SHANKS

When Shanks was young he never fully understood why Roger, Rayleigh and the other older members of the crew got so distracted and frankly stupid in his opinion when they were around ‘attractive’ people when they were visiting an island. It always went beyond just enjoying being off of the ship for a while and making friends. Curious one day as they sailed on a calm stretch of water, he turned the question to the vice-captain who laughed at the question. So Shanks pressed more. “It just doesn’t make sense. What’s so special about them that makes you all so goofy and red faced? The Marines would lower your bounty if they saw you like that, the Captain too.”

“Oh, you’ll understand when you’re older Shanks.” Rayleigh told him with another laugh and light clap on his shoulder. Still that answer wasn’t good enough for him and he stared at the older man. If he was old enough to ask the question, surely he’d be considered old enough now for an actual answer. Seeing that the issue wasn’t going to drop, Rayleigh relented just a little more and sighed. “Look Shanks, it’s a little hard to explain but it’s another way of enjoying life and our adventures. We don’t know how much time we have at sea before finding a new island so it’s best to enjoy all it has to offer. Company with attractive people who feel the same about you is another aspect of that.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad though? You never see them again. Don’t you miss them?”

“Not really. It’s not love and they know that.”

“Huh…” Shanks felt even more confused then. The older crew always had a sickly loved up expression during the encounters he’d witnessed before they disappeared with their new ‘friends’ for the evening. So if it wasn’t love what was it? More to the point a new question came out of his mouth. “So what does love feel like?”

“Love? What’s with the hard questions today, lad?” The vice-captain muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it’s different for everyone. Sometimes it’s slow, other times it’s fast and comes out of nowhere. Still I suppose at the same time, love feels similar. It’s like lightning hitting you mind, body, and soul. It’s powerful. When you’re in love and know it, it’s like nothing else matters but them. It’s like their very presence can calm and excite you all at once.” Shanks slowly nodded. He could understand that in theory but one person being the only thing he could think about seemed dangerous to him. Satisfied with the answer given, he finally let Rayleigh continue with his day.

Looking back on that conversation now that he was older, Shanks would laugh at his own naivety as lust was certainly something he knew when he hit puberty just as Rayleigh had predicted and know it a lot. Love however, he only ever experienced once. Only a year after the conversation about love, the crew had docked on an island and headed straight for a restaurant in desperate need of plenty of good food and drink. Taking a seat, Shanks sat back and waited for the usual fun to start. Given the sudden increased size of customers, the owner called for you to help out the family business and take the orders. 

You made your way to Shanks’ table and took the orders. Shanks was distractedly looking at the menu and had zoned out, only snapping out of it when your hand lightly pushed the rim of his straw hat up and leant in to smile at him. “Anything catching your eye or do you need more time?”   

Shanks’ lips parted as he stared blankly at you, feeling like something shot right through his body. He was frozen in place and yet he felt warm, lost completely in your eyes. It felt like an age before his mind began to work again but really it had been only a few seconds. Quickly he managed to clear his throat and picked the first thing he saw when he forced his eyes back onto the menu. At the sound of you moving onto the next table, Shanks let out a breath only to wince when Buggy’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Jeez, what came over you?” He’d asked, finding his friend and rival’s reaction to you funny but at the same time it was concerning to see Shanks so out of sorts. However the others at the table smirked, knowing the signs immediately. 

It seemed like luck was truly on Shanks’ side when he was told they would be staying on the island for a few months to ensure they had enough supplies and preparation done before continuing on the next stretch of the journey. That meant he got to spend more time with you which was all he wanted. Luckier still, you seemed to be as equally taken with him. It had been just as Rayleigh had described love, you were all that mattered in his waking and sleeping moments and you brought him a sense of calm he’d never felt before but at the same time just being near you made his entire being feel restless and excited. 

While he fell in love first you fell in love with him just as fast. Sadly it never got to last because in what felt like a blink, he and the rest of Roger’s crew were saying goodbye to those they’d gotten to know in their time on land. You’d done your best to keep a brave face and seem cheerful for Shanks’ sake. “You can always come back and visit some day, right?” You told him with a tight smile. “You’ll have plenty of stories of your adventures to tell me when we see each other again.”

“I promise each one will be more impressive than the last. The next time you see me, I’ll be Captain of my own ship.” Shanks promised with a proud puff of his chest that made you smile through the hurt of having to say goodbye. 

True to his word, Shanks did become captain of his own ship and his great adventures took him over the world, some distracting him from the promise he had every intention of keeping. However as the years passed, he’d idly considered had time only made his feelings for you seem stronger than they had been through mere nostalgia. When he did finally manage to return to your island, he had been shocked to hear that you’d left many years ago. The disappointment he’d felt at the news told him that no, it wasn’t nostalgia; his feelings for you had been real. 

Another handful of years passed and one evening in a tavern, Shanks and his crew talked and laughed as drink and food flowed freely. As Shanks drained the drink in his hand he faintly heard the sound of the chair beside him being taken. At first he thought it was Benn or Yasopp but when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw you there, his entire body locked. Choking on his drink, Shanks felt the painful burn in his throat as he forced his drink down instead of coughing it up. Wheezing he slammed his hand against his chest and could feel his heart beating rapidly and he knew it wasn’t because he nearly drowned on his drink. “Y-you!” He managed out, finally able to look at you, the same feeling he’d had in his youth crashing into him hard. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself.” You grinned, taking in the sight of how much the boy you’d fallen in love with had changed yet still felt the same. “So, got any stories for me, Captain?” Shanks laughed and turned properly in his seat to fix you with his full attention, his eyes set firmly on your face. 

“I’ve got a lifetime of stories for you, just as promised.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks one piece #red hair shanks #red haired shanks

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰)

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

NEXT PART>>

Summary: The one where in Larissa sex life is no longer boring or Larissa took chance on a young shapeshifter who had a massive crush on her.

Warning/s: PORN WITH MASSIVE FEELINGS. G!P READER.

(Ao3 link)

Her thighs trembled, threatening to close around your head and her breath shook with every movement of your tongue against her hot, wet cunt, so soaked with her own arousal and your spit making it so easy for you to penetrate her hole.

“Darling, please.” She pleaded, her voice barely a whisper and her breath stuttered, her back arching off of her seat. “Please.” She repeated. The bucking her hips to receive more of that pleasure betrayed the hand that was pushing your head off from her cunt. She was overly stimulated, her pussy clenching tight around you as you fuck those fingers deep and hard into her, paying no mind to her pleas as your focus was zeroed on giving her the best pleasure you could give.

“One more, Larissa. Come for me one more time.” She shook her head, mouth falling open to protest but before she could get the words out, her own moans interrupted her, spilling out much louder this time. It was like throwing a tank of gasoline to an already blazing pit of fire. The way she breathlessly called for your name on repeat, her fingernails digging to your scalp and fisting your hair in a tight firm grip, oh, it fucking did it for you.

She watched you,  though she was struggling to keep her eyes open, as you finger her until she had tears rolling down her cheeks, “Darling, please, no more.” and the heel of her foot dug on your back, “No more? Oh, baby, but look at you. You really don’t want me to stop, do you?” It was easy to manipulate her body into coming for you for the fourth time. You almost groaned, feeling her body tensed beneath your fingertips. 

When you pulled, Weems could barely form a cognitive thought let alone move a muscle. Her legs, shaky.

Right there, still half naked with her thighs smeared with the proof of your worship, Larissa felt nothing but a limp doll: overused and overfucked.

It wasn’t like she was going to complain but she knew her body would give her hell the next day for all the stunts you both did in her office before moving back to her quarters and though there was one spacious bed, you insisted to fuck her on the couch with her back turned, kneeling, and holding for dear life on backrest while you took her from behind. You had one hand guiding her hip as they slammed right back to you and the other fisting her silver tresses.

She came faster in that position, and yours came mere seconds after, filling her pussy with so much cum it dripped down the insides of her thighs and onto the premium leather. 

Larissa’s knees were still flaming red after bearing her weight for the longest time you’ve fucked her but she was keen to ignore the pain and the visible bruising when she buried your face in her pussy to lap the juices that still leaked from her in retaliation of what you did to her. It was only right to clean up the mess you made and that was how you ended up where you were right now: in between her legs, grinning like cheshire cat with a cum-smeared face.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry,” you stood up with a popping sound from both knees, “Jesus, how old does my body think I am?” 

Larissa kept her eyes fixated on your physique; shamelessly bare and sweaty, setting her on the edge of yet another urge to pounce on you like a woman starved. Whatever you were muttering went past her ears, her eyes lingered on your breasts down your soft belly before it dipped to the appendage hanging in between your legs. So fucking irresistible. To be honest, you could just stand there and do nothing and Larissa might just have her fifth. Good Lord, what are you turning her into? Some sex-crazed bitch.

She’d been thinking less with her head and more with her cunt and honestly she couldn’t blame herself if you looked like that.

Larissa bit her lip, unable to resist the tempting visual before her. 

From the floor, you picked up your shirt and slid it over your head and straightened it out around the torso. “I’m gonna go out and get us somethin’ to eat.”  next were the pair of sweats, drawing the strings tight before you made a knot to secure it in place. 

“Hmm?” she mindlessly hummed, watching you tuck the strings inside the waistband.

“Food. I’m gonna go get us some food, you craving something in particular?”

“No...” Her mind still clouded with post-sex haze that much was clear.

“How about fish and chips? I heard lots of good things about the newly opened business just ‘round the corner.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in… say half an hour?”

When Larissa snapped from whatever incantation you put her, you were already grabbing your keys and a couple of bills to shove them right in your pocket.

She smiled when you walked up to her and kissed her cheek, “I’ll be as fast as I can. Go shower while I’m gone and then maybe we can watch a movie while we eat, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

You were about to pull but she was quick enough to catch the neckline of your shirt and drew you closer, pecking your lips one more time. “What if we both shower together? it will be quick I promise.”

“As tempting as you may be, I need to feed my woman, she gets grumpy and blames me when she’s hungry.”

With one last peck, you were out of the door, grinning and humming to the last song that was stuck in your head.

–

The mirror reflected a blurred image of her, right where she stood in front of the sink wrapped in her robe ready to pick up her toothbrush when suddenly Larissa took notice of how there were two in the holder: one for her and one for you. She took hers, put some toothpaste and started brushing her teeth.

Larissa leaned her lower back on the sink, and took her time to look around her. Two claw clips, two robes, two towels, two different mouthwash (you claim hers was too minty for you so you brought your own) there were always sets of two anywhere she looked around not that she mind that. 

She spit the foam and rinsed her mouth. When she walked in her bedroom, she saw the little trinkets you left on the left bedside table, more hair clips, elastic ponytail, your little lighter, the keys to your apartment, even your phone was there. Your side of the bed was unmade and she could see fallen hair strands on the pillow case where it was still dented in the middle from the last time you laid there. 

You had made your mark everywhere and she could feel her heart leapt to her throat.

Tomorrow would mark six months of your ongoing little arrangement with her and yes sex was good—well, actually, it was the best. Larissa had never felt the real pleasure of fingers and mouth until you came alone and shattered her years of boring sex life. She no longer needed to make a trip to the store in the middle of the night to buy batteries because her vibrator died in the middle of chasing her orgasm.

Fuck, you were too good for your own good sometimes and after making her come in the first five minutes of touching the first night, she knew she needed to keep your around.

She was still dressed in her robe and drying her hair when you came back. 

“Oh God, I’m starving. I need my calories now.”

While you put the take outs on the coffee table she went to grab a bottle red and two mugs. 

From the kitchen she still had a nice view of the living room, and she watched you with a starved look as you removed your hoodie, your shirt lifting up in the process. Oh, yes, she’d have her dessert later.

“If you were to undress me at least do it with your hands and not your eyes.” Larissa’s face visibly turned red, “And let me eat first then I’ll let you pounce on me.” You chuckled, shoving fries into your mouth.

–

On Monday morning, the woman was greeted with a massive file of work she had to go through, she meant to bring these home for the weekend but her plans went in a different direction when you called asking her if you could steal her for some late lunch at the restaurant nearby the campus.

When you both returned though Larissa wasn’t ready to let you go, she pulled you and locked her office before crashing your lips together, your hands bunching the skirt up around her waist and slipping your hand inside her underwear. You ended up pressing her on the wall, too impatient to even wait to settle down somewhere comfortable. With her legs spread and facing the wall, your hips pressing to her backside and her lustful eyes only intensified when she felt the growing bulge until it was hard and poking, begging to feel the softness of her cunt, to be swallowed deep and to cum inside.

With her underwear pulled down around her gorgeous claves, you took her with long deep strokes, face buried on the crook of her neck.

Her face went red recalling what happened that whole afternoon, how you both couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. She hadn’t been with anyone in a long time and it embarrassed her how the briefest touch of your hands to her thighs, or the whispers on her ears calling her pretty or hot had her panties always in twist…and on the floor.

She sighed, sitting down on the fine leather seat and started working. 

Maybe if she got it done early she’d call you. 

–

Larissa, however, was consumed by her work, forgetting other things that didn’t exist within the walls of her office. By the time she had a moment to herself after signing and writing corresponding emails and polishing her report for the upcoming board meeting, it was already four in the afternoon, her lunch was barely touched sitting in the corner of her desk.

The woman sighed, pushing her seat a little away from her desk and reached for her phone. She raised a brow seeing there were no text messages or even a single missed call from you. 

Usually there was at least one message waiting for her but today, there was none. She felt a pinch in her heart. No, no, she shouldn’t, she was not entitled to be upset, you weren’t her girlfriend. You two were just fucking around and maybe lately you had became a little too affectionate, blurring whatever rules you both had agreed on. Larissa felt like it was her fault, she let herself be enamoured, let herself to be too vulnerable for you. She let herself be comfortable. 

Rule number one: Never be too comfortable.

Well fuck.

It was another two hours more of work when eventually her body screamed for comfort and some proper meal. She switched the lights off and locked her office, calling it a day. 

—

When she arrived and put her car into park, her heart dropped. The lights were on and her front door was unlocked. It would have been wise to call the authorities immediately but she felt like this wasn’t an attempt to rob her. She slowly and gently pushed the door open, tiptoeing past the threshold but then the floorboards creaked.

“‘Rissa, is that you?” It was you. She knew your voice from every pitch no matter the distance. It was also impossible that she might be dreaming about this.

And before she had time to pinch herself, she heard the unmistakable padding of your feet across the floor as you approached her, and then there you were, in the flesh, right before her eyes. “Baby, hi…” all the anger and stress she felt within the day all subsided as a tender, sweet smile welcomed her. 

You had a spatula in one hand, and you were wearing one of her old Nevermore shirts. Her brow raised at the lack of underpants but that wasn’t her main concern at the moment so she willed herself to look up.

You then stepped closer to kiss her cheek, your freehand grasping on her arm as you stood on your toes trying to reach for her. 

“Okay lady you gotta bend down so I can reach you and don’t tease me about shifting. I'm too lazy and tired to do that.” 

Her body listened, bending down she felt your lips. “I hope you don’t mind, I used the spare key you gave me. I know I should at least let you know but I have a problem…”

“You’re here.” she mumbled, still in a state of shock.

“I am. I wanted to see you and I’m sorry I know, like I said I should have texted you first but my phone fell in the bath yesterday. I was taking some nasty shots for you but it slipped. I put in a bowl of rice in an attempt to salvage it but it was helpless. I hope you didn’t think I was ignoring you.”

“N-no, no, of course not.” You almost broke my heart.

“Good because I would never do that. Ever.” You kissed her light on the lips, merely brushing your lips together with no indicated force. Larissa felt herself quickly melting away in your touch. 

“I was going to call you at work but I don’t remember your number. Sorry.”

“And you drove all the way from the city just to tell me this?”

“Yes and I’d have to drive back again in the morning because I obviously have work but…yeah, I drove all the way just to tell you this and I cooked dinner and cleaned your house.”

Larissa felt like you were rambling too much so to cut you out of your own misery, she pulled you into a kiss, a long deep one with both hands cupping your face making you gasp before you were able to reciprocate.

—

Larissa could still feel the ache in between her thighs as she sat in the toilet. It was eleven in the evening and you were currently passed out in her bed, audibly snoring. She might have fucked you too hard, all of the frustrations were channeled in the way she took you and rode your lap resulting on multiple orgasms and it wasn’t like you were stopping her.

When she finished cleaning her hands and was ready to go to bed, something struck her in the midst of exiting the bathroom…her period two was weeks delayed. 

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #principal larissa weems #larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #larissa x reader #gwendoline christie #larissa weems smut #Some g!p action #smutty smut smut #Finally my thoughts has turned into a written fic #billiedeansbitch

[nyxiswrites1200]

💚𝑺𝒂𝒎 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔💚

Sam Winchester x GN!Reader

Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, Early seasons Sam (spoilers S1-3), Romantic, Mentions nightmares, Mentions of sex, fingering, This is my opinion based on Sam's character and what I've watched so far

An: I'm so insane guys, I just had to dump out all my Sammy thoughts <3 I'm working on the Leon thing but I hated it and started over :( anyhow, enjoy my insanity.

----

Sam is a gentle lover, his nature alone is naturally gentle. He doesn't see the world in black and white but rather shades of gray. He doesn't like lying or doing things he considers unnecessary.

I feel like Sam doing things irrationally comes from being pushed to the edge. He gets put under so much stress or such a drive to save someone that he does stuff that isn't like him. Even then, he tends to have a plan of what he's gonna do.

I personally think Sam has nightmares. Between the psychic visions he would have and all the tragedies he's witnessed. I especially feel like his mom, Jessica, and Madison are recurring ones. I would say he takes sleeping pills but I also think maybe he's too on edge to make himself that vulnerable.

It would be hard to get Sam into another relationship. With all the tragedies of the other girls he fell for, he'd be worried to indulge in someone else..

Sam smells like pine trees, very earthy I can imagine. If you've ever walked into a motel room, it's freshly cleaned, that kind of smell is something I also associate with him.

When thinking of products he uses specifically. He definitely has some good smelling shampoo and conditioner for that hair. Also thinking of maybe old spice products such as deodorant (not sure why, it just feels right.) Maybe it's something Jessica introduced him to and he's always stuck with it now, not wanting the trouble of changing it. That is if he has the option of choice, free motel products are probably the norm for him.

Imagining a sleeping Sam in those plaid pajama pants and a gray T-shirt, or no shirt preferably.

But if he did allow himself to be with someone again...

Sam is a gentleman. We see him opening doors and comforting people all the time in the show. He would open any door for you, hold you, comfort you, whatever you needed.

Sam is a big baby at times! Sometimes he is so pathetic and I mean that in the most loving way ever. He definitely loves cuddles and not having to sleep alone, especially if he has nightmares or visions. It helps having you there to comfort him, just knowing he isn't alone.

Imagine giving Sam a bracelet or anything he can wear honestly, he'd wear it all the time. My first thought being just some simple bracelet you think would suit him, he'd never take it off. Pulling his jacket sleeve over it during hunts to make sure it doesn't get damaged.

If Sam was worried about your safety in a situation, he'd keep you so close. If he could, he'd hold your hand or keep his arm around you. Beforehand, he'd definitely try to make you stay at the motel and wait.

Sam seems like he'd hold his jacket over you if it suddenly started raining. He never cared if he got soaked by the rain. But you? He'd go the extra mile, or he'd just give you his jacket if you looked cold.

But also kissing in the rain?? Stupidly cliche but maybe after a day of researching with him you get caught out in the rain. However, you don't mind as you drag him into a kiss, tangling a hand into his wet hair. Who is he to deny you?

After stressful hunts, you and Sam will curl up in the motel room together. Sam laying face down between your legs, his head resting on your stomach or chest. His arms wrapped around your waist or rubbing your hips/thighs.

