#It makes me so happy that my fics can touch people in different way

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

As your mother waits in her chair, watching the window, dolled up in her nicest skirt, with her hair pressed and her eyes lined, you follow the directions on the containers of the premade grocer meals. Roast the potatoes, veggies too, and heat up the chicken. It’s very easy, even for you.

You set the table as the oven warms up and put out the nice plates you never touch. You fold napkins under the cutlery like you’ve seen on television and in restaurants, not that you ever go anywhere by the drive thru. It looks nice. Sort of.

You hear the recliner creak and your mother get up. The doorbell rings and you jump. You rush into the entry way as your mother looms in the front archway. You look at her and she sends back and expression with deadly venom. You go to the door and steady yourself, slowly turning the latch.

You pull it open and muster a smile which must appear closer to a cringe, “hello, uh, hi.”

“Hello,” Steve smiles, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. “How are you?”

“Mm, good,” you mumble.

“Great, I brought you ladies some flowers,” he looks between you and your mother as she steps into the hallway. “Something to brighten up the place.”

“Oh my, thank you, Steve,” your mother rushes forward, her left foot thumping a bit heavier than the other, “that is so sweet of you.”

As she snatches the bouquet, a petal flies loose from her tremor. She brings them to her nose, nearly crushing them into her face as her cheek quivers. She’s overexcited and her symptoms more obvious. You step aside as she beckons in your guest.

“You two look nice,” Steve comments as she stops to remove his shoes. His hair is combed tidy back and he wears an oceanic button-up with khakis. He is indiscernible from any other suburban dweller.

“Thank you,” your mother preens and you echo her softly. “Please, come in. I think dinner’s almost ready.”

She glances at you and you nod, “yes, uh, I’ll... go do that.”

You feel Steve watching you. You shrink down and cross your arm over your middle and back away. You turn and shuffle down to the kitchen. You feel how the skirt and sweater let in the breeze around your thighs and reach to tug the hem.

“Grab a vase for the flowers too, honey.”

You let her words trail after you. Honey. The epithet isn’t dripping in her usual poison. You go and open the stove, letting out the aroma of seasoning. It should be almost there.

You search under the sink and find an old mint green vase. You wash it out and fill it with cool water. You bring it out to the dining room and set it on the table. You can hear your mother and Steve in the next room.

She shoves the flowers at you before you can say a word. You take them as she keeps her attention on your guest.

“How’s the house coming along?” She asks in a singsong, “you’ve been doing so much work, I’m surprised you could make the time for us.”

“Of course. Nice to have a few friendly faces around. Not gonna lie though, I do have fridge full of casseroles already.”

You go back to place the stems in the vase. You linger there, safely away from their conversation. You have nothing to add anyway. You’re best to keep an eye on the food.

“Ugh, really? Let me warn you about this place, those bleach blondes aren’t as chipper as they put on,” your mother sneers as you wait for the gravy to simmer.

You don’t think the people around the neighbourhood are bad. They’re just different. Besides, you can’t blame them for their judgment. You might feel the same if you were like them. If you were pretty and perfect and rich.

You hover by the stove and stop the timer before it can buzz. You take out each pan and transfer the contents to thick porcelain serving dishes. You bring them to the table, one at a time.

“Mom, er, Steve?” You peer into the front room, “dinner is ready.”

“Oh, finally, I’m starving,” your mom sighs.

“Smells good. What are we having?” Steve gestures your mom ahead of him, waiting patiently as she moves stiffly. You can see the struggle in the stitch between the brows as how she stops herself from bracing her hip. She’s embarrassed.

“Roast chicken, potatoes, and grilled broccoli,” you explain, watching awkwardly as he pulls out the chair for your mom.

Your mom sits and Steve tucks the chair in. He surprises you as he rounds the table towards you and slides out another chair. You stare at him and your lips part.

“The gravy,” you squeak.

You quickly retreat to the kitchen. You pour the gravy into the spouted dish and balance it by the handle. You carry it carefully through the door and trip on the slightly crooked divider on the floor. The contents slosh and a splatter lands on your white sweater.

You frown and put the grave dish on the table. Steve lingers as he was. You look down at your sweater and he reaches for one of the spare napkins, holding it out to you. You thank him and sit, letting him push the chair in under you. You dab at your sweater but the brown stains remain.

As he sits, just by your mother, she was sure to sit where she would be next to him, you put the crumpled napkin by your plate. Your mother arches her brow at the front of your sweater. You raise your shoulders and give an apologetic look as you slip the cardigan off. You untangle your arms from the fabric and let it droop to the seat.

Steve smiles at you again. Your face is on fire, your chest too. The dress really doesn’t fit right.

“You made all this?” He asks.

“Heh, she bought it and put it in the oven,” your mom tuts. “She’s not the most gifted cook and... and my hands aren’t steady enough for that anymore.”

“Ah, well, food is food,” he shrugs, “regardless, it looks delicious.” He reaches for the plates of chicken and catches the tongs before the can fall, “may I?”

Your mother’s lips curl and she nods, “by all means.”

He puts a piece on her plate, then his own. He sets it back before he grabs the bowl of potatoes and scoops up a heap besides the marinated breast. Finally, he shovels on the broccoli.

You meekly fill your own plate, though you leave it sparse. Just a piece of chicken, a tiny bit of potatoes, and some broccoli. Your stomach is uneasy. You’re not used to company. You poke around with your fork.

“You know, Holly, I finally got all the furniture where I want it but I don’t know,” Steve begins, cutting into his chicken, “I think it needs something... a woman’s touch, maybe?”

“Mmm,” your mother nods and squints.

“I wouldn’t mind picking your brain. Maybe you have some suggestions. I got all these paintings but not really sure where to put them, you know?”

“Right,” she put a sliced potato in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. She swallows and takes her napkin, shakingly blotting around her coloured lips, “well, suppose I could give you a few tips.”

“Really?” He asks, “that would be amazing.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grins, “I could drop by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that will be nice,” he agrees.

You sit quietly, keeping your face blank. You won’t mention how your mother complained when you tried to hang some of your drawings just in your same room. She always said art was a waste of time. No, you’ll say nothing. You’re better off that way.

“And uh, you’re welcome too,” Steve offers across the table and your eyes flick up to meet his, “if you want. Don’t want to leave you out.”

You glance at your mother. Her eyes narrow and you gulp, nearly choking on the potatoes. You take a breath and push your shoulders up, “actually, I was planning on... uh, I’m busy.”

You can’t even come up with a lie. Not a solid one. Just busy. Busy being alone. Busy hiding.

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, how about once I get the barbecue fired up, you both come over for a cookout?”

“Lovely,” your mother chimes. “But tomorrow, I’ll swing by,” she squeezes her fork as it tings against the plate. Her tremor is getting bad. “Be nice to get out.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #the girl next door #drabbles #series #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

[spotsandsocks]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @tizniz @diazsdimples @wikiangela @hippolotamus @bi-buckrights @exhuastedpigeon Thank you lovelies 💖

How many works do you have on ao3?

89 that’s not too shabby is it. Three years of writing this summer.

What's your total ao3 word count?

902,255 that is quite a few words isn’t it.

What fandoms do you write for?

911

Top five fics by kudos:

If You Break It 3.2k Chris overhears a something and gets upset, then he tells Buck who gets upset too.

They say the Truth will set you free 2.3K Buck get a dose of something at work and gets emotional and chatty

Could Have Should Have Would Have 3.2k an unexpected“I love you” but it’s too late. Isn’t it?

Just Ask 1.7K Eddie's having thoughts, he wants to touch. Buck's ok with that, all Eddie has to do is ask.

Looking from the outside 2.4K TWhat happens when everyone you meet thinks you’re married to your perfectly platonic best friend. Most of these are quite old now, I think I’ve written some just as good or even better but fics don’t seem to get as much kudos these days

Do you respond to comments?

yes everyone is really important to me

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

No fics really end angsty round here but this one’s pretty emotional along the way.

Alone With Your Thoughts Buck gets very badly hurt (for plot reasons) and trying hard to stay alive he realises he’s not as alone as he thought.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

See above! All happy can’t choose the happiest.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet- think I’m too small to get noticed maybe!

Do you write smut?

Um yes I certainly do 😏 and quite well I like to think 😉 in fact an example will be popping along in FIF shortly

Craziest crossover:

Nope - now AUs is a different story

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! Can’t imagine anyone noticing my fics enough to steal them

Have you ever had a fic translate

Someone asked to once but who knows!

Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope

All time favourite ship?

Gotta be buddie hasnt it. They just inspire me

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

All of my wips languish right now and are crying out for attention but I fully intend to finish them all. I do!

What are your writing strengths?

Not sure?! I think my more canon style fics are quite consistent with the characters in the show. Think that I’m pretty good with a complicated plot but you tell me?? I like the way I can wrap a bit of humor around the more tense bits too.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Long sentences? An over enthusiasm for the comma? Too long? Poor tagging?

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Maybe controversial but I’m not a huge fan of eddie using Spanish terms of endearment in fics. If he ever does it in show I’ll feel better about it, but it doesn’t actually feel very him, apart from that I don’t mind

First fandom you wrote in?

911

Favourite fic you've written?

How can I chose!! But these old chestnuts I’ve gone on about before but I, very proud of them actually

The Lost and The Found werewolf/shifter au

Good Knight Sweet Prince Prince/knight au

Tied To You From The Start smutty paranormal shenanigans

And obviously dragonriders au… see FIF post shortly

Thanks for tags you lovely lovely people you’re all so so talented I adore you you make my days so much brighter ☀️💜☀️

@rogerzsteven @hoodie-buck @thekristen999 @loserdiaz @weewootruck

@shipperqueen6 @stagefoureddiediaz @underwaterninja13 @steadfastsaturnsrings @daffi-990

@bidisasterevankinard @bekkachaos @elvensorceress @rainbow-nerdss @honestlydarkprincess

@saybiwithme @loveyouanyway @lover-of-mine @watchyourbuck @jesuisici33

@monsterrae1 @eddiebabygirldiaz @shortsighted-owl @fiona-fififi @the-likesofus

#buddie #buddie fic #fic writer game #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fic #911fic

[x-gon-give-it]

🍐 your fics are simply a m a z i n g and I wish I had more spideypool published so I had an excuse to chat with you / run into you online / be mutuals!

I do have more planned though, so... maybe it's possible in the future :)

༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ This is so sweet T.T

I'm crying tears in the club tonight.

You don't need to write Spideypool as an excuse for us to chat or do anything else! Being Spideypool fans is more than enough ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ ) That's fandom community, baby!

Although, I'll never say no to more fanfic.

Please accept this lil Spideypool pic as a token of my love <3

#thank you so much for this #my heart grew three sizes today #I read it several times #It makes me so happy that my fics can touch people in different way #and that they like them at all #I love writing #but ya'll make it so much more fun and rewarding #pls enjoy this pic of the bois #Excuse the hands I didn't have the mental fortitude to draw them properly #im holding his post so close to me heart #asks #anonymous #peter parker #spider-man #spideypool #deadpool #wade wilson #fan art #my art #otp #anon

[elisedonut]

sudden itch to write a rare pair fic thats not Percy related

but like

the last time I did that it ended up becoming my top fic and lead to me deciding that you know... actually I hate that ship just out of spite so i'm not sure how good of an idea it is

maybe if i try like femslash or something super super rare with side characters or something

#using tumblr as a diary again #like is it healthy to feel that way? #no it's probably not but knowing that hasn't made the feeling go away in the months sense i posted it lol #like multiple people have asked for more for it but I'm ngl I'm likely never touching that ship again much less the fic itself #like if i even did decide to it would probably just be Percy and Viktor meeting #the whole reason it even became the ship it did was because I couldn't figure out how to write Viktor #But i don't think that's what people mean when they say they want more of it but maybe id be less annoyed if I did add a Percy/Viktor chapt #I feel like this is what those people mean when they talk about posting art you put your all into vs a doodle #because while i spent a hell of a long time procrastinating writing it i was never like actually happy with it #I just kinda wrote and posted it because I was running out of time and wanted to be done with it #which I think is part of why I find it annoying that it has like double the kudo's of everything else but it makes sense that it does #like it's a garbage fic yeah but its the main character and a fan favorite so ofc its going to get more attention #especially in comparison to the niche nonsense I make that I like more #will I ever delete it No I'm fire believer in not deleting things I've made because ive learned in my life i always regret it so #I just have to get better at writing so I can knock it off its horse >:) #or just keep adding extra chapters to Raspberry Muffin until it surpasses it lol #they only have a difference of 64 at the moment so its not impossible #I know im going to see this again in a few years and be so confused on why it bothered me so much i just know it lol

[dumbseee]

bro code. pt3.

part 1. part 2.

carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

note: sorry for the mistakes this might have, english isn’t my first language and this is the longest fic i’ve ever written :) btw this will be the last part.

liked by landonorris, y/n, charles_leclerc and 1 589 008 others.

carlossainz55: happy birthday to the person who owns my heart. you helped me experience true love, and for that i’ll forever be grateful. your heart is pure and you always want the best for people, i love every little detail about you, like the way you always count to three before jumping into the pool because you were afraid of it when you were younger, or the way you always kiss my forehead before every race because you say it’s my lucky charm. you are my lucky charm, mi cielito. i love you so much y/n, thank you for giving me the chance to show you how you deserved to be loved.

_

y/n: how dare you making me cry on my birthday carlos sainz :( i love you more <3

carlossainz55: @.y/n not possible, i’m bigger than you so i can hold more love for you.

fan1: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

fan2: WHEN IS IT MY DAMN TURN

fan3: god it’s me again…

fan4: im going to kms in front of them to change the trajectory of their lives istg

fan5: GOOOOOOSH CARLOS IS ABISDODLLD

landonorris: damn sainz, even i am tearing up

fan6: just get married already

fan7: after n*ymar, y/n deserved a man like that

liked by marquinhosm5, carolcabrino, neymarpai_ and 3 788 082 others.

neymarjr: my heart is empty without you, you’ve blocked me so i can’t wish you a happy birthday privately but please y/n come back to me. you succeeded, that stunt you pulled with that random driver hurt me, you can stop now. i know that you miss me and want to comeback so please y/n be reasonable. i made a huge mistake and i’ll never forgive myself for what i did to us.

_

comments have been restricted.

your day went terribly, it was your birthday and you were excited for it but your day was completely ruined with neymar’s post. because of course, you saw it the second he posted it. your agent called you, panicked and told you to avoid social media, but it was too late. you were home when you saw it and had a huge panic attack. you didn’t tell carlos and you prayed that he didn’t see the post which was very unlikely since neymar mentioned him. you were more mad at the fact that he disrespected carlos because he didn’t deserve it. even if your relationship was fake to the world, carlos was nothing but a sweetheart to you. you even hoped that the moments you shared with him were true.

carlos texted you to come at his house to have a small party with some friends but you almost had a heart attack when you entered the house and saw all those people screaming "happy birthday!" filming you to have your reaction. carlos had a very different definition of « small party ». you saw him walk towards you with a huge smile, he was breathtaking, wearing nude pants and a blue shirt, letting the top buttons open, showing a bit of his torso. you were completely mesmerised by him, that was the effect carlos had on you.

"surprise cielito." he said after kissing your cheek, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gave you a hug. you melted in his touch and smiled at him. "you didn’t need to do all that, carlos." you said. "nonsense, it’s your birthday after all." you smiled at him and kissed his cheek before some friends of yours came to greet you and wish you a happy birthday. carlos’ purpose was to make your birthday special, especially with what happened earlier with your ex. he knew how this whole situation affected you deeply, even if you tried to hide it from him, carlos saw right through you. he could tell if you were upset just by looking at your face.

"umm, carlos?" lando’s voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked at his friend but frowned when he saw the look on his face. "look who showed up." lando whispered as if the whole room didn’t see who came uninvited. you gotta be kidding me. carlos turned around to see where you were and his heart tightened when he saw the look on your face, pure sadness. anger took over him immediately, that son of a bitch made you sad on your special day. carlos wasn’t going to let that slide. the spaniard quickly made his way to neymar who was asking people about where you were. the driver roughly turned the brazilian around so he could face him. neymar was about to say something to the person who just interrupted him but he only rolled his eyes when he saw carlos.

