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uglyducklingofthe2000s · 5 months

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Never Going Out In Public Again - LN

I just watched Lando's stream with AngryGinge, Lando needs to tame himself. Or get himself a girlfriend (I am so obviously available). Also hope we're all in agreement that Lando clearly admitted in that stream he has a daddy kink, I want here and now to say...I knew it

Summary: Something that not even Lando expects happens when he tells AngryGinge to "come to daddy" occurs for his whole stream to witness

Themes: suggestions of smut, but no actual smut

Lando hadn't spent any of the stream hiding that he's horny and AngryGinge isn't sorry to call him out on it.

"Where is your girlfriend? Because I think she's fucking needed. Do you want to go off stream and have a moment with her?" AngryGinge questions genuinely thinking that y/n might have Lando on some sort of sex ban.

"She's shopping for Christmas presents so I'm not allowed to go with her." Lando states thinking about what he could plan for when she's back.

"I'm going to message her on Instagram and tell her you are clearly desperate for her attention."

"Do it." Lando shrugs completely unbothered since he knows she won't even see the message.

They continue playing before reaching a point where AngryGinge needs Lando to heal him.

"Lando! Lando!" AngryGinge exclaims making Lando near him.

"Come-Come to daddy."

"Oh my god yes, daddy."

"What baby?" Y/n's voice calls as she walks up the hallways towards his gaming room.

Lando's jaw drops in a moment of hoping that the mic didn't pick up her voice but the response in the chat and AngryGinge yelling gives away that they did hear it.

"Oh baby." Lando laughs as she appears at the doorway, now frowning in confusion before she begins to connect the dots.

"No. No. No. turn it off!"

"I can't." Lando cackles, while hearing AngryGinge in his ear asking if she really just responded to him saying come to daddy.

"I'm never going out in public again. In fact this relationship is over." Y/n declares making Lando practically hysterical before he moves quickly out of frame and drags her very much against her will into the stream.

"Say hi."

"No!"

"Oh. you are such a cruel man. You are so cruel and that's by my standards." AngryGinge laughs loudly as Lando yanked y/n into his lap and held there tightly. "Can she hear me?"

Lando looks at y/n who is still hiding her face behind her hands.

"Did you hear him baby? You gotta speak." Lando states as his laughing that has actually caused stitch slowly dies away though it could easily.

"I hate you so much. I hate you with every ounce of my body."

"Here, y/n. Lando has been a filthy boy on this stream."

"You don't know what she's like-ah, ok I deserved that." Lando laughs while wincing as her elbow digs back into his ribs.

"I think we all know what she's calling you when the two of you are alone." AngryGinge states making y/n groan and recover her face.

"Alright, hold on because I think I have some apologising to do." Lando laughs muting himself and cutting the camera while the boys respond with murmurs of acknowledgement. "I'm so sorry, baby. Don't be mad."

"It wasn't your fault...I'm just stupid." Y/n huffs then pouting. "You have to tell them it's a joke."

"And lie?" Lando gasps as if his morals are above that. "Fine, I'll lie...on one condition."

Lando is fully intending to use this spontaneous and sudden need to be inside of his girlfriend as soon as possible while also being as subtle as possible.

"Which would be?"

"You waiting for me in that set that I like, ready for when I'm done on the stream." Lando instructs while stroking a hand up her thigh while she swallows thickly knowing that Lando when he's horny might be something funny to the rest of the world, but when he touches her, she might as well be a puddle in his lap. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

That confirmation is all Lando needs to switch everything back on and appear back on the stream with him smiling while she tries to shake off the expression of being completely ready to let Lando destroy her however he'd like.

"Alright, boys. She's ok, no more upset. But y/n's gonna say bye so we can get on with the game." Lando states as his hand slides up between her legs, shameless since he knows it's out of sight of the camera.

"Bye y/n!"

"Bye, guys." She mumbles before she stands up leaving Lando to smirk a little as he watches her leave.

She'll certainly never live the moment of responding to Lando referring to himself as daddy. But he can make her forget it and even embrace it once he's finished the stream.

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querenciasturniolo · 3 months

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chris or matt x fem!reader please !!! i legitimately cannot choose between them for my life so you can choose :) maybe reader’s also like an influencer and they have this secret sort of relationship for a while and its all super fluffy, but fans are already starting to speculate that they’re together and stuff, and then at the end they finally go public with a hard launch and/or live and everyone in the comments ( or chat if it’s a live ) is going FERAL

p.s. also i’ve loved your works for so long you DO NOT UNDERSTAND and i’ve finally gathered up the courage to send in a message even tho it’s sent in with a request !

hard launch ⮕ m.s.

word count: 911

warnings: swearing

summary: request

a/n: STOP YOU’RE SO SWEET 😭 please don’t be scared of me, i promise i don’t bite HAHAHA, ily are you kidding me 🫶🏻😭 also this was so fucking cute, i’m obsessed fr

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Watching Matt stream always had your heart stuttering in your chest.

The theme for Hogwarts Legacy was playing as he was adjusting his camera, your eyes watching him closely and trying to fight the smile stretching across your face. You were sure the viewers could see you staring, considering you were sitting in the chair directly next to him, on camera. His eyes dropped from the screen as he grabbed his controller.

“Alright guys, so, we’re playing Hogwarts Legacy tonight, but I have a special guest with me, as you all can see.” He turned his head and met your eyes, his own smile growing and his cheeks tingeing pink as he caught you already staring. Introduce yourself, he mouthed. You turned to face the camera, grinning wider than before as your eyes scanned over the chat.

“Hey guys, I’m the guest, obviously. My name is Y/n.” You said.

did anyone else see the way she was staring at matt ? they’re in love, confirmed

she’s so real, i’d be staring too

i can’t even handle this, she’s so cute

“Basically, Y/n’s going to play while I tell her what to do. She’s never held a controller in her life.” Matt teased, his eyes flickering between the screen and the chat as you pressed the button to start the game.

“Wait, I have to create a whole character?” You asked, glancing over at Matt as he placed the headset over your ears. He chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, you have to create a whole character, is that not what you were expecting when you begged me to play this game?” He teased. You rolled your eyes and adjusted the headset, making sure the ear that was on his side was exposed so you could hear him.

“This is ridiculous, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I had to create an entire chara—oh my God I can have pink hair, I take it back.” You rambled, scrambling through the hair colors. Matt’s laugh next to you had you grinning as your eyes flickered between the screen and the chat.

this banter is only proving my point that they’re in love

i’m so glad she’s streaming with him this is so funny

has anyone else noticed that matt hasn’t looked at the screen once

You glanced over at Matt, meeting his eyes immediately. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile as you shook your head and faced the screen again. You created your character, groaning when you realized you had to go through a thousand cut scenes, even though you were thrilled to be playing this game.

“I never understood why you can’t see those weird horse things until that dude gets eaten by the dragon.” Matt said, catching your attention enough for you to glance at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. You sighed through your nose and shook your head.