---NSFW---

You love to mess with his hair and he loves when you do. Just running your fingers through it brings him a sense of calm.

Pet names he would call you would consist of baby, sweetheart, sweetie, lovely. He'd love calling you affectionate names but wouldn't overuse them.

Sam is definitely a dominant person in bed. He likes the sense of control he can have in this situation when he loses control of everything else in his life.

He's a soft dom though. Lots of praise and making sure you're okay with everything. He wouldn't wanna push you too far or hurt you. He prefers it to be an intimate moment with mutual pleasure and care.

His favorite positions are anything where he can look into your eyes or see your face. He likes holding you in his lap, facing each other, while you ride him. Just so he can lean in and kiss you when he wants or just press his forehead against yours. A good old missionary is also fine by him! Just being able to hold your hips and see himself thrusting in you, it makes his cock twitch.

I have this image of Sam lazily fingering you. Sam's arms and hands are so attractive (the veins!!). He's got you stretched out on two fingers as he slowly pumps them in and out. He's holding you, back pressed into his chest, and his free arm around your mid-section.

He'll make you cum multiple times, at least two if you're willing. Whether he's got you stretched on his fingers or his cock, he knows exactly what you like.

"Does that feel good?" He coos into your ear, his fingers moving faster inside of you. "Doing such a good job..." He praises into your ear before kissing your temple. "Can you finish for me, sweetheart?"

Aftercare is a must! Sam always does aftercare. Whether that's just praising you and making sure you are okay before you both fall asleep or giving you a nice shower/bath. He always makes sure you're taken care of, even if it was only a one night kind of deal, he wouldn't just up and leave.

Anyhow, I just think Sammy is amazing and he'd be such a good boyfriend <3

#fanfic writer #my writing #reader insert #headcanons #gender neutral insert #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #supernatural fandom #supernatural #sam winchester headcanon #love this man so much #hes so bby girl

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a Ghost x Reader fic where the reader is relatively new to the 141. The team has seen her work but still doesn’t trust her fully. Ghost and her seem to have a magnetic pull to one another with both trying to avoid their attraction. One day while sparring the reader ends up straddling him with a training knife pressed to his throat. Both stare at one another, realizing. (NSFW or SFW whichever!) Feel free to change whatever or not write it if it’s not your vibe!

A/N: Ghost has a knife kink, confirmed ;) Not explicitly NSFW, but it's hinted. Part two w smut??

Summary: During a sparring session with Ghost, you end up on top of him, and he struggles to hide his amusement.

Warning(s): knives, canon-typical violence, suggestive content, sexual tension | Word Count: 1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PART TWO | ao3 ver. // have a request?

Sparring

From the minute you set foot on the base, you felt like you didn’t belong there. Based on your records, training, and skills? You were a perfect fit. Personally? Not so much.

Of course, some welcomed you, putting on their fake smiles and at least attempting to include you in things.

Captain Price, who was under obligation to be civil because he was your boss. Gaz, who was closer in age, usually followed behind the Captain’s decisions. The Scot or “Soap”, as they called him? Indifferent to you. His usual humorous demeanor would diminish the second you entered a space.

Then, there was Ghost, who perhaps had the most intimidation about him. Though he didn’t trust you, or anyone either, his distaste wasn’t as potent as the other soldiers. Sure, he could be harsh and cold when he wanted to be, but that was the way he approached conflicts.

You learned to expect it, to work around it. You didn’t have a choice. Go AWOL over some social rejection? Not in the cards for you.

—

You’re set to deploy with them, take down some figure named “Hassan”, or so the folder you read stated. To prepare, you need to get yourself physically prepared. These new operations were no joke, undoubtedly worse than months of boot camp.

You’re panting, and feel like your legs are going to crumble from their overuse. He won’t let up on you, not that quickly.

“Are you even trying, Sergeant?” Ghost heckles you, dripping in self-confidence, as he dodges your slices with ease. He always seems double the speed you are, even before you were winded and dissatisfied with your performance.

You grit your teeth in response, remaining determined that you’ll get one good jab at him. In your wild imagination, the foam knife you’re holding would somehow turn real when it slices him — cut the arrogance right out of him.

Realistically, however? Not a chance, unless you can find a way to slow him down.

“You’d be dead ten times, ‘you keep stabbing like that.” He puts his defensive arms down, allowing you to rest for a few seconds.

Or so you thought.

Suddenly, he grappled you to the foam mat beneath you, knocking the small amount of air you had left straight out. You struggled against his pin, but he was much too strong.

He squints down at you, as he maintains his solid grip. “You only have about ten seconds to win a knife fight, before you’re dead, or pinned just like this, with nowhere to go.” He motions to the predicament you’re in currently.

Your thighs were pinned against the floor with his knee, and wrists contained on each side of your head. You’re tempted to give him his victory, so he’ll leave it at your metaphorical death.

“Maybe what you need,” his eyes drill into you, as he begins his theory, “is a raise of the stakes.” He reaches into his holster and pulls out his very real knife. He holds it up, examining the way it glimmers against the fluorescents.

If he was anyone else, you probably would’ve tapped out or insisted on using the fake one. But based on the way he was caging you, he wasn’t asking. It was an order.

As if to prove the danger, he holds the blade to your cheek—not letting it cut you, but applying just enough pressure for you to understand the lesson of it.

Never let the enemy pin you, chances are you’re dead in seconds. He’d lectured you with that statement before when you sparred with him.

With his right arm occupied, there was a rapidly closing window for you to find a way out of this. You swung your arm, smacking the blade out of his fist.

You ended up straddling him and clambered for the knife. If this were his full potential, he would’ve already retrieved his knife and cut your throat. But he was allowing you to overtake him this time as if he was amused by it.

You pressed the blade to his throat, which was protected by the fabric of his balaclava. Thighs to thighs, stomach to stomach. His stare didn’t change once, remaining stoic even when held at knifepoint, with his own weapon nonetheless.

“That’ll suffice.” His voice weathered a bit, like it was hard for him to choke out something professional, given the fact that you could feel every bit of him at the moment.

You couldn’t lie, the position was questionable. But you’d proved your point.

Even though he knew there were dozens of countermoves he could use, and basically decimate you in the process, he doesn’t. He’d never admit how much he liked being under you, letting you threaten him with his own Army knife.

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks as you loosened up a bit, flipping the knife around so you could pass it back to him, handle first.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you had noticed the way his eyes softened when you flipped the power. 

Though your maneuvers needed work, he hadn’t expected the sudden burst of aggression—something you definitely needed when in the thick of battle. At least that’s what he’d tell himself to rationalize the feelings he was experiencing.

He returns his knife to the holster but doesn’t shove you off him like he thought he would. He instead places his hands on each hip, moving you to the side like your weight was nothing.

He moves to kneel beside you, meeting your eye level again. “Tomorrow, after hours. We’ll work at that aggression, yeah?”

You could hear the smirk on his face as he spoke, returning to his feet. He’s now standing above you briefly, looking down at you.

He straightens his balaclava, admiring the powerful stance he had over you as you knelt below him.

“Don’t be late.” He spits it out, then leaves the training room without another word. He smirks to himself as he strolls down the halls, thinking about the picture of you on your knees for the rest of his night.

Inside his head, he knew another sparring session was guaranteed to end up with you on top of him again. He was looking forward to it, no doubt.

#simon riley x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #task force 141 #simon riley #ghost mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 x reader

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 4 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, technical infidelity, reader still has a shitty husband, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, gun violence, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, unprotected PIV (get used to this, these two are rabid), fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), descriptions of violence against women, kidnapping, mentions of rape (not committed against reader), guilt & shame, angst, stakeouts, angry javier, cleaning wounds, heavy on the hurt/comfort

word count: ~ 7.7k

a/n: please mind the tags/warnings for this chapter. less smut and more *feelings*, along with some upsetting descriptions of violence. you will not hurt my feelings if that's not your cuppa.

chapter four: to live without love

It’s quiet on the street when she locks up for the day. She has dinner plans with Javi, an unspoken celebration of their second year together. He’s taking the time off work to really wine and dine her, and there’s already a dress laid out on the bed for her to wear out.

His moustache tickled her neck as he nipped at her throat. She laughed breathlessly when he rolled them over and he pressed his body up against her. “You’re not a vampire, Javier,” she gasped into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and tugging playfully. 

“Taste so good, baby,” he mumbled, landing a smack to the side of her thigh. She yelped and let her head fall back against the plush pillow. He was insatiable in the mornings, when he wasn’t quiet yet awake but his cock had a definitive mind of its own. 

“You’ll be late,” she sighed, pulling his head back just so she could kiss him. She loved the feeling of his lips parting against hers, his tongue tracing her mouth. “We have plans, remember?”

“Mmm.” He leaned back, pulling her up to sit with their legs tangled together. A grin split his lips. “Two years.”

“Two years.” She felt as giddy as he looked, melting against him with another kiss to his mouth. “Pick out my dress for me.”

He grabbed her thighs and squeezed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey,” she said. “Whatever you want me to wear. I’ll wear it.”

He tackled her back down to the mattress. “I’m going to fucking marry you someday.”

It starts to rain. She stuffs her keys back inside her purse and shrugs it up over her shoulder. The air picks up a cool breeze that ruffles her hair, and she’s so high with the excitement of getting to see what he picked for her that she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her until there’s a hand covering her mouth. 

She kicks out, screams, tries to wrestle her pepper spray from her purse, and fails on all fronts; whomever’s hand it is must be connected to a strong body. He breathes into her ear, “Don’t fucking move. Don’t fight. Be a good girl and I won’t fucking kill you.”

She knows when thrashing is useless. She’s been under plenty of men who take what they want. So she stills, quiets, and waits for the words she already knows are coming. 

“Let’s go home to your husband. You can tell him how sorry you are for your behaviour.”

~

He’s been looking up at the clock so often he might pinch a nerve in his neck. There’s a little under an hour until he gets off work, and she’s already promised him that she’s going to be wearing the dress by the time he walks in the door. Before her, he would work late just so he wouldn’t have to come home to the quiet, distant stranger that was his apartment; he had left every piece of decor the way it was and moved right in. Then, he’d go to work every day and kill himself trying to get nowhere. But it was always better than home. Now, the apartment is theirs. It’s decorated with touches of her—bright throw pillows and blankets and a new couch that doesn’t fuck with his back, hanging plants and lilies and the faint scent of her everywhere. He has to admit, it no longer looks like it belongs to a dead man who never left the fifties. 

It makes his head spin, how much she trusts him, how excited he is over a fucking date. No woman’s ever made him so happy about just living his goddamn life.

His telephone rings and he picks it up before the first one ends. He needs a distraction. 

"Peña."

The voice on the other end of the line—he's fairly certain it's Penny from the front desk—is wary. "Javier, there's a girl coming in to see you."

He frowns. "Name?"

When Penny says his girl’s name, Javier thinks all the blood has drained from him. "I wanted to warn you, sir... She doesn’t look so good."

And that is how one of the worst days of Javier's life begins.

"Thanks, Penny," he says absently, even though his ears are ringing something fierce.

He's already trembling with rage when she walks into the bullpen, her purse clutched in front of her like a blast shield, a faraway look in her eye. In the same skirt and sweater she wore when he dropped her off at work, apron and all, she favours her right leg. She is shaking, and her face—her pretty fucking face—is split by a large cut from her left eye to her jaw. There are deep purple bruises around the wound. Javier wants to go blind.

He's in front of her in a second: a protective guard against the eyes of his colleagues. Not that a battered woman is new—still, Javier glares at them hard enough that they try minding their own shit. He gently brushes a palm over her shoulder and squeezes to ground her. "Baby," he whispers, and her eyes are wet with tears when she lifts her gaze. His heart shatters. 

He wants to fucking murder somebody. He wants to scream. Cry. Lock himself in a room with her: the only two people he trusts not to hurt her the way someone already has. You were too late. "Fuck, baby," he says, "who did this to you?"

Still dripping with rainwater, she scrapes her damp hair behind her ear and shivers. There are bruises and divots in her wrist. He realises with a plummeting stomach that she's been tied up. "Can we... Can we go somewhere else? Everyone's looking at me."

Javier plucks his jacket off the hook nearby and drapes it over her shoulders, leading her through the bullpen. Murphy emerges and stops halfway to his desk when he sees her. "Holy shit. Sweetheart, what happened to you?"

Javier shakes his head. "Not now. Answer the phones?"

Murphy nods. "Yeah, man." His hand briefly touches her shoulder and she smiles wearily, distantly, before Javier is taking her down into the evidence room. She'll be more comfortable here, where it's warm and dark, instead of the cold interrogation rooms. 

"Out," he says sharply to the agents combing through evidence. They scurry away like rats behind the door and Javier lets her lead. She looks questioningly at him. "Wherever you'd like," he tells her. “Sit wherever’s comfortable.”

She sits at the very edge of a table piled with boxes, her hands folded in her lap. Javier mirrors her. He wants to explode, but his urge to make her comfortable, to ease her pain, overwhelms everything. "Can I take your hand, baby?"

She reaches out and threads her fingers through his. Javier presses a kiss to her knuckles. She sniffles, but a smile breaks through. "They dropped me off. Like it was an appointment or something. Fucking weird."

Somebody took her. Someone plucked her from her life, her routine, and bound her, helpless, just to beat her. They beat her. His girl. On their fucking anniversary. He’s freefalling with dread and terror, his chest so tight he wishes it would burst, so blind with rage he can’t clear the red fog in his brain. The glimmer of tears in her eyes swells the knot that festers in him. He’d run headfirst, unarmed, into a goddamn firefight with guns and bombs and landmines if it meant she wouldn’t be in pain. A chunk of him withers away. He couldn’t be there. Couldn’t save her. He didn’t even fucking know about it until she was dropped off at the DEA’s doorstep. 

"Cielito..." He tilts up her chin and winces. "That's a deep cut. They use a knife?"

He doesn't want to know the answer, but he has to clean her up. Silently, she nods. 

To occupy himself, he crosses the room and opens the corner cabinet to fish out a first aid kit. He wets a washcloth in the bathroom sink adjacent. She lifts her arms to tie her hair back, but her sleeves shift to reveal the topography of cuts and bruises on her arms. Javier looks away sharply, clenching his jaw, regretting it. She lowers her arms and hugs herself. "I'm sorry, Javi."

That makes him look up. "Don't apologise. Don't. Seeing you hurt fucking kills me, baby, but it's not your fault." He tucks away a strand of her hair. "Not your fault. Hear me?"

Her bottom lip, scored with blood, trembles. "Javi, I thought I was going to die. I was... I was so scared. I didn't want to die."

"Hey." He brushes a knuckle over her chin. "You made it out. You're out, and you're safe. My girl's a fucking soldier, right?"

She inhales, but it courses through her like a shudder. "Someone grabbed me outside the café. He took me to Nicolás’s place. I thought he'd just threaten me, or—or you, but he looked fucking crazy. Javi, I think he was on drugs. There were men with him, some I knew worked with his prostitutes. He took me to his basement and—and hit me, and cut me, and he kept saying if I didn’t go back to work for him, if I didn’t break things off with you… Fuck, he told me he would kill you, and he meant it. I didn't tell him anything, Javier, I swear. I wasn't going to sell you out, I—I just..."

The thought that she would ever put him in harm’s way never crossed his mind—not even once. She shakes her head and drops it into her hands, sobbing. Javier blinks hard so he can see her clearly, wiping underneath his eyes. He hates himself for not being there, for not finding her earlier, for everything he didn't do. 

“Honey,” he says softly, lifting her trembling hands to his mouth and kissing her knuckles again. “I know. I know you’d never, baby. But you should have. Fuck, if it would keep him from doing… doing this to you, you should have told him every fucking detail about me.”

She blinks. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I would’ve known they were coming.” He smooths over the frown in her brow. “And you wouldn’t be hurt.”

The last words are quiet when his voice breaks, catching in his throat. “I love you, Javier,” she whispers. “You're the best part of my life. You're everything to me. I closed my eyes in there and I saw you, and you were hurt, and I couldn't say anything. I wouldn't.” Her smile is so feeble it crumbles right away. "If I can't blame myself, neither can you."

Her voice floats into his head, clears the clutter like it always does. He takes the damp washcloth and begins to tend to the cut on her face. He tries not to stop everything and break down into helpless tears when she visibly stiffens, pained but not letting him hear it. “I know, baby,” he says, watching blood stain the washcloth. She grips his free hand hard. “I know it hurts.”

She sniffles. “It’s okay. It’s you—it doesn't hurt.”

“Has he ever—” He cuts himself off so he can start again when the thought alone fills him with terror, rage. “Has he ever hurt you like this?”

She seems to sense the tension in him because she shifts closer, lifting her hand to brush his hair back from his eyes. “He couldn't afford to send me to clients with bruises. Would harm his reputation.”

He must be frowning deeply enough to make it permanent. “Don’t dwell, mi amor,” she says. “You’ll make yourself sick. He never cared about me. You do. You keep me safe, you make me happy. Yeah, everything hurts, but Jesus, Javi, I was so happy when they dropped me off in the street. I was just happy to get out. To see you again.”

Javier finishes cleaning the wound and clenches the washcloth into a crumpled ball. “I want to kill him.” Saying it makes him feel better, somehow: picturing him shooting the piece of shit between the eyes, replicating every injury he gave her and then some. “I want him fucking dead.”

She huffs out a wrecked laugh. “You know I wouldn’t tell a soul.” Her lips find his clenched fist and ease it open with her gentle kisses to the knuckles. “But we have nothing.”

Javier kisses the corner of her mouth, the side that's unmarred. “I’m gonna find something,” he promises. “He's going away, baby. Swear it on my fuckin’ life.”

“I love you,” she tells him, firm and real and with every ounce of energy she has left. “And for what it's worth, I was really looking forward to our date.”

He slides off the table and helps her down, cradling her to his chest. “He’s not gonna ruin your life,” he promises. “You’re gonna wear that dress, mi amor. Can I take you home?”

She sits right up next to him in the truck, wrapped around him with whatever flexibility her seatbelt allows. Her thumbs rub soothing patterns on his arms to ease the tension in his knuckles. He always drives a bit safer with her in the car, but tonight there’s an air about the world: like she could slip from his fingers any second. 

Today reminded him of that. He could lose the love of his life in an instant. She could have died today. He would have never known what happened, never seen the body. The panic of that thought settles deep inside him until he’s officially in his own head when he opens his door and leads her inside. There’s so much stiffness in his body he could explode. He double-checks the locks, tries to sweep the apartment with some degree of subtlety, and doesn’t let her out of his sight. Not once. She sighs, resigned as he leads her through each room to check there’s no one inside, even though his brain knows there isn’t. That doesn’t matter; he needs to be thorough. She needs to be safe. 

“Want to finish cleaning you up, baby.” Javier caresses her arms with the lightest touch. “Can I do that? Can I take these off?” He tugs on the hem of her sleeve. He needs to make sure there isn’t anything of concern beneath her clothes. 

She nods, but her eyes won’t meet his. “Of course,” she says, barely audible. “It’s just… I’m not gonna look pretty, Javi. I’m all black and blue. Some red.”

“You’re the prettiest thing on this goddamn planet no matter what some fucking malparido does do you. Hear me?” He’s seen every inch of her body. He worships at her altar. A couple of wounds will do nothing to change that except make him all the more furious. 

He’s right about that. When he gets her clothes off and takes her to the bathroom so he can prop her up on the counter, he sees fucking red. Nicolás didn’t just bruise her arms and cut up her face. There are bruises on her collarbones, her thighs, even her hips. He’s slashed her perfect skin, left scabbing cuts all over her legs and a single long gash down her left thigh, which must be why she’s limping. Javier can’t breathe. He can’t hear. His mouth is dry. 

He feels physically nauseated to be relieved there are no signs of any violence where her thighs meet. 