"what do you want sainz? where is my girl?" he asked, looking over carlos’ shoulder. neymar looked very drunk. carlos could feel anger buildup inside of him. how dare he? "you’re in my house so, i’ll ask you once and once only, leave before i make you leave." carlos said through gritted teeth. neymar scoffed before taking a step closer to the spaniard, being almost forehead against forehead. "are you threatening me, hijo da puta?" carlos was about to respond when charles and lando quickly appeared to separate the two of them. "okay, it’s enough now boys." charles said trying to lighten the mood. "move! i’m not done with him!" neymar pushed charles away which made carlos even more mad. "listen here, little boy. first you steal my woman and then you disrespect me in front of all these people. you think i’ll let that slide, coño?" the brazilian added while pushing carlos with his finger. at this point there was nothing charles or lando could do to stop them. "let me clarify one thing, junior, she was never yours to begin with. and trust that now that she has tasted true love, she’s never leaving." carlos said with a smile, which made neymar go crazy. the footballer grabbed carlos’ collar. "you made her cry for weeks, you destroyed her completely, and now you dare to show your face and claiming her as your woman? how dare you call yourself a man and make the woman you’re supposed to love and cherish, cry?" the spaniard said before getting closer to neymar’s ear. "if you dare to even whisper her name in your sleep, i’ll come for you, neymar da silva santos junior."

neymar finally let go of carlos before leaving quickly. the driver was now concerned about where you were hiding. as he was looking at the crowd of people, who were still talking about what just happened, lando approached his friend. "she’s with luisa and charlotte, they’re on the balcony." carlos nodded before patting his friend’s shoulder as a thank you. he quickly made it to his balcony where the girls were talking, luisa noticed him and patted charlotte’s shoulder to tell her that they needed to go. carlos sent them a thankful smile before walking towards you. your back was facing him and you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice his presence. he gently hugged you from behind which made you jump before you recognised his fragrance. "carlos." you simply said. "yes, cielito, are you okay?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder. you sighed before looking up at the moon, shining on the both of you. "i guess? is he gone?" you asked with a small voice, feeling the tears threatening to fall again. "yes, for real this time." you frowned before turning around to face carlos.

you were still extremely close as his hands were on your waist and your hands on his chest. he looked ethereal under the moonlight. "carlos, what am i to you?" you finally asked the question you were scared to even ask yourself. carlos smiled before moving his face closer to you. "you’re the love of my life." and then he kissed your lips. he kissed you like you’ve always dreamed to be kissed. with love, respect and passion. carlos was the first one to break the kiss, he looked at you and replaced a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "none of this was fake to me, every word, every attention, everything was real to me."

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, charlottesiine and 1 789 007 others.

y/n: thank you everyone for all the birthdays wishes! and thanks to my amazing boyfriend for throwing this party for me. i love you to the moon and back, handsome and i thank god everyday for giving me the chance to be your girlfriend.

_

comments have been disabled.

_

taglist: @mjaudrey @champomiel @lorarri @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ndunad @shrimpyshrimp @gaviypedrisbride @little-angel-07 @ironmaiden1313 @leclerc16s @xjval @elijahslover @hearts4esmee @love4lando

thanks for the support 🤍🥹

#f1 au #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #f1 x you #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x oc #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #formula one #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x oc #formula 1

[2018-01-20]

hiii i heard you wanted some requests 👀 and I'm super glad you're back !! I missed you a lot lot <3

My head has been so full of post-dinner date Gojo ideas. The domesticity of getting unready with him and cuddling in bed right afterward. It's just so simple but so cute. oh oh and doing nighttime skincare with him :( having him sit down and rubbing in the different creams into his skin and the way he would lead into your hands. ahhh he has me so weak (_ _)

Feel free to use any of these ideas to write or take inspo from if you want! Gojo is such a cutie :3

Anyways, have a lovely day, and remember to take care of yourself!!

pairing. gojo satoru × gn!reader

content. bunch of fluff + comfort, reader has smaller hands than gojo (in case that bothers anyone!!) & sits on his lap, sappy reader + gojo!! read slowly for maximum enjoyment <3

sticky-note. nonnie u are so goated for this idea, i think this might be my fav gojo fic so far 😭 I MISSED U MORE!! hope u have a wonderful day and thank u for sending this in 🫶

satoru thinks your hands are pretty.

they’re smaller than his—of course they are. he can’t think of a single person who has bigger hands than him. he enjoys it, though. your touch is stimulating in a way; fingertips completely gentle as you rub the latest lotion that you bought onto his face.

“can’t keep your hands off of me, huh?” he leans back and grins, but you can’t even be annoyed by his teasing. there's a shine in his eyes that you haven’t seen a very long time—and you are more than happy to see it now.

“mhm,” you hum, softly kneading his cheeks like you would with a baby. his blindfold is off and his demeanor seems so relaxed, his face basking into your soothing touch. it’s hard to hold back your own smile. “you just have that type of charming effect, y’know?”

“you’re being awfully nice today,” he remarks suspiciously, peeking an eye open to look closely at you. you pinch his cheek in return. “what’s the occasion baby?”

you roll your eyes, pulling back your hand for a moment to scoop up a bit more lotion. you swipe it lightly onto his forehead. “what? i can’t give you attention? can’t i spoil my boyfriend for once?”

the tips of his ears redden at your words, making you giggle at the rare but pleasant sight. “....i mean, you can, but—”

“shh,” you shush him. he closes his mouth instantly. “no more talking! this is the most important part because i have to smooth out all the wrinkles in your forehead.”

he lets out a big gasp, being playfully offended—narrowing his eyes with an indignant look. the smile you didn't even know you were sporting grows wider at how cute he is. you wouldn't say it that out loud though, of course.

it is so beautifully quiet and peaceful. you can’t think of the last time you spent time with satoru like this: seated on the living room floor of his apartment as you slap your whole skincare routine onto his face. his back is against the couch with his legs sprawled out, but not too sprawled out so you are more than comfortable on his lap. it’s nighttime so the curtains are draped over the window, but you love the warm, dim lighting of his living room. gojo satoru is gorgeous, but is especially pretty in this lighting; with his head comfortably tilted back and eyes closed, but not forcefully or harshly shut as if he’s in pain.

for the longest time, you've been used to seeing satoru in pain. not in a physical way—but in an emotional and mental way that tugs at your heart strings just seeing him in that state. you know the burden that comes with being the strongest: there will always be a significant power divide between you and the people you love, which will never not be difficult for the other party to ignore. it also doesn’t help that he is so happy-go-lucky all the time, despite the jujutsu sorcerer duties that keeps piling rocks onto his shoulders.

but now in this moment, he is all yours. he isn’t the strongest, nor is he Gojo Satoru. he is just yours—just the lover boy who melts into your open arms whenever given the chance. just a boy who had to give up being a boy so he could be a man for others to look up to him. just someone you would want to depend on you, the same way you lovingly depend on him.

“i love you,” you suddenly whisper, in the midst of just simply applying lotion onto his skin. your slow, comforting movements make him want to fall asleep, but your words make him wide awake.

“out of the blue?” his head shoots up, eyes wide and visible despite being behind his messy bangs. he sits up and stares at you, the same glimmer back in his eyes. “i mean, i’m not complaining—”

you interrupt with a huff, “i say it everyday, jerk.” you place your hands on his chest to wipe away any of the lotion moisture left on your palms. he doesn’t bat a single eye. “what do you mean ‘out of the blue’?”

“i know, but...”

your jaw drops a bit. you actually cannot believe your eyes as satoru tilts his head a bit to the side, shyly averting his eyes as you see a tint of scarlet on his cheeks. “it just feels so intimate right now, so...”

good lord. you want to baby him so bad. you want to shrink him and keep him in your pocket and always protect him wherever you go.

“you’re too cute for my well-being,” you breathe, going back on your earlier words. “you know i always mean it when i say i love you, ‘toru.”

“stop,” he whines. he raises an arm to cover his face, eyes still unable to look at yours. “don’t compliment me. i don’t think i’ll be able to handle it right now.”

you can’t help but laugh, squeaking in surprise when satoru pokes at your sides with a little pout. you want to tease him, you think. you might as well with a smile permanently on your face now.

these are the type of moments you crave: moments when satoru tears down his walls and lets himself act like he’s a little boy all over again in front of you. it’s not like he necessarily had walls up with you in the first place, but being a jujutsu sorcerer has always meant protecting and guarding yourself at all times no matter the cost.

but now, you have him. and he has you in his arms, the one that sneak around your waist and warmly wrap around you to keep you close to his chest. it's cuddly but protective, both of your laughs drowning out any other background sounds.

and you are more than willing to protect him yourself.

#no post tmrw bc its my bday 🥳😞 (thoughts on a gojo fic where u celebrate ur bday w him. I NEED HIM SO BA) #he gets u a three tier cake as if its a wedding #and uses icing to draw himself all over it i hate him #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo drabble #A GR HHHHHH #I CAT #XANT #I CANT ANYMORE #S2 BROEJFJJA #the manga prepared me but s2 gojo has me in a chokehold #i neednsomeone to slap me out of this gojo kissery

[angelltheninth]

stumbled upon your most recent orc x human fic and i loved it sm ! would it be possible for you to do a follow up where larek decides it's time to start that family he promised pls?

I'm so happy you like my original writing! Here's the follow up!

Pairing: Warlord!Orc (Larek) x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, size difference, size kink, rough sex, mating press, creampie

Word count: 0.6k

A/N: I never thought so many people would like my monster smut but it means a lot that you all do.

There was something about Larek that was different tonight, he was just as eager to get inside you, just as eager to suck on your nipples, to touch your clit and make you open up for his huge cock but every time he saw his cum spill out there was a deep, threatening growl that came after as opposed to the cocky attitude he usually displayed.

"Something wrong, my Lord? You seem out of sorts." You tried to disguise your own doubt and fear that maybe he's finally gotten bored of you. No surely not, you were his favorite human, he regarded you as his mate, he would never just throw you away without explanation.

Larek groaned as his cock disappeared in and out of you. Usually he loves seeing you on top of him, practically doing squats on his dick and shaking your boobs into his face and your ass against his big, meaty hands. But this position... it only made his cum spill out more and end up on the sheets below. "I'm sorry, pet. I didn't mean to worry you or nothing." He nuzzled his tusks to your front, the sharp tooth cold against your nipple. "I..."

It was rare to see the warlord falter and stumble on his words like this, but endearing all the same. You cupped his jaw and pulled him up for a kiss, encouraging him to go on.

"I want to make you pregnant tonight. Not just saying it, I feel the urge, the need to breed you. I want to give you that family we're been talking about." Now that things are relatively calm in the area, that Larek and his clan have established themselves here and warded off any potential threats it made sense that their orc breeding instincts would take over, "You probably noticed, some of the women here have been getting pregnant a lot more lately. It's not for being careless I can assure you of that much."

You never thought he would be careless with you, even in the heights of his desires, his mind taken over by lust he was careful not to hurt you in a way you didn't ask for. "How many?" You asked, barely holding back your tears of happiness. Larek backed up looking at you with wide eyes, like he couldn't believe his ears, "Answer me, my Lord," You tightened your walls against him, feeling his cock pulse and hearing him hiss, "how many babies to you plan to put inside your woman?"

Larek let out a growl as he surged forward, pinning you onto your back and hoisting your legs over his shoulders, his cock fully inside you once more, "As many as your womb can take, my beloved."

You could already see it in your head, little half-human, half-orc kiddos running around, climbing all over Larek to be carried, cuddling with you in bed after you read them a story, "Lets test it then."

He growls and let out a roar as his hips snapped against yours, "Here, here, here, here! I'll give you as many as you want! You could already feel your walls squeezing his heavy balls dry as they slapped into you, "Get pregnant fast. Get pregnant and give me many healthy sons and daughters." It was a flood of warm cum that you felt next, rushing into your womb, his cock snapping into place inside you to keep as much of his seen in as he can, "So beautiful, you will be so beautiful when you're heavy with my offspring." Larek cupped the side of your head and pressed his lips against yours, taking all of your soft hums and moans and pleas to keep going until you start showing.

#monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monsterfucking #monster lover #orc x reader #monster imagine #monster x human #monster x girl #monster smut #orc smut #monster fic #terato

[laenordeservedbetter]

For Sam x reader.

Ghostface is back and had followed the Carpenters, the twins, and Amber's older sister, Reader, to New York. No one trusting her because of the fact that her little sister was Ghostface, Reader is in disbelief, and Sam breaks up with her on the spot. Fast forward to the end, where Ghostface is dead, everyone's being treated by paramedics, Reader is seen walking away from the scene alone. Kirby asks where she is, Sam then sees her walking away, holding her broken arm to her body, and runs after her and apologies for not trusting and believing her. (Reader saying it's too late for sam to apologize. She then walks away from her friends, from Sam.)

You're Somebody Else

Words: 1.4k

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Freeman!Reader

Synopsis: You were told that the biggest betrayal comes from the people you care about the most, but never did you expect it to hurt so much.

Warnings: scream vi spoilers, violence, spitting, cussing, angst, no happy ending. lmk if I missed any.

A/N: I wrote this at a coffee shop. I'm still here rn, so we'll see how many fics I can post before I go home. (This will probably be the only one)

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

You stood before Amber’s Ghostface outfit, reaching out to touch the fabric before you remembered where you were -- who you’re with. The glares given to you by the rest of the group burned at the back of your skull. You can practically sense their judgments. Since the first Ghostface attack in New York, they pointed their fingers at you. You understood, given what you've all been through. Can't be too careful. You didn’t care that you saw the contempt on your own girlfriend’s face. You stayed by her side, understanding where she was coming from.

Being related to a previous Ghostface was something you and Sam had in common. When you are linked to a person with that track record, it sticks with you even if you are different from them. Trust becomes hard to give. And out of everyone, you figured your girlfriend is the one who understood the most about what it’s like. However, it looks like the sentiment isn’t shared.

She approaches you, getting the courage to ask, “Can we talk?”

You can tell what’s about to happen before Sam can utter what she wants to say to you.

Nothing good ever comes out of conversations like these.

“I’m sorry.” Sam stares, her gaze cold, nothing like the Sam you fell in love with. With each deafening step she takes away from you, your heart shatters just a little bit more. You are wounded by the way she’s looking at you. Any wound or injury you might sustain in the next few minutes will not compare to the poison laced in the invisible knife held against your throat by the woman you love. “I can’t take any more chances. I can’t trust you. We’re done.”

You scoff, glancing towards the group in hopes that they would back up your claim. “Sam, you know me. I would never hurt you or Tara or. . . Anika.”

Mindy flinches at the mention of her girlfriend’s name. Her stare hardens. “You have no right to say her name. We know you did it. You killed her.”

“Mindy…” Your voice breaks as your throat feels like it’s closing up. You can’t do anything to convince them, letting the stream of tears flow from your eyes. No one came to your rescue to prove your innocence. None of them trusted you. You felt pathetic, humiliated, embarrassed. Your eyes settle on Sam again. “Really? After everything we’ve been through together, you-”

Sam glowers. “It’s over, Y/n. Please, stay away from us.”

“Fuck you.” You turn your back, the hurt in your tone clear as day. “I don’t know you at all.”

“Maybe we didn’t know each other as well as we thought.”

It was one thing for you to walk away and another knowing that Sam would not be going after you.

-

“It was easy luring you away from the group. Guess we really can’t choose our family, huh?” Ghostface makes a tsk sound, the voice changer turned off.

He takes a step forward, but you stay positioned adjacent to the wall. That voice…

“Ethan?”

Ethan removes his mask, holding the voice changer to his lips, “Didn’t expect that?”

Of course it was him. Little by little, the pieces fall into place. The apartment attack -- that was probably Ethan. He wasn’t with the group. Not even the skeptic Mindy questioned his whereabouts. Your tears haven’t dried yet and you were as sure as hell they weren’t going to stop now. You bring your hands together in a slow clap. “Oh, wow, that’s… Fucking brilliant, actually.” Clutching your stomach, you let out what sounded like a painful cackle. “This is the part where I die.” You say. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Oh no, no, no. See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Ethan smirks, gripping your left arm, applying pressure to where you had been previously injured a couple nights prior. “You are our scapegoat. I must give credit to Mindy for the idea. You have the perfect motive to be Ghostface! It was just gonna be Sam, but… The press would go crazier if it was a Bonnie & Clyde situation. Not that I care about that sorta stuff. It just works.”

You collect the saliva from your mouth, spitting in his eye. “Jokes on you ‘cause we’re not together anymore.”