“I forgot, you’re a fake fan.” You said, interrupting him before he could fire back. “They’re thestrals, you can only see them if you’ve witnessed death, but they’re always there.” You explained, Matt furrowing his eyebrows as you faced the screen again.

y/n being a harry potter fan was not on my docket, but i’m not complaining

her humbling matt has got to be the funniest fucking thing i’ve ever seen in my life

i love this

The entire time you were going through the beginning quests, you and Matt had bickered back and forth, your smile wide with each comeback you shot at him. It wasn’t until a knock on Matt’s door that the two of you stopped talking. You paused the game, but Matt scoffed and unpaused it.

“You keep playing.” He demanded playfully, your own scoff leaving your lips as you shook your head and continued. Chris peeked his head into the door.

“Food’s here, just thought you guys should know.” He said, Matt nodding his head. Chris left the room, and Matt turned to you.

“I’ll go get it.” He said, standing from the chair as you turned to face him. Before you could process it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours firmly and turned to leave the room. You smiled and shook your head before facing the screen and realizing what just happened.

oh mY GOD I FUCKING KNEW IT

DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT ??????

WHAT IS GOING ON MATT JUST KISSED HER ON FUCKING STREAM

You ignored the chat, trying to play it off and completely move past what happened, thinking that Matt did it on instinct. Chats were flying in at such a rapid pace that it felt as though everything on the screen was lagging. It was completely screwing up how you were playing, not only your racing heart and shaking hands on the controller.

You completely short circuited, having no idea what to do as Matt walked back into his room. He was laughing at something Chris had said as he sat down next to you and glanced over at the chat.

“Oh.”

You looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, your skin on fire as you watched his eyes scan over the rapid chats flying in at once.

“Yeah.” You said, Matt finally meeting your eyes with pink cheeks. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your nose before he sat back and grinned widely.

“I guess that was one hell of a hard launch, huh?”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @champangekisses , @floofparker , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #querenciasturniolo

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mariespen · 2 months

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Panic Attack ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧

rafe x fem!reader ୨୧ summary: “What have you done to yourself?” warnings: mostly panic attack + comfort, abandonment

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ᝰ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

You could feel the soles of your feet dragging on the cold hardwood floor of Tannyhill. The entire house was deadly quiet except for your occasionally scratchy breathing. Rafe had left two days ago on a panicked mission of some sorts. You tried to protest his leave by begging him to talk to you, asking for anything. Unsurprisingly, Rafe gave you nothing. He shut the overarching front door abruptly, promising to be back soon. Two days passed.

The funny part was that you could see the regret in his eyes as if he wasn’t thinking about anything else. Rafe looked at you like he was being pulled out at gunpoint. You regretted things too, like focusing on your pleas for any explanation rather than taking in his features for what could be the last time.

Your feet were sore and tired from the endless pacing that took you by storm each day since he left. Your eyes were sunken into the deeper parts of your skull for no reason other than the weighted feeling of exhaustion paired with the inability to find any rest. Your hair was disheveled, thrown into whatever could keep it out of your pale face. Stress and anxiety wore down your heart until you felt as if you saw the world from two feet shorter. You had become a shell of the person you were before.

Until there was commotion at the front door. Your delayed reflexes caused you to only look at Rafe when he was mere feet away from you. Even though you had felt utterly lost, his presence was enough for you to feel your own eyes lighting up.

“Baby..” He whispered, looking at you with a horrified expression and walking up to you as you wobbled on your own feet.

Rafe wrapped you into a tight hug instantly, kissing the side of your head as you tried to register your own feelings, shaking in his arms. He took a step back, moving to cradle your face in his hands before looking over every sunken feature of your face that had weighed you down for the last two days. Rafe’s eyes were narrow with heavy concern.

“I didn’t mean..” He trailed off, noticing just how dire your condition was.

His eyes felt judging as they trailed over your face and body, almost like they were trying to seep into your mind. A thin layer of panic started to coat your lungs as his presence served to be less than comforting.

“Why did you.. leave me?” You whispered, your voice cracking as you felt your whole body shaking again.

“I..” The sentence died on his tongue, again.

Pushing away from his grasp, you stood back and tried to support yourself.

“What did you do?” Rafe barely whispered, furrowing his eyebrows and setting his sights on your disheveled appearance.

“W-what..?” You replied, everything weighing down on your shoulders all at once as his words broke the world around you.

“How did you let yourself..” “No..” You whispered, backing away and letting tears form on your waterline as your face contorts into that of a crying child.

“Oh, baby..” He walked back up to you, supporting you in his arms, “What have you done to yourself?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to suck in more air. Your heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of your claustrophobic ribcage. A gag left your mouth as you let a cry go with it. Tears finally freely streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into him. Your legs collapsed beneath you and he helped you to the ground, giving you space and taking a seat in front of you.

Rafe had only been next to you through about two panic attacks this far into your relationship. Each one felt more traumatic from the last, but you both knew it wasn’t true. You relied on Rafe, so it was easy to let yourself crave his presence during your flash-panic attacks.

“Look at me.” He said clearly, hesitating with a hand in the air, debating if he should touch you or not.

Every part of your body felt like it was being squeezed dry as he tried so hard to bring you back to the moment. You wanted his touch, his skin on yours, his pretty words in your ear, but your mind was racing while your body stayed frozen. You resorted to begging him through your own thoughts, nothing else feeling capable.

“Deep breathes, baby. You’re safe. It’s okay.” He recited a few times, finally deciding to hold your hands in his.

“H-hurts..!” You managed to sob out, referring to the doom-ridden feeling in your chest.

“I know it, princess.” Rafe whispered.

You mustered up the energy to lean forward, watching as he got the hint and moved next to where you were piled so you could curl into his body.

“S’just me, okay?” Rafe repeated a few times, his hands finding a place in your hair.

Looking up at him and feeling him looking back slowly helped you calm your ragged breaths. He held one of your shaky hands to his chest so you could mimic his breathing while he kept your head up.

“I can’t.. can’t..” You started, feeling more out of breath after focusing on his patterns instead. “I know it, baby. It’s okay, just look at me.” Rafe said, holding your foreheads together and letting you relax into him.

He left innocent, chaste kisses to your cheeks while he made you hold eye contact, letting his presence sink back into you.

“I’m so sorry.” Rafe whispered to you when your sobs finally slowed down.

With a deep breath, you nodded and broke eye contact by shoving your face into the crook of his neck. He let his hands find your hair again, kissing the side of your scalp right as you calmed down enough to breathe properly.

“I love you.” Rafe whispered, picking you up gently to support your weight on his own.

“I love you too.” Your voice cracked but you stayed strong, not letting tears fall again as you moved to your shared bedroom.

Rafe rubbed your back as you fell asleep on him, letting the lonely feeling disappear.