“He didn’t.” 

Her voice cuts through the ringing silence in his ears, and it’s like his blood comes crashing down in waves when he blinks back into the real world, where she’s safe in his bathroom and holding his hand. “He didn’t… didn’t rape me.”

He can’t say, That’s good. None of this is good. 

Javier says nothing. He works in silence, cleansing her wounds, listening to her breath. It reminds him she’s still here. He didn’t lose her. 

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to her bruised collarbones, the little perches you could rest a bird upon, and cradles her face in his hands. He can’t summon words. He doesn’t know what there will be to say when he can. 

She realises. So she puts her hands over his and whispers, “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

~

When they finally get a breakthrough, it’s Murphy who finds the key. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” He’s bent over a pair of manila folders on his desk. Javier looks up from massaging the headache in his temple. “Here’s a riddle for you: what do the narcos who raided your girl’s apartment and her piece-of-shit husband have in common?”

Javier jolts up from his desk and stares down at the files. His heart stutters. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he echoes. “The whorehouse.”

Nicolás Reyes’s whorehouse. Javier’s staked it out more times than he can count, probably at the expense of his job. He’d recognise the guards, the customers, the girls, anywhere. It’s how he recognises the address beneath the profiles of the narcos who worked with the dead home intruders; they visited the brothel, frequently, before they went off the grid. 

She told Javier that Reyes looked like he was on drugs. What if Reyes wanted to move up in the world? If the owner of the whorehouse has struck some sort of deal with narcos…

Javier snatches the folders and stops himself from running to his truck. Murphy follows, grumbling something that includes the word “asshole.”

“How is she, by the way?” asks Murphy an hour later, peering through binoculars at the entrance to the whorehouse. “Gotten any trouble since she went back to work?”

Javier adjusts the aperture on his camera. So far, nobody of significance has arrived, but it’s early. Even he would never have entered a brothel at three in the afternoon. “No,” he says. “She’s… she’s doing fine. ‘Least, that’s what she says.”

Murphy snorts. “Uh-huh. Look, man, you didn’t want her to go back, you fought about it, she won. Can’t exactly blame her for wanting to feel normal.”

“It’s not safe where she is, Steve,” he says, taking a test shot of the door to make sure the light is good. He’s using his own Polaroid since he can’t exactly ask Noonan for surveillance equipment without explaining to her this little peripheral mission he’s taken on. The picture develops well, and he tosses it in the box between them. “I see her sometimes, jumping when the toaster goes off or when you or Connie knock. She’s fuckin’ scared for her life, and it… it just—”

“Makes you want to kill him,” finishes Steve. “Can’t say I’m happy about the guy walkin’ around without so much as a limp, but you know she’d be pissed off if you got yourself in trouble over her. Better to do it legally, y’know.”

Javier huffs. “Tell that to my Polaroid and my shitty surveillance truck.”

Steve punches him in the shoulder. “I mean, get him locked up, man. For good.”

Javier has to agree. It’s more effective than killing Reyes, but it’s a lot less satisfying and it’s taking a lot fucking longer than he’d like. It makes him ache to watch her fall into the daze she does sometimes, like she’s lost in the memory; when she gets scared of the mundane noises or forces a smile at a comment he makes even though he knows she didn’t hear him. She’s scared that he’ll come back; finish the job, or hurt Javier. 

He wants to make sure she never has a reason to be afraid. That’s his job. He’s her fucking partner, in all things. Watching those moments, seeing her so void of the bright life she gives the world, takes some of his own life away. He feels like his insides are being dragged out of him, slowly, like someone’s wrapped them around a pencil and pulled. It gets slower, more painful, with every day he doesn’t put Reyes behind bars. 

Javier and Steve wait four more hours. Nobody comes. Nobody they give a shit about. They part ways with the mutual understanding that they have women they’d rather be seeing than each other. 

“I’m home, baby,” he calls out when he opens the door. 

What hasn’t changed is the way her face lights up when she sees him. She rounds the corner from the kitchen and gives him a big grin, her arms winding up around his neck so she can dig her fingers into the scalp at the back of his neck. His tension seeps away instantly, and he pulls her closer, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. 

It’s been two weeks. The bruises on her body have faded to a green-yellow, except for the lingering purple on her cheekbone. The two large cuts on her face and thigh have faded to pinkish scars, and she still limps on bad days. She’s as radiant as the day he first saw her. “Mi alma,” he says lowly, nudging her nose with his. “¿Cómo te sientes? (How are you feeling?)”

He’s asked her three times a day, every single day since the attack. She never acts frustrated or gets impatient with the pestering. She just smooths the frown in his brow with her thumb and smiles softly. “A lot better today. Jorge’s been going easy on me. Oh, and Connie stopped by work before she went to the clinic this morning.” She takes his hand and pulls him into the living area, where there’s a basket filled with food, bath supplies, and a Get Well card. 

Javier’s heart swells at the kindness Connie Murphy has shown her; she’s visited twice already with a basket like this. It’s a relief to know there’s someone else out there who wants his girl to feel loved and safe. “This is real nice, baby,” says Javier, reading the card (Sending you all our love! - The Murphys). He knows damn well Steve doesn't know shit about the card, but God bless Connie for trying to fool them. 

He offers to make dinner (she's taught him how to perfect her paella recipe, even though he thinks it tastes better under her hands), and lets her sit at the counter while he fills her in on their failed mission. “I’m sorry, cielito,” he tells her, brushing her chin with his thumb as he passes her on the way to the stove. “We couldn’t find them.”

She shrugs. “You will. If…” He watches her eyes dim a little. “If he’s working with them, that's the first time we've had a real reason to put him away.”

It settles between them: the harsh reality of what she's said. The restraining order was luck. But Reyes never gave a shit about it. And nobody else gave a shit about the man who terrorised and beat his wife, not when the police are getting baited and killed by narcos. Unless he's really in bed with narcos, she’ll have no leverage. There's no proof of the assault; no proof he's been tormenting her. It’s all narcos. It's all they've got. 

“Baby. Look at me.” He can tell she's shrinking in on herself, remembering the day. Remembering how hopeless she felt. Her eyes slide up from the counter. He leans over it and holds her chin. “Un respiro. Dos respiraciones. Mírame.”

They've done this before. She takes in two deep, shaky breaths, centering herself by looking into his eyes, keeping herself grounded in the reality that she's not in that basement. She's here. He loves her. She's safe. 

“Lo siento,” she whispers. 

Javier pins her with a halfhearted sternness. “Hey, now.”

She takes in one more breath and shakes her head. “Not sorry. No reason to be sorry.”

“That's it, honey.” He swipes his thumb over her bottom lip. The cut healed a week ago, and he can see the white scar when she grins. “Hungry?”

She leans over the counter and brings his face close to hers so she can kiss him. “Very”—she nips his bottom lip and tugs it teasingly—“hungry.”

It doesn't take much from her to send all the blood to his dick. He's just a guy. 

“Bonita… ” He grunts when he looks at the clock. It’s already late. He has to make sure his girl is fed. They’ve skipped dinner for one another’s bodies one too many times.

But she's moving her lips along his jaw and sucking on the spot below his ear, and he physically staggers. “Get over here,” he says. “Don't be shy, cielito. You started this.”

She slides around the counter and he crowds her instantly, keeping her in place with a hand on the counter behind her and another on her lower back. Her back arches up into him when he kisses her, deeply. 

He takes his time with it. He loves the taste of her; she's showered, her hair is still damp, and she glows, smelling of fresh linens and jasmine. Her breath is minty with his toothpaste and her skin is so soft. He slips his tongue into her mouth and pulls gasps, gentle moans, and giggles from her when he works her just right, playfully smacking her ass or squeezing her side. 

It took a while until she was no longer too sore to have sex. Even then, in the early days, he wouldn't dare to even think of touching her like that; he would hold her close to him at night, every single part of one another touching somehow, and he would go to work late fretting over her comfort, worrying about the security of his apartment. She never treated the topic of sex with hesitation, like she was afraid to have him touch her; they both knew he took care of her in bed, and would never think to harm her. She was just in pain, dazed from the assault, and needing more sleep than the average human to let her body recuperate. He’d put their rule on hold for the first few days: if he came home late and she was asleep, he wouldn't wake her. He’d make dinner and keep it warm, slide into bed with her, and they would both sleep until she was ready to wake up and eat. 

She rediscovered her sex drive before four days were through. Javier lay her down, spread her out, and ate her pussy until she was sobbing, boneless, weak from pleasure. 

He’s been enjoying the slowness of sex with her. The buildup, when he wants to keep kissing her for hours, when he can make her melt into him like butter, when he can feel every inch of her body: trace the scars on her skin, the smooth curves of her body, whisper how beautiful she is when she gets in her head about the bruises and the cuts. He loves her so fucking much it hurts.

But isn't that the point of all this shit? It’s supposed to hurt when they hurt, just as it's supposed to feel so good when they smile, warm your chest when they walk in a room. She's the beacon he looks for when he's uncertain of the path he needs to tread. She's the last thing he’ll see before he dies. 

Javier’s hand follows her spine from her lower back upward to her neck in a languid motion, falling back down and then performing its slow crescendo once more. She sighs into his mouth, lets him take his time with her body, scratching at the back of his neck in the way that gets him worked up. He migrates down her jaw to her neck, growling into her throat to make her laugh. His lips find her shoulder, her collarbone, her sternum. Her skin erupts in goosebumps under the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his moustache. This is where he wants to die: buried in the feel of her body. 

“Up,” he says against her shoulder, patting her thigh. She jumps and he catches her legs, locking them around his waist as he carries her out of the kitchen. He makes it to the bedroom and pins her against the wall, at the perfect height to yank down the front of her dress and grasp her breasts. 

She grins and leans in to kiss him, pinching his ass because she can. “Ten cuidado,” he warns, but he doesn't put much heart in it. He’ll let her do whatever she wants. 

“I need you, Javier,” she says, holding onto his shoulders. “Now, please.”

He’s an accommodating partner. He lets one of her legs slip down as he unbuckles his belt and takes out his cock, achingly hard and leaking for her. Then, he's lifting her back up against the wall and guiding her on top of him, sinking her onto his length slowly. She mewls, biting down when she buries her head in the crook of his neck. They’re so close when she sinks all the way down that their breath mingles when she pulls back to look in his eyes. She cups his cheek. He holds onto her ass and grinds his hips into hers. 

It's so intimate like this that it overwhelms him. Their eyes are locked as he gets a rhythm going, pushing up inside her and making her toes curl from the slowness of it. He can feel every ridge, every pulse of her. She's warm and wet and it blinds him, and it's gorgeous to watch her fall apart, so closely entangled in one another. Her eyes droop with the grind of his cock up against her g-spot, her mouth falls open, and her head thunks gently against the wall. But she keeps looking at him. He doesn't want to look away, either. He’s encased in her body, enraptured and wholly consumed by her. 

He knows she's close by the way her torso tightens, the way her pussy clenches around him in a rhythm that makes him gasp from the tightness of her. She makes soft noises of pleasure that uncoil into his ears and settle the tension in his body. When she comes, so does he. 

“Fuck,” rasps Javier, keeping himself locked deep inside her cunt as he slumps forward, his tongue dipping into her mouth while they both gasp, the lightning of their orgasms crackling up their spines. He knows she feels it, too, her hands desperately clawing at his back to keep him close. His cum fills her, but he stays pressed against her, their sweaty bodies a tangle of limbs on the wall. 

“Fuck,” she echoes. “Can’t… can’t walk yet. Don’t let me down.”

“No fuckin’ way,” he grumbles. He didn't even think about it. He stays nestled inside her and she strokes his hair back from his damp forehead. 

They don't eat dinner until ten o’clock. Neither of them complain about it. 

~

Another stakeout leads them nowhere. And another. And another. It’s only two months after the assault that something finally fucking happens. And it has nothing to do with the expertise of the DEA. 

“Peña,” says Javier as he tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder, smoking and typing the last line of his report. 

“Agente Peña,” says an unfamiliar voice. “I’ve got information about the man you’re looking for.” Javier’s ready to take another useless tip from a drug pusher’s second cousin’s girlfriend’s neighbour, but the man says, “Nicolás Reyes,” in a hushed, hurried voice, and Javier sits upright in his chair. 

Javier snaps his fingers to Murphy and mimes for a piece of paper. The redneck flips him off as he tosses a notepad and pen across their desks. “Sí,” he says into the receiver. “And you know about Reyes, how?”

“I work for him.” The man’s tone becomes harsh, edged with jagged lines. “And I've been following your girl.”

Javier’s good-natured willingness to entertain a dead lead after a slow day fizzles out. He isn't amused anymore. “Think this is funny?”

“What's funny is you DEA hijos de puta getting nowhere with all those stakeouts you think are stealthy. You've got a loud, ugly truck, Peña. And you need me.”

“Then give me what you have,” says Javier, teeth grinding around his cigarette. 

“I want immunity,” the man is quick to clarify. “and a visa.”

Javier wants to laugh, but he's too pissed off. “Fuck your immunity. You get jack shit from me until I find out you're useful.”

“I'm not giving you anything else over the phone. Meet me in the café,” the man tells him. “You know which one.”

It's like someone has poured blood into his eyes. He sees only red. “No fucking way.”

“I want her there, too.” There’s the sound of a lighter flicking. “That's my price. To start.”

Murphy is staring a hole in his head. Javier’s ears are ringing. This might be their only lead: someone who was there. Someone who has the tools to take Reyes down. This is bigger than his rage. This is for her. “Fine,” he grits out. “Tomorrow, seven o’clock.”

He slams the receiver down and goes right to nursing his oncoming headache. 

~

He hates this. He really fucking hates this. 

The man’s name is Ricardo Chávez. He looks Javier’s age, with short dark hair and green eyes, a moustache and five o’clock shadow. He's muscled and tall. He sits at the table with his arms folded over his broad chest, a comically small mug of coffee steaming away in front of him. Javier blows the smoke from his cigarette in Chávez’s face and leaves the table. 

His girl is behind the counter, refilling the coffee pot. Her hands have been shaking since the man walked in. 

“Baby,” he says under his breath. “Look at me.” 

“I know him.” She looks ashamed of the fact, not quite meeting Javier’s eye. He has to guide her chin upward so he can look into her wide eyes. “He works with Nicolás. He—he was a client.”

He blows out one last puff of smoke and tucks her hair behind her ear. He doesn't give a shit about that; it was a job, it paid. But he's got a problem if this asshole is going to make her uncomfortable. “Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?”

She shakes her head. “He could have something good. We need something good, right?”

Javier sighs through his nose. “Yeah, we do. But if he looks at you wrong—”

She kisses the corner of his mouth after looking around to make sure no one’s looking. “I know, vaquero.”

“Señorita,” says Chávez as a way of greeting. She sits down next to Javier, who takes hold of her hand beneath the table. He lights another cigarette and doesn’t offer one to the other man. “Long time, no see.”

“Ricardo,” she says pointedly. “How’s your wife?”

Chávez just chuckles. “Oh, I wouldn't talk if I were you. Aren't you fucking the DEA agent who wants to take down your husband?”

She doesn't stiffen or cower. “He isn't my husband.”

“And you're the one who told me you could help take him down.” Javier lifts his brows behind his sunglasses. “So let's hear it.”

Chávez doesn't look once at Javier while he speaks. “Nicolás paid me extra to keep an eye on you. He told me if you ever went back to your place, we were to bring you home to him.”

“We?” Javier keeps his lips around the cigarette while he picks up the manila folders from the bag at his feet. He slaps it down in front of Chávez and gestures with his head: open them. “You mean you and Luis.”

Luis Fuentes: another of Reyes’s men. He works security while Chávez moves money behind the scenes. “Me, Luis, and Stick.” Chávez shrugs. “Don't know where Luis disappeared to. Figure he caught wind of your stalking, or wanted out before Reyes got too big for his own head. That's why I’m here now.”

“Because he already is.” It’s she who speaks first, before Javier opens his mouth. “He always talked about moving up. Thought whores weren't good enough currency.”

“If you ask me, women are what make the world go ‘round.” Chávez eyes her, and it's Javier's learned self-control that keeps him from putting his jacket over her to hide her body from his gaze. “Reyes thinks he can outdo the doer. He’s planning to expand into narcotics, and he wants the girls to move the money for him, or they’ll lose their jobs. Maybe their pretty faces.” 

Javier can't help but look at the scar on her face. Chávez notices and lifts his hands. “I didn't see that happen,” he says. “Don’t have much taste for beating women. But if you're looking for someone to kick the shit out of, it's Stick who kidnapped her. Brought her to Nic’s and helped fuck her up.”

“Who?” asks Javier, a little too eagerly. 

Chávez nods to one of the pictures before him on the table. She sees the face and sucks in a breath. “He came in here,” she tells Javier in a quiet voice. “And he… he was—there, when it happened. I thought I recognised his voice. I knew Nicolás wanted me to work for him again, but… He doesn't want me. He needs bodies to move cash.”

“And to stick his cock in when he feels like,” offers Chávez. Javier makes a gruff growling noise behind his cigarette. “When he realised he couldn't trust you because of where you sleep at night, he decided to send a message.”

The face they're looking at belongs to Santiago Ortiz. Nickname: “Stick,” apparently. Opposite of scrawny. General henchman and intimidator, if Javier and Steve are right about their intel. Offers Reyes protection wherever he goes.

This is the man who took her. Javier’s spine is taut. He thinks he might book a massage soon. 

Stick chose the wrong guy to work for. Chose the wrong fucking woman to lay his hands on. 

“Chávez,” he says. “Mírame. No ella.”

The man’s eyes slide to his with a hint of mockery. “Agent Peña, I don't expect to give this information for free.”

“What information have you given me besides shit we could have already guessed at? I need times and places, Ricardo, or you get shit from me.”

Chávez places a hand atop the picture of Ortiz and drums his fingers. Javier’s stomach is twisting with unease. “And if I give you Santiago?” he muses. “What do you give me?” His eyes are on her again. “Do I get you for another glorious night?”

“En tus sueños (in your dreams),” she spits, at the same time Javier decides to stop fucking around. 

He pulls his gun from his waistband and points the barrel underneath the table, right at Chávez’s crotch. 

“Inténtalo de nuevo (Try again).”

The man rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I knew you DEA bastards were uptight. I told you, Peña: I want out of this fucking country. I’m taking my wife and we’re leaving.”

“Unless you can prove there's a tie between the narcos and Reyes’s operation, my hands are tied.” It’s the truth. The only way he could convince Noonan to get involved in the case is if Reyes has his hands in the narcotics business, or is planning something. So he’ll get Chávez his damn visa. If—

“You give me where I can find Reyes and Stick,” says Javier, “and the time and place to drop in on the next meeting between Reyes and his narco buddies. ¿Claro?”

Chávez sighs hard through his nose, jaw working. “Stick will be at the whorehouse tomorrow morning to stand guard while Nic meets with the Castillos. Eight-thirty.”

The Castillo twins were two of the men who, according to Javier and Steve’s snooping, worked with the dead asshole who broke into her apartment and shot down three policemen. They don't have quite the reputation their boss does, but they know how to scare people. They're big and tough, and it's going to be a miracle for Reyes if he can convince them to invest in his whorehouse. 

This is it. 

The something they needed. 

“If this plays out, you get your visa.” Javier crushes his cigarette in the ashtray and stands. His girl wraps a hand around his arm. “Don't ever fucking look at her again, or your wife won't have anyone to go see the world with.”

~

Together, they shower while the television drones about bad news and more bad news in the next room. Her nails massage shampoo into his scalp, he takes his sweet time washing her body, and they both end up kissing, feeling one another up. They barely make it out of the shower safely before he's on her again, fucking her from behind as she watches their reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

Her hair is wrapped around his fist and there's steam fogging up the glass, but he can see her. He sees the way her eyes are half-closed and her lips are parted. He can see the way she holds onto the counter so her hip bones aren't pummelled each time he thrusts into her. He sees the bounce of her tits and his own hand snaking around her waist from behind, splaying his fingers across the ribs on her right side. All the noises she manages to make are small gasps or whines. 