“But they wouldn’t know that because by the time you get ‘caught’, all of your friends will be dead and you would look like the asshole trying to save yourself if you attempt to say the truth.”

Ethan places his free hand on your shoulder, pulling your arm with more force than necessary to guarantee that it would break. You stand there, biting your lip in order to hide the pain. If I screamed, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, you said to yourself bitterly. There’s not a single person who’d give me the benefit of the doubt. In fact, they’d make me suffer worse, believing that Ethan did the right thing. Who knows what creative scenarios he came up with already.

-

The paramedics found you slumped down beside a row of chairs after Sam and the rest of the group defeated the three Ghostfaces. They wondered why you weren’t with the others, but with a quick word from Kirby, they left you alone, guiding you outside to treat your broken arm. One of the paramedics - Theo (that’s what you heard Kirby call him) asked if you wanted a ride to the hospital. You declined, insisting that you could get there yourself without anyone’s help.

You spare Sam a glance, observing her interact with Mindy, Chad, and Tara. Core Four. Good for them. Although you were glad that they are are still extant, you can’t stop the rancor that you feel as you stare at the four. You want nothing more than for this day to be over, move to someplace else, maybe change your name. Anywhere is better than here. It’s become clear to you how unwanted you are in New York. A change of scenery might do you good.

Kirby (the only person who hasn’t treated you like scum) situates herself in front of Sam, “Hey, where’s Y/n?”

Sam only notices your absence when Kirby pointed it out. “Shit. I…” She scans the area in search of your familiar eyes, guilt eating at her knowing that she accused you of being a killer. Because of that, you got hurt. She’d never forgive herself for it. “I'll be right back.”

The blonde detective nods in understanding. “I’ll stay with Tara.”

“Thank you.”

You were on your way to the hospital when a hand grasps your injured arm. Recoiling from the touch, you look back to curse the one responsible for hurting your limb only to meet Sam’s pleading gaze. “What do you want, Samantha?”

“Y/n, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for being careless, for not trusting or believing you. If I had, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” Sam touches your good shoulder this time, expressing her genuine apology.

But no matter how many ‘I’m sorry’s’ she will direct at you, it won’t take away what’s been done. “It’s too late, Sam.”

“What? No. We can try again.” She pleads desperately.

You couldn’t bite back the words the words that are on the tip of your tongue, feeling the last ounce of self control fray away. “Try again? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? You broke up with me because you didn’t trust me. You didn’t even try to understand my side!” The news reporters turned their heads at your outburst. They point their cameras to you, but you don’t make an effort to cut off your ebullition short. “All of you pointed your hands at me because what? I’m the sister of a killer?! If we’re basing our suspicions of all the Ghostface’s relatives, you should’ve been on the top of the list. The only thing I asked was for you to stand by me and you failed. So, no, we can’t try again. We’ll only end up worse than where we left off.” You finish, walking away from everything (not for the first time). “I’ll get my things out of your apartment tonight. After that, you won’t have to see me again.”

Sam stays still while you leave, clutching your arm in the process. That limb will heal, but the words that Sam has spoken won’t. There will remain a constant reminder of how you were betrayed by those you would give everything for.

So much for trust.

#samantha carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #scream 6 #scream #mindy meeks martin #anika kayoko #ethan landry

[cluelylikesporn]

soft dom mike hcs !!

contains: gn!reader, no use of y/n, nsfw, aftercare.

word count: 331

authors note: thank you for all the reposts and likes on my previous fic! it makes me so happy to see so many people like my writing 😭

and if you enjoy this PLEASEE send me requests. ill legit do anything (im probs gonna burn out in a week LMFAO)

soft dom mike who holds your hand as he slowly eases into you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. "thats it, is that okay? fuck.. youre so soft.."

soft dom mike who softly strokes your legs as you lean onto the bed by your back, grabbing the soft skin as he quickens the pace, whimpering as he eases all the way into you and touching just the right spot. "o-oh god... so fucking tight.."

soft dom mike who loves when you grab his hair as he gives you head. if you squeeze his head between your legs when the pleasure is too much, he'll forcefully move them. "your almost done, just relax.." he'd say through your moans and wet noises.

soft dom mike who is a completely different person when he gets into the rhythm of fucking you. "nobody else could fuck you like this, right? such a slut for me, huh? you can take a bit more, i know you can." he says as you are cock drunk under him, too busy comprehending the things you're feeling to even know what he says. he'd grab your face, and make you repeat what he said. "did you hear me, sweets? say it back to me, you're doing great.."

soft dom mike who holds your hand as he cums deep inside you, panting heavily. "f-fuck... im gon- gonna cum..." he'd whimper softly as he climaxes.

soft dom mike who kisses your forehead and strokes your head as he pulls out of you. "so good for me, yeah? proud of you.." he'd mumble as he kisses your cheek.

soft dom mike who helps you in the shower as your legs shake and try to stand up-right. "i gotcha, dont worry baby.." he says as his arm wraps around your back and holds onto your waist.

soft dom mike who sleeps with you in his arms, the best sleep he's gotten in a long time. peace washes over him as he falls to sleep.

#fnaf mike #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #fnaf smut #fnaf fanfic #micheal schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x you #gn reader #mike schmidt x gn reader #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #smut #lemon #aftercare

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 8.

Summary: The fallout of arguing with Oliver, not fighting with Farleigh, Felix hooks up with your not-girlfriend, and so you provide comfort to his sort-of-ex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: someone makes a move on the reader while they're very very drunk and the reader is far more sober, but it doesn't go past kissing, if that's something you're possibly concerned about.

A/N: 5424 words. welcome back. this one goes many different places in the span of one night. the farleigh of it all. the annabel of it all. im worried this one might feel OOC so id really like to hear if there's anywhere i could improve on my characterisation, what worked, what didn't?? as always unedited, and as we're nearing the end of the term (in the fic) we only have a few chapters left at oxford before we get to go to saltburn!! LOVE YOU ENJOY!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Didn't have to do that," Felix sighed from his desk, head bent low over his textbook. It's the first thing he'd said since Oliver left. You, still on his bed, picking through a textbook for a class you both share, found half-shoved under his bed, look up.

"Do what?"

"That thing with Michael What's-His-Name's file," it almost sounds like guilt in his voice, but he still isn't listening to you, "you could get in real trouble for having that."

In swift movements he stands, and you catch the sight of his scowl despite how he doesn't turn it upon you. Once again he's sitting on the floor, back to the foot of the bed, lighting up another cigarette, legs crossed in front of him.

"I'll put it back tomorrow." You're not used to Felix disapproving of you, it's a kind of discomfort you want to shake as quickly as you're able to. After a moment you add, "I know it's not really Ollie's fault, I shouldn't have -"

"I don't want to talk about Ollie right now." He's focused on balancing his ash tray on his knee, watching it with such intensity it's as if he's trying to define life's secrets from it.

"Should I go?" Murmured, almost like you're afraid of anyone hearing it, even Felix. It hangs, golden in the hazy heat of the afternoon.

"'m not the boss of you," Felix mumbles softly, head low, again his words coloured almost with guilt. You know he will never shake the quiet shame he sometimes is hit with when he remembers the way people often perceive the relationship you two share; too close, too loyal, too imbalanced.

But you've never cared; you will never treat him differently, never want for anything but his happiness, never beat the canine allegations. One day you hope you'll convince him that's okay.

So instead of leaving, you close the textbook and stretch yourself out across his bed, laying the on your belly with your head resting at the foot, by his. Your hand rests on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

Felix breathes out a lung full of smoke. He doesn't look at you. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. The moment is a quiet one, tension thick and choking and full of things neither of you can talk about.

It's the strangest afternoon you share in a long while, one full of silence and the slow, mind numbing sound of pages being turned and the scratch of pen against paper.

"I'm gonna get ready to go out tonight," you say softly, finally breaking the silence when the courtyard outside is every shade of gold and orange in the sunset. Felix just hums in acknowledgement from his desk, "Fi?"

"Yeah," he huffs, dismissively, still looking at his notes. You've got the file in one hand, doing up the buttons of the shirt you'd forgone in the afternoon heat of his dorm room, but had to wear back to your own.

"You want me to text Oli?" You watch him grow tense at the name alone.

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know," he mumbles, almost forcibly nonchalant, despite the hard line of his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago. Then, as if to clear the moment, he sits up straighter, turning to you in his desk chair with a look of determination in his eyes, "India still into me do you think?"

"I know India's still into you," you can't help but snort, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Would you be totally cut up if I -" he doesn't even need to finish before you're rolling your eyes.

"She'd be thrilled," but your smile softens a little, even as you shake your head with exasperation, "she's all yours, Fi."

Perhaps it's the fondness with which you acquiesces to his arguably selfish request that makes him take in the full exchange that had just passed. Felix takes a moment, tension and expression dropping as he turns pensive for a moment, unable to look you in the eyes. After a beat, you turn to the door, fully intending on letting the moment pass, but you hear Felix stand.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches you, still wearing that rather grim, thoughtful expression, but he wraps you up in a hug. He holds you as close as he's able, and after a beat of surprise, you gently drop the file to wrap your arms around him in return.

I love you. I'm sorry. All the tension from the afternoon drains away in this hug, in him pressed against you, leaning into you, breathing deep and even and steady. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you give him a brief kiss against his warm, golden skin, and hope he can feel your smile too.

The hug breaks, but still he holds your face for a long moment. He's smiling again. I love you. Thank you. He kisses your cheek quickly.

"I'll catch you at the King's Arms, yeah?"

"'course, Fi," you assure him with a warm smile of your own.

Back in your own dorm, that single moment of warmth unfortunately can't overwrite the entire afternoon of sickly tension. Looking at Oliver's name in your contacts, you frown. You should text him, invite him, Felix told him he would -

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know."

You don't text Oliver.

Annabel also isn't at the King's Arms that night. Of course you know why, the answer sits across from you with his arm around your not-girlfriend, but part of you still kind of feels bad for if the sweet redhead ever finds out.

"What are you sulking about?" Farleigh's smug voice in your ear, Farleigh's arm around your shoulder, Farleigh's cigarettes you keep stealing, Farleigh who you've tucked yourself up against for the night.

"'m not," you try insisting, frowning at the lighter that's clearly out of fluid and refusing to relight your cigarette. He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"You sure, Peter Pan? Where's your shadow?"

"You don't give a shit about Oliver," you snap a little too quickly, both frustrated by the situation you're trying to ignore, and the useless lighter, but Farleigh reads right through it and practically cackles. Still, he wraps his other arm around you and squeezes you against his side with glee, even as you try to protest.

"Ooh~" Farleigh teases, poking your side with a wide, fond smile, "trouble in pauper's paradise?"

"That's fucking mean," you rib him none too gently, but he actually snorts with laughter. The lighter still won't bloody well start.

"I feel like you're fucking edging me with that lighter, fuck," Benji, from Farleigh's other side, smacks your lighter out of your hands and holds out his perfectly working one.

"Thank you, Benny, that was pissing me off," Farleigh says with a satisfied smile, his laughter having died down. You, finally take a draught on your cigarette, grateful for the warmth, and the nicotine as it hits.

"Could kiss you, Benj," you finally let yourself smile, "someone remind me to get a new lighter," you add, leaning across Farleigh without hesitation to plant a kiss squarely on Benji's lips after he'd wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, teasingly at you at your comment.

"We'd fascinate psychologists," Farleigh chuckled, but his voice is warm and fond, and Benji turns back to his conversation with Alicia and Jake on his other side once the moment had passed.

"Probably," comes out distracted, however as your teasing mood drops and you look to your phone. Should I have called Oliver? But when you look up, across the table, you see warmth and fondness in the way Felix looks at India, enraptured by whatever story she's telling. With one arm around her shoulders, he lets her distractedly play with his other hand, leaning into her, all attention on her. Making her feel like the centre of the universe, the way only Felix knows how to do. India glows in a way you've never seen before, lighting up under his direct affection, beautiful and elated, maybe even a little bit flustered.

There's not even a hint of jealousy at the sight of them. All you know is how much you love your friends, and how happy and beautiful they look together in this moment. There is contentment, satisfaction, like a job well done... Farleigh might have a point about the psychologists.

Speaking of - Farleigh grabs your chin and tilts your face to look at him. Immediately you smack his hand away.

"Stop that! What is that? What are you doing?" You squawk at him immediately. Again, he grabs your chin, frowning, intent upon gazing intensely into your eyes. This time you let him.

"I'm figuring out what this is," he mutters like he's deep in thought. You let your gaze roam for a moment, hoping he gets whatever this is out of his system. You wiggle your chin in his grip, and it's enough to prompt more of an explanation, "if you're not sulking, then I don't know this -" rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away.

"Fuck man, I'm not sulking," you insist, remembering your cigarette and taking another puff, glad it hadn't gone out.

"You've been weird lately; angry - ranting," Farleigh made sure to stick to your cover story despite having seen through it the minute you'd tried out the other week, "you and Felix have had some weird vibes," he takes the cigarette from you, and you settle yourself against him further.

"Fi and I always have weird vibes," you pointed out with a little smirk, keeping your voice as low as he was, glad he didn't feel the need to publicise this discussion too broadly. Farleigh snorted, but shook his head.

"You, sure," Farleigh conceded, handing back the cigarette, "but," he leans in, leans into your with a knowing, dangerously sharp smile, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, "Felix has been weird about you," his voice slides along the word weird as his hand slides up your thigh, as if to prove a point, before sitting back. Giving you a moment to recover, Farleigh sits back up like nothing happened, letting go of your thigh and taking a drink. He gives you a squeeze, arm still around your shoulders, "or hadn't you noticed?" Back at regular conversation levels like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Across the circle of your friend group, Felix's gaze momentarily flicks to you as India's in the middle of some kind of enthusiastically rambling. Gaze briefly passing to Farleigh, he then looks back and raises an amused eyebrow in silent question. The smile you give him is instinctive and warm, a silent answer. He mirrors the smile for the briefest moment before his attention returns to India.

Of course you'd noticed the change.

"Of course I've noticed." Your gaze dips; you become fascinated with your drink for the moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever comment you knew Farleigh had coming.

"Surprised he hadn't put you on a leash."

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He retaliates by flicking you repeatedly in the forehead. Its a blurry mess of frustration and elbows after that, pulling hair and wet fingers in ears and trying to sink nails into each other's soft sides, all squabbling and cursing and insults not made for polite society.

"- you put your fingers near my mouth I'll bite them off!" You holler even when he's got his arm around your neck in a kind of choke hold, which is around the time the two of you are pulled away from each other.

The rest of the table is staring at you both, while you and Farleigh straighten yourselves up, a little flustered at the many incredulous stares you were getting.

"The fuck was that about?" Felix, of course, is the one to voice the question the others all had. You look to Farleigh, his expression mirroring yours; no malice, no frustration, like nothing had happened.

"Bit of horseplay," you shrugged easily, meeting Felix's eyes, tone bright and chipper. He looked unconvinced.

"Just two dudes being guys," Farleigh's tone was light and breezy as he settled back into the booth, and you alongside him, letting him once more sling an arm around your shoulders.

"Guys bein' pals," you agreed with a nod. Farleigh pats your head for emphasis. The group thankfully decides that they've had enough of the weird moment to go back to their own conversations. Felix was the last to focus back on the conversation he'd been having with India and Alicia, narrowing his eyes as he looked between you and Farleigh.

Before turning his attention entirely away, his gaze fixes on you. There, in the very slight tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens, you see his concern for you. You lean your head back on Farleigh's shoulder and let yourself relax, let yourself give him a genuine, reassuring smile. It's enough.

Farleigh clears his throat.

"It was either that or tell him you said that," you explained under your breath, to which Farleigh nodded in understanding, hand running up and down your shoulder idly as he reached across the table for the communal fries, bringing the basket closer to you both.

"And you don't want to tell him because you know I'm right," Farleigh is back to smug, but at least this time you can join him in his amusement.

"No, but I'm humouring you because I'd like to talk about how good I'd look in a collar," picking up a chip, you eat it with a grin as Farleigh rolls his eyes. After a moment, however, he comes back with this contemplative look, still amused, but eyes narrowed and searching like they had been earlier. You eat another chip and tell him to put his eyeballs back in his head, "seriously, quit looking at me like that, Farleigh -"

"He has been weird-weird," Farleigh says like he's agreeing, though you tell him you have no idea what the fuck he means. Taking a deep breath like he was ramping up to something, Farleigh looks across the group to Felix, before looking back at you with a kind of put-upon smile, "I say this only as someone who's know you for like, more of my life than I'd like to admit -"

"I love you too, go on."