“My baby..” He whispered before you closed your eyes.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ᝰ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

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dear-ao3 · 2 months

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well good day to all of you. i have a tale. a classified, certified absolute god tier disaster of a tale.

at the ripe hour of 6:45 am i was awoken from my slumber by a Noise. what sort of noise? you might be asking.

the sort of noise that usually accompanies my father getting up at the ass crack of dawn and trying not to turn on the tap loudly so that he doesnt wake us up.

for one blissful moment i thought that i was at home, in my bed, and all was right with the world.

and then i remembered that i live approximately four hours away from my parents and all is not right with the world.

so i did what any person would do. waited for the noise to go away.

but it did not.

so i investigated. in all my bleary eyed glory.

and found that my bathroom ceiling light was pissing.

not just a little either.

a severe, unauthorized amount of water was streaming out of my bathroom light fixture.

so after banging on katyas door and finding a bucket and throwing on a sweatshirt i dragged my tired ass down to the front desk and reported the tea as it were.

now one thing you need to know about our building is that it is old. the second thing you need to know about our building is that the maitenance guys (we call them the boys) are absolutely incredible, like tumblr funny guy posts but irl, however they take for fucking ever to respond to any situation.

this time though, nothing was in clear danger of exploding or lighting on fire. so we made some breakfast. drank some coffee. watched the bucket that we had put in the bathroom fill up with water. and we waited.

and waited.

and waited some more.

then i noticed that if you stepped on some of our kitchen floor tiles they started squelching.

so back downstairs i went and explained the tea as it were once again.

and let it be known, that i worked for two very solid and very miserable years as a resident assistant in college. i know all about the woes of people complaining to you to fix things that you cannot fix and you cannot tell them when it will be fixed because the person who needs to do the fixing is otherwise indisposed. so my general attitude towards this whole situation was "hey man you can't make this better for me and im really not pressed about it as long as someone eventually comes and sorts out my pissing ceiling." which is a great attitude to have in this general situation. and especially so because it was about to get even more strange.

at approximately 9:30am our apartment was graced by the presence of one of the boys. the maintenance man. we will call him james.

we have encountered james before. he delt with our fuse box nearly exploding. that situation was not nearly as chill as this one was.

hes also incredible.

so he comes in and he goes "hey how's it going" and i say "well you know things are just leaking!"

he proceeds to tell us that the fridge in the apartment above us had a connection pipe that froze and exploded some how and that managed to leak all into our apartment. not nearly what i was expecting but hey! at least they know what's going on!

we tell him about the squelching tiles and he says that he will bring us a dehumidifier after he turns off the water and deals with the mess of the fridge above us. we say ok great! this is wonderful!

and he goes to leave the apartment. out of habit i had locked the door when he entered. he goes "aw man did you lock me in?"

and i say

"oh sorry!"

and he pauses.

and he looks at our door in disbelief. perhaps even utter horror.

and this, my lovely audience, is what he was looking at:

surprisingly. he was not staring at the entertainment for man and horse plaque that katya and i found while thrifting. nay. he was staring at the unfortunate combination of the printed photo of lando norris and max verstappens face.

now why are lando norris and ax verstappen on the back of my door? you might be asking. you might even be asking who they are.

and if youve been following the lore of this blog, you might recognize them as formula 1 drivers. lando norris of course being a mclaren driver and max verstappen being the reigning world champion of team red bull.

and how did they wind up on my door? well at christmas katya thought it would be funny to put a picture of lando norris on top of our christmas tree and so we got one printed at cvs but when you get wallet sized photos printed they print you four of them so we ended up with four of the same photo of lando. one went on the tree, one went to my sister, one is in our bathroom and now one is on the back of our door.

as for max. well. katyas partner drinks red bull and he was on the red bull box so we cut him out and stuck him there. neither of us are particularly big max fans, it was just funny.

but anyway. i digress.

james is standing there staring at this array of perplexing stuff and goes.

"really? him??"

and i go

"yeah..." not knowing what else to say.

and james turns. and he looks at us. and he goes. and i shit you the absolute fuck not.

"now what's wrong with lewis hamilton???"

(sir lewis hamilton being the mercedes f1 driver, 7 time world champion and absolute icon)

and katya and i go

"oh no no! we love lewis hamilton! we just respect him too much to put him on the door!"

which is true

and james goes "now what did you think of him going to ferrari?"

and i say "i thought it was an interesting choice"

and katya says "i was surprised."

and james says "you and me both" and then he shuts the door behind him.

katya and i look at eachother. and we both fall to the floor in fits of laughter.

let it be known that james has come face to face with a giant tapestry of mr worldwide mr 305 pitbull himself that is in our bathroom, on several occasions, and yet, he chooses to comment on our choice of formula 1 driver that is taped to the back of our door.

im still in a state of disbelief. my ceiling is still pissing. my floor is still squelching. and my maintenance man felt the need to call our my choice of formula 1 driver at 9:30 on a saturday morning.

#not a tag #from saph #help #what #f1 #lando norris #sir lewis hamilton

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formulafics · 2 months

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❀ NEW DESIRE | MV1

SCENARIO: you and max are childhood friends. despite claiming a platonic relationship - or rather, not claiming a romantic one, fans are certain that there’s more to what you both have, especially when max openly simps for you on streams, and most definitely when his private account gets leaked.

PAIRING: max verstappen x fem!reader

AN: i am so sorry this has taken me so long to get to! that being said, i hope you still enjoy it! thank you for your patience and your request 🫶🏻 also i did use google translate for the dutch part so if you speak dutch im so sorry LMFAO

as always, a shoutout to @renarots because these fics truly would not be as good without their input. <3

if you saw me change the title, no you didn’t

MASTERLIST

YNLN on Instagram stories

grandprixsandgossip on instagram

14,567 likes

grandprixsandgossip for a long time, fans of max verstappen have questioned his relationship with childhood friend yn ln. recently, the formula one drivers’ private instagram account posts were leaked after a fan somehow was accepted to follow his private account, which features many pictures of him and yn, dating all the way back to 2014.

you can find the archive of his posts on our website by following the link in our bio. while we weren’t able to gather every comment and like, we were able to get a majority of the posts!

what are your thoughts?

view all 782 comments

formulaverstappen okay so this is pure he-said-she-said, but apparently on the holidays post, max’s sister commented “just friends? 😉” and max responded with the 😳 emoji I AM SICK

rizzciardo anyone who still thinks they’re just friends is LYING to their self

lnnation haunted by the fact that yn learned dutch for max and she helped him learn english

formulanorriz if he doesn’t ask her out at this rate, IM GOING TO

GRANDPRIXSANDGOSSIP.COM

maxemillianv on instagram

maxemillianv goede race, nog betere mensen ❤️ of moet ik zeggen persoon haha (great race, even better people or should i say person haha)

ynln zoveel liefde voor jou. ik ben zo trots op je ❤️🏆 (so much love for you. i’m so proud of you. )

maxemillianv on instagram

maxemillianv out of office

maxemillianv on instagram

maxemillianv happy holidays 🎄

victoriaverstappen just friends? 😉

It’s funny, the way Max is. He’s blunt all the time, but this is different. A part of you is worried that maybe he’s upset, that perhaps something like this will be the reason you and him stray apart - you can’t imagine it. The thought of being anything but with Max matches your chest tighten, and even though you’d like to think that isn’t the case, you can’t be sure.