This angle is deeper, closer, tighter. He has to keep his teeth clamped together to keep from gasping raggedly like a real old man while he does his best to make her feel so fucking good. And he does. Her eyes roll back when he grinds his hips against her, and his hand slides up her sternum, her tits, before landing on her throat and angling her jaw to keep her watching him in the glass. 

“Harder,” she begs, white-knuckling the counter. “I need it. Please.”

His back will scream at him later. But she feels so fucking soft, so hot and tight around him, and her voice sounds so sweet even when she's being wrecked, that he doesn't think twice about obliging. He slams into her hard, pulling back out until it's only his tip lodged in her entrance before he pushes back in, past the way her pussy clenches. 

And, oh, it's good. It’s incredible like this. Saliva clicks in her throat and he feels his balls tighten with the need to pump her full. He lets go of her hair and reaches down to rub her clit, and she's trembling, every part of her body losing control as she finds the voice to scream his name. He grunts when he comes, keeping her back flush against his front as his cock twitches with each pulse of cum he spills into her. 

She cuts his hair. She stays naked in the bathroom, proudly dripping his cum down her thighs, but she does put a towel around his neck so he won't itch. She's not an expert with the scissors, but she's cut his hair before, and she knows what looks best. She knows he won't let her go near his moustache, but she sings Selena in his ear as she works. He feels her voice settle in his bones and melt them to warm goo. 

She kisses him when she's done. 

They lie in bed together. Her hand is on his heart, and his hand is atop hers, thumb rubbing circles over her skin. He kisses the top of her head, which rests on the other side of his chest, and she smiles when she shifts to look up at him. 

“Javi?” 

“Mmm.” 

“I’m going to say yes.” She settles back down and closes her eyes, pressing a kiss to his chest. “If you ask me to marry you, I’ll say yes.”

~

They raid Reyes’s whorehouse in the morning. Fifteen people die. 

The DEA and the police only lose four men, but it's the narcos and Reyes’s people who suffer the most. They rely on Chávez’s intel, and it's good intel—they storm the place in an ambush and open fire. 

Murphy locks down the Castillos. Javier finds Santiago “Stick” Ortiz. The man wants to go down fighting, to his credit. He fires until the clip is empty, but it only gives Javier permission to shoot. Flanked by two policemen, he lunges out from behind his cover wall and lands a shot to Ortiz’s thigh. The man crumples. Javier shoots him in the chest twice. He’s on the ground, on his back, bleeding out. 

Javier leans down, grabs the man by the jaw, and wrenches his head to make him meet Javier’s eyes. “Know who I am?” he asks. 

Ortiz spits blood. “¿Como esta tu puta?”

Javier tucks the barrel of his gun underneath Ortiz’s chin. “Good. You do.” 

He takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a single drag before he puts it out on Ortiz’s cheek. It hisses, music to Javier’s ears. The man gurgles in pain. 

“Nos vemos en el infierno,” he laughs, teeth red with blood. 

“Maybe,” muses Javier. “Not for a while. Espero que veas sus ojos cuando mueras (I hope you see her eyes when you die).”

He shoots. Ortiz dies, mouth still open as the hole in his chin trickles blood down his throat. 

The police capture Reyes, who couldn't run fast enough. His girls are rounded up for questioning. 

Javier smokes out the window in the conference room a couple hours later. Murphy enters, rubbing his forehead. “Hey, man,” he says. “You get Ortiz?”

Javier huffs. “Yeah. Got him.”

“Good.” Murphy nods. “I know you wanted to do more, but he’s dead. Can’t hurt her.”

“And Reyes?” Javier hasn't sat down since they got back to the Embassy. “Tell me good news, Steve, please.”

“He's going away,” Murphy confirms. Javier might vomit from relief. “The narco link is solid. He wanted to make a deal, let them use his whorehouse as cover for smuggling the money. So long as he got a cut. Not enough friends in high places; he’ll get life.”

Javier rubs out the ache in his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, man.”

Murphy claps him on the shoulder. “About fuckin’ time, right?” He glances down and then gives Javier a grin. “Get a ring on your finger, brother. It’ll be good for you.”

The divorce is finalised a month later. The ring has been burning a hole beneath the mattress for two.

~

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#kiwisbell's fics #las mañanas #javier peña #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

[dreamandback]

ALWAYS FOREVER (na jaemin)

OH, DARLING, IT'S ALARMING TO THINK OF US APART

synopsis: going to an amusement park for a first date was so like jaemin. fun and lively, and full of memories.

genre: fluff, newly established relationship, non idol!au, college!au

warnings: jaemin x male!reader, featuring/mentions the other dreamies, swearing, mentions alcohol and being drunk, vague mention of heights, food mention, a little sappy towards the end, kissing, overuse of the word fond lmao

word count: 2,025

author's note: sigh, i fell even more in love with jaemin while writing this. dividers by cafekitsune. comments and reblogs are heavily appreciated!

when jaemin asked you out, you had never felt more elated. you spent most of the night picking out your outfit and on the phone with jeno as haechan rummaged through your clothes. he claimed, “you need to look good but not like you’re not trying to look good.” whatever that meant. jeno just sighed over facetime and told you to wear something comfortable and to remember to bring a jacket. haechan, the self-proclaimed genius, suggested you don’t bring one so jaemin could offer you his.

in the end, you threw on a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. “it’s an amusement park, hyuck. it’s not like he’s taking him to some fancy fucking dinner.” jeno stressed from where he sat in his bed in his dorm, video game lights flashing on his face. haechan just shook his head, claiming jeno had zero fashion sense. he perked up when your phone went off, the brunette jumping in place and ushering you out of your dorm when he read jaemin’s text aloud. “he’s downstairs in the lobby, you idiot, go!” haechan shrieked, pushing you towards the door after throwing you your phone that you miraculously caught.

“i’m going, bye jeno, hyuck! love you guys!” you called out as you closed the door behind you, hearing your best friends bickering as soon as you left. you almost wished the elevator ride down was longer because you weren’t prepared for how good jaemin looked. his hair was still green, dyed on a dare from a drunk chenle and jisung, but he pulled it off. he wore a leather jacket over a hoodie with a pair of jeans. it looked like he had the same idea in mind. he beamed brightly when he noticed you walking towards him, eyes crinkled in that overly endearing way. “hey!” he grinned, taking in your outfit. 

“looks like we decided to match.” he teased, his hand immediately finding your own and linking your fingers. his thumb found a soft rhythm against the back of your hand, calming your nerves ever so slightly. it was like a dream, being with him like this. yes, you’ve held hands before. yes, he’s rubbed circles into your skin. but that was all before you knew he reciprocated your feelings. you could only grin bashfully back at him, entranced by his smile that sparkled like the stars at night. 

the walk to the amusement park wasn’t far, the time flew as jaemin cracked jokes with his odd humor that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. by the time you reached the ticket booth, your face hurt from smiling so hard. when you went to reach for your wallet, jaemin gave you a look. “nuh uh, i asked you out, so i’ll be paying. thank you very much.” he scrunched his nose up at you before a smile broke out on his face again. you held your hands up in defense, letting him do as he pleased. 

he kissed your head before getting the tickets, leaving you with your fluttering heart. you watched him fondly as he chatted animatedly with the vendor, grabbing the slips of paper before beckoning you over. you couldn’t help the skip in your step as you walked next to him, passing through the amusement park gates. an involuntary gasp left you at all the pretty lights, every ride and booth giving off neon hues. jaemin watched you fondly as you took in the sights, the smells, and the people.

“jaem, i’ve never-” you tried, but he beat you to it. “been here at night time, right?” he finished, a cheeky smile pulling at his pretty lips. you stared at him in awe for a moment, hardly believing he remembered that. you had told him that you’d never gone at night when you, him, and mark were drunk off your asses after exams had ended last year. his soft eyes only stared back at you fondly, layers of affection running deep within the warm pools hidden behind long lashes. 

he let out a soft chuckle, pulling you along with him and past the entrance to the park. he scanned the various attractions, one catching his eye and lighting a fire within him. he turned to you abruptly, face serious. you wondered what was wrong at first. “i’m gonna win you the cutest fucking stuffed animal ever.” he said firmly, tugging you behind him as he beelined over to the colorful booth. you let him, staring after him dumbly before breaking into a large grin.

he grinned at your happy chuckling, feeling accomplished. because it was getting late, the booth didn’t have a line. it still had some cute prizes, too. jaemin zeroed in on the bunny nestled in the corner of the prizes, it was a warm brown with a red bow around its neck. he immediately decided that one was going to be yours. the vendor greeted the both of you with a smile, one far too tight-lipped to be genuine, as he set up the cups. if there was anything jaemin was weirdly good at, it was carnival games. 

he slapped some money in the man’s open hand and picked up one of the balls on the counter. the man’s grimace of a smile turned more smug, sure of himself that jaemin wouldn’t knock down each small pyramid of cups. you smiled back at the man, deviously so, and it made him gulp. you watched with satisfaction when jaemin knocked each stack down effortlessly, the man’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. jaemin grinned, asking for the bunny he wanted, presenting it to you proudly once it was within his grasp.

you giggled at his sunny demeanor, finding him so painfully endearing as he pulled you along again. you spent around an hour visiting different booths and games, stopping to grab popcorn or cotton candy. you hummed happily as the wispy candy dissolved on your tongue, scrunching your nose at jaemin when he pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek. he laughed joyfully at you as you wiped the residue off your skin, grinning impishly when you playfully punched his arm.

when your eyes met, it felt like the whole world slowed to a stop, yet sped up all at the same time. the lights from the merry-go-round you stood in front of bounced off jaemin’s hair and skin, lighting him up. the sweet song from the ride vanished as you zoned in on the sugar still clinging to the corner of jaemin’s mouth. you found yourself leaning in, slowly, eyes flickering to the warmth of his. when his eyes lidded, honey brown dazedly looking into yours, you found the confidence to close the gap.

pressing your lips against his skin was all too sweet, electric surges shooting down your arms and into your fingertips. gently, you licked the sugar from his lip before pulling away. when he chased after you, hazy eyes darting between yours, you felt like you could do anything. you gave him a lazy smile, taking in his awe as he continued to gaze at you. this time, you pulled him along, sending him a smile that could rival the sun itself.

the walk to the ferris wheel was quick, with jaemin’s surroundings blurred as his focus remained solely on you. he stumbled over his feet, suddenly having two left ones as he tripped over himself just trying to keep up with his emotions. he tingled where your lips met his skin, he was still trying to catch up to what happened only moments ago as his mind replayed the feeling of your tongue against his lip. 

he was brought back to the present when his back hit the seat of the cabin you chose, suddenly aware you were now off the ground. your hand was still holding his, warm against his cold one. everything about you was so very warm. you made him feel warm, his heart would race just at the thought of you. he didn’t realize he was staring at you, watching your every movement and committing the curve of your face to memory. he felt himself flush when you turned to him, smiling that obscenely soft smile you seemed to reserve for him. 

“what is it, jaem?” you cooed, bringing his hand enclosed by yours to your lips. those pretty lips that felt like flower petals against his skin. he felt himself stutter. the lights from below that poured through the windows of the cabin made you glow, and jaemin felt his breath catch in his throat. you were stunning. “i really like you… like a lot, " he mumbled, holding your hand tighter. his doe eyes were swimming with genuine emotion, and if you looked hard enough, you were sure you’d see hearts floating within them. you grinned fondly at him, squeezing his hand back. “i really like you too, nana.” 

he breathed out slowly in relief, no longer holding it in as he smiled cutely at you. you brought your free hand up to his face, delicately cupping his cheek. your thumb caressed his heated skin slowly as you just looked at him. really looked at him, for all he was. he was the boy who had always been there for you, the one who always helped you study even if he had an exam coming up. he was the boy who helped you mend your broken heart after a breakup in freshmen year, unaware that you fixed the fracture in your chest by falling in love with him.

he was the boy who knew your food and drink orders, the one who’d help soothe your social anxiety when it became too much. he was the boy who sent you songs that reminded him of you. he was the boy of your dreams, and you could hardly believe that he thought the same of you. he was the boy you fell in love with. you both leaned in a little closer, close enough where you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. his gaze flitted between your eyes and mouth, silently begging you to let him kiss you. you huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes fondly. without warning, you closed the small gap just as your cabin stopped at the top of the ferris wheel.

jaemin felt like his chest was exploding, his heart fighting desperately to escape his ribcage and seek refuge next to yours. you weren’t faring much better, a soft noise spilling from you when jaemin held the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deeper, into the kiss. he gently prodded at your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for permission. you denied him, instead pulling away and enjoying when he chased after you again. the fireworks in your chest never fizzled out, bursting within you as you pressed your forehead against his, catching your breath. his eyes fell shut, fighting the urge to kiss you senseless. 

“i know this is kinda sudden, but will you be my boyfriend?” jaemin panted softly against your lips, pretty eyes searching yours. you beamed at him, radiant and luminous as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “there’s nothing i’d want more than that.” you whispered ecstatically, brushing his hair away from his eyes. he laughed in disbelief, that charming smile back on his face as he stared at you, knowing that this moment was to be over as soon as your cabin met the ground. that didn’t matter though, because he knew that he’d have many more moments with you like this. “i love you.” he finally said, the night sky his witness to his confession. 

“i love you, too.” you said back, still admiring his eyes as they sparkled just for you. “i always will, jaem.” you sealed your promise with another kiss, a chaste one, but it meant just as much. jaemin grinned at you once more, and you were sure it was the prettiest one you’d ever seen. “always and forever.” he promised back. and with that, you knew your heart would be safe with him, for as long as he wanted to hold it.

dreamandback 2024. do not rewrite, repost, modify, or translate.

#jaemin #nct dream #nct #nct dream jaemin #nct jaemin #na jaemin #neo culture technology #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #jaemin x male reader #jaemin x y/n #jaemin x you #nct x reader #skz smau #nct x male reader #nct x y/n #nct x you #jaemin fluff #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x you #kpop x male reader #kpop x y/n #kpop fluff

[stirthewaters]

Twenty Dollars

SUMMARY: Dared to make Wednesday flustered by Enid, you try your best to flirt with her, unaware of the fact that she knows far better how to break you instead.

WARNINGS: None, this is pretty much fluff.

______________________________________________________________

Nevermore in the afternoon is probably the favorite part of your day. Once school is over, you can hang out with your girlfriend and your friends, and typically even though you don't really do anything other than chat, it's pretty fun.

Unfortunately, your girlfriend, the Wednesday Addams, prefers to stay inside and maybe watch a movie or discuss philosophy rather than chat with your friend group.

So instead of hanging out with Enid and your friends in the quad, you're with Wednesday in Ophelia Hall, trying to get her flustered as part of a secret bet.

Earlier, Enid had bet twenty dollars that you couldn't make Wednesday flustered or blushy at all. Confident in your amazing skills as a girlfriend, you accepted, and now you're hanging around the raven haired girl as she types at her novel.

Clearly physical touch isn't her soft spot, since whenever you try to hold her hand, her expression doesn't change in the least. She hasn't blushed once in your relationship, so the bet you've accepted has started to become a personal goal.

"If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?"

"Are you a triangle? Cause you're acute!"

"Excuse me, but I think I dropped something. My JAW!"

The cheesy pickup lines you're currently smothering her with seem to do little to no damage as she frowns.

"If you say another nauseatingly cliche pickup line one more time, I'll tear my ears off as well as yours," Wednesday deadpans, not taking her eyes off of her typewriter.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you're so pretty," you shrug, smirking a bit. "Come over here so I can compliment you to your face."

Wednesday rolls her eyes.

"Your frivolous attempt at flirting is as transparent as the glass I'm considering cutting you with. If you're trying to fluster me, it won't work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you scoff, wrapping your arms around her neck gently. "Come on, admit it. My flirting skills are actually pretty decent."

"If by finding somewhat nauseatingly overused lines on the internet, then yes, you're somewhat above average," she turns to glare at you, which is clearly an awkward position since you're arms are wrapped around her neck. "Now take your arms away from me or I'll dislocate them."

Somewhat hurt, you pull away.

"Whatever," you sniff, folding your arms. "If you think that my flirting skills are trash then I'd like to see what you've got. From the way you're dismissing mine you must have some pretty nice ones, hmm?"

"Is that so?" she deadpans, eyes still fixed on the typewriter. "Or are you sure you're just not disappointed you can't ruffle my feathers?"

"No, I'm serious," you say, leaning against the desk so you can look her in the eye. "Surely the great Wednesday Addams isn't being a chicken?"

Wednesday pauses to look at you, her gaze challenging with only a hint of murderous intent. "Are you sure you want to go down that road, Y/N? Because if I make half the effort you do in flirting, you'll be wishing that you will physically incapable of blushing ever again."

You shrug. "I'm not seeing any effort, actually."

Wednesday stands, walking over to you. Even though she hasn't been your girlfriend for very long, she knows almost everything that can fluster you, from the slightest bit of physical touch to the right words that will make you blush. The observant Addams has carefully kept count of every single time that your cheeks have gone red or you've fidgeted with your shirt, without fail, and with a smirk, she knows that you'll be a mess after this is over.

"Is that so?" She murmurs, standing opposite you. She wraps a hand around your waist to pull you closer to her, staring you down.

Your breath hitches. It's as if she's been planning this. Realizing that this isn't a battle you're going to win, you curse under your breath, as she begins pressing all the right buttons.

"Because I think that in reality you're weak," she says, takin the other hand to tilt your chin upwards, forcing you to look her in the eye as her powerful gaze holds you captive. "And I know perfectly well how to break you."

Unable to speak, your breathing accelerates as she pulls you even closer, stroking your hair as she begins to smirk.

"And it's clear here that you've picked a fight you can't win." She whispers in your ear. Her hand on your jaw is sending goosebumps down your spine and it feels like you can feel everything there is to feel. You sputter a protest, but she shushes you with that same smirk she continues to wear; fully knowing of how much this is affecting you. Unable to pull away, she closes the small gap as she kisses you, eyes fluttering closed as she kisses you softly but firmly.

Heart pounding, your eyes widen as you hesitantly kiss her back until she pulls away. You're blushing now. Obviously. Your face is one whole shade of red.

"There it is. Now admit that I was right, and maybe I'll kiss you again," Wednesday says, a bit mischievously. Stammering and caught in her arms, you realize that clearly you've lost the bet at this point. With a small sigh of defeat, you lower your head.

"Y-you were right."

"Mhm. And don't ever forget it," she smirks again, cupping your face in her hand as she goes in for another kiss, using the other hand to accept the twenty dollars that Thing sneakily delivers from Enid.

#wednesday x reader #wednesday series #wednesday #reader fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #netflix wednesday

[enheene]

hii let me just start by telling you that your blog is just *chef's kiss*🤌

could you write something with this sunghoon in mind? :3

(this episode really turned the whole fandom feral🫠)

thank u <3

Hiii, thank you so much!! Here you are^^

What about the pool party?

18+ MDNI

}^Summary: You and Sunghoon are just best friends. At least that’s what both of you keep saying (even though you’re both in love with each other). Well for the others, it looks quite different.

}^Warnings: bff!sunghoon x afab!reader (it’s not mentioned in the fic but it’s friends to lovers), riding, fingering, exhibitionist!hoon, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex), food, alcohol was only mentioned, not consumed, idk what else

}^Words: 1.4k

}^A/N: It’s pretty rushed so i’m not that satisfied with that story and I feel like this trope(?)/plot(?) is overused and I literally had no ideas of what to write.. I’m really sorry for the outcome!!