"- so I kind of think that it might not look that different to anyone else, like they don't know it's not your usual brand of weirdness," he wets his lips, giving you a look like he's not even sure if he's meant to be saying this, like he might be letting you in on a secret you're not supposed to know, "he's been really hot and cold with you."

Of course you'd noticed.

"I slept with Oliver."

Beside you, Farleigh appears to go through all five stages of grief at once.

"You make it very hard to be friends with you sometimes," he says, shaking his head. You, however, are focusing on how many chips you can eat in a rush rather than think too much about the topic at hand.

"That mean," you tell him flatly, mouth full of potatoes, "you're being mean again."

"You chose to sleep with Oliver, that is a choice you made; I'm gonna be mean about it, you've earned it, you know you have -"

"Remember," you gave him a shit-eating grin, "how the next time we went drinking after that costume party, you spent a full half hour in the beer garden ranting about how stupid you thought Ollie's costume was," you ate another chip while Farleigh narrowed his eyes at you with barely concealed contempt, but you powered on, "and it turned out that you thought the costume didn't do him justice, which then -" your grin grew wider, "became you ranting about how his eyes are too blue, and why does he dress like that when we can all see his arms, imagine if he wore a shirt that fit!" You gleefully recounted, even as Farleigh's mouth flattened into a thin line, like he's bitten on a lemon, but he couldn't look you in the eyes.

"Hey, that's not what I -"

"And then -!" You spoke over him, "you forgot where you were and tried to take an angry nap in the bushes."

"I don't -" a flustered Farleigh squirms for a moment in his seat, unable to look at you, "remember that, and," he turned a faux serious look upon you, "if you tell anyone I said that, I'll tell them you're lying."

"I'm just saying," you shrugged, "don't act like you don't know part of the reason why I slept with him."

"Fine," Farleigh rolled his eyes, allowing his flustered frustration to ease. After a moment of contemplation, of watching Felix, he hums quietly, thoughtfully, "that can't be it, right?"

"What can't be it?"

"If Felix was going to start being jealous it wouldn't be over Oliver."

"See, that's what I thought."

"So he is jealous?"

"I don't know," you say quietly, still not quite sure how to feel about it; Felix had taken the news fine when you'd told him, he hadn't seemed any different, but of course there'd been a change. Why now?

"That's really stupid of him," Farleigh finally says, dismissively.

"It is, isn't it?" As you try and laugh, your heart's not in it. You look at your phone again, another wave of that strange discomfort that you'd been feeling lately washing over you again. You can't stay.

Everyone's surprised by your early departure as you say your goodbyes. You cite the need to study hard tomorrow, giving hugs and kisses as you start the short journey back to your dorm. Felix murmurs that he loves you and a cheeky thanks in your ear and you know he's talking about India. You kiss his cheek, and then you head off.

Nothing had seemed off when you'd told Felix.

"You look like you're about to burst into song; what happened to you?"

"Something happened!"

"Am I meant to guess?"

"No, no- I mean, like how nothing happened between me and Ollie a few months ago; something happened!"

"Something happened between you and Ollie?"

"The something that didn't happen last time -"

"I don't remember last time, Y/N, you're being so cryptic, I love that you're excited but -"

"Yes, Ollie and I slept together. Finally!"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"No, good 'oh', promise!"

"Didn't sound like a good 'oh', Fi; is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course, sorry Y/N, I promise, I'm just... I don't remember you being this excited about a hook up... and I don't think I was excepting it to be Ollie, you know? Was he really that good?"

"Let me put it this way, it was the kind of good that none of our other friends would believe if I told them."

"Fancy that, Ollie knows what he's doing; good for you."

"Great for me."

It wasn't particularly vulgar or explicit, you'd had far more in depth conversations about your various hook ups, Felix had seemed as happy for you as he always did with these kinds of stories. But he'd started looking at Oliver different, you'd noticed it. That too is when he became the clingiest. Farleigh was right; on nights out with Oliver around, Felix threw out any pretence of subtlety or person space. Felix acted like your boyfriend.

But then, any other night, any other group situation, it was like any other day. Sometimes he'd barely even glance at you. Hot and cold.

You're so in your head on the walk home that you barely register someone sitting at your door until you all but trip over them.

Annabel.

She'd been crying.

"Fuck you." Is how she greets you.

"What are you doing here?" A twinge of pity, a twinge of guilt, to see her obviously distraught at your doorstep. She gets unsteadily to her feet, swearing at you again. Reaching out to steady her, she surprises you by lunging at you, grabbing you.

"You were there, weren't you? With the rest of them," Annabel's gripping your collar, makeup smeared with tears and eyes red-rimmed, "with him," lips still inches from yours, her gaze unfocused but searching, "I can fucking smell it on you- you- you and rich boy-" but she stops for a moment, expression falling to confusion, "Farleigh?"

"Annabel -" you ease her hands off of your collar, partly confused, but mostly pitying.

"Why do you smell like Farleigh?" She sounds almost like a lost child, refusing to let go of your hand as you pulled out your keys. God she looks so helpless, tears still welling in her eyes, vodka bottle mostly empty by her feet.

"Why are you so good at telling what Farleigh smells like?" You countered with, swinging the door open. At this, some of the righteous indignation fires up in her again, flouncing into your room.

"You all went to the same boarding school, you've all got these same habits, and same but different scents you cling to," she's scowling at your dresser as you picked up the vodka bottle and brought it into your room, shutting your door. You watch her for a long moment, see how she analyses everything you have there, perfumes, colognes, makeup, skin care, little bits of paper rubbish - she picks up a bottle and flicks off the lid, not caring where it landed amongst the rest of the things there. When she sprays it, she seems to almost relax amongst it's mist. Of course. It's Felix's favourite, Felix's scent as she'd so aptly described it, for when he'd spend the night.

"Of course you have his too," she says faintly, almost derisively.

Allowing your attention to finally drift from her, you start getting ready for bed, heading to your closet to hang up your jacket.

"You all need to mark your territory," she spits, out of your peripheries, you see her move away from your dresser and pick up her vodka again, "need everyone to know who you own, who we all belong to -"

"Anna, that's not -" you sighed, unsure of where any of this was going, but not liking it either way. As you search your drawers for pyjamas, you felt her gentle hands on your hips. Jumping at the sudden touch, when you spin she braces herself against the drawers with hands either side of you, while your hands become trapped, the last bit of resistance between her chest and yours.

"I smelled like you both for weeks," she murmurs, gaze roaming your body, almost hungry, landing back on your lips, "you remember that? I should- I should- should have been fucking sickened," she admits, voice a low whisper, the hunger turning needy, turning into almost a whimper, "the things I want you both to do to me make me sick to my stomach," her lips inch closer to yours, shared breath, heat in the air, "of course I know what the fuck you all choose to smell like, I can't get it out of my fucking head," you should lean away but there's something intoxicating about her rage, her desperation, her desire, "Our Annabel, that's what he'd called me, what you'd -" and she kisses you, vodka still wicked and bitter on her tongue, all but panting into your mouth as her hands find your hips again.

But it can't continue, you can't let this go on. As you lean back to free your arms, to hold her back, she takes advantage of the opportunity to slide her hands beneath your shirt, cold and nimble against your belly -

"Could've been my Felix -" she mumbles, as if in a trance, eyes hazy and full of both tears, like she was looking into a memory. The minute her fingers find your fly you grab her hands firmly. It takes you a moment to regain your composure, to remind yourself that she wasn't in her right state of mind, that she probably didn't even know what she was doing or saying -

My Felix flares bright and hot and possessive in your mind. My Felix.

"Ow," Annabel's noise of pain brings you back to reality, but thankfully it seems the shock to her system brought her back too. Looking down at your vice-like grip on her wrists, she looks back at you as you let her go, embarrassment in her eyes as she perhaps realises some of what she'd been doing.

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight, Anna," still, your voice is gentle. She huffs an embarrassed little laugh, starting to sniffle again. Again, you remind yourself that this poor girl just got her heart broken by your best friend, and decided to deal with that by drinking an entire bottle of vodka. You'd committed to showing her some compassion tonight.

"I know." The tension drops, and she just leans her head forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. You can't help but hug her, feeling the heavy way she sighs as you're giving her a reassuring pat on the back. The two of you stay like that for a very long few minutes until you hear her start crying again.

"Do you wanna borrow some pyjamas?" You ask softly, and feel her nod.

The rest of the night is quiet after that, taking care of this distraught young woman who got her heart broken by your best friend. It reminds you of nights you'd spend with Venetia back at Saltburn.

Annabel sits on your bathroom counter patiently, ankles crossed, watching the way you focus as you wipe off her makeup with meticulous care. When you take off her necklace, you coil it delicately on top of the nice clothes she'd been wearing, now sitting on top of her shoes by your door. At first she tries to wave you off when you offer to brush out her hair -

"There's -" she hiccups; the full bottle of vodka has finally hit her, but still she tries to shake her head, "too much hairspray, it'll be a hassle -"

"I'll be gentle," you told her softly, assurance in your eyes and a warm smile on your lips, "if you'll let me." Annabel melts under that gaze, sitting in borrowed pyjamas, face clean, cross-legged on your bed in the lamp light. You treat her with the gentlest care, brushing out her hair while you can still hear her occasional sniffles; she sits as primly as she's able, only apologising once at the start for it's length. You assured her it's fine.

"You scare me sometimes," Annabel mutters into the quiet, voice watery. For a moment, you pause.

"Me?"

"Both- both of you. You and Felix," she sniffles again, "and Farleigh too now, I guess," you can tell she swallows thickly, voice catching in her throat. When she tries to dip her head, she can feel the way you're still holding gently, still working, and she apologises faintly. Carefully, quietly, giving her space to organise her tipsy, upset thoughts, you continue to brush out her hair.

"Never met anyone like you, you know? Didn't think people like you guys existed. You're always everything; the most without even trying," she takes a deep breath, but it's undercut by a faint sob that's almost a chuckle, "I kind of think you don't even know what I mean- you especially, you know?" You... don't.

You brush, only giving a faint apology, but all she does is fidget, the words spilling unrehearsed from her, things she's clearly been bottling for far too long -

"Felix is everything everyone wants, and you're everything everyone wants him to be," she says it so forlornly, "the sun and it's fucking warmth," then, almost disgusted as she spits it under her breath, "I think about how he's never going to fuck me the way he looks at you while he's shitfaced, how sick is that?"

With a few more strokes her hair is brushed out, and without even thinking you start to braid it. Annabel's dissolved into tears again, her face in her hands, but you're just careful not to tug on her hair too hard as her whole body shakes with them.

"He never gave a proper shit about me, did he?" Annabel sobs as you're tying off the braid. The minute it's done, she turns and throws herself into your arms, sobbing against your chest, "I'm just another fucking girl to him!"

"He still loves you as a friend, I'm sure; you know how Fi is-" you pet her shoulder carefully as she clutches your shirt for dear life.

"I don't wanna be his fucking friend! I gave him my fucking heart and now he's probably got his dick in that slag India, who said she was my friend!" Spitting her words with fury, with venom, she looks up, but only sees a look of pitying apology in your eyes; she's probably right. Lip curling, she throws herself back on your bed, hands covering her face once more, "he doesn't fucking care," she groaned, fury turning poisonous with resignation, "I know he doesn't care; if I thought he truly cared I would have fucked Oliver -"

"What?"

"- Felix is so fucking fickle, god, seems like he doesn't even care about Oliver anymore, I should have- should have -" she continues on, but breaks down crying again. Getting off the bed, you leave for the common room for half a moment, filling it with water.

"Drink this," you instruct, sitting next to Annabel on the edge of the bed. She scowls, but follows your orders easily, even if she can't properly look you in the eye. The water seemed to have at least helped, as her crying quiets down as you refill the glass in your bathroom sink.

"I feel like shit," she mumbles, watching you come back into the room and place the cup on her bedside.

"Well you look pretty," you tell her teasingly, trying to lighten the mood even a little as you gently pinched her cheek. She does not appear to find the humour in the moment. Still, you turn off your lamp and climb over her into the bed, "please don't throw up in my bed or on my floor."

"I know where your bathroom is."

The two of you kick off the neat duvet but pull the thin, luxurious sheet over you both.

"Thank you..." it sounds begrudging as she says it. You tell her it's no stress, sitting up for a moment in order to open your window a crack, let a breeze in overnight, but still hear her when she says, "you're a bad friend."

Still sitting, you take a deep breath, sighing as a silhouette in the moonlight.

Annabel is more astute than you possibly gave her credit for in this state; amongst all her felt injustices, she'd never once asked about how you felt about Felix fucking India, your well established not-girlfriend. Because somehow she knew, perhaps even that you gave your blessing. You'd never been a cruel person as long as you could help it, but you'd made peace with your priorities too long ago to start apologising for them now. So yes, you'd taken Annabel in for the night, but she knew in her heart that you were partially at fault for her despair in the first place. You both knew.

Enabling Felix was never really about making anyone else happy.

"I know."

Something about your admission seems to be enough for Annabel, however. When you lay back down beside her, she curls up against you, tucks herself all along your side, arm around you, head on your chest.

The next morning, Annabel moves silently around your dorm. When you wake up, all that's even left of her presence is the empty cup of water on your bedside. No kind of note, no text, she'd made sure she didn't even wake you before leaving.

Fucking Christ, what a bloody week did yesterday feel like, is all you can think as the mid-morning sun slashes through your barely parted curtains and paints your chest with light.

You consider sleeping in, consider that you'd definitely earned it after yesterday, but then your phone starts ringing. It's Felix. He sounds grim.

"Hey, can you get over here? We need you."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #felix catton x you #felix catton x you x oliver quick #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[pupyuj]

→ “special girl.” || naoi rei x reader fic.

— you always make sure that your girlfriend has the most perfect birthdays ever but this year, rei was going to be the one to make her day even more special…

word count: 3.0k

dynamic: dom!vers!naoi rei x sub!vers!reader.

content warnings: birthday sex yippee, sex in a public setting, exhibitionism, car sex, fingering, cunnilingus, mommy kink, praise kink, ‘kitty’ kink (if that is even a thing).

requested ? : nope.

a/n: a bit late in the day but happy birthday to my dearest reibear! this was kinda clumsily put together so apologies if it’s lacking compared to my other full fics but ehe i hope you guys enjoy this 🥺

rei loved special occasions for one reason: you!

even after three years of dating, you still managed to make each and every single one of your gifts so different. with that said, rei’s favorite day would be her birthday. one would think that it was normal for someone to have their very own special day as their birthday but rei’s birthday wasn’t special because it was her birthday—it was special because you make it so. every second of that day would be perfect because of you.

and this year, rei’s birthday wasn’t any different than the last.

“you really didn’t have to rent an entire restaurant just for us, (y/n)-ah. that must’ve been really expensive.” rei says as she snuggles closer to your arm. the cool, gentle breeze blows your hair back as the two of you walk along the marbled paths beside the river. it was a peaceful evening—there wasn’t a lot of people in the park (it was nearly 10 p.m. after all), there weren’t too many cars around so the area wasn’t loud with the sounds of exhausts and engines, and it felt as if it was only you and rei in the world.

and on her special day, it was all she wanted. just you. no gift you give her can ever compare to your existence.

“not exactly. the owner is one of my friends from college! i couldn’t pass up the opportunity. i hope you loved it.” you smiled at her. the path was dim with only warm, decades-old street lamps igniting the way, but your smile managed to shine through. or maybe that was just rei looking at you with rose-colored sunglasses and hearts in her eyes. or you could just be that pretty.

yeah. you really were just that pretty.

“i always think that you couldn’t possibly make me fall for you even more but… i’m always proven wrong.” rei momentarily stops her tracks and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, making you blush. both at her words and how her fingertips brushed across your cheekbone.

“cornball,” you teased, earning a soft chuckle from your girlfriend. “i love you more everyday too, rei.” and it was the truth. whenever rei does anything, it warms your heart. you find that there is always a moment where you look at her and time slows down, giving you the opportunity to cherish just how much of a great girl you fell in love with. you knew that even the most expensive or heartfelt present wouldn’t show rei how much you truly loved her, you just hoped that your heart did.