The wait for Max to arrive at your house is almost torturous. Your mind is racing, and by the time you hear his car pull up, you’re damn near shaking out of your skin. He doesn’t even have to knock or ring the doorbell - hell, he’s barely out of the car when you open your front door and step outside. You study his body language, trying to determine what exactly to expect. You just can’t clock it. With a sharp inhale, you lock your door and then make your way towards the car.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, uncertainty making your voice waver. “Yes,” Max responds simply. It’s a genuine yes, and in fact, he sounds almost happy. Your brows furrow in confusion as he opens the passenger side door for you, and you genuinely don’t think you could be more puzzled. You press your lips together as he returns to the drivers seat and starts the car again, not waiting to pull out of the driveway.

“Max, you’re scaring me,” you say. Scared isn’t the right word, but it’s something along those lines. His eyes stay on the road, yours are fixed on his face, still trying so desperately to read him. He glances at you, offers a small smile, then reaches over to grab your hand. He intertwined your fingers, assuring you that there’s nothing to worry about. It’s still odd - the whole situation, but that does make you feel more relaxed.

It’s quiet for longer than you’d like it to be. Aside from the radio, which is on a low volume, and the smooth rumble of the vehicle, it’s silent.

Finally, Max speaks. “I’m not worried about the posts,” he says, glancing at you for the second time. You find yourself wishing he could look at you for longer, a weird feeling washing over you as his eyes return to the road. He squeezes your hand subconsciously, his thumb soothing over the back of it. “Seriously?” you almost forgot to respond, but at the last minute, you remember his statement. “Seriously,” Max hums. The smile returns to his lips, and much to your relief, he expounds.

“Sure, it’s not ideal, but at the same time,” he pauses, and you can tell he’s trying to think of how to describe it. He chuckles briefly, “The only way to put it is that it’s made me realize that you’re so much more than a good friend.”

You’re still stumped. Now, you’re realizing that you don’t even know where Max is taking you - not that you’re worried about it, but the whole situation is just so strange, especially for you and Max. Thus, you remain silent, eyes never leaving him. You’re waiting for him to say something else, and he’s waiting for you to respond, assuming that you’d understand what he’s saying. Hes the first to realize that you don’t understand, and amused smile playing on his lips at your confusion. “Hold on, you’ll know what I mean when we get there,” He says, and this is somehow so Max, but not him at all, leaving you to sit silently, at least a million thoughts filling your mind.

Max pulls into a parking lot, and it only takes you a moment to realize you know where you are. You’ve been here with him once before, and you still remember that night so vividly. That was the first - and only - time you had ever questioned your feelings for Max. Any other time, you never had to think about how you felt. You knew you were happy with him, and it was the same for him. You didn’t need to know if you loved him, and he didn’t need to know if he loved you.

Now that the memories are coming back to your mind, it begins to dawn on you, what Max said. Regardless, you stay quiet and let him guide you into the club, hand still in his. He takes you to the very spot you both sat the first night you came here, and this time, rather than an empty booth and table, there’s a large bouquet of white roses sitting atop the table, a small note folded beside them. You aren’t sure what to say, or what to do. Your eyes flicker between the roses, the note, and Max, who carefully pulls you closer, his free hand now resting on the small of your back.

“I’ll give you the choice - you can read the card or I can relay it to you,” he says. You choose what first comes to mind. “Relay it to me.” Max nods, then turns you to face him, his hands on your waist. Instinctively, you place yours on his shoulders. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, and even though you’re certain that his words are the briefest summary of what’s in the card, you can’t be bothered. A smile takes over your expression and you nod. Max smiles too, pulling you into a tight hug.

The rest of the night, you continued on like you would have had he not asked you to be his girlfriend. There was no need for things to be different. In fact, the only thing that would change from here would be the pure admiration you both have always had for one another, and that was perfectly fine with you. Somewhere along the line, a certain friend showed up, and you did eventually read the card.

Safe to say, Max’s recap of the words written in the card were indeed brief. Your heart is happy knowing that only you would see such a soft, loving side of him, and only you would be able to clearly picture your best friend- boyfriend, all mushy as he writes the card.

maxverstappen1 on instagram

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landonorris okay i guess we don’t do photo creds anymore 😒

⤷ maxverstappen1 👍📸

ynln so much love for you always. ❤️

⤷ maxverstappen1 ❤️🔄

⤷ formulaverstappen IS THIS HIS WAY OF SAYING THAT BACK TO YN??? THERE ARE REAL TEARS IN MY EYES

victoriaverstappen very ‘just friends’ of you

⤷ maxverstappen1 👀

⤷ mv331lvr YALL EITHER GET THIS OR YOU DONT IM GOING INSANE

ln4nation THE FACT THAT LANDO TOOK THESE AND WAS THERE WITJ THEM IM GAGGED

papayabull YN AND MAX CONFIRMED DATING THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

TAGLIST

@renarots @jsjcue @treehouse-mouse @vellicora @spidersophie @arkhammaid @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @leclercvsx @sleepeatread @kortneej81 @elliegrey2803 @i-love-ptv @motorsp0rt @fastcarsandshit @marshmummy @jellyfish123guts @illicitverstappen @lovstappen @sadieurlady @piasstrisblog @pretty-little-bunny382728 @lokietro @stopeatread

Thank you for reading! 🌷

#✩ . mv¹ files 🏎️#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen fluff #mv1 fic #mv1 x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x you #mv33 #mv33 x reader #mv33 imagine #mv33 x you

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moondirti · 11 months

Text

animalic (4)

← chapter three // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k summary: things don't go according to plan warnings: enemies to lovers, light bondage, sexual tension, arousal, choking, canon-typical violence, dub-con elements, paralysis, suicidal ideation, self-hatred, angst, miguel o'hara is not nice, no use of y/n notes: y'all. i promise we are getting somewhere. i promise. lmk what you think tho cuz i thrive off comments

“Lyla?”

While you’re – regrettably – unable to make good on your promise to phase through the floor, you catch yourself hoping it splits to swallow you whole instead. It certainly would be a better alternative to the purgatory you currently face.

“Lyla? Come in, Lyla.”

Feeble rays of light filter in through the weathered windows, their reach slowly growing as night surrenders to the wakings of dawn. Variegated motes bob lazily, suspended upon the streams of sun, quivering back and forth between a range of countless colours. Paralysed and splayed atop the frigid, hard ground of the empty store-lot, you try counting them all for lack of anything else to do. Pink, green, orange, gold. You wonder what force chooses the order, whether it’s sequenced to fit some plan of high design.

“¡Ay, coño–”

Slowly, you let yourself scrutinise other things, too. The scent of neglect that permeates the stale air, particularly pungent around the entryway. You trace the yellow-brown mass that runs along the door’s hinge edge, and attribute the vaguely muddy smell to rot. Then, it’s the glint of shattered glass, winking at you from lost corner’s of the room. They look narrow, far too inconvenient to clean out with a standard broom. You revel in the understanding that whoever had been in charge of scouring the wreckage appears to share your habit of quick quitting.