Knowing the siblings for over 15 years now is quite long, isn’t it? Well, today is the 23rd birthday of your best friends brother, to which you’re of course invited to. Jay decided to make it a rooftop pool party at their apartment, since their parents will be heading off to their colleagues “hangout” party. And since he knows a lot of people from high school and college, Jay obviously had to invite them.

You were as usual invited for the close friends and family only celebration before the actual party took place, so you already took all of your clothes and things you need, thinking that you will probably end up sleeping there.

After everyone sang happy birthday and gave their presents, you and Sunghoon headed off to his room to start getting ready for the rooftop pool party. “Sunghoon, which one is better?” You asked him showing him a bikini and a swimsuit to choose. “Hm, I like the swimsuit one but it’s up to you.” Bullshit. With you wearing a swimsuit he was hoping he wouldn’t get as horny because of you. That’s bullshit too. He’s horny all the time even when you’re wearing your homeless type of outfits. Letting out an “okay” under your breath, you decided to ignore his ‘help’ and wear a bikini just to provoke him for fun. Already wearing the bikini, you have put on in the bathroom, you asked him how you look. He cursed multiple times in his head as he did NOT want to get hard right now and especially not in your presence. “You look okay, I guess.” You scoffed at his answer and put on one of your shirts and shorts, since the party is still some hours away. “Imma get something to eat. You want something?” He asked you as you answered with a simple “No, thanks”.

Walking to the kitchen, Sunghoon saw his parents getting ready to leave the apartment, exchanging a “Bye.” with them. He saw Jay and a friend of his packing all of the alcohol and some snacks that were officially for the pool party asking him “What are you doing?”. His older brother answered “Basically, more people than I’ve actually invited will come, so we decided to move my birthday to this one lake we always went to.” Sunghoon was a bit confused. What lake? “I don’t know what you’re talking about but won’t it be too dangerous there? Because of the water and you know.” “Yeah, but here is it as dangerous as it’s there.” Sunghoon wasn’t so convinced about this idea but whatever, it’s not his life. Though he already decided that the both of you won’t be going anywhere, just stay here and have fun at your own.

Going back to you with some snacks and soda, he shouted your name and for you to open the door. You did so as he went into his room, placing the snacks and drinks on his desk, telling you to change back into your normal clothes. “But what about the pool party?” You asked him. “They’re going somewhere else but we are staying here.”

You were disappointed but still did as he said and changed back into your strap dress that is on the shorter side, but this time not putting on the bra, as it’s going to be just the two of you.

After some time spent together in his room, you decided to go to the kitchen and eat some proper meal with him. Preparing all the needed ingredients, Sunghoon comes up with with the idea of eating outside and enjoy the view of the city, to which you agree. Sunghoon sets the table outside and puts the already cooked pasta in the middle of it. To your surprise it’s not that late but the sunset is already there, so after you finish eating you tell Sunghoon to stand up and follow you. As you stand in front of the pool you try to push Sunghoon in but with his sudden grip on your dress, he pushes you in with him, making the both of you wet. You start splashing water at each other which makes the both of you laugh and scream out loud. The harsh movements in the water made you slip, though with the fast reaction of Sunghoon grabbing your waist, you avoided the fall.

As you found the balance in your legs, you stand up staring deeply in his eyes. He does the same. Feeling shy, you look down noticing his soaked, white, long sleeved shirt which was now fully see through, making you get a glimpse of his toned abs and chest. He followed your eyes, spotting your hardened nipples, getting him hard as well. Sunghoon takes your chin into his hand and makes you look at him, as the other is still holding your waist, and asks “Can I kiss you, y/n?”. You slowly nod your head as a yes. Sunghoon leans in to kiss you. As your lips meet, you put your hands on his chest and he pulls you in even more. The kiss is passionate, sweet and tender. Grasping for a breath, you take your lips off of his and lean your forehead against his, your noses touching. The short pause made the both of you want even more, so he picks you up and you wrap your legs around him. You feeling his bulge poking your still clothed cunt made you even wetter, so you started to kiss him again as he placed you on the edge of the pool. Pulling up your dress and taking off your panties, he looks at your cunt and touches your clit moving his finger in circling motions and up and down as you whimper his name under your breath. „Love, you’re so wet.” He puts his finger into your hole making you moan and lean down on your elbows, throwing your head back. He chuckles seeing your reaction as he adds another finger in your clenching hole, massaging your thigh. With a mischievous grin, he led you to come to your high on his fingers, you moaning his name as he praised you for doing so well for him. He picked you up so he could sit down in the pool, you on top of him. You unbuttoned his shorts, pulling them down enough to free his cock and immediately after put your hands back on his shoulders. “Are you sure you want this, love? There is no going back. You know that, right?” He asked making sure that it’s not against your will. “Yeah.” You answered him smiling somewhat naughty. Sunghoon pushed his tip into your still slightly throbbing cunt as you opened your lips and scrunched your face from the mixture of pain and pleasure. Your best friend started breathing loud and hard, you letting out a loud moan, when his cock is stretching you out, being now fully, deep in you. You slowly start bouncing on him revealing all the sounds he had always wanted to hear. Water splashing around you. Him groaning and whimpering into your ear. His one hand on your waist and the other one on your hip. “F-fuck, love, faster please.” He pleaded you. You have never expected riding in water being so hard, so you ask for his help and he sped up the pace. “Hoonie, ughhh, I love you so much.” “I love you too, love.” With the feeling of your approaching orgasm, you let him know about the need to cum soon while he’s cursing and mumbling out a “me too, lov-fuck.”

What the both of you didn’t know is that Jay and some of his male- as well as female- friends came back into their apartment to get more alcohol and snacks and that the both of you were fully visible to them all through the big windows in the kitchen-living room.

As you both reached your high at around the same time, you exchanged an intimate and lingering kiss with each other. You smiled against his teeth deciding that it’s time to head back inside and shower. Turning your head to spot your panties, you saw multiple people inside looking right at you. “FUCK HOON, they’re all standing there! They saw us!”. “And what about it, love?” Sunghoon brushed it off quickly being proud of it. “Your brother, Jay, also saw us? That’s about it, Hoon.”

“Well, wanna show them some more?” Sunghoon suggested smirking.

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen #park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon smut

[undercroft-files]

Recovery

Gif not mine

Various HL Characters & MC

Genre: Scenarios

Summary: After MC's daring solo fight with Ranrok and doing whatever they chose to do with the stored ancient magic, they were admitted into the hospital wing by some of the professors that found them. The nurse just now started allowing visitors, how do they all react?

Characters: Natsai Onai, Sebastian Sallow, Poppy Sweeting, Ominis Gaunt, Amit Thakkar, Eleazar Fig

Warnings: Mentions of cuts, bruises, and bandages but nothing out of place.

Natsai Onai

Once she heard about you being in the hospital wing and knowing you were allowed one visitor at a time, Natty didn't waste a second in seeing you. She knew about Ranrok and the ancient magic but a whole battle against Rankrok alone under Hogwarts definitely didn't sound pleasant.

The hospital wing was quiet, no one else seemed to be there at the time other than you. Natty immediately came to your side and hugged you, catching you off guard.

"I am so happy you are okay!" Natty exclaimed, clutching you around your waist.

"Ow...!" You grunted, your voice was hoarse and gravely from overuse.

"Oh! I apologize! Did I accidentally harm you?" Natty asked, becoming aware of her own strength and letting you go.

"You're okay, Natty. Thank you for coming to visit me." You said, your voice cracking a little from it being hoarse.

"Of course, MC. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure they were okay after what I heard you went through." Natty admitted, pulling one of the visitor's chairs closer to your bed and sitting down on it.

"Ah, so you know." You chuckled, a weak smile on your face.

"How could I not? Most people assumed you were expelled but I knew Black wouldn't actually do that after all the trouble he went through just to get you here." Natty said, hinting to the spreading rumors about you.

"Huh, you got a point..." You replied, your voice cracking again.

"You sound tired, why don't you get some more rest?" Natty offered, pulling some of your covers up for you.

"And miss out on seeing my friend when I need her most?" You replied, smiling at Natty.

"Trust me, MC. You will not be missing out on anything because I will remain here until I'm told otherwise. Get some rest, you deserve it." Natty almost commanded, helping you shift into a comfortable position for you to sleep.

Sebastian Sallow

He didn't even wait from word about where you were after the events of the goblin attack were confirmed, he just bolted to the hospital wing. Sebastian had a lot on his mind since you last talked to him, the events between him and what was left of his family shattering and you stayed by him, despite when he got difficult. He needed to talk to you.

The nurse almost didn't let him enter but you called out and told her that it was okay. Sebastian gave one final glare to the nurse before he rushed to your side, grabbing your hands and holding them in a comforting way.

"Are you okay? You look absolutely terrible." Sebastian stated, looking over all the markings of your face and arms.

"Well, I've definitely been better." You joked, smiling a little.

"You should've told me. I could've helped you." Sebastian said, sitting on the bed by your legs but never letting go of your hands.

"No, Sebastian. It would've been useless. Professor Fig was with me but I told him to leave because it was too dangerous for him, I would've told you the same if you were there. Besides, you had your own things to worry about—"

"No, no, no, don't say that. You've done so much for me this year that most people wouldn't have been able to accomplish in a single year, the least I could've done was protect you." Sebastian said, his grip slightly getting tighter but not overbearing.

"I'm fine, really." You tried to push away his concerns but he insisted.

"Fine? MC, have you looked at yourself? Your arms are covered in bandages, you basically look like a mummy! If that's your definition of 'Fine' then I'm deeply concerned for you." Sebastian confronted, causing you to give me a pitiful smile.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I just didn't want anymore trouble nor did I want to risk losing someone I care about." You admitted, giving a small smile.

"I forgive you, just promise me next year won't be as dangerous as this one? I appreciate adventure, but not death wishes." Sebastian joked, causing you to laugh a bit.

Poppy Sweeting

"MC! Are you okay?!" Poppy greeted, rushing to your side at the hospital wing.

"Yeah, just a bit bruised." You admitted, smiling to Poppy.

"Don't ever do that again! From now on, I'm gonna make sure Highwing always has her eyes on you because you're just so... so—reckless!" Poppy exclaimed, her worries and care pouring out like word vomit.

Poppy had more to say but you didn't want to interrupt her in her worried rants, so you just listened with a smile on your face. She finished with an exaggerated sigh, her lungs trapping a bit of air at the beginning of her rant that needed to be let out.

"Feel better now?" You joked, seeing her calm down.

"A bit, I'll be way better once you're well enough to leave the hospital wing." Poppy admitted, sighing a little.

"Couldn't agree more." You stated, smiling brightly.

Ominis Gaunt

Word about the goblin attack spread through the school and surrounding areas like wildfire, everyone's talked about it at least once. Ominis knew you had some quarrels with a goblin named Ranrok and knew the dangers that came with it and he didn't question that you played a major part in defending Hogwarts.

Sebastian was the one to inform Ominis about you being in the hospital wing but that you hadn't woken up yet, so it felt only right to check on you, even if you didn't know he was there.

Ominis used Floo Powder to get to the hospital wing to make travel easier and located you from his wand, still unconscious. He sighed a little before sitting down in a nearby chair, waiting for either you to wake up or for the nurse to tell him it was time to go.

He wished you stayed mostly out of trouble when you got here or at least only worried about the goblin issues, sensing the bandages on you made Ominis have the feeling that if him and Sebastian had been more reckless when you helped them that this would've happened sooner.

Ominis heard you shuffle a little in your bed and tensed up a bit, trying to hear if you were awake or not.

"Ominis...?" You asked, answering his question.

"Hi," Ominis paused, not really knowing what to say. "How do you feel?"

"Like I just got attacked by a magical dragon." You chuckled, causing Ominis to give you a more concerning look than he already had. "Sorry..."

"Don't apologize, you did what you had to do." Ominis paused again, he's not used to comforting people or being comforted so he really didn't know what to say. He gently found your hand and held it. "I'm just glad you made it out alive."

You smiled, Ominis had always been nice to you unless he was upset but somehow managed to forgive you easily. You know you and Ominis got off on a lot of wrong starts but tried to make it up whenever you could, like if you saw his struggling in potions, you'd help him.

"Thank you, Ominis." You said with a smile, gently squeezing his hand.

Ominis smiled, "Just promise to not get into as much trouble in the future, you got lucky this time, I wouldn't test it again."

You chuckled, agreeing with him.

Amit Thakkar

He was anxious all morning during breakfast because he had heard of what to you the night prior, he wanted to see you but knew it wasn't worth the risk of getting caught when he didn't want to be. Finally, after leaving the Great Hall, he hurried to the hospital wing to find you quietly eating something yourself.

"Oh, hello Amit." You greeted, seeing him approach you.

"MC, what happened? Are you okay?" Amit asked, sitting down in a chair next to your bed.

"Well, goblins happened. Hopefully, I gave them enough of a scare that they decide to never mess around with Hogwarts again, and yes, I'm okay." You explained, smiling a bit.

"I've been so worried since I heard about the rumors of the goblin attack. I knew you were trying to keep them from whatever they were looking for but I was hoping they were just rumors." Amit admitted, sighing a little.

"Honestly, I'd have wished the same thing. It's over now, though. There will still be a nasty goblin here and there but they seem like a pesky bug now after I fought Ranrok." You joked, smiling to Amit.

Amit chuckled, finding a weird sense of admiration from your bravery. "I guess fighting a goblin who had been using wizard magic makes everything else seem like an assignment for school." Amit agreed, smiling back at you.

He decided to stay as long as he could with you as good company, some of your other friends came to visit and bring you gifts but he never left.

Eleazar Fig

He had been the one that carried your unconscious body to the hospital wing after you collapse from the powerful fight Ranrok gave you and from keeping that ancient magic from branching out where it doesn't belong. You had told him to run to safety after Ranrok destroyed the crate the magic was concealed in, he hated the idea of leaving a student he cared for in the jaws of potential death but he had no other choice.

He helped the other professors fight the goblins that came before rushing back to check on you, finding Ranrok dead, the magic concealed once more, and your body motionless on the ground. He expected the worst but didn't give up hope, he knew you could pull through.

After the nurse patched up your wounds and gave you a bed to rest in, Fig spent all his time by your side. He had a few cuts and bruises on himself that he got taken care of as well but never left you out of his sight for too long, not wanting to miss when you woke up again.

Hours passed, maybe even a full day passed before you slowly opened your eyes. Fig's attention was brought back to reality when he heard you sigh and saw your hand instinctively rub your eye.

"Professor...?" You asked, your voice raspy from the battle.

"I'm here, it's alright. You're in the hospital wing, Ranrok is dead, and the ancient magic has been concealed. You've done it." Fig smiled, gently taking the hand you weren't using and holding it.

"How long...?" You began but trailed off, finding it hard to use your words.

"You haven't been out long. Maybe a day, but I was expecting you to be resting longer." Fig admitted, gently brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

You hummed in response, letting Fig know you heard him. Words became something nearly impossible for you to use as tiredness and the weight of your body needing healing overpowered you.

"Rest, MC. Merlin knows you deserve it after all you've done." Fig said, seeing how exhausted you still were.

You nodded before letting yourself drift off into a peaceful slumber, the most peaceful you've had in a long time. Fig smiled before he leaned back in the chair he was sitting on, thinking to himself, 'I could use some shut eye too.'

#hogwarts legacy #natsai onai #sebastian sallow #poppy sweeting #ominis gaunt #amit thakkar #professor fig #eleazar fig

[iliektehhaxs]

Spoken Beneath the Stars

Pairing: Clive Rosfield/Reader (AFAB, female pronouns. no Y/N) Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors DNI Word Count: 6.5k words Summary: After sleeping with Clive things become tense, and you want answers, even if he doesn't want to give them. Warnings: Unprotected sex, varying levels of angst, fluff. Read on AO3! Author's Note: This took me far too long to make, almost two months! This story is a continuation of a previous fic that can also be read by itself, but I highly recommend you read the first part on ao3 or tumblr!

When you two laid atop each other you wondered what would become of your relationship. Naked as the day you were born, both covered in a sheen of sweat. Worse for wear, you raise a hand to push Clive’s messy hair from his eyes. Speechless, breathless, wanting to say everything and nothing all at the same time. You part your lips, voice hoarse from overuse, but whatever you want to say becomes lost on your tongue. What could you even say? Clive seems to be going through the same internal turmoil. Staring intently where the two of you are joined, sweat rolling down his brow. His eyes move up to your own, and you don’t remember them being so expressive, bright and full of life. What felt like eons lost in each other’s presence was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. “Clive, you in there mate?” said a familiar voice. “Otto’s been looking for you, said he needs to have a chat!” All of a sudden that unknown emotion leaves his eyes. “I’ll be right down Gav,” he says, still looking at your pliant body below him. “Just give me a moment to clean up.” A hum, followed by the sound of Gav’s footsteps moving farther away. The room is now silent, uncomfortably so. He unsheathes himself from your warm heat with a groan, running his hand from your stomach to your chest with splayed fingers before pulling away. Almost as if your touch would burn his very skin. “Are you alright?” he asks. He doesn’t look at you when he does. You wish he did. “I’ll be fine…” You trail off, still admiring the hard lines of his body. “Are you…alright?” Clive huffs, rummages through a drawer to find a clean cloth for you. “I’m fine.” His tone is clipped. He still doesn’t look at you. He gently wipes around your sex, removing the evidence of what you two have just done. It doesn’t remove the ache that persists in your legs, or the fingerprints that linger against your hips. A hard stare, and then he leaves to dress himself. You move on shaky legs, grabbing your clothes off the floor before attempting to correct yourself, chancing a glance in his direction. Clive faces away from you, and by the time you manage to somewhat smooth your hair there's a dull noise behind you. A creak, followed by the sound of a door closing. You turn around to find yourself alone, without so much as a goodbye, and your heart shatters.

You almost regret having sex with him, often wondering if life would be easier if you didn’t. Doubt clouds your thoughts ever since, that it was your fault, that you had done something wrong to offend him. Maybe your words had been too harsh.

You told the man that one of his closest friends would be ashamed of him, that he’d died for nothing. The anger that radiated off him, his words in your ear, almost as if he was a different person, someone cruel and sadistic—

You wouldn’t be surprised if he never spoke a word to you ever again. At the very least it managed to get the message across, he hadn’t been throwing himself into danger nearly as much as he did before. In exchange, your relationship was now strained, pulled taut until it frayed at the edges and threatened to break. You had crossed a line, and this was your punishment. Every time you entered a room he had a new excuse, yesterday it was training, the day before he had to help Martha reclaim some stolen goods. Today he took a sudden leave to go on a hunt, grabbing a mark off the billboard before you could even get a word in. He was avoiding you, and it hurt. Like a dagger twisting its way through your very being, the metaphorical ichor staining your skin red. You missed him, missed how you would sit by the docks at night and count the stars, missed how you could see his smile grow ever brighter when you’d recount the different constellations. “My little astrologer,” He would call you, under the light of the moon. It reminded you of the Sanbreque monarchy, so in turn you had asked him:

“If I am your astrologer, would that make you my Lord?”

If it were anyone else he would deny his status, but to you, he simply smiled.

But there was none of that anymore. You had practically become strangers in the span of a day. You can still feel his touch, a brand, hot against your skin. When you lay at night you can still hear every last sentence of filth he whispered into your ear, how he pressed himself against you and relished in how your body reacted. “Let me see more of you,” He groaned against your skin. “Show me how desperate you are.”Pathetic of you, to crave the very thing that broke you apart. Haunting, in the best kind of way. You had no one to blame but yourself.