(it did. and it was more than enough.)

she was only a few centimeters taller than you, but whenever you looked into her eyes with so much warmth, love, and devotion, rei always felt so small. but she was safe. and so she leaned in, eyes fluttering to a close just before your lips touched her own.

it was as sweet as the rest of the kisses you’ve had this day—soft, slow, and tastes like… raspberry? yes, rei made sure to wear your favorite lip balm on her because she knew how much you loved tasting it on her lips. perhaps a little too much. you wrapped a single arm around rei’s waist, pulling her in for a deeper kiss. she had her hands on your cheeks, savoring each and every second your lips moved in sync with hers.

before you knew it, you were feeling rei’s hands snake underneath your blouse, tugging on your bra from behind. the two of you just so happened to stop behind a large tree so this spectacle wasn’t really visible to anyone that might be in the park. and it was perfect considering rei had unbuttoned the three buttons on your blouse to attack your neck with kisses and bites. each time you whimpered, the more rei’s heart raced. neither of you have done anything like this before, it was both scary and exciting.

scary, because the two of you could get caught and that would be the most humiliating thing that would happen to either of you.

exciting, because rei has been gawking over the outfit you decided on for this day. the cute skirt, the blouse that a friend of yours tailored specifically for you, and all the jewelry rei bought for you in the past… it was the perfect outfit to ruin you in. rei had hoped she would tear off your clothes in your shared bedroom under the soft lighting of her favorite lampshade but the moonlight and the street lamp serve as a good enough alternative, she supposes.

“a-are you sure… this is the tim—ahh..!” rei found it adorable how you couldn’t even form proper sentences because of her. she nipped and sucked on your skin, making sure to leave hickies where she likes it most all while unclasping your bra from behind. eventually, your back was pressed up against the tree. you crane your neck just to give rei more space to leave her marks. and when she was done, she lifts your top up along with your bra, revealing your now bare breasts to her.

“i don’t think i tell you enough about how beautiful i find you.” rei licks her lips as you start grinding on the thigh she snuck in between your legs. it comforted her to know that you wanted this as much as she did at this time. rei briefly looks around, confirms that nobody had eyes on either of you, before leaning down to place wet kisses across your chest. her lips close around your nipple, making you clasp your hand over your mouth just to stop yourself from moaning out loud.

rei slides a hand underneath your skirt and feels up your soaked panties, gently rubbing circles around your sensitive clit and smiling at the way you’ve started to ride her thigh faster. poor thing, you were so desperate to be filled and used. but since this was rei’s special day, everything should happen on her terms. her eyes snap open when you let out a whine, staring at you as if she wanted to eat you whole while she swirled her tongue around your bud.

fuck, she was so pretty like this. you love her being sickeningly sweet like she always is but when she’s fucking you… rei was like a different person and you loved it.

your hands find their way in her hair and you pull her up for a kiss. at the same time, she pressed her thigh into your clit, making you whine and tug on her hair in a way that you know she loves. rei moans and gets lost in the taste of your lips, giving you the opportunity to unbutton her shirt and give your own eyes a treat. rei had been wearing the white lacy bra that you always loved to see on her. she knew the night was going to take this specific turn one way or the other, being the smartass that she was.

you were halfway through undoing her bra when she stopped you—gently taking your wrist and putting it back on her shoulder. “not so fast,” rei slips her hand inside your panties, pressing her middle finger down your clit. “you’ve already done so much for me today.” and then she was knuckles deep inside you, making you clutch her shirt and release the most beautiful moan rei’s ever heard.

rei fucks you slowly, ensuring that you feel every inch of her fingers inside your walls. and you didn’t complain—you couldn’t. rei watched silently as you freely whined, whimpered, and moaned in the air, feeling her own core buzzing just at the sight of your pretty face making all sorts of expressions for her. now she didn’t care that your volume increased by the minute. you were only loud because rei was fucking you so good, and there was nothing more that she loved than hearing how much she’s making you feel.

“so good… you always make me the happiest on this day, (y/n). and i don’t thank you enough,” rei presses her thumb down on your clit. you gasp sharply, throwing your head back and giving rei the full view of the work she did on your neck earlier. “tonight i get to return the favor.” rei closes her lips around your nipples again, sucking roughly and quickening her pace at the same time.

okay, now you had to really try and shut the fuck up.

forcing your eyes open, you looked down at rei again. her eyes were closed shut, and she was more focused in fucking you to oblivion than anything. the way she rubbed your clit at the same time she would plunge her fingers deep inside you didn’t help the situation that was building up in your stomach. you were afraid that you were going to end up screaming, but maybe that was what rei was working towards. “mmhng…!! m-mommy…! please…” you pulled rei impossibly closer to your chest, and she hums, quickly understanding what your pleading meant and fucked you faster. just how you liked it.

fuck, did that shuffling from behind the tree came from the leaves blowing with the wind or is it people? ah, who gives a fuck at this point… actually, you did. you threw a quick glance to the side and saw nothing but grass and empty benches. the two of you were completely alone. perfect.

briefly, you spotted rei slipping her one free hand underneath her own skirt, rubbing her cunt through your soaked panties and goodness, the things it did to you. “mommy—ahh..!—let me… let me, please. i need to taste y-you, please… i need you…” gosh, you were pathetic. you were practically riding on her fingers just to get yourself off faster. drooling like a rabid dog at the thought of getting to eat your girlfriend out at a place like this.

“behave, and maybe i’ll consider it.” rei says sternly, clearly put off with how you just disregarded what she said earlier. she was going to reward you for all the things you’ve done for her today. you should be grateful! and you really were. you proved that by nodding, shutting the fuck up, and letting rei do as she pleases.

“good kitty.” jesus christ.

“aww,” rei cooed, a genuine smile making its way onto her face when she saw how flustered you’ve gotten. whimpering and whining still but refusing to make eye contact. “don’t be shy, kitten.” you didn’t even have time to react to your favorite pet name before rei starts ramming her fingers inside you in a much more ruthless pace. you’ve already coated her fingers with so much of your slick, now she needs your cum.

“oh..! oh, s-shit…!” you hid your face in the crook of rei’s neck, shaking your head as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge. it all felt too good. now rei was giving your neck soft kisses, groaning softly as you dug your nails on her skin.

“fuck..! fuck, momm—” rei covers your mouth when she hears a couple of voices from behind the tree. you had to admit… that scary look in her eyes, silently telling you to not make a single sound, and the tight grip she had around your mouth only turned you on mouth. her hand was a bit damp from how she played with herself earlier and you only saw this as an opportunity to open your mouth as best as you could and start licking rei’s own wetness off her fingers.

rei was a bit taken aback by your sudden boldness, but she was really into it—allowing you to suck at her thumb. “mhm.. you’d really do anything for mommy, huh, kitty?” rei asked. and of course you reply with a nod. correct answer, now rei has you clenching your thighs around her wrist because she was that close to making you cum. rei relishes at the sight of your chest heaving up and down faster and faster the closer you get to your climax, how you start holding on to her a bit tighter, and of course… how much you were grinding on her hand just to feel her palm press against your clit.

rei curls her fingers inside you at the same time her palm brushes against your sensitive bud, making that knot inside your stomach finally break. you came with a squeak, thighs shaking and eyes teary. rei bites her lips as she watches you, wanting nothing more than that obedient little mouth of yours on her throbbing pussy. you were slow to come down from your high, given that it had been a good few days since you’ve last had sex with rei due to your busy schedules and the fact that she just fucked you that good, but rei was patient!

she waited until you were breathing properly to slowly pull out, giggling at how you’ve drenched her hand with your cum. “s-sorry. i…” you blushed. even you didn’t expect to cum that much!

“it’s okay, baby. i got it.” rei says. you really, really tried to look unaffected when she started sucking on her fingers to clean up your mess, but she looked too hot. and rei absolutely knew what this did to you! looking directly at you, while she licked the remains of your cum off her fingers, smirking when she feels you clench on her thighs.

“come on now. if i remember correctly, you wanted to do something for me.” rei doesn’t let either of you get straightened out properly, dragging you towards your car in the parking lot with your tits out for the entire world to see. fortunately enough, the world was asleep.

soon enough, rei was settled in your backseat. her back pressed against the other door while she pulls your face towards her now bare cunt with her legs that she’d put on top of your shoulders. god, she was drenched. you had no idea that fucking you made her like this. if you’d known that this happened every time she fucked you, your nights together would’ve been much, much longer.

“be a good kitten, now. make mommy pro—ohh…” rei grabs a fistful of your hair when you cut her off with a single swipe of your tongue up her lips. you couldn’t help it. this was the one time she was going to let you get away with shit like that since she was so in love with that clouded look in your eyes. rei wasn’t even kidding when she says that you look like an animal right now.

you started working your mouth on her cunt, holding her thighs and keeping them apart. you moaned at how good rei tasted—even after having done this about a hundred times before, you still act as if it’s the first and only time you’re going to eat her out. you flicked her clit with your tongue, earning a moan so satisfying to your ears that you had to close your legs just to try and ignore that feeling in your core once again.

“good..! g-good girl… oh, please..!” each time you close your lips around her clit, rei gasps. she’d buck her hips upward just to have some more of you. you quite liked the feeling of her tugging on your hair and digging her nails in your scalp… as much as it hurt and made you hiss occasionally, the slight pain only turned you on. it meant that you were doing very well for your mommy, after all! what’s not to like?

rei never knew how you could keep your eyes completely open every time you ate her out. sometimes it made her feel self-conscious because of all the faces she could be making but you were just so pretty peering up at her with those shining eyes of yours, practically begging for praise or at the very least, head pats.

“you’re d-doing so well, baby… mhmn..! making m-me feel so good like this.. ah! beats every present you’ve ever gotten me… now, more…” rei closes her thighs around your head, locking you in place. you were in no position to refuse—not like you wanted to anyway. you dipped your tongue inside rei’s cunt and she let out a loud moan that turned you on enough to keep going, holding onto her thighs so tightly that you might actually leave nail marks on her skin.

“i’m cumming, love…! c-cumming..! oh my god…” it takes another suck at her clit for her to start tapping out, but rei was already cumming all over your face by then. head thrown all the way back as she made a mess on you, her grip on your hair slowly loosening up as her breathing slowed. you lapped her up like the diligent pet that you were, ensuring that you wouldn’t waste a single drop of her cum.

once you were finished, you rose up. you looked more of a mess than rei was what with your hair sticking to your face because of both sweat and rei’s cum. rei laughs at your funny state and reaches out, fixing your hair and wiping your mouth with tissues. she looks at you with pure adoration as you helped her clean up, wiping her thighs clean and gently applying ointment on the marks you’ve left her.

(yes you had emergency ointments in the car for these kinds of situations! totally normal.)

“thank you, (y/n). for everything.” rei takes your face in her hands, squishing your cheeks lightly before kissing your nose. oh, she has no idea how thankful you were of her just existing. today may be her birthday, but it felt like yours too. after all, what’s a greater gift than having someone so amazing as naoi rei as your sweet lover?

“i love you a lot, rei.” you said with that blinding smile of yours rei always adored.

“i love you more, pretty,” rei kisses your nose again. she feels like she’ll be doing that a lot tonight, or forever, rather. “and when we get home, i’ll show you just how much.”

seriously, which one of you was having the birthday again?

#ive smut #ive x reader #ive imagines #ive x fem reader #naoi rei smut #naoi rei x reader #naoi rei x fem reader #naoi rei imagines #rei smut #rei imagines #rei x reader #rei x fem reader #girl group smut #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #girl group x fem reader

[helsensm]

I cannot hold it in anymore I am absolutely OBSESSED with your art and the way you draw Lao.

I also would like to inquire….. just perhaps… what are your top head-canons for him, and/or your opinions on popular ships for him/which ones you like?

No pressure!! I hope you are having a wonderful day 🧡

me, trying to act normal every time an awesome artist I look up to says something nice about my art

Thank you so much! first of all, please take this Lao with you, he's yours now~

now let me preheat my bad english.....

Most of my Lao headcanons (if they are not related to a particular art I made) were yoinked from another ppl, because DAMN FELLAS your brains are sexy. 😏 So you might have heard some of them already, but here's my top general hcs for him.

NOTE: we are talking about the current timeline mk1 Kung Lao

- Lao is very expressive with his hands and he's THE TOUCH person. Just look at how many times he took Raiden by the shoulder in the first chapter alone?? He'll be pushing, and patting, and shoving, and punching you all over while telling about his breakfast or something.

- Lao is struggling with inferiority complex. Since childhood he was under a tremendous amount of pressure, he has to do things right, to be better, or else he would be mocked or punished. Now he believes that he should be the best, or he would not be taken seriously. He's constantly seeking validation in his peers, causing him to act cocky and over-confident.

- Anger issues, usually when someone questions his skill.

- People call him lazy because he tries to act like everything comes naturally to him. In reality he trains hard and takes things seriously. Like, he's fighting with a RAZOR RIMMED HAT fgs, it's not something you can master in a day! Also he always got energy running through his veins, lucky bastard... *cries in iron deficiency*

- He makes his hats by himself. With his hands. He designs and creates. ALL of them. I will die on that hill.

- He's a slow to trust, but ride or die as a friend.

- He's a trouble maker FOR SURE, but not a bully. He's respectful and polite to most of the people (if they don't provoke him), also drinks his respect-women juice.

- Master of sass and sarcasm. And yes, I think he swears, but in the right circumstances or the right company.

- He's got rizz NOW, but in his teens he had zero game because he could not keep his mouth shut and would scare off the person with the most ridiculous piece of idiocy.

- I read it in one fic and really loved the idea that Liu Kang "told the blossoms" about Kung Lao, and they really liked him 🌸 so now they are following him around and bringing him news and gossips, that's why there's always those goddamn petals aroung him aasghGHHHj 🌸🌸

- He's rolling his eyes at Johnny, but they quickly become besties.

- He actually has a cold relationship with Liu Kang. Don't get me wrong, he trusts him, respects the hell out of him and will run into a wall for a man. But I think Liu will distance himself because of all the memories of HIS Lao and how badly they sting. oTL

- That smile and a bow Lao did after loosing to Raiden? He meant that. Loosing hurted BAD, but the pain was pushed aside by the sence of pride and happiness for his best friend.

oh shit, this is getting out of hand, I'm starting to think about the other timelines and dynamics, we'll be here all week hhhhgh

About the popular ships... Well, I'm a big fan of railao (yeah NO SHIT who would have thought), but I am a multishipper, so I'm just happy to see my fav characters feeling good in someone's hands. 😊

I really like the liulao and laoliutana for several different reasons. 👀 The johnshilao (or is it laojohnshi..? erm) was the one that didn't impress me at first (love the Lao just third-wheeling with a tired expression <:'D), but recently I'm starting to warm up to all the different dynamics these three can have. And that is, in no small part, thanks to you and your kenlao agenda 👀💖 damn you created such a nice cozy universe for them I'm 🥺💕💗💖

Bi-Han/Lao is a bit random, but I love how catto did them, they are such a cute pair of assholes! >:3

ummm, yeah, so I'm going to stop there ahahhH. Thank you again for asking and for all the nice little feels your art provides, I admire you tremendously~

#my asks #my art #kung lao #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #helsensm art

[oonajaeadira]

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it. 

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall. 

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante. 

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet. 

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311? 

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services. 

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders. 

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to. 

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink. 

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities. 

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #year of tropes

[thatsdemko]

ride that like a Mercedes - t.wolff & l.hamilton

masterlist

threes company

requested: y but also n

pairings: Toto Wolff x fem!famous!reader & Lewis Hamilton x fem!famous!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + sexual acts mentioned(not very many details)

a/n: I’m back with another one of these! I was told by an anon that they loved my previous fic like this so why not create another?? there is also no crazy age gap between the reader, Toto and Lewis in this. shoutout @monzabee for helping me finish this! feedback is always appreciated xx

《 the following content is not intended for minors. 》

the roars from the screams and cheers break through your noise canceling headphones, the garage practically rumbles with excitement watching Lewis pull another podium. it’s thrilling, watching Toto pump the air and high five surrounding team members. everyone’s happy, including you.

you got the best view of the whole Grand Prix, Toto Wolff. sure, the fast cars and endless laps of excitement were what people paid for, but the view of him could never be tiring.

his white Mercedes dress shirt sleeves were bunched up from stress, glasses that he once was wearing were tossed to the side, and that crinkled smile was just everything to get a girl wet. and you’re one of those girls.

“good race to watch?” he asks, Austrian accent shinning through, he pulls you in for a side hug as you congratulate him on another successful race.

“it certainly was fun to watch.” you smile up at him taking in all of his features; the lines of stress on his forehead, the crinkles by his eyes from laughing or smiling, and those beautiful, oh so beautiful, brown eyes.

he bends down so only you can hear him, “I noticed that you had more fun watching me than the drivers.” he picks his head up from his whisper and moves along the team to Lewis and George to congratulate them both.

you’re struck, you thought you played your glances and stares off, but he saw them all. every single one of them Toto knew you were looking, and every time you weren’t looking, he took the chance to look too.

he knew tons of pretty women who were interested in him, and it wasn’t that they didn’t strike him, but they weren’t you. he’d been looking for someone that sparked something in him, and somehow you just did it.

its not until the lights are out and the night life trickles in when courage finally washes through you. you’re confident he feels the same way, so when you guide him to the dance floor and his hand naturally falls onto your hip, it’s all the signs you need. he wants this.

it’s not long until you’ve got the Austrian billionaire cornered in the private restroom, clothes flying every which way and raspy moans escaping left and right from both of your lips. it’s all good, he thinks he’s lost his touch after months of nothing, but the multiple orgasms tell him everything.

this felt better than a 1-2 win.

—

this is your home turf, modeling, runways, fashion shows, it’s all yours. you expected him to be here, you expected to see him, but not this soon. not after what’s happened two nights ago.

he’s got that gorgeous smile on his face, beautiful brown skin is glowing under the lights as he slips through the curtains to say hello to fellow models and makeup artists.

he’s always kind, always being just a sweetheart, it’s no surprise you find yourself in the position you’re in. your lips on his, hands roaming, nails dug into his tattooed skin.

he acts normal the whole show. claps when he needs to, looks when he’s supposed to. but you feel those eyes on you, they are just different than the way he looked at anybody else. you could see out the corner of your, focused, eyes he’s licking his lips before leaning to whisper something to George. it’s all making you anxious, you want to get off this runway, and just run away with him.

he gets you when everything is done. clothes you’ve modeled are back on the hangers, makeup is off, and you’re in nothing but bra and panties.

he takes the time to stretch you out, lips suck and pull your exposed skin. he sees the marks that the makeup did a good job of covering, and he just sucks over them and makes new ones where the other guy didn’t.

little does he know, the other guy? was his own boss.

#f1 imagines #toto wolff #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton drabble #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton x you #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fic #toto wolff smut #toto wolff fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 #f1 x you #f1 driver x you #f1 x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic

[overnowsfcb]

worth it for once; pedri

summary: sometimes the show must not go on. what happens when the curtains fall?

warnings: angst, smut (dom!pedri, pool sex, hickey, blow job (v), masturbation and self-masturbation (p), pet names) mature language, abuse of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional distress. if any of these topics makes you uncomfortable, i advise against reading this story.

word count: 5.9k

note: hi! first of all i wanted to thank everyone who interacted with 'halfway out the door', you don't even know how much it means to me that people can read my stories. i knew i said i would do some fluff, but i feel like im not good at it. i cant seem to let the reader be happy can i? (this fic is so long i feel like i got a bit carried away)

p.s.: this is my first time ever writing smut, im sorry if its too bad. also! 'halfway out the door' has ninety percent of possibility to have a second part.

p.s. 2: the party ended an hour ago and he still there. another thing that i wanted to say is that FOR ME 'slut!' is not a love song so that is my reason for this, i take my interpretation of the song and write it down — venus 🫂💐🫧

The sun's rays slipped through the white curtain covering the partially open window, letting in the morning breeze. You nestled in the sheets, still drowsy, but as you did, you snapped wide awake, realizing once again that Pedri wasn't by your side.

You turned over, hoping it was a dream, but the only remnants of him in the room were his lingering scent and memories of the night before, replaying in your mind.

The way he touched you, tracing each of the invisible scars left by your previous lovers who sought only their own pleasure, using you to their liking without paying attention to your desires.

He was different. His kisses felt like a religious experience, filling you with an ever-growing sense of fulfillment. Nothing wrapped around you more securely than the feeling of having him inside of you, merging under the lustful gaze of the moon that welcomed you on a tailor-made altar, adorned with soft sheets and sensations that turned into a celestial orchestra.

And although the next day, perhaps his flaws became evident, your infatuation took you beyond, closing the curtain of the stage within your mind; you didn't have to be displeased or critical when admiring a work of art, right?

When the strength left from the previous night was regained under pressure, and your mind returned to the frosty present, you sat up in bed, feeling your head heavy, needing to blink several times to clear the blurriness that clouded your eyes due to sleep.

Your feet rested on the wooden floor. You didn’t want to face another day with the pain of the mandatory conviction your heart held towards your mind, aiming it with a gun if it tried to move from there.

You sighed with closed eyes and gathered your clothes scattered around the room. When you finished dressing, you approached the window and inhaled a breath of air to refresh your thoughts.

You left your room; the squeak of the door echoed through the house, signaling to Elena that you had already woken up. You couldn't lie; you were afraid to face her.

She, your best friend since you desperately looked for someone to share an apartment with after the owners of your previous apartment unjustly left you out in the cold.

She, who warmly welcomed you full of empathy and commiseration, helped you deal with the storm by receiving you in a studio apartment with an air mattress. She became the person you adored most in the whole world and never lacked frankness in her words.

Both of you moved forward together; now, you succeeded in modeling, and you could search for something much more comfortable living now in a pent-house, but always side by side.

You arrived at the spacious kitchen connected to the dining room and were met with an exquisite aroma, akin to the dishes she professionally prepared. You tied your hair in a ponytail and moved the chair to sit facing the counter.

Crossed fingers and your chin resting on your hands, you noticed she expected your presence when she twisted her torso, leaving a plate with toast and homemade raspberry jam on the marble counter in front of you.

You waited a moment to grab one of the perfectly made toasts and spread the jam in the toast; you felt the tension in the air. You knew of her disapproving stance regarding your situation with Pedri, and you knew she was preparing the usual sermon.

"Want to say something about it?" It was as if she had read your mind; turning her back, you sat up straighter on the stool, your distressed chest making your heart pump more blood than usual.

"No," you replied dryly, as you took a bite of toast.

"Alright, then it'll be up to me." You felt fear travel up your spine to the buzzing in your head and a high-pitched tone ringing in your ears.

You tried to breathe normally, but it was impossible. Her actions guided your eyes; she put the angel food cake in the oven and turned around, sitting on the stool in front of you, looking at you incredulously.

"He left at seven in the morning. When was the last time he stayed the following morning with you? I know you don't want to hear this, and I understand that you're into him. But don't let that blind you from what's really happening here. You're too intelligent for this, too good for someone who treats you like an option." Her words were always harsh, and she never hesitated to tell you the bleak truth without flinching. But it wasn't what you needed now, and her words were insignificant in front of the formidable figure that Pedri occupied in your mind.

There were very few people who dared to challenge your perspective, and Elena was brave enough to do it, even though her attempts always ended in defeats.

And defeats consisted in your denial, where you decided to take off your glasses after seeing what was there. You knew it existed and acknowledged it deep down, but hearing someone throw out statements so lightly without knowing him in the homely intimacy where he could unfold without prejudices, was something only you could discover.

The 'Open Sesame' didn't work with all tones, and not everyone acquired the privilege of opening such a treasure. So, you assumed it was envy.

"Maybe it’s a mess, maybe it’s complicated, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth a damn!" Your voice began to rise in volume the more anger you vented at her, who was innocent of it all. You noticed her furrowed brow, her attempts to help, every time she threw you a lifeline, you chose to ignore it, believing you could swim the remaining yards to shore alone.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to find a balance, but your aggressiveness seemed to have reached its peak.

"I’ll sort it out myself, alright?" You exhaled, continuing your defense. "So just back off, Ele. I’m sick of needing your approval for everything. I’ll make my choices, even if they’re not in your rulebook." You spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. "You think you know him? You have no clue, none whatsoever." You got up from your seat, giving the countertop a light tap, and shook your head indignantly.

"I just want what's best for you, y/n," She whispered, looking you in the eyes with honesty. You headed towards the door disappearing from her sight.

You knew that she wanted to protect you like she did from the very first moment.

Despite being your age, she showed herself to be more mature than you. You were like her baby chick, and she had the instinct to keep you under her wings, but she had to admit that you had to learn defense by yourself.

And sometimes you need to fail to build your path.

There was no better remedy in your routine than drowning yourself in work to stop thinking about all the dilemmas surrounding your life. At least for a few hours.

Growing within the fashion industry was difficult without contacts; if you wanted to achieve something, you had to consider the hurdles you might carry in your backpack. But your resilience and pride prevented anyone else, terrified of having a future of subordination, from winning.

Today's meetings were about agreements for your brand, a dream that grew with you from your mom reading you bedtime stories to the present day.

You had put so much effort and creativity into your project that, regardless of what happened externally, your priority would always be there. No affair or argument could steer you away from that.

All your distractions due to logical thoughts vanished upon arriving at your apartment. You turned on the lights; Elena had left you a message informing you that she would stay at her boyfriend's house for the night.

Your home felt empty without her blasting music through the speakers and constant movements around the house. You cracked your neck, leaving your faux leather coat on the entryway rack. You lazily tossed your bag onto the couch, sitting beside it. You unbuckled your heels, freeing your feet.

A contained sigh escaped your nostrils, easing your chest a bit. You heard thousands of notifications coming from your bag. Worried, you unzipped it and searched for the phone, unsure of what was happening.

You glanced at the news headlines and the numerous social media posts where you were being tagged. You thought you had successfully escaped last time. The carefully revised alibi by both managers to divert media attention from your relationship had been futile.

But it seemed not entirely effective; without any evidence or concrete proof, just a blurry and deficient photo was enough for them to create a compelling scene for the public.

You clicked on a specific article; its name caught your attention, "The New Target of Love: The Boy in Her Chaos - Will He Survive?" You knew it wasn't the smartest decision you could make; the echoes of the voices of the people closest to you resonated in your ears. But you were alone and had nothing better to do at that moment.

The devil on your right shoulder encouraged and forced you to keep reading; with each sentence and word, your tear ducts were ready to expel the salty drops from your eyes.

You couldn't understand why journalists consistently targeted your romantic relationships instead of focusing on your professional endeavors, where you worked, and strived every day to show the world that you were more than just a pretty face. But in a sexist world, you had to accept without a murmur the things they wrote without any pity, driven by money and interactions.

Had you signed up for this life, or was it something gradually inserted into your brain about what it had to be?

You found yourself seated at your computer with a bottle of wine by your side, seemingly engrossed in reading each of the articles criticizing you and perpetuating a negative reputation of yourself.

You had poured a small amount of the burgundy liquid into your glass. Some sort of masochism consumed you, and without noticing, you began to pour more and more wine into the glass, your heart filling with misery, pausing at every clever word that defined your identity on the internet. Because all of the words seemed monotone.

Until the glass was no longer enough to swallow the bitter pill, you stared at the bottle, contemplating your next move. You shrugged and reached for the bottle with difficulty, your vision truly distorted, no longer having a sense of space.

You leaned back in the couch and took a long swig that burned your throat, feeling your heart rate rise.

You decided you had gone too far, abruptly leaving the computer on the table in front of you. When you tried to get up, you fell backward by inertia, unbalanced. That's when you realized you weren't even paying attention to the news but mindlessly scrolling your mouse.

The tears you had been holding back for over an hour and a half streamed down your cheeks immediately. Now, you couldn't turn back and felt trapped within your own uncontrollable body.

Gut-wrenching sobs made your body tremble, and at that moment, all you could think of was his touch, how every time you cried, he carefully wiped your cheeks and assured you that this too shall pass.

With tears and alcohol blurring your vision, it wasn't hard to find his number as you had it pinned in your messaging app. You opened his chat and immediately tapped the call icon.

You placed your phone to your ear, hearing the beeps from the other end, while your body, consumed by sorrow, couldn't help but continue shedding tears.

You perceived a noticeable change from silence to a clear indication that the call had been answered. You tried to stifle your crying by biting your lip, but it seemed this battle wouldn't let you emerge victorious.

"Love, are you crying?" You wanted to respond, but his voice only intensified your desire to cry; you longed to feel his warmth. You still didn't understand why you decided to go this far. "y/n, I'm worried. Did something happen? Did someone hurt you?" You tried to take a deep breath to provide an answer.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and then placed it on your chest, trying to assist in the calming process. "It's so exhausting." These were the words that came out of your mouth as you exhaled.

He still didn't understand exactly what you were talking about, but you kept talking. "I think I can't be with you anymore." Your voice came out strained; you truly didn't want to say those words. You clung to the arm of the chair with one hand, squeezing it, waiting to hear the response on the other side.

"What?" He couldn't comprehend how he had woken up at two in the morning, and you were talking about cutting ties. "Love, listen to me. Why don't you go to sleep, and tomorrow, we spend the day at the country house?" On the other end of the line, he easily realized the moment he picked up that you were drunk.

"Okay." You affirmed with a nod, resting your head on the armrest, and lifting your feet to stretch out on the sofa. "I love you a lot." Your face contracted again, a sign that tears would return.

"You too." He replied, and you were the one who ended the call, slightly calmer about the reflections the articles had left and the incoherent thoughts that had arisen from them.

You left the phone by your side and curled up, hugging yourself, seeking warmth without the help of a blanket. You closed your eyes, praying that the world would change radically tomorrow, although you knew it was an unlikely hope. You never wished more than for whoever was in the sky to give you a new chance to love in the right way.

You needed to believe in someone; you needed assistance from the universe to not lose the hope that once brought you immense joy. But perhaps genuine love was like Santa Claus, and sooner or later, it would crumble like any other ingenious belief.

And like a shrewd child who receives his Christmas gifts with the same enthusiasm even after learning the hidden truth, you dipped your feet into the transparent chlorinated water.

He watched each of your movements attentively, leaning on one of the pool edges. You plunged, soaking your entire body, and swam towards his direction, resurfacing enveloped in laughter with him.

He embraced you, sharing some of his warmth to your cold body due to the sudden change in the water, and you placed your hands around his waist, looking up at him from his chest.

"I love you so much." You bit your lip, seeking an outlet for your love. He rested his hands on your cheeks and began planting short kisses that spread across your entire face.

"I love you more." He reciprocated, giving two gentle taps on your legs. You jumped, and he took you into his arms grabbing your ass.

Quickly, he changed his position, leaving your back resting on the cold pool wall. The chills went up through your spinal cord, fusing the temperature of the edge and its expression, which never went out of style to make you think that everything you needed was there, with him.

You ran his sculpted shoulders with your palms open, feeling his muscles and intertwined your fingers behind his neck, brushing his hair.

Your lips brushed, and you could feel the electricity that could arise from a simple and minimal contact.

He brought his face to you, holding you tight against the concrete.

It was undeniable the indissoluble bond tied by the threads that led you each time to the same situation, and the core of your life was nourished by its bond.

As your lips collided with fervor, eager to quell the fervent passion, you pulled him closer with your legs still entwined around his waist. Feeling his hardness against your core ignited arousal as he pressed himself firmly, and both of you gasped in the midst of the kiss at the electrifying contact.

Your lips didn't want to part, too hungry for each other's sweet taste. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, pulling it gently to invite your tongue into his mouth. It had become sloppy as you lightly tugged his hair, eliciting a groan.

His hand stealthily ascended, never parting from your lips, traveling from your ass to the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

His tender lips traced a pattern from your cheeks to your neck. You tilted your head back, offering more of your skin for his exploration.

Expertly, his fingers unraveled the straps of your bikini with a single pull, still nestled in your neck. As the air grazed your tightened nipples, your breath hitched when he took one between his fingers, fidgeting and further intensifying the sensation.

Your sensitive boobs elicited desperate whimpers as he continued grinding against you, creating a symphony of pleasure. The air thickened, and your bodies radiated heat.

His lips passionately suctioned a spot, causing your eyes to roll. You were well aware that he would leave a hickey there.

Moving from your neck, his lips trailed down to your collarbone. Frustration built as he skillfully teased the sides of your breasts, deliberately avoiding the attention where you craved it most.

"Pedri, please..." You gently tugged his strands, prompting him to lift his head. Counterfeit innocence gleamed in his pupils.

"What do you need, amor? Tell me, is there something I can do for you?" His gentle caress graced your cheek, and you melted into his simmering touch.

"Please..." He ceased grinding, his hand swiftly traversing to your neck, as your hand descended, grazing his abs.

"If only you could see this beautiful hickey right now," He whispered, tracing the mark and toying with you, his actions inviting your response as he often did.

It was exasperating; no matter how frequently you found yourself in such moments with him, articulating your desires remained a challenge.

"Just do something," you uttered, a touch of despondency in your voice, pouting with pleading eyes. Yet, he remained resolute.

"I just don't know what you want." He shook his head, gently placing a strand of hair behind your ear, mimicking your pout with a teasing tone.

"Alright... just please, babe, suck my tits," you replied with a hint of frustration. His corners lifted, forming a smile, having successfully achieved his goal.

"There she is, that's my good girl, aren't you?" You couldn't help but nod several times steadfastily, just wanting him to stop playing.

His face vanished from your sight as he covered one of your breasts with his mouth. A loud moan escaped your throat, a sound of satisfaction for him as he moved his tongue, savoring your skin. "Was it that difficult?" He gazed at you once more, and you sighed in irritation, prompting him to raise his eyebrows, questioning your actions.

"No." Your fingers traced his chest as he continued sucking with determination.

Moving lower, you reached the edge of the swim trunks' fabric. However, as you did, he pulled away with a frown. "Who said you could touch?" You mirrored his expression confused.

"Last night, you scared me a lot. Do you think it was funny for me? No, so you can't decide who's having fun, okay?" Your chest felt heavy, yet you found a strange allure in his dominant low voice, even though you wanted to object.

"I thought..." He wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you back and shutting your mouth with his thumb. He watched as you sucked it, humming and biting his plump lips.

"You didn't think shit. Now, jump." He firmly gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly to the pool's edge. Seated, you patiently awaited his guidance, uncertainty accelerating your heartbeat.

Intense eye contact heightened the tension. His fingers delicately traced over your thighs, starting from the outer part, then gently grazing your clothed intimacy. He devoured you with his gaze.

"Lean back for me, baby." You did as he pleased leaning in your elbows.

He tapped on your thighs, a signal to lift your hips, and he removed the sole fabric covering your body and throwing it to your side. He took your legs and placing them over his shoulders. Spreading you open. A groan escaped him at the sight, reveling in your arousal.

"So wet, just for me," he murmured, running his fingers through your folds, collecting your juices and parting your lips to spread the liquids.

You pressed closer, yearning for more. "Just for you." Suddenly, a firm spank on your sensitive area made you shudder, and you gasped. "Behave," he commanded, throwing you a dominant look.

Circling your clit, he gradually increased the pace. Tilted back, moans escaped uncontrollably. Another spank followed, and you met his gaze. "Keep your eyes on me, princess. Watch as I pleasure you like no one else could."

His words wielded a powerful influence in every scenario. Returning to your pussy, he made his way to slip two fingers inside you easily as you were soaked by now. The reflex to close your eyes surfaced, but his commanding words echoed in your mind.

He initiated a rhythmic motion, penetrating and withdrawing, targeting your most sensitive depths, obscene wet sounds, thumb still teasing your bud. Overwhelmed by the intensity, you sought stability, bringing your index finger to your mouth, biting down to anchor yourself. "You can grab my hair, baby," he suggested, prompting a satisfying sigh as you obediently followed his directive.

As the synchronization of your movements intensified, he decided to elevate the pleasure further. His mouth joined the sensual dance, lasciviously spitting your core, eliciting a contented hum from you.

As his mouth drew near your clit, enveloping it ably, a scream escaped your lips, worthy of a scene of a pornographic film. His name slipped through your mouth, an inadvertent encouragement that fueled his tenacity to excel, delve deeper, move faster, and render you numb in ecstasy.

In the intimacy, he displayed a reflection of his approach on the field, always seeking ways to enhance and achieve peak performance, a relentless pursuit of reaching his full potential at what he knew he was one of the bests, even when he didn't want to admit it.

There was no sweeter melody than your filthy moans. His crotch throbbed aching, aware that just a few pumps would make him reach his climax. But he needed to focus on you first, even though he rolled his hips against the concrete, trying to calm down his needs.

He groaned, shutting his eyes and digging his tongue into your hole. Your legs entwined around his neck, the tight knot of pleasure building as you moved your hips in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue.

"Pedri, I'm..." You shouted, the words hanging in the air unfinished, as he entered both, fingers with tongue, increasing the pace with each successive motion.

He opened his eyes again, locking onto yours, brimming with passion beneath the sun. His nose brushing against your clit, combined with his bambi-like eyes in contrast to the authority he held over you, escalate the moment as you tightly grasped his hair, evoking the release of your juices.

He couldn't help but stop pressing against the wall and squeeze his shaft inescapably, captivated by the way you adhered to what he said, even if it meant he had to assert control with a firm hand, correcting your inclination to lean back a few times.

He loved how obedient you were and how your body reacted.

Your high-pitched sounds spurred him to slip his hand inside his swim trunks, almost moaning at the sensations created by his own touch and the enticing arch of your back. He found himself immersed in the sweet taste and intoxicating fragrance that surrounded him.

He went up and down with his hand on his dick fervently, trembling in sync with you. "Are you going to come, my love? Do it for me," his deep voice making you feel so close. You played with one of your hardened nipples between your fingers. You affirmed with the other hand on his hair, and he hummed against you in response. "Oh, my god." you mumbled.

His vibrations heightened your euphoria, and the combination of his tongue and fingers left you feeling overstimulated. As you screamed arching your back, you became undone, laying flat, straightening your arms at your side and shuddering as you felt him persisting in his ministrations.

Too blind to reach his own pleasure to think about anything else, he continued pounding his dick, gripping his tip as he parted his lips, releasing ecstatic sounds and feeling the reverberations across his body. Leaning against your abdomen, he sensed his shots filling his shorts as he lowered his pace.

You tenderly ran your fingers through his sweaty hair, both basking in the tranquility of the moment as his chest rose and fell. Minds empty.

"Come here, baby," you whispered. He propelled himself up from the water and leaned flat at your side.

As you lay down on the cold poolside with him, he placed his hand on your waist, burying his head in your neck. He rubbed his nose, sensing how your perfume delicately mixed with expelled pheromones, obtaining a small giggle from you.

You swung your leg over his waist, leaning your chest towards him, and stroked his wet hair.

"Thank you," you smiled with closed eyes, sighing. "It's just what I needed."

"I like hearing that," he said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. You looked like a fallen angel with your smudged mascara, swollen lips, tired eyes, and blush spreading across your cheeks.

His gaze instinctively dropped to your neck, observing the love mark on your skin. Though in his mind, he still questioned if this was truly love.

Without delving too much into his thoughts, he gently pecked your lips.

"Pedri..." you sighed, coming down from the adrenaline rush. Sitting up, you supported yourself with your hands and looked at him, recalling internet articles and Elena's words.

"Already want to talk about that?" he asked, huddled up, absorbing the remaining sunlight.

"I'm going to shower," you said, rising from the ground, creating a space for anticipation, allowing him to process and reflect. You knew the house perfectly, having visited many times with the understanding that no one could see you and spend the entire day together.

But meaningful memories were scarce, and you clung to them, hoping that someday it could be more than the fear of being seen together, unable to go to a restaurant or travel together.

You entered the shower, letting the cold water make you reconsider your beliefs. You trusted that, for the first time, you had found something real, a gentleman who stood out in the world of ordinary men, wanting to keep you safe.

You also trusted that you would walk on nails and endure all the thorns of a rose just to be with him. But genuinely, love should be about facing painful situations to prove love for a person, or love should feel welcoming, a place where you would stay for eternity if it had to be so?

You analyzed it, the rain falling on you as you cleaned your body. You wouldn't stay with Pedri; he never felt like a place where you could unload all your baggage without fear.

After all, coming from past relationships, he was your sanctuary at first, stemming from more deficient and unstable experiences. You couldn't stop the solitary tear that escaped your eye.

Since the night you met, you should have realized that nothing good could come from something that was supposed to be just for a night. But you didn't want to listen.

You left the shower, unable to continue ruminating in your head without fainting in the attempt. The drops that weren't allowed to fall from your tear ducts were released by your hair.

You grabbed your clothes, still absorbed in your thoughts. When you finished dressing, you placed your hand on the doorknob. Behind it lay the definition of the future of this strange relationship, and the confrontation was something that terrified you.

You walked into the living room to find him seated, wrestling with his thoughts, head bowed, facing away. Approaching him, you crossed your arms in front of his neck and hugged him, taking in his freshly scented and the slight dampness of his hair. He looked at you wearily, unsure of what would happen, and you gave him a kiss on the cheek before sitting next to him on the gray sofa.

You took his hand with love; you couldn't deny that, despite everything, he had been the source of most of your joys in the last four months. You took a deep breath before letting it out and started speaking.

"Are you mine?" His hand tensed, and his brow furrowed. He didn't understand where such a sudden question came from.

"What?" He responded confused, almost pulling away from you.

"Are you mine or not?" You still hoped for a more certain answer.

"I don't understand where your question is coming from." His expression showed he had never really thought about something like that. At least, was there some kind of feeling for you in his heart? You wondered which person you had been with all this time.

"Just answer it." You let go of his hand; your voice carried a tone of desperation and anguish. You knew you wouldn't get anywhere, but you still needed to cling to the few hopes that remained.

"I don't understand what you mean by 'yours'; we never talked about..." He tried to make another excuse in front of your eyes. It felt as if he were treating you like a little girl, who would eventually leave the question unanswered once she got tired.

"I need to know where we stand! Do you want to be with me or not?" You no longer knew why you kept trying about something that wouldn't change. You stood up from the sofa, and he avoided looking at you.

"Why do you have to make it so complicated? We're just having fun." He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. That response could have been worse than a straightforward no.

"Having fun? Do you think I'm with you to have fun with how the media calls me a slut, Pedro?" You shook your head in disbelief, letting out a bitter, pained laugh. "Four months enduring your ambiguities while defending you in front of my friends, saying you needed time." Your voice faltered, recalling all the arguments you had faced, thinking that at some point, everything would change.

"I didn't think you felt that way." He detached himself from his actions, as if it were so simple. Still avoiding eye contact.

"You said you loved me! Did you ever feel genuine love for me?" Your heart tightened; all this couldn't be a big lie where you were the only one playing a game that was already resolved.

"I don't know." He whispered, unsure of how you would react to such an unsure yet determinant answer. Your eyes blurred with contained tears; you couldn't cry like this in front of him.

"You knew everything you were doing; you knew that I was yours, and you didn't care." You screamed, desperate for him to show some emotion, to show that something of everything you had experienced had a hint of reality.

"It wasn't like that." He replied in the same flat tone, this time looking at you and realizing the tears that were falling, while you were motionless, feeling the room spin around you, and your ears ringing again.

"It was exactly like that." You had been sincere from your first conversation, under that neon light on a private yacht. A party where you didn't want to be, he approached you for that simple reason; you were the only girl who hadn't looked at him.

And you had found someone whom you thought had the will and power to heal all your wounds. But you ended up dancing with shadows in glass, with something ephemeral that you thought could be eternal. While you ended up being one of the many prey in his history.

"I gave you everything, I told you about my past and how I needed someone to trust, and you ended up being like everyone else." You released a silent sob and headed towards the room, where you had left your backpack. You were supposed to spend a weekend together, and now everything was withered. Your feigned acts of believing that magic still existed were in vain.

"Where are you going?" You gasped, bumping into him in the door frame; he placed his hands on your shoulders, concerned.

"I called Elena; she'll come to pick me up." You hadn't even talked to your best friend when you sneaked away with Pedri at noon; she would do everything to stop you from leaving, and you preferred not to tell her. But she, without hesitation, as soon as you asked, was already on her way.

"We can try to fix it." You knew he was only offering the response your ears craved. But you weren't going to fall for his spells. This time, his method of still having your strings to manipulate you like a puppet wouldn't work.

"I won't be with someone who never cared about me." You walked to the door, lowering the latch, and turned around once more; he looked at you from a considerable distance. He wasn't going to try to stop you, and that was what hurt the most. "Good luck, Pedro."

You left the house, and the evening air enveloped you. You walked along the walkway made of rocks, each step feeling heavier than the last. Another relationship failing, another person disappointing and discarding you like a crumpled note, forgotten in the margins of a story that never reached its intended conclusion.

Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks now that you weren't facing him. You stood on the street, waiting for Elena to arrive. She had every right to tell you 'I told you so,' and she would be justified.

You saw her black car approaching from the end of the street, parking right in front of you. You hesitated for a moment to get in, embarrassed to ignore someone who only sought your happiness.

She rolled down the window, and your eyes locked inviting you in. Opening the door, she extended her arms, offering solace. Tears streamed down your face as you looked for refuge on her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Ele." You lifted your head, and she gently wiped away your tears. Shaking her head, she dismissed your apologies.

"I'll always be here by your side. You're the one who needs to learn, but I'll never leave you adrift, okay?" You pouted, and your tears continued to flow.

You both settled back into your seats, stealing glances at the house. A part of you lingered there, and a lump formed in your throat. You sensed that distancing yourself was the only thing that could save you from descending into delirium. Now, you must gather the fragments of your heart once more and rebuild it on your own.

Your eyes went directly to the hickey he had left. You wanted to rip that skin off, not wanting to have him in your memories in any way.

Leaning your head against the window, you wondered what could have been if fame hadn't been the haunting specter in your life. You guessed that you will never actually know.

#pedri x reader #pedri angst #pedri smut #pedri x you #pedri x y/n #football x reader #football imagine #football angst #football smut #pedri imagine

[livingemkayde]

warning signs

boston!joel miller x f!reader | 3.8k

↳ warnings: this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, oral m! and f!receiving, fingering, joel is emotionally distant because the world has gone to shit, violence (reader gets hit once by a FEDRA soldier), mentions of blood and wounds, angst!!!, no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything. 

↳ a/n: WADDUP PARTY PEOPLE!!! were back again with another post outbreak!joel miller one shot, horrible canva graphic done by yours truly, and a quiet obsession with this idea while i had covid.

so....this is a little different from my regular scheduled programming. i wanted to explore a different kind of writing style and i am really happy with how this came out. it made writing fun. thank you for all of your comments, reblogs, asks, etc. they truly do mean the world. IM JUST A GIRL WRITING HER HEART OUT SO THANK YOU.

↳ this one is dedicated to my long lost lover and biggest supporter, @joelsversion i love you bestie.

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He deserves it all.  You know that for certain.  And they were all right about him, dangerous.  But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’.  You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves.  If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all. 

“He’s not a good man.” 

“You don’t know that,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I know what he’s done. He’s — dangerous.”

“But does that make him a bad man?” 

“It certainly doesn’t make him a good one.”

___

“Good morning,” you say, zipping up the front of your jacket, doubling the extra layer of warmth. It’s freezing today, and you’ve managed to fit both of your long sleeves under your coat. 

You smile at him, like always. Almost practiced, almost rehearsed. And he always gives you a gruff nod, and says—

“Mornin’.” 

“Cold out,” you acknowledge, following in stride, a stair behind him. Your boots slap down onto the wood but it only creaks under the weight of his body. He slumps down the steps, one big, heavy foot in front of the other. You notice how he waits for you to go first when you both round the corner. 

He just grunts in response. He’s not rude, or mean. It’s just how he is. It’s what you’ve gotten used to. But there’s something different in his tone this time. The etches marked in his face right between his eyebrows are stronger and his lip quivers on the right side, shaking with an uncertainty that changes his entire face into something you’re not quite sure you’ve ever seen before. A face like he’s worried about something. 

You both get to the bottom of the stairs, nearing the entrance to the building. This is the part where he goes his way and you go yours. You follow the sun’s path, towards your daily jobs, he goes towards the ration line, towards other Areas. It’s just how it is. 

Until it isn’t. 

You know him.

Well, that’s not to say much—everyone knows him. But you’ve had the lucky chance of actually meeting him. Not really knowing him. But you know who he is and the deep, dark, drawl of his voice. 

If someone were to say, ‘Hey, you know Joel Miller, right?’ 

You’d honestly probably say no. 

But that’s just because truly knowing Joel Miller comes with its consequences. 

But you do know he always wears his green flannel when it’s a little chilly out. You know his mug broke and that he needed to borrow one of yours a couple days ago. And you can hear every time he opens his door. Whether he’s inviting someone in, or seeing someone out is a different story. A story you don’t care to find out. 

And maybe that’s enough to know him—or so you thought. 

You see him.

Everyday. 

Same time. 

Same place. 

Whoever previously stayed in your apartment left an open unit for you to settle into when you first arrived in Boston three months ago. They’re probably dead now. You try not to think of that fact too often. You kept to yourself mostly. Almost a ‘speak when spoken to’ situation. You felt like you were back in Sunday school. 

But then, when you had settled into your new routine, you saw him. Same time, same place, everyday. 

You know Joel Miller leaves his apartment at 8:02 am. You figured it’s because he tells himself to be out the door by 8:00 am but doesn’t actually start leaving until the hour hand hits—just like you. You know that he prefers to take the back stairs, just like you. And you also know that he heads straight for the ration lines when the fresh air finally hits.

You like to watch him as he walks away, stalking in another direction, almost into a different world.

He barely speaks to you. Maybe less than two words per sighting. You’re not really looking for a thought provoking conversation, but a conversation might be nice.

Though, you can’t really focus on much besides how handsome you think he is. You even saw him smile once. His face turned kind of boyish. You had said something about needing coffee, desperately, and he actually smiled. 

It almost felt like something normal. 

Maybe in some sick and backwards way you thought you two were friends. But, in retrospect, that might’ve been silly. Because in reality, you can’t stop thinking about him. You wake up, having replaced your need for coffee by the thought of seeing him. 

What’s he going to wear today? 

Is he gonna look at you?

What’s he going to say? Something practiced? Something new?

You always hope for the latter. 

You like how he scares people. How he can cut the radio comm line and the most anyone would dare say is garbled into a low and nonthreatening, there’s a line here. How he seems to put on a front, but in those fleeting minutes when you both walk in tandem down the back stairs, he doesn’t put it on. Not for you—not in front of you. You tried not to let that get to your head. But Joel Miller mixed with polite small talk, and good mornings, and you can’t help but feel special. So that stupid naive part of you thought that you knew him. You heard stories of him, sure. But decidedly, you don’t really know him. Not like that. 

Because just as you give him a small smile and turn to walk off in the opposite direction, he grabs your arm. 

It’s not hard or threatening. He’s surprisingly soft, almost gentle. His hand is so starkly warm—a living furnace. He pulls you back to the stairwell, you get so flustered that you trip over yourself, but he holds you up. He looks down at you, and he’s still got that worried look on his face masked by something eerily calm. 

The hand on your bicep doesn’t move—even when you relax your arm. You wouldn’t dare speak. His presence sewed your mouth shut, one look and you’re a ghost. He looks you up and down, his eyes catching at your chest, your lips, your heated cheeks. Almost like it’s the first time he’s really seen you.  

You highly doubt that though. 

Did he notice when a firefly left your apartment in the dead of night?

Did he care that you ventured into the world of pleasure over good judgment? 

You think he does. 

“You need to be careful,” he drawls, finite, stern. 

You let your eyes go big, your mouth parts. It’s the most this man has ever said to you, let alone touch you. You’ve never been this close to him. The air is so cold your breath puffs out in clouds. Your heels dig into the molding of the wall. 

“Around Area 3,” he clarifies when you remain silent. 

You can feel his hand push into the layers covering your arm. It seeps something sickly down to your bones. Even through the thickness of it, his hand is warm, and his grip is inviting. 

He has big eyes. It’s really the only thing you can think about. You can only see Joel Miller’s big puppy dog eyes staring down at you. They’re black, pitch-dark. Maybe in the light they might be brown. You wonder if you'll ever see them look at you in any other way. You silently hope you will. 

His grip tightens a fraction of an inch, pushing you back into the wall a little. Almost like he’s saying — do you hear me?

“Why?” you manage to squeak out. 

“Just—” he huffs, maybe sighs, “—don’t get too close. It’s dangerous.”

It almost seems like he’s waiting for you to respond. To confirm that you hear him and that you understand. Acknowledge that you’ll at least try to be safe. Though you both know safety around these parts are few and far between. 

And maybe you should be careful, because the most dangerous thing right now is that Joel Miller’s got you pinned to the wall. Where no one can see either of you. Or hear the darkened drawl whispering off his scruff into a white cloud. But you’re not really scared, and you silently think you should be. 

Dangerous—everyone had said to you when you first got here. He’s fucking dangerous. But how can dangerous be spelled out into something kind? How can dangerous look like he doesn’t ever want to let you go?

“Okay,” you say, breathless. He releases your arm, it leaves its mark burned into you. He backs away from you with his eyes studying yours. You don’t move, and he nods towards the exit.

____

Joel was right. About Area 3. 

A day later, you’re walking to the ration lines and you can hear the trucks rolling through. You pick up your speed, put your head down, and try to walk a little faster. 

“Miss?” 

Shit. 

You’re almost there. Just a couple more blocks. 

“Miss, you can’t be out here,” it calls out again. You don’t recognize the voice—you keep walking. 

“Hey!” he says, pulling at your arm. You fight away, but he hits you across the face and you fall, clutching your cheek with a cold palm. The sting is dulled, your vision wobbles a little and you begin to taste something metallically and familiar looming against the inside of your cheek. 

“You fuckin’ deaf?” the soldier says, picking you up roughly by an arm. He’s not warm. Or soft. Or surprisingly gentle. 

“Fuck off,” you bite back, standing, pushing out of his grip, and shaking your jacket of the dust. It flutters off you like soot while you stumble back onto the curb. 

“I said—go—” the soldier grabs at his gun slung lazily over his shoulder, “—home.”

“I need to get to the lines,” you say, making a move towards your original direction. He grabs you again, and your head hits the brick wall behind you with a thunk. 

“We’re under curfew,” he growls. The safety of his rifle notched under a gloved finger unlatches with a click. The front of the barrel comes up to kiss your forehead. “Last chance.”

You hear your name get called from down the street and freeze, silently cursing to yourself. A fast approaching voice accompanies your beating heart. It snakes around your lungs and gives you a good squeeze. 

“I got her, Davis,” Joel says, pushing the soldier’s body away from you, wedging himself, etched with a stern look, between you and Davis. The gun now sits soundly against Joel’s chest. The part of your forehead that kissed the metal aches. 

“Get outta here, Miller,” he warns, shaking his head, like Joel should know better, like Joel should be smarter, like Joel shouldn't be risking everything for you. But he doesn’t move. He pushes the soldier back with a stern palm on the front of his bullet proof vest. Davis stumbles a little, backing away, his feet falling off the curb and onto the dirty street.  

“I got her.”

A tense couple beats. You pick at the skin of your pointer finger, running your nail over the ridge of your knuckles. You can hear more trucks barreling down the streets as you wait. Your lungs haven’t been reprieved of their tightness yet.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Davis shakes his head, pushing away from Joel’s hand. You watch silently over his shoulder. 

“‘M not.” 

“Go home,” Davis warns under his breath, looking around the street for any signs of life, “don’t— fucking come out until morning.”

“Yeah,” Joel breathes out, “alright.”

“I mean it,” he says, “and keep her locked in,” he points a warning finger over Joel's shoulder at you. “They see you, it's on sight.”

“We're good,” Joel says, shielding your body from Davis, like your own bullet proof vest. Armor. A personal chest plate and helmet and knee pads combined into one man. Maybe that’s what should feel dangerous—that you feel so safe between Joel Miller and a brick wall where all you can do is watch in earnest. 

“And I want double — next time,” Davis adds, latching the safety of his gun back on and straightening out his vest. 

“Just get outta here,” Joel says, backing away towards the apartment. You follow him. The soldier goes the opposite direction. 

___

Your hands are shaking. 

They’re shaking as you close the door, and forget to lock it. They’re fucking shaking when you slip out of your jacket and unsheath the knife from your waistband. 

You can see your right hand, coming up as if an instinct to touch your cheek, the redness on your fingertips are the only indication you need. You try to rub the pads of your fingers together to erase the evidence of damage. But it doesn’t disappear. It never does. 

“Shit,” you mumble. Your fucking cheek hurts. 

He’s so quiet. He doesn’t even knock, just slips into your apartment. You only hear him shut the door with a click and you spin around, grabbing at the knife left strewn on the table. Your hands fumble on the handle. 

“What’re you…”

Joel gestures to something in his hand, then towards the fast forming bruise on your cheekbone. You drop the knife on the table. 

“Ice,” he says in that southern drawl that pulls on that place between your thighs. 

You suddenly don’t care about the cut on your cheek, or the blood or the bruises. He takes in your apartment, noting each and every thing that makes you so starkly different from him. How you put up curtains, a table cloth you found in some antique shop before arriving in Boston, canned food that you’ve been saving. 

“You didn’t have to—” you say, nodding towards the window, towards outside. Then towards your cheek, the black and blue littered there. 

You didn’t have to do any of it.

“You okay?” is all he says in reply. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” 

“I —” he shakes his head, “—I’m sorry.”

“You warned me,” you huff out through a lazy kind of laugh. He doesn’t even smile. But you want him to. You want to see the way it transformed his face. The things you would do to see his lips pull and maybe, just maybe, you’d give anything to hear him laugh. 

“Still,” he mumbles, finally looking at your eyes instead of your cheek. 

He’s not a good man.

You think to yourself that he is. 

“You’re dripping,” you say, nodding towards his hand clutching onto the ice leaving behind a small puddle seeping through his knuckles. The drops fall in tune with a second hand ticking away against the face of a clock. 

He looks down, but doesn’t say anything, just stalks towards you, tentatively. Like you’re a scared, jumpy cat he’s trying to approach. You sit back against the table and dig your nails into the wood. 

“I should’ve…” he whispers, nearing your legs outstretched towards him, “should’ve killed him,” his eyes flick to your cheek, “for what he did.”

You shake your head at his words. You silently think to yourself maybe that’s the only thing he knows for certain—the only thing he knows how to do. To get his hands dirty for someone he cares about, so that the blood won’t ever come off his soiled palms. Like your fingertips, like the bed of your nails.

He huffs a long sigh, you look into his eyes for anything but wind up empty handed. 

The ice bites into your open palms. He rustles with it before placing the little pack into your fingers, his, all encompassing and brushing over yours and turning them ice cold and burning hot at the same time. He’s close, and he keeps staring at your lips when he’s not occupied with your cheek.

Dangerous smells like pine and musk and dangerous has got you wrapped around his finger. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

He shakes his head, “Don’t.” 

Don’t say his name, not like that. And don’t make those breathy sounds and certainly don’t look at him like that. Because it’s been way too long for him and you’re too good and he is too fucking bad. 

So you don’t say anything. But you pull him closer against your body, wedged between something scary and something soft and sweet, tipping on the edge. One foot on either side of the thin line. 

He just sighs, pushes out a heavy breath, trying to contain himself. Like he can’t believe this is really happening, despite everyone’s better judgment. Despite his own. 

“I—” his voice quivers, he almost shakes his head, but it just pulls you two closer together. 

“You don’t want to?” you whimper, entranced by the way his breath punches on top of your nose. You think if you dragged your lips down his chest you would be able to feel his steady heartbeat. 

“‘S been a while,” he admits through ragged whispered breaths. 

“But do you…?” you question, placing your hands on his forearms, pulling him impossibly close until he’s slotted between your open legs. The ice is abandoned on the table to melt with your discernment. 

He nods and gives you a certain look—’course I do. His lip pulls a little, looking down suddenly towards your chest. Pleading with himself. 

A losing battle. 

Maybe he thinks he isn’t worthy. 

You pull him forward, kiss him, throw your arms around his shoulders and he picks you up off the table at that, finding your bedroom through the mess. 

You’re convinced that he is.

___

As it turns out, dangerous feels fucking amazing. It tastes like something oddly sweet. It definitely shouldn't feel as good as it does. It shouldn’t be sweet nothings, and grunting, pleading whispers wrapped around a heady background tune. 

“Joel,” you moan. This time he doesn’t stop you, “—fuck,” you whimper, tangling your face into the sheets, dragging his hands over your body. 

You kiss his neck, his pulse strums as strong as you thought it might be.

“Darlin’, I—” he grunts softly, “—are you sure—” 

“Yes,” you puff out, “yes, I — yes.”

You want to give him things. You want to be the softness for him to come back to in those early mornings and those late nights. You want it all, you want it with him. You want him to be gentle like you know he can—relax in the way he never does because he pleads with himself that he shouldn't.

He deserves it all. 

You know that for certain. 

And they were all right about him, dangerous. 

But maybe they only spewed a half truth. Because yes, dangerous. But only because he shouldn't feel so good, shouldn't be so gentle, shouldn't call you baby, and angel, and sweetheart, and darlin’. 

You’ve been morphed into a daredevil by kisses and soft touches and two fingers notched inside your wanting cunt while his tongue slides over your bundle of nerves. 

If Joel Miller is dangerous, you're willing to risk it all. 

“Fuck—Oh my—god, Joel—” you whine and pull at the curls at the base of his neck. 

“Taste so good, angel,” he whispers against your cunt, quickening his pace, a man starved. 

You push out something sounding close to his name. He looks wrecked, you know you probably look worse. His fingers crook somewhere deep inside you, you garble out something coherent only to your mind. You’re sensitive, but he’s gentle. The firefly didn’t do this, you didn’t even ask him to. 

Your name is something broken on his lips, burying his tongue deep into your cunt, tasting you, lapping up your wetness smeared across the inside of your thighs. The ceiling might be spinning, but you’re too fucked out to care. For an out of practice man, Joel Miller seems to be an expert—like riding a bike. His mouth is warm and soft and gentle and he keeps going until you have to push his head away. 

He says those fucking words again, something desperate behind his pleading eyes. 

“‘S been a while.”

You don’t acknowledge them, just push him back, until he's sitting at the edge of the bed, running your hands across his chest. 

“Sweetheart…” he says, a feeble attempt to stop you. 

“Relax,” you laugh a little, running your hands down to his belt, the tell tale sound of the metal clinking makes you slither your way down to kneel, until your face—your mouth, is perfectly, lazily hung over the bulge in his pants. 

“You don’t—fuck—don’t have to,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair. You almost whimper, everything threatening to boil over when he cups your face, pushing his thumb tenderly into your uninjured cheek. 

“I want to,” you whimper. 

He almost looks pained. 

Your hands find the button and the zipper, and pull it down as you reach forward to kiss him. He moans into your mouth, already hard just from your featherlight touches. When you pull him out of his boxers, the hand on your cheek reaches around to grasp your jaw, angling your head to look up at him.  

He breaks the kiss, you wrap your hand around him experimentally. 

“Fuck—” he groans, and his eyes flutter shut. You try to move your lips down towards his length, but he keeps you there, looking at him. 

“‘M not gonna last,” he whispers. 

You whimper at the prospect. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper back.

It’s a shame. You realize. That it’s been a while for him. You want him to feel good. You want him to feel better. He doesn’t think he’s a good man. He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you. 

You know that he is. 

He removes his hand. 

You take him into your mouth. 

“F-fuck—” he groans, locking his hand back into your hair. You swirl your tongue over the head of his cock and he throws his head back, looking up at the ceiling for something to focus on. 

“Baby—I—” he pants, his fingers bury into your roots and lock onto your bed sheets beneath him. His desperate breath shoots right to your core. You’re no doubt dripping with need when he accidentally grinds his hips into your mouth.

“Shit—” he sits forward a little, taking your head between his two big palms, “‘M sorry, darlin’—” 

You cut him off, his words are swallowed with his own grit. You take him deeper, adding your hand to the parts you can’t quite reach. 

“Good?” you say, lapping at the underside of his cock before taking him in your mouth again. 

“Yeah,” he groans, “yeah, fuckin’—good.”

Your mouth fits tight around the base of his cock. He swallows back moans. His hands become desperate, like his panting breath and his fucked out expression. 

He spills into your throat, pushing his hips up into your mouth until you choke on him. He tastes like desperate gasps, stolen glances, good mornings, goodnights, and be carefuls. His eyes look lighter, like you thought they’d be in the sunlight. 

You pull yourself off of his cock, resting your head on his thigh, sitting back on your heels so you can look up at him. His fingers are still rooted in your hair. It’s silent for a few short moments. You can still taste him on your tongue. His hand runs across the top of your head, and down to your shoulders and settles to rest on the outside of your throat. 

And you laugh. 

And he smiles. 

___

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