It’s only when your vision begins to water do you divert your attention to the situation at hand. Last you needed to blink, it took half a minute for the command to register, and even longer for the motor neurons in your eyelids to act. By the time you eventually got them closed, you’d already started contemplating whether his venom would be the death of you.

(Lame end to a lame life.)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out, though. You know that, if he wanted to, he could’ve kept imbuing you with the substance until your body was no longer able to perform the basic mechanisms necessary to sustain life. He could have kept his fangs lodged deep into your neck – encroached upon your stuttering veins, bathing in the ichor that flowed – until he felt you go limp, concentrated with his poison. It would have been a denouement to his problems – right there, easy, sandwiched between him and the wall – but it wasn’t. Because he didn’t.

Just like he didn’t let you plummet to your death that day at the quarry, or strangle you while you were unconscious back at HQ.

So, no. It doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge that Miguel O’Hara doesn’t want you dead. As he fiddles with his malfunctioning watch, you endeavour to come up with a divisive list as to why that is.

One: you’ve charmed him. The notion is almost funny enough to elicit a snort, given that you weren’t cast in an immovable anathema.

Two: he’s a good guy. Somehow, this option seems less viable to you than the first.

You find your third prospect slinging from the threads of a fraying memory.

You’d been a student, before – attending college at a reputable institute close to home. It’s easy to forget what it was like most nights: cramped in that two hundred square foot dorm, borderline losing it as you tried to validate your claims on matter-antimatter rockets and their potential contribution to interstellar travel. There were concerns of total annihilation, and sourcing, and an array of other limitations – that which you’d dedicated your academic career to drawing up proposals for. It’s laughable now; the stress and theories blurring together to form a vague picture of your long-lost ambition.

You have a hard time conjuring what exact future you were so hopeful for, but the lamp by your roommate’s bed remains clear in your mind’s eye. Warm-white, comforting. For as long as you were awake, tapping away at a never-ending thesis, she’d work through the latest volume of her beloved murder mystery anthology.

It was the night before your start at an internship with Alchemax that the series came to a close. Her aggravated screams still ring fresh behind the clouded pane of time. You had thrown your pillow at her in a belligerent plea.

(You wanna elaborate?

The suspect behind every case was shot!

So? Isn’t that a good thing?

No, dumbass. It means the detectives fucking lost! They’ll never be able to prove how right they were.)

Admittedly, you know very little about Miguel, but you have an idea of what matters most to him. It’s entirely possible, then, that he refuses to kill you for what your death would do to negate his efforts thus far.

“Oye,”

Your mental traipse is reeled in when the devil himself snaps at you. Steadily, your pupils roll up to look at him.

“I need your day pass.”

You continue to stare. His jaw clenches.

“Because of your little headbutt outside, my watch is busted. My only hope of fixing it is by using the parts of your day pass.”

Is he asking? Does he expect you to respond?

You can’t fool yourself into believing he’s that ignorant.

But Miguel stays on standby, scanning your lax form. He takes in the webs that wrap around your waist, branching out to your thighs and shoulders, restraining your arms behind your back. When his eyes meet yours again, the reluctant question you see glaze over them pushes the recognition to the forefront of your mind.

He is asking.

Or, notifying – making sure you’re aware of what he’s about to do.

God, you wish you could speak. You’ve never come up with so much to say without promptly blurting it out before. Irritation and amusement rip at one another within you, locked in a brutal dogfight fated to have no real winner. How hypocritical of him to pick and choose when your treatment takes priority over his mission; you’re littered in marks that all point to his prior negligence of such subtle humanity. Four stabs above your wrist, a pounding migraine at your temple. If it weren’t for your paralysed stomach, you’re certain you would have regurgitated your innards as consequence to the concussion he’s given you.

But, oh.

How funny would it be if you agreed. To let him discover the harrowing truth for himself.

Deliberately, you muster an affirming blink.

Miguel's weariness escapes him in a heavy sigh, the weight of it etched upon his expression. Thick brows furrow, evidence to his age creasing between them, before he sinks down with a purposeful grace and carefully flips you over. Despite the resentment that festers in your gut, you can’t help but hiss a mental sigh of relief at the service it does to your elbows, which had begun throbbing in response to the pressure that the hardwood floor exerted.

From that point onward, it becomes a guessing game of sorts; you can’t see him, nor are you able to tilt your head and confirm your assumptions as to what he’s doing. Deprived of your most reliable sense, the others strain to fill the gaps in your knowledge, drawing upon every available cue; the sound of his miniscule grunts, the warmth of his skin – that which penetrates through his gloves. You’re alarmed into attempted action when the characteristic rip of his claws equipping pierces the strained air – your body powerless in addressing the adrenaline it secretes – until the spider-man touches his forefinger to your palm.

“Relax.” He all but commands. “I’m just cutting the webs off.”

You’ve no reason to trust him, of course, but you can’t exactly pitch a complaint right now.

(Perhaps it’s in your best interests to ignore how easy he’d been able to read you.)

A few moments of jostling ensue, before he withdraws with a curse. Your arms remain ensnared in the tight restraints, the ache that smarts your skin all too real for the continued predicament to be illusory. An assortment of jokes occur to you.

Can’t get it up?

In your peripheral, you catch him weighing his options. The pause is laden with a sticky indecision – this change in placement, you realise, exacerbates the already difficult task of breathing for you.

While you fixate on that fact, he seems to come to a conclusion. With one swift manoeuvre, he positions himself astride your thighs, straddling the deadened extremities, and reaches forward to push your wrists apart. You’re quick to catch on to his intention, how the arrangement gives him better leverage, yet–

His groyne presses into the swell of your ass, worsening with every bid to sever the webbing. It’s impossible not to notice, especially not when the seam of your jeans start to shift in tandem, smoothing over your clothed core. It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last roused like this. Enough for it to feel brand new, a wrapped curse in a prim little bow, eager for all that you shouldn’t be.

And… Christ–

And then he unfastens the lines around your arms, and runs his hands up your skin. It’s not gentle, nor is it brutish, but you can feel his desperation escalating. His touches grow progressively antagonistic, kneading your palms up to your shoulders, patting down to the shallow pockets of your pants. You’re searched like you hold the key to his success – you suppose that, in some oddly comical way, you do. And it should be upsetting, blasphemous.

But you’re no sacred thing. You’d laid down that possibility a long time ago.

No. You’re foul, questionable at your best, and erupt into goosebumps over the ruthless grip of a man who hates your very soul. You’re a deeply detestable spirit, truly, but a detestable spirit who has just managed to get one up on Miguel O’Hara.

He throws you back around, wrapping his hands around your throat. His snarl is primal, maturated in acrid anger.

“Where is it?”

You’re sure that, in some alternate reality, your face is stretched in a shit-eating grin.

“Where’s the fucking day pass?”

Your satisfaction is short-lived.

You’ve never been one to notably detest humiliation. It’s productive – healthy, even – in smaller doses; a fitting consequence for those who you deem deserve it. Yet, as you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over Miguel’s shoulder, forced into a meandering parade through the streets of New York, you breach into uncharted territory – a threshold where your tolerance encounters its breaking point.