Walking past the forge, you see Clive engaged in conversation with Blackthorne, seemingly asking for a favor. You’re not quite sure why, but your ears trained in on the conversation. He needed materials, some kind of ore, but it was a two person job and Jill was away on her own errand and Gav was out scouting. As per usual, Clive made it his duty to help his fellow man in need, much to Blackthorne’s annoyance. “You don’t think I can manage by myself?” He half-joked, a smile on his lips. Blackthorne, stone-faced as ever, was unyielding, hammering away at whatever item he was crafting that day. “For all your talents, you are still just one man. Asking you to gather the materials required is too much for just you alone.” You’re not quite sure what possessed you, but you felt your voice rise before your brain could rationalize. “I can go.” A step forward, revealing your location. “Well if it isn’t our resident advisor!” Blackthorne greets you, still pounding away. “You know just when to show up, don’t you?” You take his compliment with a smile, moving further into the forge, next to Clive. He barely acknowledges you, a curt nod in your direction. You ignore him in return, focusing on the iron smith. “I heard a little bit, seems like you need two pairs of hands and well, I was getting a little bored sitting around.” You add. A pleased grunt escapes him. “Just so. Well, guess that solves our problem then.” He turns towards Clive, hammer pointed at him. “You can explain on the way, you two have fun.” You nearly scoff, biting the side of your cheek to stop yourself. About as fun as a morbol attack. You would hope that Clive would at least talk to you but he walks away in silence, making his way towards the boats. You run after him, hot behind his tail. “Clive!” You call out, but he stares straight ahead, not hesitating for a second. “He only stops his stride when you grab him by the arm, refusing to let go. “Can you at least let me get a word in before you run off?” You ask annoyed. He still doesn’t look at you, but at least he doesn’t move away. “What’s gotten into you? It’s been a week and you haven’t said a word, not even so much as a hello!” He stares at the floor, but he answers you at the very least. “I’m not quite sure what there is to say.” Ah, there it is. The elephant in the room.You still hold onto his arm, uncertain he won’t run away the moment you don’t. “Listen, if this is about our talk in the solar—” He’s quick to respond, turning around fully to look at you. His eyes close, and then—“We shouldn’t have.” You ignore how your heart drops at his words, the shame hanging over your head. “And yet, we did.” You stare at each other, unwavering. It’s Clive who breaks first, freeing his arm from your grasp and turning back towards the docks. “We should focus on the task at hand,” he mutters, before walking ahead. There isn’t a single word in the dictionary that can describe how you feel right now. Anguish? Rage? Regret? Maybe if you asked Tomes he’d have an answer, he was always more eloquent than you.

As you step on the boat, you watch the water ripple below, unable to look at Clive.

The trip was filled with riveting silence, but if Clive wasn’t willing to speak with you then you weren’t willing to chase him. Even as you entered the cave Clive was tight-lipped, only telling you the essentials of your exploration. The metal was rare, being re-discovered by Tomes by chance. Hard as anything, he told Mid in hopes that it would suit her ship-in-progress. 

As he told you the importance of it you found yourself slightly less annoyed, at the very least the thought of helping Mid made the trip more bearable. After a short walk through green pastures Clive leads you towards a cave, where your mission begins. Tools in hand, he gets to work without so much as a warning, retreating farther into the cave and leaving you to your own thoughts. Defeated, you pick up your own pair and get to work.

A small part of you hoped that being so close together would allow for some kind of interaction. A small, naive part of you wanted to believe you could fix this, whatever this was. There’s a wall to be scaled between you and Clive, but you don’t know where to begin.

You two work for hours, the sound of footsteps and banging your only comfort. By the time you sit down for a break the horizon is outlined in the slightest hint of orange. 

“How’s your search gone so far?” You shout, opening a canteen of water. Clive emerges from the darkness, sack in hand. “Got quite the haul.” He huffs, barely breaking a sweat. “And you?” You point to your own filled sack beside you, not as full as his own. You drink greedily until you can no longer, not realizing how thirsty you were until water passed between your lips. He sits farther away and counts his inventory, nodding in satisfaction. A nudge, and you look down to see Torgal nuzzling against your leg, big eyes staring up at you. You reach down to pet his head, enjoying how soft his fur is between your fingers. “At least you don’t hate me boy,” You whisper, watching his tail wag back and forth. “This should be enough,” Clive says, tying off his share. “We should leave before the sun sets.”

A noise of agreement leaves you, still drinking away. Suddenly Torgal rises from between your legs, staring at something before baring his teeth. You put your hands up, worried that you may have offended him somehow until you hear the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

There should be no large animals this far out. Rabbits, birds, creatures of that ilk, but nothing large enough to make a noise that big. You must be hearing things, right? A glance in Clive’s direction and his brow is furrowed in concern. He heard it too. You put your canteen away, pretending as if nothing has happened. In reality you’ve already placed a steady hand on your sheath, poised to draw.

As if on cue, a man jumps from the same bush you heard the noise, followed by several more. Bandits, and a lot of them at that. Black clothes and tattered rags, the thieves begin to circle the two of you, eyes focused on your bags lying on the grass. “Well now, I have to thank you two kindly,” the first one says, words dripping with malicious intent. “Seems you’ve made our jobs much easier. Hand over your goods and we’ll let you leave with all your limbs intact, as a show of good faith.” Several of his men laugh behind him; Even the most gullible man could tell that he’s full of shit. You stand up, hands wrapped around your sword. Clive is much less optimistic, drawing it from his back the moment they revealed themselves. “And what if we don’t agree to your deal?” He asks, guarded. Torgal growls at your side, ready to strike. The bandits don’t take his words kindly, stepping forward as the leader shakes his head. “I was in a good mood, but it seems you’d rather die for some rocks.” He leers at you for a moment and smiles, something crooked and sinister. “At the very least we can take the girl with us after we leave your body to the wolves. A pretty thing like her will certainly be in high demand.” Clive moves forward, the smallest lick of flames leaving his body. Whatever mercy he had before is long gone now, replaced with rage. 

“Touch her and it’ll be the last thing you do.” he hissed.

Surprised at the ferocity in his voice, you unsheathe your sword beside him, preparing for a fight. “If you think I’ll let you get close enough to try, you’re mistaken.” He laughs like a hyena, far too relaxed for someone who’s about to come to a very rude awakening. “Kill the man and the dog, but try not to bruise the girl too much. I want her in working condition.” A wave of his hand and his fellow men come barreling down the field, weapons in hand. Clive moves first, followed by Torgal and then you, dispatching each new bandit swiftly. To say a fight took place would be a gross over-exaggeration. Under Clive’s experienced blade they had no chance, each falling one by one with little effort. You’ve seen Clive fight before, calculating and tactful. He wields a sword as if it were an extension of his own arm rather than a tool. This was not that. The ferocity of his strikes, the swiftness of it was something you hadn’t seen before. You think back to what the leader had said, about what he would do to you, and the way his eyes immediately flared open, teeth bared. Touch her and it’ll be the last thing you do.

It seems the threat had struck a chord.

In your moment of weakness a hand grabs you by the shoulders, tackling you to the ground with a cry. You hear Clive shout your name, but he’s occupied with another lackey rushing towards him. You struggle, knocking away his knife and letting your fist meet his nose with a satisfying crunch. He falls over,  red dripping across his face as you reach for your sword to deal the final blow. You don’t get the chance however, before Clive dashes towards you in a flash of orange. “Get away from her, you bastard!” He shouts. The leader has no time to react before Clive’s sword finds its mark, directly between his ribcage.

If you thought he was angry before, it was nothing compared to now. A snarl stretches across his face, animalistic, bloodied. Heaving, he watches the man die with a sick satisfaction, an orange glow in his eyes. Ifrit’s glow.

After witnessing what became of their leader the rest of the surviving men flee from the scene. You push yourself from the grass, making your way to Clive’s hunched form. “Clive?” You ask, concerned. He doesn’t look at you, still staring at the body in front of him. “Clive.” You repeat. Still no response. Tentatively you place a hand on his arm, heat exuding from him in waves. “Clive, he’s dead. You can relax now.” It’s almost as if your voice wakes him from his trance, body slowly unwinding. He lets out a breath, and the familiar blue of his eyes return once more. He turns to you frantically, eyes scanning your body with worry. “Are you hurt? Did he harm you in any way?” There's a panic to his voice, one that you quickly dispel with a shake of your head. “I’m fine Clive, really,” You reassure him, moving your arms as proof. “See? Nothing out of place.” His mouth opens, closes again. His hands still sit at your shoulders, as if you would dissipate if he let you go. He fixes you with a worried look, still searching for any injuries.

You try to ease the tension with a smile, wiping away some blood from his face. “Quite protective of me, aren’t you? That was some strength you displayed.” Your words catch him off guard for a moment before he lets out a chuckle, the slightest pangs of worry still evident in his tone. “Is that so bad?” You think for a moment, and shake your head. “Not at all.”

Poking at his chest playfully, you continue. “You’re like my own personal shield. It’s endearing.”

A half-hearted chuckle escapes him, his gaze never faltering from you. 

This is familiar, you think, this back and forth. It feels natural. 

A bark interrupts you, breaking your concentration. Torgal nosed up towards the sky, that bright orange now a dull shade of red, the sun nearly disappearing over the horizon. How long were you fighting for? Clive noticed the darkening sky as well, annoyance written on his face. “We won’t be able to find a boatsman at this time of day.” “There’s a town not too far off from here,” you suggest. “They should have an inn last I checked.”

“Then it’s settled.” He says, grabbing the sacks of ore and recounting, making sure nothing was lost. When he’s satisfied he slings them over his shoulder in a strong grip, turning towards you. “Lead the way.”

You walk side by side, the sun setting in the distance. While you lead Clive is right at your side, scouting for any more surprises that may be lurking in the shadows.

It feels nice to be cared for, or it would had it not been for his earlier behavior. Hours before he would rather do anything besides talk to you, and now it’s as if he’s an entirely new person.

A bag of gil is exchanged between Clive and the innkeeper before the two of you make your way upstairs, Torgal sleeping outside of the building. You’re greeted with wooden walls with a clean interior, two beds and plain white sheets, freshly changed. For what the price is, the room is surprisingly well-kept.

The exhaustion doesn’t catch up with you until you see the bed, your limbs turning to jelly. Soft and inviting, you drop your goods on the floor, falling into the sheets unceremoniously. “I will never go mining ever again.” You say, voice muffled. You hear Clive’s heavy footsteps stop behind you. “You seem rather comfortable.” He muses. You hear something heavy fall to the ground, more than likely his share of today’s work. A groan escapes you, flopping over to lay on your back. “So do you. How the hells are you still standing?”

“Back breaking labor is not a foreign concept to me.” He says, removing his armor. “If it helps I much rather do this than fight monsters.” You peek at him, but turn your eyes away. Every piece removed is another expanse of skin exposed, left only in his tunic and pants, which invites memories you’d rather not think of at the moment.

“Really now?” You lift yourself slightly, sarcasm thick in your voice. “I would’ve thought you’d love to fight morbols all day and night.” The name makes him wrinkle his face in disgust. “That’s a terrible joke.”

You laugh, falling back into the pillows. “I’ll make sure not to make it again.” It’s a lie and you both know it. The air is quiet for a bit, simply enjoying each other's presence. Calm, serene. A fond smile appears on your face. “Do you remember when we used to stay up late by the docks, counting stars?”

He looks towards the window and nods. “I do. We’d often wake up on the floor, Obolus was less than pleased.”

You giggle, the image of the elderly man greeting you with the light of the sun more than humorous. “Mm, said we were making an inn of his business.”

A huff of air escapes Clive, fully settling into the side of the mattress. “In all fairness wooden floorboards make for an awful bedspread, so I suppose we learned our lesson.”

You laugh, and Clive smiles. It’s the first time he’s done so the whole day. You’d almost forgotten what it looks like.

After your laughter subsides you turn to him playfully. “Want to do it again? Like old times?”

“What?” He asks, looking at you up and down. “Hardly the best spot to star-gaze.”

You nod in agreement. “But if not here, then where else?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, and then turns himself to face the small window. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

You’re both facing the small opening, you leaning against the windowsill on your elbows, head in your hands as you watch the small white lights shine high in the sky. You feel the bed sink beside you, Clive moving closer, watching your mesmerized expression.

Your finger taps against the window. “There, see that? That one’s said to help you when you’re lost. Tomes called it Polaris, the northern star.” “And that one, over there!” You point off far away, following the line of twinkling lights. “That one’s Apus, the bird of paradise.” You list off multiple constellations, rambling away to your heart's desire. You occasionally check in with Clive to see if you’ve bored him, but he’s content to sit back and listen to you. Soon enough you’ve tired yourself, watching the skies above in peace.

“What’s wrong?” He questions you. “You’ve gone silent.”

The moonlight shines through the small window. You smile in remembrance, this atmosphere. It reminds you of what it used to be.

You sigh wistfully. “What happened to us?”

He stiffens at your side, suddenly uncomfortable. “You already know the answer to that—“

“Do I now?” You interrupt. The room is silent, save for the sound of your heart beating in your chest. 

You press your hand on top of his. “Tell me then. What happened?”

His eyes don’t meet yours.

“It’s complicated—“

“Then uncomplicate it.” You interrupt. He doesn’t answer, choosing to focus on your hand on his.

“Listen, I know you might regret our…” you hesitate, gauging his reaction. “...rendezvous, but I would at least like to think we’re still friends, so talk to me. Please.”

His eyes dart back and forth, between you and the fingers currently drumming along his skin.

“I…” He pauses, as if to find the right words. “I don’t. I don’t regret it at all.”

“Then why pretend like it never happened?”

“....”

“Why, Clive?” Your fingers curl around his own, gingerly. 

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “Fear, maybe.”

“Fear of what?”

He doesn’t say anything, so you repeat yourself, pleading. “Please, don’t shut me out.”

A loud silence fills the air.

“Clive…“

His lips press together, struggling to answer. He sits like that for a while, before opening his mouth.

“I had hoped that by avoiding the topic we could still be friends, that I wouldn’t ruin what we had.” He chuckles dryly. “But it seems I’ve already done that.”

“Ruin? Clive—“ You begin, stopped by his fingers curling against your own.

“Allow me to finish.” He adds before continuing. “I was selfish. I let my desires control me; I took advantage of you and for that, I apologize, if you’re willing to accept it.”

You sit, stunned into silence at his confession.

“Took advantage?” You utter, shaking your head. “Clive, I can assure you that you did nothing to me that I wasn’t a willing participant to. If anything, I’m sorry for saying that stuff about you and Cid.”

A shake of his head. “It still didn’t warrant my…response.” He replies, the makings of a blush spreading on his face. 

His behavior for the past week makes sense now. He wasn’t avoiding you out of hatred, he was afraid, afraid of what you might have thought of him. You almost laugh at the misunderstanding. For all his talents, he can be denser than a brick.

“Clive, look at me.”

He lifts his head reluctantly, put slightly at ease when he witnesses your tender expression. “Yes?”

You squeeze his hand. “I don’t hate you.”

There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice. “You don’t?”

“Am I annoyed that you chose to hide from me instead of talking? Yes.” You move closer to him, knees brushing against his own. “But I don’t hate you Clive. Not one bit.”

He finally returns your gesture, bringing your hand towards him, lips pressed against your digits to whisper into your skin, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

Your face heats up at the action, focused on how warm his hands are compared to yours. Perks of being a Dominant, you suppose, before his smooth voice brings your attention back to him.

“May I…tell you something?”

A nod. “Of course you can.”

He’s put at ease, but still visibly nervous. “When I saw you in that field, being attacked…I didn’t know what to do. It hurt me like nothing else to see you at the mercy of that man.”

He stares up at you, eyes full of longing. “Words, actions, nothing imaginable could describe how much I care for you, and it scares me, shakes me to my very being. The thought of you getting hurt because of me is…” 

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but you know. You can see it in his eyes.

Voice wavering, he speaks. “You are a beacon, my guiding light, and I’m afraid of what would happen if that light were to be snuffed out by me.”

You can’t help but gasp at the confession. He bares himself to you, exposed. You can feel the emotion, the charged air between the two of you not unlike levin.

“It wouldn’t.” You whisper. “You wouldn’t let it.” 

He lets your hand fall, before staring at the wall solemn. “There was a time where I would believe you.”

Sagging shoulders, the shadow of death across his face. It hangs over him, heavy. “You deserve a man who will give you the world, and I’m afraid that I can’t give you that.”

Your gaze softened at his words. “Clive…”

You’re not quite sure what to say. In the end, you decide that actions proved more effective than words. You pull your hand away, and before he can protest you cradle his head, lips joined together.

Is this the first time you’ve kissed him? It feels like heaven.

Soft, and warm, he freezes, then moves against you, as if on instinct. They move against your own, uncertain, clumsy. You don’t mind it at all.

You pull away and he protests, a small noise escaping him, unwilling to leave your embrace. Your forehead rests against his, eyes gazing at what feels like his soul, prettier than all the stars in the sky. Reflective pools of blue, overshadowed by the stretch of black that overtakes them.

And then you gasp, sweet, saccharine. “You are my world, you bloody fool.” 

Dazed, enamored, he doesn’t take his eyes away from you for even a moment.

“You…do you mean that?” He asks, hands hovering at your sides. He won’t touch you, not until he hears you say it, one more time.

You shake your head, lips coming to barely graze his own. “If you think there is any universe where I am not hopelessly, madly in love with you, Clive Rosfield, then you are severely mistaken.”

He’ll die the happiest man in Valisthea at this rate. You can finally identify the emotion swimming in his eyes. Love. Pure and unbridled.

“Yes, I am,” He pulls you further, ever closer towards him, placing you in his lap with little effort. “I am a fool for denying myself of your presence—“

His thoughts are interrupted by the taste of your lips, focused on how warm and soft you feel against him. He simply melts at your touch, fingers pressing at your sides, pawing at your body desperately.

“You are—“ you gasp. In the little time it takes for you to respond he latches onto your neck, working at leaving a mark against your skin. “—so you better make up for it, my lord.”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second, smiling against your skin. “Of course, my little astrologer.”

Pressed together in each other’s embrace, unwilling to separate for even a moment. You’re like a drug, an addiction he could never hope to rid himself of. Closer and closer, your fingers make a home of his tunic, tracing the hard muscle that lies underneath. You feel his chest rise and fall, his breath stuttering when you grind into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whines into your open mouth, hands splayed at your sides. You mumble an apology as well, a whisper spoken between his lips. 

His tunic is the first to leave, followed by your pants. A kiss, and then another; More and more follow, a confidence surging through him with every press, dragging you back down so his hardness can push against your waiting heat.

It’s good, but not enough, not nearly enough. It’s no surprise when your fingers move down Clive’s pants, pulling him free. So close and yet so far, the head catches against your clit and your eyes roll back. Again and again, you rock against him until it becomes too much to bear—

He inhales sharply when you mount him without warning, grits his teeth and forces his hips to still. Eyes closed you fall further, inch by inch until you feel him press into your deepest parts, feel him throb inside you.

“Founder, you feel so good—” He hisses, mouthes against your skin.

This isn’t the first you’ve felt so full, but it’s different now. Less aggressive, more loving. He waits for you, doesn’t make a single move until you’ve decided you’re ready and only then does he indulge.

Chest to chest, you glide yourself against his cock, desperation spilling out from your very being. A frantic rhythm encouraged by Clive’s hands against your rear, digits digging into your skin, pushing you closer and closer. 

Up, down, up, down. Your thighs burn with exhaustion but you can’t bring yourself to stop, not when he looks up at you like that, like a goddess.

He bites at the skin of your neck, groans when your moans fill his ears. He meets your every move, holds you tight when you shiver, fucks you harder when you cry his name. A sensual pace that slowly becomes more erratic.

A pull, and your tunic is removed unceremoniously, his gaze following every curve of your chest. He leans forward, licking his lips at the sight of you.

“May I?” He heaves desperately.

A nod, and his lips attach to your nipples, eyes closed in bliss.