He makes no effort to soften his strides, unmoved by the idea of providing even a shred of respite for your susceptible self. If anything, it feels as though he deliberately seeks out the harshest terrain, silently chastising your earlier defiance in the most passive aggressive manner known to man. He’d reinforced your constraints before marching out on this fruitless venture, and now you bobble uselessly, backside pointed upward, anchored solely by the meaty arm around your knees.

At least you’ve regained control of your mouth.

“D’stroyed it. Gone. Dearly d’parted–”

“If you’re going to run that little mouth, then make it helpful.”

“M’bein’ helpfoo,” you start, straining your weakened vocal cords in an effort to mock him. The grip of paralysis may have slackened its hold, but neurotransmission remains at an all time, sluggish low. In all actuality, it astounds you that he can even begin to decipher your words from the tangled murmurs they become.

“You had it on at the convenience, and a little bit afterward. You can’t expect me to believe that you dealt with it while running for your life.”

Running for your life. Sure.

Displeasure sparks at the confidence he imbues in his assumption.

“Escoos m– hnngh–” A sudden jump of stress robs you of breath, your stomach plummeting alongside the rapidly distancing ground. As Miguel propels himself above the city skyline, effortlessly evading the crowded streets via a web he’d grappled to an adjacent building, you’re confronted with a stark reality – that this is the very first time you have ever, and likely will ever, experience what it’s like to swing.

It’s exhilarating and nauseating all at once, gravity relinquishing its command as you transcend the confines of the physical, soaring through some reality where law loses significance. If it had been you, your arms and skill and jurisdiction, you’d never come down. But maybe that’s why it isn’t; maybe your life was meant to lead up to this, and only ever this.

(Not antimatter technologies or heroic conquest. Yeah, this feels more fitting.)

Your skin prickles. You phase through the sturdy frame that’s held you up so far, and plummet from its grasp.

Slicing through the boundless sky, you’re accompanied by a profound tranquillity. It isn’t absolute – fear still gnaws at your core, its presence undeniable. But, amidst the churning horror, your instincts are fainter than they ought to be. They whisper in a subdued tone, overshadowed by conflicting conceptions. One, being the inference you’d drawn earlier about how – whether you like it or not – Miguel would not let you die.

Another, quieter suspicion hints toward the full reality of your… relief.

Though, of course, you’re right about the former. Tree-trunk biceps wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he slingshots off to a nearby rooftop. You flop into him, a ragdoll to the overwhelming force of his agitation, and squeeze your eyes shut at the hints of patchouli permeating from under his mask.

You don’t have to face the gospel just yet.

“¿Qué mierda? Eh?” He shouts, propping you up against a ledge. “What the fuck was that?”

You don’t have an answer for him. Your heart lurches, catching up to the urgency at hand, striking on the hollow bars of your ribcage to some reckless tune. It’s only amplified by the torrent of blood distending through your system, throbbing at your temple, rushing by your ears.

What the fuck, indeed.

He damns you, it seems, with a fervour that breaches the heavens, as if willing God Himself to commit his plea to eternal memory. Or not; truthfully, you can’t tell. With the roar of your own snowballing thrill, it becomes impossible to discern the sequence of interrogations that explode from him. The world around you fades to the background, your preoccupancy consumed by the disquietude it leaves in its wake.

Your sense is only validated a minute later when, two blocks away, an ear-piercing shriek ruptures your dissociation.

Miguel stiffens, slowly turning to face its source.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘕𝘖-𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘐𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘓𝘠-𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘈𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘌:

Earth-15 – analysed, marked as closed.

Spider-totem – The Spider: soon after being bit by his radioactive spider, convicted felon Peter Parker merged with Earth-15’s variation of the carnage Symbiote.

Notes – do not engage, at any cost.

chapter five →

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fangirl-writes · 5 months

Text

Small Spaces

JJ Maybank x Reader; John B. Routledge x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): claustrophobia, anxiety attack, swearing

Request: jj maybank dating jb’s twin sister and her joining in on their adventures but she has severe anxiety so just him being super sweet and loving to her?

Notes: This is totally based on another fic I read that I can't find rn but it's my spin on it so I hope you like.

Fuck this, you thought. Seriously, fuck this.

You were squeezing yourself through a small hole in a mausoleum that had "Redfield" written across the top, just to see what was inside.

For John B., of course, because he was your brother, and he needed to find this clue almost as much as he needed to be breathing.

But god damn it, this was all you needed.

Between the near visit from child services, the hurricane, the dead guy's boat, the guy's gun, getting shot at, and surely more to come, you were due for a panic attack.

Your feet hit the ground with a loud smack and you winced at the noise.

"Still alive?" John B. asked.

"Oh my god, shut up,"

"Yep, she's alive."

You rolled your eyes and took the flashlight that Kie was offering you.

You shined the light around the space, bigger than you were expecting, but the fact that your exit was so small and that it would be a struggle getting back to it was making the anxiety stir in your stomach.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Real helpful, JB," you mumbled, shining the flashlight around and trying to focus on finding whatever it was rather than the darkness and the walls that felt like they were going to close in on you.

You gasp when a flash of white catches your eye.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Y/N?" JJ asked again. "I'm gonna need some word confirmation that you're okay."

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied. "I think I found it."

"What? Really?" John B. said, peaking into the space you'd crawled into.

You pulled out a long white envelope from a small space in the crypt, the words "FedEx" and "Bird" written on it.

Thanks for including me, Dad, you thought before taking the envelope over to the space and handing it to John B.'s outstretched hand.

"That's not gold," Pope said, a little disappointed.

But John B. was looking at it like it was. "Holy shit."

"JJ, a little help?" you said, reaching a hand through the space.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotchu, babe," he replied, helping you out of the crypt.

"This is from our dad," John B. said, looking around at the group.

"Yeah," you said, trying to catch your breath. "To you."

"Code red. Code red." JJ warned, the smoke from his joint fluttering up into the air. "Square groupers! Square groupers!"

Your stomach drops as the five of you start moving, JJ's hands grabbing your arms rougher than he probably meant to.

"It's the guys who robbed your house," JJ said.

Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You guys hide on the side of the mausoleum, turning off and tucking the lights under your shirts.

You can feel it start to bubble up, your breathing becoming unsteady.

"Hey, I see something!"

"Do you think it's them?" Kiara asked.

"Homie's got a gun," JJ said as he and John B. peaked around the corner.

"Screw this," Kie said, taking off. The others followed her, including you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Right here!" One of the men shouted.

JJ's hand was on your back the whole time, but it did nothing to calm you down.

You each scaled the fence with little trouble except for Pope, who got his pants stuck on the gate.

It was funny until you were in the van and that anxiety attack had caught up with you, the adrenaline fix going away.

Your hands shook. Your chest tightened. Tears began streaming down your cheeks.

You were starting to hyperventilate, and your head was spinning. Even though you knew you were safe in the Twinkie now, you couldn't help the dread that was washing over you, the fear for your life that coiled around you like a snake.

"Hey, hey, hey, Y/N," JJ said, quickly catching on to what was happening. "You're okay, you're okay."

He made you look at him and took a few deep breaths for you to copy, which you did over and over.

"Shit, get this joint out of here," JJ said, handing it off to Pope.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out the window or something, get it outta here. It only makes her worse."

You'd tried that anecdote before, and, as he said, it really did only make the panic attack worse. Through trial and error, JJ and John B. found the only things that helped you through a panic attack were calming words, help getting your breathing back to normal, and hugs.

So, JJ did just that. He held you close and whispered in your ear, rocking you back and forth slowly.

John B. checked your state in the rearview, feeling bad that he'd brought you along at all, even if you had insisted. Then he looked at the envelope sitting next to him and knew that, somehow, it would be worth it.

#jj maybank x routledge!reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader

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ih34rt-alphatxuri · 4 months

Text

If not, I'll stay with you ☆

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: cozy day at home with a lazy Lando and Y/N

warnings: just pure fluff, and not proofread (woopsies!)

message from A☆: This fic is just warm and cozy and fluffy, I love a good bit of tired Lando. I hope you enjoy...

This is what she loved. Cozy in bed, her head against his chest, their bodies buried in blankets. After another very tiring season of racing, she finally had Lando all to herself. They'd spent the whole morning like this, in bed, giggling and talking about life. Outside Lando's Monaco apartment it was a chilly and foggy morning, what better way to spend it than here. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, the room smelled faintly of vanilla and his cologne, the curtain softened and dispersed the sunlight outside to create the perfect ambiance. This was perfection.

"Lando?" She basically whispered his name.

"Y/N?" He looked down at her head on his chest, smoothing his hand over her hair.

"Nothing..." she got her head of his chest, propping herself up with her elbows. "I wanna get up but I don't want to leave this bed." She sighed, looking over at her boyfriend.

Lando looked lost in thought for a moment, then looked into her eyes as he scooted closer.

"How about we get up, make breakfast, and watch a something on the couch for the rest of the day?" He hugged torso from the side, leaning his head on her shoulder. She nodded, and with that Lando began to get out of bed.

"Wait I'm not ready yet!" She spoke in a whiny tone. Instead of waiting, Lando picked her up and carried her bridal style out to the kitchen. She giggled when she felt his arms wrap around her body and pick her up. He set her down on to the counter, she sat with her legs criss-crossed as Lando leaned on the counter opposite to her.

"What do you want to eat, baby?"

"Hm...pancakes? I'll cook them, you can make the batter." She got up from the counter and went to hug him. "Because I cannot have you burning down this place." She giggled, burrying her face in his neck.

"What do you mean? I'm a great cook!" He stroked her hair.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby." She giggled again, leaving his arms to start pulling out ingredients and a pan.

☆☆☆

About an hour later, after throwing around some flour at each other (which Lando definitely started) and cooking while listening to some music, they sat down on the couch to eat. Lando grabbed the TV remote and began to flick through Netflix or whichever streaming service he wanted to watch from that day.

"So, Y/N, what do you want to watch?" He looked over at her then back at the TV, nibbling on his lip as he continued to flip through shows and movies.

"How about...that one?" She pointed towards the TV, where the remote had landed on her favorite show. Lando nodded his head, clicking play on whatever episode they'd left off on. As they eat their pancakes and make little comments on whatever is happening on the screen, he looks over at her. He watches how her brows furrow with concentration on the screen, the way her mouth flicks up into a smile when something funny happens, the way she nibbles on her lip subconsciously. He loves every little reaction she has.

Later in the day, they've already watched a couple more episodes of the show and a movie. They ordered in food, which they're now eating while still on the couch. The Monaco sun is setting outside the window, warm light streaming into Lando's apartment. Even though they had done absolutely nothing all day, she wouldn't have had it any other way. She leaned back into Lando's chest, looking up at him.

"You know, I love spending time with you like this..." Her hand gently reached up to ruffle his hair softly.

"I know I'm always so busy, but if I'm not, i'll always stay with you" He looked down at her with loving eyes. Lando loved these lazy days with her, just them, curled up in blankets and doing nothing.

#f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you

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milorealcat · 5 months

Text

wilbur soot as your boyfriend ♡

pairing: wilbur x gn!reader

summary: wilbur loves you a whole lot:)

length: relatively short (362 words)

-> constantly sending you cute photos when you‘re not with him, especially on tour. most random shit ever like it could legit be a cool looking rock

-> hand holding 24/7 😭

-> obsessed with making you homemade stuff for valentines and anniversaries, he saw paper roses made out of book pages on pinterest and went down a rabbit hole from there

-> he‘d heavily lean into the idea of promise rings

-> physical touch & acts of service!!! i will die on this hill

-> would match outfits with you on accident… totally

-> absolutely infatuated with you; literally can’t stop staring at you, even when you call him out on it

-> if you even glance at something in a shop, he‘ll whip out his wallet immediately

-> he‘s a big spoon imo but he doesn’t really care as long as he gets to cuddle with you, he would die a happy man snuggled up next to you

-> internally squeals whenever he sees your username pop up in chat. his voice softens a little and he tries to act cooler (it fails)

-> is still so nervous around your family enough though they all love him to bits and basically consider him your husband already

-> speaking of chat, they get a lovely half an hour long explanation of something funny you did just about every stream

-> always puts his hand on your lower back to lead you through places, regardless of if you’re built like a tank or not

-> play a demo versions of all of his songs to you, your opinion means the world to him

-> LOVESSS getting face kisses, makes him go all red and flustered which is a bonus

-> would be the kinda person to talk during a movie, fucking analysing it as it plays

• "oh my GOD!!!! her GIRLFRIEND just drowned!!!"

• "wil… you know i‘m watching the movie too right?"

-> calls you ”darling“, ”sweetheart“ and ”love“ mostly, with an occasional ”baby“ slipped in there

-> will rant about you for hours unapologetically

-> has a framed picture of you two on his desk, as a form of emotional support

first actual piece of writing posted on here 😭😭😭 praying

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur x y/n #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #milo scribbles #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur x y/n #cc!wilbur x you #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x male reader #x m reader #wilbur soot x gn!reader

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romanoffsbish · 5 months

Text

Dance the Night Away

Natasha Romanoff x R

Natasha loves you… | NSFW undertones, but no Smut | WC: 1,724 | Flashbacks between the funny lil lines

It was a quiet night in the Romanoff household, Natasha had only just gotten home from her last mission ever. Then she left again, taking your eldest daughter, Ella, and the bundle of toddlers, Milo and Andrey out for frozen yogurt. Your heart ached to be apart, but it also swelled as she never failed to give them her time. You knew she was tired, her mission was meant to be two days and yet it turned into weeks.

——

Your admiration for your wife only ever grew in these moments, and it was made more wholesome as your ears picked up on something special. Memories of a once blooming love story came back to you as you sipped on a glass of rose, now halfheartedly reading your book as the needle swirled around your favorite vinyl record. It was Adele's greatest cover- To Make You Feel My Love. It was the song that played at your wedding as you danced together as one, a perfect encapsulation of your story, from start to finish. Except fortunately for you both, there was no end in sight.