He buries his face, bites at the sensitive nubs before soothing the ache against his tongue. Your hand rests in his hair, encouraging, begging.

Entangled in each other, little is said beyond hushed whispers and reverent moans. The air is heady with your combined need.

He didn’t know how badly he needed this, needed you. Lips pushed apart, sharing your moans as he felt himself meeting your every movement, chasing after a high only you could provide. This desire thrums beneath his skin, a heat that flows through him, unending. It appeals to his base instincts, an internal struggle. 

He wants to hold you close, taste the sweat of your skin against his lips, share in your pleasure; He wants to drive you wild, pin you beneath him until you cry out his name, fuck you within an inch of your life.

Every kiss feeds the former, every touch feeds the latter. Caught between the middle, Clive settles between your thighs, and takes what he needs with a hiss of your name.

Barely clothed, you feel a familiar pressure build at your core, thighs shaking at his sides. “Clive.”A guttural noise leaves him, an understanding shared through touch. He places a firmer grip on your hips, the slick of your pussy spurring him on, muttering at your collarbone. “Come for me my love, let me feel it.” You cry out his name, legs locking themselves around his hips, shaking against his body. The force of it nearly hurts, only overshadowed by a blinding pleasure that courses through your veins. 

Your release is soaked into the sheets, leaving a mess where your bodies join. The sight of you is mesmerizing, eyes closed in bliss, your thighs stained in your juices. Panting, your skin glistening with sweat, and yet you stare at him with longing even as your eyes glaze over.

Something snaps in Clive, his grip firm as he plunges back into your waiting heat, the snap of your bodies colliding feeding the beast within.

You cry, collapse into his chest, arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Clive, I can’t—“ Another thrust and your vision turns while, holding on for dear life.

“Yes you can,” He growls, a hidden message underlying in his words. 

Of course you can, you’ve already done so before. 

The tone is familiar, his touch, the way he drills his cock into you like a man starved, all calling back to that fateful day in the solar. It's a feeling of complete bliss; united, two parts of a whole. Clive's grip on your body is now as tight as it can get, his fingers moving to hold your hips, your thighs, anywhere he can touch. The pressure of his grip is nearing pain, but it only drives you wild with lust. 

It's all he knows in this moment, the heat of you, the noise of your cries in perfect harmony with the obscene sounds of your cunt. His body moves in perfect rhythm with yours, the pace quickening. 

Clive's breath, hoarse and ragged, punctuates each of his own muffled moans. “Tell me you want this,” he begs, voice almost breaking in anguish. “Tell me you want me, I need to hear you—“

He swallows your moans greedily, his kiss sloppy and unrefined, chasing after his own high. You fare no better, nails leaving angry red lines against his back. 

Speared on his cock, at the mercy of Clive. Unable to hold back your noises, you moan freely, uncaring if anyone listens.

“I want you, I want you—“ Your words jumble together, breathless. “I need you Clive.”

Every word is punctuated by a gasp, nails scratching down Clive’s back in pleasure. 

His entire being is on edge, not a thought in his head save for how slick your pussy feels around him, pulsing deliciously. The sounds you make, your face, how you squirm on top of him, it’s all too much for him to take.

His movements become more aggressive, animalistic in his drive. He wants to consume you, devour you whole, and you love it. From his bruising grip to the marks against your skin, he possesses you, both body and soul.

Tears brim your eyes, every fiber of your being focused solely on the heat consuming you. It almost hurts to speak, your breath punched out of you every time you bounce on his lap.

In a single breath you cry out sweetly. “Please make me come, please—“

“Yes, yes, yes,” Clive’s lips find their way back to yours, his voice rough when he pulls away. “I will, my love.”

He moves even faster, the pace brutal. He shifts his body and now you’re completely beneath him, his weight both suffocating and welcome, his head resting next to yours. The new angle lets him find that soft spot within you, taking advantage of it until your back arches from the sheets. 

He coos tenderly into your ear, a contrast to the strong force of his hips. “I’m going to fill you up, make you mine.”

His words strike you like a dagger, and you lose yourself, completely lost in the swell of desire. Your voice echoes against the four walls, unashamed of your volume.

Clive's face is flushed red with a mixture of effort and pleasure, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he struggles to retain his sanity. He moans your name, his eyes finding yours, and the look in them tells you he doesn’t want this moment to end.

His eyes are pleading. The sensation of you around him makes it so hard to focus on anything but this moment. "Founder help me, you feel fucking divine—"

Another gasp of your name and his fingers press against your clit, moving in circles. “I need to come, need you to come with me—“

You whimper, eyes not leaving his for a second, unable to look away from the beautiful sight. “Yes, come inside me Clive, want to feel you—“

A grunt, and then his head falls into the crook of your neck, impossibly close. "I love you," Clive whispers, lips pressing against your ear. “Tell me you love me too.”

A command, both demanding and vulnerable, one you obey without a second thought.

“Gods, I love you,” You cry, trembling. “I love you, I love you, please—!”

You’re reduced to whispers of his name, fingers caressing his hair, the desperate grind of his cock inside your heat driving you insane.

The feeling of him emptying himself inside you is like the world exploding, the pleasure all-encompassing. The whole world disappears for the both of you, lost in each other. He collapses against you, lazily kissing anywhere he can reach, the both of you exhausted.

You can take the time to study him now, details you couldn’t afford to see before. The scars that line his skin, the freckles scattered across his body, not unlike constellations. You map out each mark under your hands, taste the sweat that clings to his skin, inhale his scent. Clive lets you explore him freely, reveling in the attention. 

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?” You sigh, thumb tracing the lines against his cheek. 

Bashful, he leans into your touch. “I don’t believe you have.”

“I’ll make sure to tell you every day.” You chuckle softly. It’s a promise, one you’ll be sure to keep.

A while passes, the two of you tangled together. Eventually he lifts his head, sees the marks littered against your skin, the indents shaped in the image of his fingers. You watch as his face scrunches up in concern before bringing his hand towards you.

“Don't look at me like that,” you chuckle softly. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually.” Clive raises an eyebrow at the smile forming on your face.

“Is there something I’m missing?” He huffs, focused on your ever-growing smile.

“No, not at all.” You giggle. “Just a familiar view is all.”

Confusion written on his face, it takes him a moment to realize before he starts blushing. “So it is.”

Your laughter increases, bringing him closer to your face. “Mhm, history tends to repeat itself.”

His beard tickles as he kisses your face. “I should hope that it continues to repeat.”

#final fantasy xvi #final fantasy xvi smut #final fantasy 16 #clive rosfield #clive rosfield x reader #clive rosfield x you #clive rosfield smut #angst with a happy ending #robo writes

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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[peacesmith]

gif not by me!

ao3 | masterlist

title - he's got a heart of gold

pairing - peter parker (andrew garfield vr.) x male reader

rating - fluff

word count - 966 words

summary - you're a florist, peter is a college student and your number one buyer. you think he has a girlfriend with the amount of flowers he's bought. oh how wrong you were.

notes - i love peter parker, i love andrew garfield, he's my baby girl and i love him <3. also an excuse for me to ramble about flowers cause i love them.

The small, but loud, chime of the doorbell rings out throughout the compact store. The smell of different arrays of flowers fills the store. It's a smell Peter was always excited to experience.

Peter looks around the arrangement of flowers plastered around the shop. He always wondered where you got such pretty flowers. They were always so fresh whenever he came in.

You don't notice him at first until you saw the male come towards you, you send him a smile and he sends one back.

"Hey Pete! You want to buy some more flowers? The usual?" He shakes his head no before asking,

"I actually wanted to try something different, and maybe add a note to it?" You nod and smile again at him. He's so sweet, trying something different for his girlfriend. Although he never said anything you kind of assumed.

Normally guys don't get flowers for their boyfriends, if they do, they play it off as their girlfriend. At least that's they tell you.

You do wonder if Peter likes men.

Peter follows you towards a bunch of flowers. You put on some gloves, grab some craft paper and start talking about the flowers.

"So, what's the occasion? It would kind of help when making an arrangement." You look at Peter, he thinks for a minute before responding.

"Well, I'm kind of trying to ask them out on a date. I don't really know how to though other than with flowers." He puts his hands in his front pockets and sway back and forth a bit, his brown orbs fall onto your figure. He gives a small smile.

You tilt your head a bit before picking up a white flower.

"This right here is a Camellia, it symbolizes love, adoration and longing. If you give it to someone, you're practically saying that you've been admiring from afar. Or something like that..." Looking away, you calmly pick a few more and place them gently in the paper. You feel Peter's eyes on you for a moment longer, making your face heat up.

You pick up another white flower, this time a slightly different shape.

"This is a Gardenia; it symbolizes purity and gentleness. But it could also mean secret love. Interpret as you will." While putting some flowers in the arrangement Peter interrupts your train of thought.

"Do you have anything that says, 'I love you'?" Peter starts to blush a bit before looking away. He's so adorable, you think.

"Uh well yeah I could do the classic Rose, but it's a bit overused don't you think? So how about this one?" You hold up a red Tulip, sniffing it before giving it Peter. "It stands for passion and a declaration of love."

You pick up some and start arranging it with the other flowers you picked up. Even though it's not a huge arrangement, it's still very pretty.

Peter sniffs the Tulip, it's probably one of his favorites now.

You and Peter go up to the register to get him settled.

"How much do I owe you?" Peter asks.

"Well normally I would charge you the regular price but since this is about your hundredth time, I'll give you a discount." You tell him the price of the flowers and put other pieces paper in the bouquet for decoration. You pull out a piece of paper and fold it in half before grabbing a pen.

"So, you what do you want it to say?" You get ready to write whatever he needs to say.

He looks up at you before giving an awkward smile, "Something simple like 'Would you like to have dinner with me?' or something like that." He shrugs, his shyness showing through a bit. God you just want to give him a big hug.

He's so adorable, you just wish he was interested in men. I mean he's obviously straight. It's a bit sad if you think about it.

You write on the paper before stapling it on the bouquet and handing it to Peter.

"Thanks man, I hope they like them" He smells them before smiling and heading out. Leaving this small lingering of his presence in the shop.

You nod before getting ready to close the shop.

You turn the key and put your hands in your pocket, turning around as you start walking to your apartment. Luckily it wasn't so far from shop, at least ten minutes at the most.

"Hey!" You turn your head at the sound of the noise and see Peter jogging towards you with the flowers he got earlier and a box in his hand of some sort.

"Hey Pete, what's up?" He slightly cuts you off by shoving the flowers and box, which you can now see it's clearly some pastry of some sort, into your hands.

Peter smiles at you with a red face, he's flustered.

"Do you remember what you wrote on the letter?" You nod.

"So, what do you say?" Peter replies.

It stuns you for a moment before you realize what he's asking. You look down at the items in your hand while your face heats up.

Stuttering, you manage to give a reply, "Yeah... Yeah! I would love to go out with you Pete!" You nod excessively before letting out a couple of giggles.

He starts to laugh a bit too before telling you to look at the paper on the bouquet. You do as your told.

His number is on the bottom! He gave you, his number!

"Call me and I'll come get you, alright?" You nod again before calming down on your giggling.

"See you later alright?"

"Yeah, see you." You finally manage to speak.

He walks off as you look at the flowers. You definitely have a place in your home to put these.

#peter parker x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x m! reader #spider man x reader #spider man x male reader #spider man x you #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #andrew garfield x male reader #andrew garfield x reader #i also write #my writing #marvel fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction

[levithestripper]

can i request game of thrones hcs about jaime, bronn, and sandor's (and whoever else you'd want) sex habits? kinda like the sex habit post you made for attack on titan?

Sex Habits with Jaime Lannister, Bronn, Renly Baratheon, Loras Tyrell, and Sandor Clegane

masterlist

warnings: gender-neutral reader, mating press, hickeys, mention of bondage, power bottom! bronn, orgasm control, oral [m! receiving], dirty talk, overstimulation, hair pulling.

relationships: jaime/reader, bronn/reader, renly/loras, sandor/reader.

included characters: jaime, bronn, renly, loras, sandor.

length: 1.1k || read on ao3

⤷ if you want to be added to the taglist click here

a/n: recently bought myself a hbomax subscription so my game of thrones hyperfixation came back with an aggression that’ll only get worse once house of the dragon comes out

Jaime is always the dominant one in the bedroom. He enjoys having that type of control over you; it’s different than the kind of control he has over his men. Being with someone who trusts him enough to let him restrain them to the point where they’re utterly defenseless fills him with an immeasurable amount of desire.

He loves to leave hickeys or a visible mark on you in places where it’s impossible to hide them. You belong to him, and he’s going to make sure everyone knows you’re off limits. He always ensures they’re a deep, vibrant shade of red or purple, ensuring that the men and women of the court would whisper to themselves about them.

Jaime’s favorite position to take you in is a tossup between cowgirl and missionary. After he loses his hand, cowgirl is easier for him, and he gets the added bonus of watching you bounce on top of him. Even after his hand is gone, missionary is still common with you two, but not as much so. Jaime enjoys folding you in half, pushing your knees to your ears, makin’ you squeal from it.

“Fuck, my love,” Jaime groans, “You’re so tight ’round my cock.” He has your legs resting atop his broad shoulders, effectively folding you in half. His hips slap against your ass, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the room. Your moans mix nicely with it, which only spurs Jaime on further. “Gods, I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

Bronn is more lenient when it comes to dominance in the bedroom. He’d never entertain the idea of being on the bottom, but he’s willing to hand over the reins of control every once in a while. He’s always in control, it’s almost therapeutic for him to let go. Bronn likes it when you take control, likes it when you straddle his waist and make him ask for permission to cum. But if you overuse your power, he’ll stop letting you do it.

Other than cowgirl, his favorite position is doggy. Seeing your pretty little back arch downwards and your ass wiggling in front of his face gets him harder quicker than anything else. His hands spread themselves down your spine, thumbs rubbing over the ridges he finds there.

“Mm, you’re very good at this, you know,” Bronn said, his voice somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. Your lips are wrapped nicely around the sellswords’ thick cock, sucking him off like you have all the time in the world. Bronn cards his fingers through your hair, tugging on it when he wants you to move faster. “Yeah, just like that, love. Just like that.”

Renly and Loras have found what works for them, and they stick to it. Renly likes to top, while Loras prefers to bottom, so it works out well. Loras is a pillow prince; enjoying being pampered and praised and fucked out of his mind. Renly is more than eager to give Loras whatever he wants, loving the sounds of his needy moans.

Loras knows exactly how to get his lover going, and he uses that to his advantage constantly. While Renly is away at his war council, Loras spreads himself out across their bed, back arched nicely, hips swaying as they hovered over the mattress.

The large oak door creaked as it shut behind him, blocking the noise of angry Lords arguing over tired battle plans. Renly ran a hand down his face and then through his hair, groaning softly. A whistle floats through the chamber, guiding Renly’s gaze to his bed. “My Prince,” he grins, the sight of him washing away any stress brought in from his council. “You surprise me.”

Loras chuckles coyly, wagging his hips enticingly. “Your war council was long today, my love. You left me alone for so long.” He fakes a sadness in his voice, enjoying teasing him. Renly walks to the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving the gift that was Loras’ ass. “You like what you see, Your Grace?”

Renly nods, hands gravitating towards the ass in front of him. “Apologies, my love. The war we wage is growing ever most complicated as of late.” He tugs Loras’ breeches down to his knees, hands spreading his cheeks apart to gaze at all his lover has to offer. “I’m sure I’ll be able to make it up to you, hm?” Loras twists his head back to look at him, a broad grin on his face. “Yes, I know just how to make it up to you, my love.” Renly leans down, licking a fat stripe up his lover’s taint.

“Oh, Gods, Renly,” he moans out in surprise, gripping the pillow in front of him, his knuckles turning white. “Just like that, please, keep going.” His hips press against Renly’s face, a silent beg for more, which his King granted. It wasn’t uncommon for Renly to go down on his lover. Loras melts every time. The feeling of his tongue tracing his rim, dipping slightly inside, making Loras moan even louder than before. Renly rarely needed to stop for air, content with the quick, shallow breaths he got between his own moans. “Renly, My King, please, please give me more!”

When you’re with Sandor, there’s no question of who’s in charge. Sandor is either inside the walls of the Red Keep or out on the road, so sex with him is usually quick, as that’s all he ever has time for. He’s not below pulling you into a closet or an empty chamber for a quickie or a sloppy blowjob.

But when he does find himself with an extended period of free time, he spends it catering to you and your pleasure. He pulls you to sit on his face, his nose buried deep in your sex. Sandor doesn’t stop until his chin is dripping with spit and slick and cum, the fluids rolling down his neck and getting stuck in his beard. His hands sit at your hips, forcing you to keep you still and preventing you from wiggling around.

“Sandor, Sandor, please!” you beg, tears streaming down your cheeks, your hands tangled in his unruly, knot-filled hair. His large, calloused hands envelop your waist, forcing you still. You’re positive there will be bruises blooming there later tonight. “Please, please, I can’t cum anymo—ore!” your voice cracks with arousal, pulling on Sandor’s hair harder.

Sandor came up for air, his lust-filled eyes meeting your own. “You’re done cummin’ when I say so, sweetheart.” He kisses the insides of your thighs before returning to the feast above him. Licking stripes up your sex, each one leaving you trembling and shaking with overstimulation. “Now that I’ve tasted you, how can you expect me to stop so soon?”

taglist: @aestosia, @sandorcentral, @aestheticallywinchester, @th3rah, @broadsdrinkwhisky, @i-smoke-chapstick, @groovy-lady, @its-deputy-caleb

#jaime lannister #jaime lannister x reader #jaime x reader #bronn of the blackwater #bronn x reader #renly baratheon #loras tyrell #renly x loras #renly baratheon x loras tyrell #sandor clegane #the hound #sandor the hound clegane #sandor x reader #x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got characters #x you #x y/n #jaime lannister imagine #sandor clegane imagine #got imagine #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral s/o #character x reader

[supremechancellorrex]

I was mulling over Harry Potter recently and I think one of the reasons it doesn't really appeal that much to me is the worldbuilding is not my cup of tea. In the context we are given wizards and witches are far too powerful to be hiding from Muggle nations. Wizards have the capability to mind control, memory wipe, easily create Muggle-repelling charms over entire locations that confuse and disorientate, as well as have teleportation, portkeys, Floo powder, spatial magic, invisibility, etc. Wizards sharing a planet with Muggles is positively Lovecraftian, like Cthulhu being just next door and closer.

With basic evolutionary patterns, Darwinism, the fact wizards can be disappointingly human and their leanings to fascist elements in their history (so many Anti-Muggle Dark Lords), they'd have wiped Muggles out by the BCE period, or at least not be hiding from them in a way that's the equivalent of the United States hiding from Monaco. It wouldn't take that many wizards, and in the book we are provided no evidence of our Muggle tech being able to withstand something as dynamic, tricky and reality warping as magic.

Power Dynamics

"They can strike anywhere at any time before anyone knows it."

The power dynamic from what we are shown in the books are very wonky and infinitesimally so unequal one begins to wonder if owls hide from slugs. Perhaps if JK Rowling had depowered wizards more by incorporating clearer weakness and faults in the magic system, such as perhaps no apparition (I mean, they already have portkeys, Floo powder, brooms, greedy wizards), more limits to the mind control like showing Muggles can fight it off, made wards and Muggle-repelling charms more fragile (maybe have that they can only be set up in certain geographical places either choking with magic or idk related to runic stuff and ley lines), as well as perhaps indicate that the average shielding charms can't withstand heavy kinetic onslaught from a heavy duty weapon like an AK-47, etc., it might have felt more understandable why the Muggle World and Wizarding World have the relationship they do.