"When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case. I could offer you a warm embrace; to make you feel my love..."

A flow of happy tears streamed down your cheeks, you then closed your eyes and got lost in the nostalgia.

~•———•~•—————•~•—————•~•———•~

"Excuse me," you didn't have much time to react before your body jolted, a callous hand on your exposed hip the cause for your bodies reaction.

The club was jam packed, bodies shoved up against one another, but this bodily shock felt different. It almost felt like a message with the upmost urgency. Normally you'd shrug the person off, give them a few choice words for having the audacity to touch you, but all you did was shift your body around to face her.

You couldn't tell if it was a mistake, your fronts now flushed as she purposefully pushed you back more. Trapping you against the bar as she'd felt it too, the urge to be close to you was overwhelming and in the same breath it was also the most calm she'd ever felt.

"H-hi," you stuttered, eventually, after what felt like ages of just staring up at her chiseled jawline. Your knees nearly gave out as she chuckled, it was hoarse and the dazzling smirk to follow had you hooked.

"Sorry," she said, forgoing the greeting as her hand went to leave your side, but you reflexively stopped her and offered a nervous smile. "It's okay, I don't mind."

Natasha grinned. "So, you just let people touch you?" You knew she was teasing you, but you couldn't care less. "Not unless they're as good looking as you are."

Natasha hummed as she grabbed the shots she ordered from the bartender behind you. It wasn't her intention to leave the club with anyone tonight, but she did not want to miss out on such a gorgeous opportunity.

So, she let your words hang in the air and, suave as ever, threw her head back to down one while lifting the other up to your lips. You'd parted them without even questioning it, and she poured the alcohol down your throat with a knowing smirk as you instantly coughed.

"What- was- that?" You inquired in a fit of uncertainty, and the redhead chuckled, "Vodka; the Russian kind."

Once you stopped coughing she pulled away from you, watching in amusement as your body lurched to chase down her warmth. "May I have this dance then?"

The booze led you to say yes, rather enthusiastically, and it ended with you two outside of the club. Rain fell from the sky, though it hadn't been forecasted, and you melted into her warmth as she kissed you fervently.

The cab was coming, and soon enough you'd be too.

~•———•~•—————•~•—————•~•———•~

A proposed one night stand that turned into a forever. Natasha knew then that she'd likely fall for you, and the odd thing was she wasn't even scared to do so.

The two of you danced yourself into a lifetime.

There was no end to the amount of times you could reflect upon, Natasha never let the spark die out, even with how busy she was saving the world. Whenever she was away, and the kids were tucked in bed, you'd take moments like these to get lost in the memory cycle.

Sometimes you'd be so out of it, mind too elated to hear the world around you. Like now, you were too lost in the reminiscing to hear the lowly rumbling engine.

~•———•~•—————•~•—————•~•———•~

"Natasha..." The redhead looked at you instantly, her heart racing as she saw you in your wedding dress, you looked perfect. Yet it was somehow bad luck, which is what she shrieked as her hands flew up to her eyes.

"My love," you whispered, hands gripping her wrists so you could pull her hands down to your waist. "You don't even believe in that superstition, and neither do I. Stop letting Wanda get to you, please look at me."

A heavy sigh rushed over your done up face, and her eyes of emerald green opened to look into yours. It set off alarm bells when she saw your eyes were glossy.

Were you getting cold feet? What had happened? She had to find out because if you were running, then she would be right there behind you, on your heels.

"Detka, what's..." You shook your head and cupped her cheeks, she'd yet to do her makeup so it was okay, the dry, bare skin brought you the comfort you craved. "I just needed to see you, that's all. I hated being away from you last night—all these rules make no sense."

"I know," she sighed, "Letting Wanda wedding plan is surely biting us in the ass, hm?" You giggled and the brick that had settled on her chest quickly dissipated.

"I just want you," you whispered, lips ghosting over Natasha's but never touching to keep your gloss intact. She took in a sharp breath as she controlled her urge to kiss you, silly or not, she liked the idea of saving today's first kiss for the altar, but it was hard to refrain. "It's all too much, especially without you by my side."

Natasha knew just what you needed, so she pulled back and extended her hand out to grab yours...

~•———•~•—————•~•—————•~•———•~

"May I have this dance?" You smiled instantaneously, back to your wife as she extended a hand over your shoulder. Seconds, that was all it took for your book to fall from your lap and her hand to envelop yours just before her body did. Natasha pulled you close, soft lips pressed against the warm skin of your cheek, it was unclear if it was the alcohol or her touch that got you to this moment of weakness, but truth be told it was both.

The redhead quickly readjusted the needle, allowing the special song to replay as she pulled you closer. It was never enough for her to have you in her arms, if she could absorb you wholly she probably would, but she'll settle for slipping her hands under your shirt. Her fingertips grazed over the indented lines that covered your hips and her lips found yours forehead.

Natasha inwardly admired your strength, and the work it took for you two to build this life. Her hands never wanted to leave your body, but as the songs blended the mood wordlessly shifted. "Where are the kids?"

Natasha spun you out, then pulled you back in, your face nuzzled against her chest, so you felt as she softly sighed, "They're at Lena's for the weekend, I wanted to surprise you with a few days just to ourselves."

Once the vinyl came to an end you felt a shift in the air, no music needed to play as the energy carried your collective movements. Natasha spun you around, and you responded by pressing your backside into her. Tension left your soul to have her this close again, but it flooded your every sense as she sensually swayed your bodies in sync with the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Natasha moaned against the skin of your neck as your hand reached back to slide into her hair. Your nails scratched at her scalp, melting away the remaining tension from her body that she brought home with her.

Your mind went hazy the longer she moved you, her hands were firm and the thrust of her hips into your backside became a bit more incessant. The redhead turned you around abruptly, your hot breaths mingled as you now shared your air more directly. There was a warmth radiating between your cores that could be felt the longer your fronts swayed together, it was hard to ignore too once you started to whimper at a graze.

Natasha wanted to kiss you, it took everything in her not to, because it'd been nearly a month since she had. At least in the way she was about to, pecking your lips in greeting would never compare to what's to come.

Which is why she refused to do it in such a rush, she planned to take her time with you instead. "Go upstairs," she gently commanded, her tone soft but you knew she wasn't simply asking—she was telling. "I'll be right behind you detka, don't you worry now."

Natasha gave your ass a love tap as you walked away, and chuckled as you squeaked. You sent her a playful glare just before obediently following her request.

Once you were gone she worked quickly to tidy up the room, throwing the boys toys into the right bins, and settling your book with a placeholder on the table.

When she entered the room with her hands full you knew you made the right call by undressing. A bag of organic trail mix stuck out of her jacket pocket, her go to sex snack, then you peered up to see the half empty bottle of wine, and two glasses sat in her hand.

"You always did know how to read my mind..."

•~~ “I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn't do, go to the ends of the Earth for you—To make you feel my love.” ~~•

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