Because, in the canon, we are given no concrete reasons why the wizarding world chooses to hide other than Muggles being a bother, probably asking for cures to cancer or something. In the canon, we are never presented with any Muggle technology that justifies the Wizarding World being under threat if the Statute of Secrecy breaks. We can speculated, but we can speculate either way depending on our mood. You'd think this would be more defined since the conflict centralises on Wizards and Muggles (including their offspring) existing.

Ethical Concerns For Mugs

"With this rep, I guess we deserve to be mindwiped whatever our consent."

Regarding certain implications in the books, there are a number of ethical concerns that don't feel they're given the weight and attention they deserve considering the themes. One is the overuse of memory charms, a mental violation which are hinted to cause brain damage. Considering how much wizards obliviate and violate Muggles' minds as well as cover up their deaths, that's practically fridge horror. Wizards, both good and bad, also often subvert Muggle democracy and freedom of information, and are quite authoritarian and devil-may-care about this. The Harry Potter narrative never really fully tackles this or shows any real critiques or changes in regards to the Statute of Secrecy and Muggles.

Considering the over all message of the books is anti-authoritarianism, anti-fascism, freedom and even saying Muggles aren't 'lesser' beings, these actions contradicts the themes and kind of makes all the wizards look pretty morally bankrupt when they continue to do this even after the 17 Years Later epilogue. In all honesty, this actually impacts the characterisation of our protagonists in a way I don't particularly like, especially since Hermione is Minister For Magic for a period of time.

Muggles & It's Just Fantasy

"Hi boring people we're fighting an entire conflict over, just passing through."

Suspension of disbelief is a tricky thing and so is the way a writer earns it. I think it would be more okay if Harry Potter was a purely separate fantasy world similar to Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, but the author has Muggle society (aka our 'logical' world) develop the exact same way despite sharing the planet with the logic-breaking magical world since the dawn of time and evolution. With all the factors shown in HP, these powerful, reality-warping wizards would fuck up our history and society so much we Muggles would either be dead or coughing out live elephants every time we ate a salad on a regular basis.

Over all, I feel the Muggles need to be more of a threat and have more going for them to explain why the wizards are hiding from them. Otherwise a wizard could teleport around the land of Muggles and just put Muggle-repelling charms on the British Parliament, all the nation's hospitals, police stations, banks, etc. and just watch the chaos. Okay, next stop, the Nuclear power stations and missile silos. By the Muggle world existing it intrinsically forces reality into a fantasy that doesn't want it.

#anti harry potter #harry potter critical #muggles #muggles are written as inferior #read the books but they ain't for me #will we ever learn hermione's parents' first names? #can muggle technology do anything? #can a shielding charm protect against radioactive particles and an atomic blast? #major canon gaps #anti hp #worldbuilding #bad writing #too many unanswered questions about the fucking conflict

[brinabees]

Up in Smoke (Wild and Eager Pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2

3.7k words, dbf!Joel, Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel gets you, his best friend's "innocent" daughter, stoned and has his way with you

Content: 18+ MDNI! Marijuana use, oral (f recieving), titfuck, facial, overuse of pet names

Notes: This one is particularly self-indulgent. Shot out to @toxicanonymity for writing the pervy stoner Joel of my dreams.

You were in Joel’s apartment. Joel’s apartment! You’d never been to his place before, never had a reason to until you’d started... Whatever it is the two of you had started. 

You’d been shocked when Joel had slipped the paper with his address written on it into your hand the day before, when he’d been at your place to talk with your father. It was a refreshing change, having him come to you for once. It seemed, perhaps, as if Joel was no longer avoiding you, as if he’d finally accepted he couldn’t stay away. 

“Come by tomorrow and we’ll have some fun,” he whispered into your ear as he passed you the note when your dad had gone into his room to look for something. 

Getting out of your place proved more difficult than you’d hoped. Your dad thoroughly interrogated you about where you were going, who you were meeting, when you’d be home... For Christ’s sake, you were a grown woman and your father still treated you like you were sixteen. You’d made up a story about going to see a friend from your school days, telling him you’d be home before curfew.

When he’d finally let you go, you’d rushed your way through the QZ, hoping you wouldn’t run into any trouble passing through the FEDRA control point you’d have to pass through on your way to Joel’s. You got by without much fuss, and then you finally found yourself knocking on the door of his apartment. Joel had greeted you without so much as a hello, clearly not in the best mood. Not for long, if you had anything to say about it. You knew how to make him happy, very happy. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“Nothin’ for you to worry about, just a deal that didn’t go quite to plan.”

“What happened?” you continued questioning him, not about to let it go just because he said so.

“Just a buyer who was low on ration cards. Almost had to teach the guy a lesson about swindling me.” You had a feeling Joel’s methods for teaching a bad customer a lesson were a lot more violent than when he’d taught you a lesson with his magnificent cock. “In the end the guy coughed up a pack of joints to cover the rest, but it still means I’m low on cards,” he huffed. 

“Then why’d you accept joints, if you really needed the cards? Are they really worth it?”

“Sure, the high’ll make the time pass as pleasantly as anything.”

“Oh, ok. I’ve never tried it before so I just didn’t know.”

“You ain’t never smoked pot before?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Damn, your Daddy really has you sheltered, doesn’t he?”

You don’t respond, embarrassed by your own inexperience. Joel always had the upper hand on you when it came to experience, both in a sexual sense and in more general terms. You resented how much your dad held you back from trying anything new, from taking any risks. Perhaps that’s why you enjoyed taking risks with Joel so much?

“That’s ok hun’, lucky for you, you know me. Gon’ open your mind up for ya,” he drawled, grinning at you from where he sat on his couch. At least his mood seemed to be lightening already. You went to sit down next to Joel, your body a little stiff with nerves at the new situation. “None of that, sweet girl, don’t get shy on me now,” he said, grabbing your legs and swinging them over his lap and wrapping his arm around your back so you were held close to his chest. His comfort with this kind of casual physicality surprised you, seeing as he’d always been so reluctant to touch you before. His other hand landed on your thigh, bared below the hem of your shorts, and he began stroking up and down your leg. You felt goosebumps break out over your skin at the pleasure his touch induced. “You’ll wanna be nice and relaxed when you try this, baby girl.” 

You settled further against his chest and smiled up at him. Pleased with your newly calm demeanor, Joel reached forward and picked up the pack of joints off the makeshift coffee table. He took one out, returning the rest to the table and picking up a silver lighter. He put the joint between his lips, and you couldn’t stop staring at the way they looked wrapped around it. He flicked the lighter open with his free hand and proceeded to light the joint, and take a long, drawn out hit. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, and you wrinkled your nose at the unfamiliar scent. 

“Your turn, pretty girl,” he said, offering you the joint. 

“I just inhale, right?”

“Yeah. Start slow or else you’ll cough up a lung, and hold in the smoke as long as ya can.”

You started to wonder if this was such a good idea, letting a man with Joel’s reputation get you high, alone in his apartment where he could do whatever he wanted to you. But, to be honest, the thrill of it made your legs clench together in pleasure. 

You grasped the joint between your forefinger and thumb, bringing it to your lips and taking a drag. As soon as the smoke hit your airway, you began coughing violently. Joel rubbed your back as you coughed, chuckling slightly. 

“Don’t... *cough* laugh.. *cough* at me... *cough* asshole!” You got out as best you could while your lungs were on fire. 

When you’d calmed down a bit, Joel said, “Go on, try again, not so much this time and you’ll be fine.” You took another drag, inhaling as slowly as you could. The fire in your lungs was still there, but more manageable as you held in the smoke as long as you could take it. You finally blew out the smoke right into Joel’s face. “There you go, good girl.”

You could feel your head getting a little fuzzy. You weren’t quite sure if you liked it or not, but Joel smiled encouragingly at you, so you took another hit. You felt your body getting heavier and starting to tingle lightly all over. “What’s it supposed to feel like, Joel?”

“It’s gon’ make you feel good baby, trust me. It’ll make you extra sensitive, and it’ll make you happy too. Might start finding everything a lil’ funny.” You could already feel what he meant about the sensitivity; everywhere your body touched his felt like little sparks were zinging through your skin. You brought the joint to your lips and inhaled once more, already able to take a longer drag without coughing. “Hey now, don’t go gettin’ greedy on me,” Joel said as he plucked the joint out of your hand and took a hit himself. You giggled a little at that as he blew the smoke right into your face. Suddenly you couldn’t stop giggling, not at anything in particular. It just felt good to laugh. 

Joel looked down at you where you rested in his lap, a warm look in his eyes. He leaned down and cut off your laughter with a kiss. That shut you up real quick. His warm, soft mouth covered yours, lips sliding against your own. Though it started off gentle, the kiss quickly heated as he opened his mouth and probed the seam of your lips with his tongue. You granted him access and kissed him back, luxuriating in the feel of it. He tasted good, like his usual flavor, but tinged with smoke. You kept kissing for what could have been an hour or mere minutes, your sense for the passage of time completely thrown off by the drug coursing through your system. 

When he finally pulled back, you looked up at him and asked, “What was that for?”

“Nothin’, you’re just cute when you’re stoned.” You grinned like an idiot. He took another puff off the joint before offering it to you once more. You felt so good already, you didn’t see the harm in taking another hit. As soon as the smoke left your lungs, you felt different. Maybe it was his passionate kiss, maybe it was the weed... Whatever it was, you suddenly felt your cunt pulsating between your legs, your nipples growing hard and sensitive to the fabric covering them. 

“Joel, I feel... funny.”

“Funny how, darlin’?” You flushed with embarrassment as you felt yourself getting wet, your pussy clenching around nothing. You squirmed in his lap, squeezing your thighs together seeking some relief. Joel snubbed the joint out in an ashtray and put it down. 

“I just...” You decided you’d rather show him than tell him, so you grabbed his now free hand and guided it beneath the waistband of your shorts, down to where you were dripping with need. He let out a small, hushed, “oh” in understanding.

His fingers barely dragged through your wet seam, but it was already enough to make you jolt in his arms. He drew his fingers back out of your shorts and brought them to his lips, sucking them voraciously. “So tasty, baby girl.” You gazed at him with wide eyes as he tasted you, the need throbbing between your legs only growing more urgent. 

“Joel, please help me,” you begged, voice quaking with desire. 

“Aw, is my poor baby feeling needy? Weed makes you horny, huh?” You nodded your head, blushing. “If only your daddy knew what a desperate slut you are for me. Does my sweet girl wanna be my little stoner slut?” The hand not cradling you to his chest fell to your thigh, stroking sensual circles as it got closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. It felt like his fingers were leaving a path of fire in their wake, your skin so sensitive to every move he made. 

“Yes, Joel I’ll be anything you want me to be, just touch me.”

“I am touching you, baby,” Joel squeezed you tighter towards his chest, smiling with false innocence behind his eyes. 

“Touch me here,” you placed a hand between your legs to indicate your throbbing mound, fingers brushing against his where they still rested on your upper thigh. 

“My desperate girl needs her pussy touched, huh? I think that can be arranged.” As he spoke, he grasped you in his arms and stood, slipping a hand under your legs to support you. He turned around and sat you where he had been on the couch, before kneeling down in front of you. “Gon’ touch that sweet cunt for you, don’t worry.” Just the anticipation of it made you moan.

Joel's hands came to the front of your shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them so he could slide them down your legs. Rather than removing your underwear and getting to work, he reached for your shirt, unbuttoning it from top to bottom, revealing your bare breasts and stomach. Your head was spinning too much to protest his detour from your poor, needy cunt. Joel groaned as he took you in, head lolling back a bit, shirt falling open around you, panties growing visibly damp. “Oh sweet baby, you need it so bad, don’t ya?”

“Yes, god damn it Joel! I need you, please please please.” He got up on his knees and leaned forward, dropping his greedy mouth to one of your nipples, rolling it against his tongue as he sucked it between his lips. One of his hands rose to your other nipple, pinching it hard. You let out a delighted squeak at that. His mouth began pressing hot kisses to the underside of your breast, your sternum, moving down to your stomach. As he reached the waistband of your panties, he paused to smile up at you wickedly, eyes flaring with desire. 

He hooked one finger into the crotch of your underwear, pulling it aside to reveal your damp slit. “Damn baby, she really does need me, doesn’t she? So pretty and wet and throbbing for me. Just from a little weed, you insatiable slut.” His words came out with a sense of reverence, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. 

Finally, finally, he dropped his mouth between your parted thighs and placed a gentle kiss to your hooded clit. Even the tender touch made you jump, your senses were so heightened from the drug. His tongue flicked out of his mouth, lapping at your clit before swiping down between your inner folds and teasing at your pulsing hole. Everywhere his mouth trailed, you felt sparks igniting in your delicate flesh. He paused briefly to hook his fingers under your panties and drag them down your legs. 

As quickly as he’d stopped, he was back again, pushing his tongue inside of you, swirling it around your opening. You let out a high, keening noise, overwhelmed by the sensation. It felt so much more than when he’d touched you before. And that was really saying something, considering how hard he’d made you come in the past. Your hands came to grasp at his hair, gently pushing his head further into you as you ground your hips against his tongue. With every roll of your hips, you felt his nose nudging your clit, sending bursts of pleasure through your whole body. 

“Fuck, Joel, feels so good.” Your head rolled back against the couch as Joel continued his ministrations and you kept grabbing roughly at his hair, trying to get him closer. His mouth dragged its way back up to your clit, latching around it and sucking hard. You shrieked in pleasure, unable to contain yourself. When you closed your eyes, you could see stars bursting in the darkness behind your eyelids. You’d never felt so much in your life. As he continued suckling at your oversensitized clit, he dipped two fingers into your wet hole, pumping them in and out, curling them towards the most delicious spot inside of you as he went. You looked down at him, and the sight of his eyes gazing up at you, boring into yours, pushed you over the edge into oblivion. 

You screamed, really screamed, as you came, hands still clenched in Joel’s messy curls. You’d never felt anything quite like it; the intensity of your orgasm shocked you. He kept licking you through it, fingers still caressing your tight passage. As you started to come back down to earth, you pulled Joel’s head back and away from your oversensitized cunt. Fuck. The sight of Joel with your wetness covering his whole lower face was too much for you. He looked so depraved, so self-satisfied, it made your pussy clench all over again. 

“Fuck. Joel, that was...” Words failed you.

“Good?”

“Great. Like, life altering levels of great.” He grinned at that, rising up and leaning into you, dropping his lips to yours and kissing you hard and slow. The taste of your own juices on his lips made you fucking feral with desire for him all over again. As he pulled back, you glanced down at the impressive bulge in his jeans. You wanted to repay him for the amazing experience he’d just given you. But how?

Joel flopped down next to you on the couch, not seeming all too concerned with his own situation. Maybe it was the lingering effects from the joint you’d smoked, or maybe it was the afterglow of your incredible orgasm, but you wanted so badly to please him, to let him have his way with you. When he made no move to do so, you brought your hand to cup his throbbing bulge, squeezing gently. He glanced sideways at you, saying “You don’t need to worry about me, sweet thing, you just experienced a lot, must be tired.”

“But Joel,” you pouted, “I want to make you feel good too.” He smirked back at you. “What have you been wanting to do to me, Joel? I’ll let you do it, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want, eh? That’s a mighty dangerous offer you’re making there, naughty girl. What if your poor dad knew his sweet little daughter would let his best friend do anything to you? Might outright break him.” 

“Well he doesn’t need to know, now does he. So there’s nothing stopping you from taking full advantage of me in my inebriated state,” you argued, flushing at the thought of what he might do to you. 

“Fuck, baby girl, what don’t I wanna do to you? Wanna fuck you six ways to sunday. Wanna bend you over and spank that sweet ass ‘til it’s raw. Wanna bury myself between those tits and come all over your pretty face.” He grinned wickedly as he saw your eyes widen at that last one. You wanted that too. Wanted all of it, too. So, you wordlessly laid down on your back, drawing the two halves of your shirt apart to reveal your breasts to him, squeezing them together enticingly. “Fuck, you really will let me do anything, won’t ya?” You nodded seriously, making sure he got the message. 

He was quick to climb over you on the couch, straddling your stomach and undoing his jeans. He was quick to pull them down far enough to free his cock from his briefs so he could line the tip up with your cleavage. You continued to press your tits together for him as he began to thrust forward, dick disappearing into your soft mounds. He let out a strangled groan as he moved, picking up the pace immediately, fucking your tits just like he said he would. You looked down, watching as his flared head, beaded with precum, appeared and disappeared from the top of your cleavage. Fuck, it looked so good, you couldn’t help yourself from darting your tongue out to lick at his tip, causing him to moan deeply. He slowed his pace a little, letting you get your mouth around his tip each time he thrust forward. 

“God damn it baby, so fucking hot, so eager for this cock. Gonna paint that pretty face of yours with my cum, make you look like a real whore.” You moaned around his tip at his words. Suddenly, he grasped your hair with one hand and tilted your head back, no longer allowing you to get your mouth on him. The speed of his thrusts picked back up, causing your breasts to bounce and jiggle as he fucked them. 

“Come on Joel. Come all over my face, paint me in your cum.” It was your words that sent him over the edge, coming with a roar as he shot ropes of cum up and onto your face. Some of his spend fell on your lips, and you couldn’t help but lick it up, enjoying his salty taste. Even in his post-orgasmic haze, the move wasn’t lost on Joel.

“Fuck, wild thing, you’re just so hungry for that cum, aren’t ya? Bet you couldn’t wait for me to come all over you. Bet you’d walk home covered in me if I asked, like a good little slut.”

You hated to admit it, but fuck, he was right. You really would do anything he wanted you too.

“Too bad we can’t have your daddy catchin’ wind of what a whore his little girl is,” he said as he stood and walked into the bathroom, fetching a washcloth to clean you up with. You smiled as he returned and gently wiped the cum off your face.

“So,” he began, flopping back down on the couch next to you and pulling your legs over his lap, “what’d you think? Of the weed, I mean.”

“What did I think, Joel? I think it’s pretty obvious I fucking loved it. It made me want you so bad, made me so fucking sensitive.” He grinned back at you, matching the dopey smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face. 

“Fuck, if I’d known it would make you so insatiable, I’d have gotten you stoned ages ago.” You both laughed at that. This was nice. Relaxing with him after your passionate antics. 

“Thank you Joel, really. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much because of my dad’s stupid rules. It’s nice exploring these things with you.”

“You’re welcome baby,” he answered, reaching out a hand to stroke your hair. 

You didn’t know how long you two lingered like that, cuddled together on his couch. It could have been minutes, could have been an hour. All you knew was you never wanted it to end.

“Shit,” Joel said suddenly, breaking you from your revery. “What time is it?” You shrugged your shoulders at him, too blissed out to worry about anything as silly as the time. “Fuck, baby, it’s past 6, we missed curfew. How the hell am I gonna get you back home now?”

That roused you from your pleasurable haze. “Shit, Joel, my dad’s gonna kill me if I don’t come home.”

“I know, baby girl, but we can’t go sneaking around after curfew and risk getting you caught. FEDRA’ll string you up for that.”

You breathed deeply, trying to come up with a plan of action. “Ok. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna stay the night here, and in the morning I’ll tell my dad I was at a friend’s place and lost track of time. He never has to know.” Joel looked wary at your plan, but nodded his head anyways.

“Ok baby, but you better make damn sure your daddy never finds out the truth.” You sat up and looked straight into his eyes.

“Promise, he’ll never know” You leaned forward to press a quick, reassuring kiss to his lips, before getting up and strolling over to his bed. “And you’ll have me all to yourself for the whole night. Maybe this isn’t such a bad thing after all,” you said with a wicked smile gracing your face. 

Joel’s eyes darkened at that. Yeah, this would definitely be worth the chewing out you’d get from your dad about staying out past curfew. You’d make sure of that.

Taglist (in its infancy, if you wanna be added let me know!):

@bluetattoos

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dbf!joel #brinabees fic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut