#far from home headers
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Detrans Resolutions
I was too late for detrans december, so why not detrans 2024!
last update: jan 3, 2024
Let’s see how far we get hehehe
This will be counted until January 31, however, i’ll immediately start when i get home from the holidays ; )
I hope we can get a whole year of fun though!
every note = a day of letting my hair grow out
every 2 notes = groping my tits for 5 mins for a night
every 5 notes = a day of wearing panties
every 10 notes = a week of keeping my pussy shaved
every 15 notes = I won’t bind for five days
every 20 notes = a week I wear clothes that show off my curves
every 25 notes = I’ll fuck my pussy with my thickest dildo every other day for the rest of the game to remind myself of it’s true purpose
every 50 notes = I’ll go outside with a buttplug without panties or any other underwear
every 75 notes = i’ll skip a shot of t
100 notes = I’ll wear feminine perfume for a month
115 notes = i’ll shave my legs
125 notes = i’ll try to induce lactation
150 notes = i’ll wear lipstick for a month
200 notes = i’ll put my full first dead names on my header
250 notes = i have to keep an edge streak of two weeks to come once
300 notes = i have to get my nails painted once a month and keep it on as long as possible
325 notes = i’ll stretch my holes with an expanding toy every week
350 notes = i’ll try double penetration every 20 notes onward
375 notes = i’ll try pills that help with lactation
400 notes = i’ll make an account on a hookup app
450 notes = i’ll stop birth control
500 notes = i’ll have unprotected sex and try to get bred every 100 notes onwards
600 notes = i get a temporary womb tattoo
700 notes = i have to learn how to cum just from my nipples being played with
800 notes = i cant touch my clit without permission anymore
1000 notes = i stop ordering t vials and i can only use the one i have left until it runs out (its less than 5 ml)
1200 notes = i get a permanent womb tattoo
1500 notes = i get my ears pierced and wear feminine/dangly earrings every day
2000 notes = getting my nipples pierced (note: i may have to delay this to induce lactation better)
4000 notes = i get my clit pierced
5500 notes + submit suggestions in my asks/dms if you have any (i’ll most likely add them + i loooove submissions)
5000 notes = i publicly announce my detransition and return to womanhood
spamming encouraged! do your worst!
i’ll be posting an update on the total count of everything on jan 31!
#forced detrans#ftm detrans kink#fakeboy#ftm girl#detrans kink#ftm misgendering#induced lactation#ftm humiliation#ftm forced feminization#ftmtf kink#misgender me#misgenderingkink#detrans resolutions
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Please help the Al-Swaisi family rebuild their lives! Their home in northern Gaza was completely destroyed and they are struggling to find food, drink, and other necessities. All members of the family have been suffering from illness throughout the genocide.
This fundraiser has been verified by Operation Olive Branch (it is on line #629 of their spreadsheet.) The gofundme has not seen many donations so far, so please donate and share.
[ID: the header to the link is a photo of the Al-Swaisi family, standing together at a festive setting.]
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Header
Hi guys!
This is a request I had some days (or weeks?) ago. I hope it would please the sweet anon who asked for it :)
Enjoy!
TW : Concussion, blood, injury, fainting.
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Since the beginning of the day, something seems of when you look at your girlfriend. She seems worried, not at ease and is excessively clingy with you. Not that you don’t like it, but Lia always have said that you should be careful about your relationship. She doesn’t exactly want to be secret, but she wants people to concentrate on her play and not on her relationship. Which you can understand, her breakup with Caitlin Foord looked like it involved a lot of other people. The fans, actually.
You choose not to come together this afternoon for the game, you’re playing in the Arsenal’s stadium, so you have to come with your cars. You asked Alessia to pick you up and Lia is supposed to get you home. Because of the traffic jam Alessia and you are a little late. You are surprised to see you girlfriend almost jumping on you when you arrive, grabbing you by the sleeve of your jacket.
“Where the hell have you been?! I was worried sick!”
You look at her with incredulity written on your face. Where is your girlfriend, always calm, posed, thoughtful and rational?
“We had a lot of traffic on the road, but everything’s fine. Are you ok?”
She doesn’t answer, grabbing you by the hand this time, to get you to the changing room. You question Leah with a look, but the blonde only shrugs her shoulders. You take Alessia with you with your free hand, dragging her with you.
You are not even late when you get on the pitch, starting the training after hearing some of tactical adjustments from Jonas. Lia, sitting next to you, doesn’t seem to be able to stay still. And she is very nervous during the drill too, making you wonder what the hell is happening to her.
You take her around a corner before going to change for the game, far away from the other’s ears.
“Lia what’s happening? You are acting weird since this morning.”
“Nothing” Lia sighs, looking around her.
Everywhere but you. You cup her cheek with your hand, attending to have a real exchange of look with her. You know that when you look at her in her eyes, she can’t lie.
“Lia” you say with a soothing voice. “Talk to me Baby, please.”
She sights and rub her face, still leaning against your touch anyway.
“You are going to think that I’m stupid.”
“Not even in your wildest dream.”
This time your girlfriend rolls her eyes and smile lightly, making you smirk in return. You know that if it’s affecting Lia like this, this isn’t nothing.
“I just have that feeling that something bad will happen. I had it when Leah did her ACL and it’s back.”
The Swiss woman already talked to you about the feeling she had that day, almost seeming to say that it was her fault if something like that happened to Leah. You trust her, obviously. But your job is to reassure her too.
“It’s going to be ok Babe, I swear. I won’t let anyone take you down.”
Next to Katie and Leah for today, you are a defender. And for you, your job is to not let the other team come near your goalkeeper, but not to touch any of your teammates too. The fans call you The Bodyguard, and it’s not for your passion for the song « I will always love you ». You are higher than Lia but you aren’t really high either. You don’t seem to be big too, but your muscles allow you to stay with your feet firmly on the ground against almost every charge.
You offer a hug at Lia, who cuddle against you. She doesn’t exactly worry about herself, more about one of your friends. But she tries to convince herself what you said. It’s going to be alright.
During the game, you see your girlfriend flinch every time that one of your teammates is on the ground. Liverpool isn’t playing dirty, there are some faults of course, but it’s a great game. At halftime, it’s 2-0 for Arsenal.
But when you are back in your cubby, your girlfriend always seems to the point of fainting from stress. You decide to abandon Lotte and her cubby next to yours to go sit next to Lia in her cubby. You propose her half of your banana, which she take with a small smile. Looking around to be sure that no one is looking at you, you kiss her cheek.
“Breath Babe. Everything is fine, see? We are winning and no one is hurt.”
Lia nod and take your arm against her, trapping it between her two. You let her, smiling when she put her head on it. When it’s time to get back, you kiss her hair and follow her peacefully.
You should have listened to her though. Because it’s not her, it’s not one of your teammates that get hurt at the end of the game.
It’s you.
Around the 80 minutes, you are running on the box to try to take a ball from Caitlin. She sends it and at the same time as you, another player from the other team is jumping. Your heads collided. Hard. You were running from all your speed, so is your opponent. The first shock almost knocks you out immediately, but the way you fall on the ground with all your weight, head first, it’s the one thing too many.
You fall out, not reacting at first when Caitlin run to you, making you roll to your side. Jonas is screaming to the medic to “get your ass on the pitch right now”. When they arrive at your side, Alessia and Katie are here too. But Lia is frozen at the other side of the pitch, unable to make a move.
After some hesitation and realizing that the medical team shushed away almost everyone from you, Leah decides to take care of Lia. There is only Katie left next to you, maybe because she’s your best friend. Some feet from away you, Alessia and Caitlin are shaking and Lia knows right away that this is bad.
“Lia” Leah calls her.
The Swiss woman looks at her friend, who doesn’t know what to say. The blonde just takes Lia’s hand, training her slowly in the direction of the bench, where your other teammates are. But when she realizes where she’s going, Lia stop dead in her track.
“I want to see her” Lia mumbles.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea...”
Alessia, who were not far from them give a look at Leah. She shakes her head at Leah behind Lia’s back and the blonde understand quickly. But Lia sees that Leah is looking at someone and Alessia can’t stay quiet when she sees your girlfriend’s face.
“I think it’s better that you stay here for some seconds. There is blood and…”
And suddenly there is more movement next to you and they can see Katie standing up. Her hands are red with your blood and Lia starts walking without really realizing it. She ignores Leah calling her, she just wants to see you.
“Lia, stop, Sweetheart” Katie says softly when she saw your girlfriend’s coming.
“I want to see her” Lia mumbles, looking at Katie.
“I know. Just wait some seconds, ok? Believe me, please. She’s breathing but passed out, they want to clean her wound. And she kind of… Throw up. They say it’s because of the shock.”
A little far from you, the other injured player is standing but have a bag of ice against her head. But she’s up, unlike you. Lia watches Katie washes her hand and let a sob out before talking.
“I knew something bad would happen, I told her. It can’t be happening again.”
“Lia stop, it’s not your fault.”
But before she can explain why it actually is, the medical team is moving you off the pitch. They put you on a stretcher and Lia could now have a full look on you. You’re still off, a massive bandage around your head and some blood is still on your face.
“I’m going with her” Lia informs Jonas.
The man is a little surprised, usually Lia is the one of all her player who will listen to him without a second thought. But right now, he saw the despair on Lia’s face and know right away that he can ask her to finish the game.
“We’ll bring you your stuff” Leah says.
Kyra gives Lia her jacket to keep her warm and with that the Swiss woman is following you until you are in the ambulance. They put you on monitor and gave a call to the hospital to say that you are coming. You’re still not up and they want to make some tests to know and understand why.
At the hospital, a sweet nurse takes Lia in the waiting room, offering her a coffee. Lia takes it, but when Katie, Leah and Caitlin are here, her cup is still full. Katie put your bags next to Lia on the ground and Leah sits next to Lia, kissing her head. Caitlin looks unsure about what to do though. She came because she wanted to be there for Katie and for Lia too, but with their past, she doesn’t know if Lia wants her here.
They exchanged a look though and Lia just nod in direction of a free chair next to Katie. With a small smile, Caitlin sits next to Katie, taking her hand is hers.
“What did they say?” Leah asks.
“Almost nothing. They are making tests and x-ray to see how her injury is. She didn’t wake up, Lee.”
Lia doesn’t want to cry. She really doesn’t. But she can’t stop the tears from rolling on her cheeks. Big, hot tears. Feeling her heart breaking for her friend, Leah takes her against her and let Lia put her head on her shoulder.
“It’s going to be ok” Leah mumbles.
Some time pass, hours actually, and Lia almost fall asleep on Leah’s shoulder from exhaustion. But she jumps every time, trying not to. Even if the three other girls told them that they will wake her up. Lia rings your parents instead, even if she doesn’t have anything good to say to them.
“Family of Y/N Y/L/N?”
“It’s me. I mean it’s us”
Lia jumps on her legs and almost run to the doctor. He looks at the four girls with an arched brow.
“Are you all her family?”
“This is her girlfriend” Katie answers almost aggressively.
Caitlin takes discreetly her hand in hers, trying to calm her girlfriend. The doctor sighs but add nothing, looking back at his papers.
“So, we made some test to understand her injury better. She doesn’t have anything broken or blood inside, but she has a massive concussion. We don’t know when she will wake up and she will obviously staying here all the time she needs to wake up. Maybe she will have some repercussions, but we can’t say anything right now.”
“What do you mean, repercussions?”
Leah asks for Lia, who seems very close to a nervous break down.
“Loss of memory, attention disorders, chronic headaches, nausea” he starts to list with a disinterested air. “Language and visualization in space disorders, change of behavior, character... Well, you know. All that. I have to go I’m sorry, ask the nurse if you need anything”
It’s with a defeat face that Lia turns herself in the direction of her friends. They all look stunned, but no one know what to say.
“How am I supposed to tell that to her parents?” Lia whispers before realizing something else. “He didn’t even say if we can see her!”
“Let me see if I can find someone.”
Caitlin left to find a nurse and when she comes back almost five minutes later, the three others are in the same disposition.
“I will take you to Y/N, ok Love?”
It’s the same nurse that gave Lia some coffee before, and the Swiss woman just nod, following her in the floors of the hospital. They don’t say anything before being in front of your room.
“Four is a little too much but for now I will let you in. But please, be quiet, ok?”
They all nod, before going in and Lia can’t stop some tears from falling. You seem so small in this bed with all the monitors around you. They change your bandage so it’s not bloody anymore. But you have a black eye and the cocky smile you usually have on your face is gone.
Lia lets herself fall on the chair who is the closest from you, taking her head in her hands.
“The doctor said that she will have like trouble of memories and language when she will wake up” Katie says to the nurse.
She frowns at her, before rolling her eyes.
“Those are some possibilities, but they are very rare and it usually happens when the concussion isn’t healed fast. Y/N had professional who were here for her immediately, the risks are very small. They exist, that’s for sur. But don’t think about it now.”
The nurse’s statements allow Lia to breathe a little better. Her muscles remain very tense when Leah puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Lia gets closer to you while the other three are busy warning the people you are closest to, while the nurse (Lydia, like her tag says) left the room after asking them not to stay to long at four people.
“Hey Love” Lia whispers, her chin on the mattress next to your face. “It’s me. I know you are hurt and I’m really sorry. Take the time you need to get better, but please, please, come back to me.”
********
It was hard for your friends to make Lia leaves you, even for some hours and even if someone else is here to have a look on you. She’s terrified that something could happened to you while she’s not here. Or that you wake up all alone in your room. They managed to take her at least once a day off anyway, so that she can take a shower and change her clothes.
Lia is currently sitting on the same chair, making some Sudoku she stole from Leah, when she hears you mumble something. She almost falls of her chair in her precipitation to have a look at you. You already moved a little this morning, but you were still deep asleep.
“Love? Can you hear me?” Lia whispers.
It takes you all your strength to open your eyes, the intensity of the light immediately making your head hurt.
“Lia?”
After that there are some noises and movements around you. Lia called the nurses, and your mother came back running in the room. But Lia never left your hand, and this is what helps you to stay focus.
After Lia helped you to drink some water, the doctor comes to you with his flashlight to look at your eyes. The light makes you groan in pain and Lia mumble something in Swiss-German that the doctor should be happy not to understand.
“How are you feeling Y/N?” he asks you.
“Tired” you mumble hardly.
“Yes, that’s normal. You will be for some more days.”
He keeps talking but you can’t focus anymore. Squeezing very weakly Lia’s hand around yours, you fall asleep again.
Days are passing and you get better, but really slowly. The first days, you can barely open your eyes. You felt more than you saw Lia, your parents and Katie’s presence next to you. It seems like your girlfriend is always here when you open your eyes, looking way to worried for your taste.
With more days, you can stay awake a little bit longer, but you can’t have a big conversation. You listen and look lovingly at Lia, smile at Katie when she tells you real-life training stories through exaggerated gestures and you let your mother washing your hair when they change your bandage, something she probably never have done since you are two.
You did more tests too and the only problems you seem to have now, is a constant need to sleep and difficulty to keep focus. But Lydia told you that it would probably get better with time. The club made a statement about your case, and you let them handle that, trusting them with all your being.
********
“I have a good new, Y/N” sings Lydia when she comes to your room that day. “You can go home today.”
Lia smiles and you frowns. You don’t want to be something difficult to manage to Lia, you are not living together but you know that you will need someone to take care of you for some days.
“Isn’t it too soon?” your mother asks.
“I don’t think so. She has great results for the tests, get better every day and I’m sure that Lia here will take great care of her.”
She winks at you and Lia and you smirk when you see that Lia is blushing a little. Your mother can’t say anything against that, she knows perfectly how much you mean to Lia. And how much she means to you.
“I will come back with the fills to signs, the different prescriptions and everything you will need. Take your time to be ready, yeah?”
You nod and your mother takes her phone from her purse.
“I’m going to call your dad.”
It’s like the first time that you find yourself all alone with Lia. And you take advantage of that to ask her the question that is on your mind.
“Are you sure? It probably will be complicated and with the trainings and all…”
“I am sure, Y/N. Don’t worry, really. I will take great care of you, like Lydia says. We can go to your house if you want… Well, it would probably be better that way, you don’t have stairs like I do.”
You look at her rumble, your head against the cushion. You have your cocky smirk back and Lia realize it immediately of course.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing. I’m just lucky to have you. And I love you.”
She gives you her shy, beautiful smile back and takes you very softly against her. Even if you only have a head injury, she looks sometimes like she thinks you have broken ribs or something. Which you don’t.
“I love you too.”
She kisses lovingly your forehead, and you tilt your head in your direction, pouting. It makes her roll her eyes but she complied, kissing your lips softly. After that, she put her forehead against yours, looking deep in your eyes.
“You don’t know how much I am relieved that you are ok. I don’t know what I would have done if…”
With a finger on her lips, you make her be silent. She already excuses herself the other day, affirming that your injury was because of her. Because of her feeling that day and you already told her that this is stupid.
“Lia, stop. I am fine and I will be even better thanks to you. Please stop thinking that way.”
You are still very weak to be honest and you will have to take a wheelchair to left the hospital. You slept the journey to go to your house and fall asleep again after taking a proper shower with Lia’s help.
But you will get better and eight weeks after your injury, you are back on the pitch, stronger than ever.
#woso imagine#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso one shot#lia wälti imagine#lia walti imagine#lia wälti x reader#lia walti x reader#lia walti#lia wälti
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Reader’s dad has really high standards for her like impossibly high for just a 16 year old, and she overworks herself to the point she passes out and all the girls are really concerned and she’s just like no i have to keep going i have to be better i have to be enough and then they all press her for more info and then when she eventually tells them about how she’s feeling they all comfort her and tell her playing pro soccer at that young is amazing and that she’s enough]” Barcelona Femini (mainly Alexia Putellas) or Arsenal WFC
You 100% do not need to write this just would love to see your talented writing skills give this a shot🫶
Enough || Barcelona Femení x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of death, toxic family relationships, lack of self care from reader, Swearing (probably?)
Word count: 4.3k words
A/N: I lied, this was next. Feel free to make more requests. I hope that this is alright, anon! I kind of strayed from the plot.
“You should have scored more, you didn’t try hard enough,” Your father’s voice was flat, the comments made offhandedly as if he were talking about what you were having for dinner. As if he weren’t stabbing you in the back with his words, the comment digging deeper and deeper and cracking your heart open. “That header was yours, you disappointed your team by letting that one go.”
Growing up, you’d always dreamed of playing professional soccer, and so your parents had supported your dreams. They drove you to each of your games and training, and helped pay for you to go to an academy. They helped you get to your national camps, made and packed nutritious food for you, and supported you in each and every way that they could.
You stuck to your dreams and overcame so many challenges to get to where you were. You’d learned from the best, had run into injuries, had laughed with friends and had lost those friends as they’d given up the dreams that all of you had had. You’d thought about giving up, too, especially when your mother had been diagnosed with cancer.
She’d fought tooth and nail to stay alive, working hard to still help you become the best player that you could. She continued to support you with your father, up until the point where she was far too weak to continue doing so. She’d gone to every single one of your games, even when she felt sick or like she didn’t have the energy, and for that you were determined to make it worth it for her. Little did you know that watching you was your mother’s greatest pride, and she would not allow her sickness to keep her from supporting you.
And so you stuck to the sport, even when your friends did not, and it had all paid off in the end. In the summer, you’d signed for Barcelona Femení, the day after your sixteenth birthday. Your mother was there for your signing, beside your father. That day, she promised you that she would watch your first game with Barcelona no matter what.
She hadn’t made it that long, dying only a few days later. You’d taken the loss hard, but it was your father who had taken it the hardest. Your father had hardened in ways that you hadn’t anticipated, becoming cruel and harsh. He seemed to have given up hope, the bags beneath his eyes dark and puffy.
He was a shell on the man that he’d once been, and it showed in the way he now treated you. After the loss of your mother, he’d drawn into himself and away from you, and you found yourself so much lonelier than you had ever been.
The team had been there for you, allowing you to take time off and letting you know that they had psychologists and people to talk to if you had needed it. It took you a week to return.
When you were finally mentally ready to move on and begin participating in training sessions, it was now your captain, Alexia Putellas, who drove you to practices.
Your father no longer attended your matches, no longer worked hard to ensure that you got all the support that you deserved. Instead, he sat at home and mourned the loss of your mother. The truth was, you were both hurting, but you had to be strong in hopes that your father would soon bounce back.
He never did.
You hadn’t told any of your teammates, but the stress of the situation was getting to you. It showed in your performance and the way you trained in all of the worst ways. You were exhausted, emotionally and also physically as you had troubles sleeping at night. You wanted a hug from your mom, wished that she was there to tell you that everything would be alright.
But she wasn’t there, which was the entire problem, and she would never be able to do that again.
And so things continued as they were for several months. The pressure grew onto you, far too much for your young shoulders to carry on their own, but you forced yourself to remain strong. You worked harder than you ever had in your life, attempting to be enough for your father and to try to make your mother proud as you’d promised her.
Foolishly, you dreamed at night that you could bring your father out of the deep pit of depression he’d fallen into. Maybe, if you tried hard enough, he’d realize that you really were good at soccer. Maybe he’d wake up and realize that you needed him still, but the truth was that a part of him had died when your mother had, and you would never be getting him back.
You’d basically forced him to come to your match, begging him for weeks on end to come to at least one. Ironically, it was the first time you were being trusted to start for your team as well. It was supposed to be a special match, commemorating everything that you and your parents had ever worked for.
You’d hoped that he would come out of his shell if he returned to a little bit of his old life. You’d been wrong, as the second you’d stepped into his car, he was throwing insults and critiques at you.
He was nothing of the man you’d grown up with, and it hurt you like no other pain you’d felt in your life. Even breaking two bones in your leg at thirteen didn’t compare to the pain in your chest, hollowed out by month after month of loneliness and pain. You felt like your heart, once full of love, had been scraped empty of any positive emotion that it had once felt, and your father held the scalpel.
You tried arduously to tune your father out, trying to focus on the positives of the match as your father drove.
You’d won the game!
“You relied on the other defenders far too much to cover for your careless mistakes.”
You’d made an amazing tackle on a player who had skirted past Ingrid Engen! It had earned you a shower of applause from the watching fans and a proud peck to your forehead from Ingrid herself!
“You were too slow, you need to be faster, like Batlle.”
Alexia had told you that she was proud of you!
“You aren’t good enough for this team, God knows why they chose you.”
You weren’t aware of the tears which fell down your cheeks, and your father ignored them. You didn’t know why he was so intent on breaking you down after years spent building you up. You missed how life was before.
You missed your mom.
As your father pulled into the driveway of your childhood home, you hopped out. Before a sob could break free of your quivering lips, you were bounding up the steps to your room and closing the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, all of the emotions which had bubbled beneath the surface coming out in ugly, whiny gasps and cries.
Your heart burned, as if scorched. You had never felt so empty, so dark, and so lonely. You wanted someone to hold you, and you didn’t know who to turn to anymore. You cried yourself to sleep, although you only managed to get a few meager hours of sleep before you were awoken by some recurring nightmare.
-----
You barely managed to drag yourself to training, exhausted. The dark bags beneath your eyes stood out starkly against your pale skin. You were dressed in a jumper and sweatpants, both of which used to be an appropriate size but which now hung off of your tired frame.
As Alexia picked you up, she noted your exhaustion with a small frown.
“Hola, chiqui. Estás bien?” Her voice held a certain concern which was almost enough to break down your walls. You yearned so badly for a sense of comfort, and the which Alexia looked seemed to offer that.
You forced yourself to turn towards the window, not wanting to break down in front of your captain. Your father’s words from the past few months wore heavy on your mind. You were a disappointment and a burden, and you didn’t want Alexia to tell Jona that the team didn’t need you and decide to release you. You wanted to be enough, and you had promised yourself every night that you would be better, you just needed a little bit more time.
Alexia frowned harsher, nearly locking the car and forcing you to talk to her, but deciding against it. She didn’t want to push you, but she’d noticed that you weren’t okay for a while.
She’d taken note of the way you always did extra laps and repetitions of each of their workouts. She watched you participate in extra opportunities to practice penalties and how you stood behind after each training for at least an hour to do more work. She knew you were exhausting yourself, could see it in the way you could barely stand.
She didn’t understand why you pushed yourself so hard, given how good you were. She tried to give you advice, to compliment you whenever she could and saw how you absolutely beamed under any sort of praise or compliment, as though you didn’t get it enough.
Over the last few months, she’d taken on almost a mentoring role to you. You looked up to her, and she could see how you held each of your teammates in such high regard. For whatever reason, however, it just didn’t seem to stick in your mind that you were of the same caliber as each excellent athlete within the team.
As she watched you turn away from her, she realized she would need to confront you soon. It was obvious that you weren’t taking care of yourself, but she didn’t want to do it now, not when you were blocking her out as hard as you could. She would need backup, probably from the other captains of the team, and made a promise to herself that she would do it later that day.
Instead of confronting you like she yearned to do, she stayed quiet and allowed you your peace. She watched as, ever so slowly, your shoulders sagged and your body untensed. You’d fallen asleep, and Alexia turned the music down a little bit to try to make the atmosphere easy to sleep in.
Alexia noticed how the harsh lines in your face relaxed as you slept. You looked more peaceful than she’d ever seen you. She hated that she had to wake you up as the two of you arrived at the training center.
She parked as gently as she could before reaching over and gently shaking you awake. You groaned as she did so, almost turning away in such a careless, teenage way that Alexia had never seen you do. You always seemed so much more grown up than you were supposed to be, even more so than Claudia or Pina or Vicky, all of whom were older than you.
“‘M not ready yet, Mom.” You rumbled, and Alexia froze, the frown on her face deepening. She’d tried to be there for you, having lost her own parental figure in her father. She knew the pain that you felt all too well.
So not to be mistaken for the woman who you’d just lost, Alexia spoke up this time as she shook at you again.
“Despiértate, nena. We are here.” You startled awake, the barriers which had dropped as you slept appearing once more as your face tightened again, a frown set upon your face which mirrored Alexia’s.
You thanked her quietly before climbing out of the car, purposefully walking ahead of Alexia so that she couldn’t ask you any questions about your slip up.
You entered the locker room near-silently, the hood of your jumper up to cover the vast majority of your face. You ignored the looks you got from each of your teammates in favor of quickly getting dressed for training.
As you went to tie your shoes, you realized you were, yet again, crying.
You’re too emotional. Words of your fathers’. Your teammates wouldn’t like you if you showed emotion in front of them. You pushed the fabric of your sleeve against your cheeks, leaving red marks behind with how harshly you rubbed at the salty tears.
Then, to try to remain inconspicuous, you bent over to tug your shoes on to your feet. You thought you were successful, but hadn’t anticipated how much you’d struggle with your laces. Your exhaustion mixed with your lack of breakfast had caused your hands to shake.
Each time you’d try to make a loop, your quaking fingers would pull too hard or drop the lace altogether.
All of your teammates noticed your struggle, but it was Paños who stepped in. The older woman knelt down at your feet, hands wrapping around your own and holding them for just a second. Her eyes looked up into yours, noting the tear stains on your cheeks and giving you a comforting smile.
Then, she refocused on your shoes and began to tie them for you. The rest of your teammates watched on anxiously, although they continued to prepare for training and tried not to stare. The truth was, everyone could see that something was going on with you and that you weren’t okay, but they were scared to upset you by saying anything. You already seemed too tiny and isolated and they walked on eggshells around you.
Each of your teammates yearned to be there for you, but they didn’t know you well enough to know how to be there for you.
Paños finished with your shoes before standing, holding both of her hands out for you to take. She tugged you to your feet easily, one arm wrapping around you in almost a motherly manner.
The woman was usually seen joking with the younger kids, but with you she had taken a different role, like Ale.
“Listos, nena?” The goalkeeper asked you, voice soft and comforting. Like Alexia, her voice nearly caused you to break down. You felt your shoulders shake beneath the weight of Sandra’s arm and resisted the urge to turn and hug her like you would have your mother.
You wanted comfort, but your father had convinced you time and time again that you didn’t need it and that you’d be a burden if you sought it out, and so you nodded and pulled away.
You walked out onto the field and began to stretch. You kept your head down, suddenly more numb than you’d felt in months. You ignored the way your stomach clenched with hunger and the way your head had begun to ache and sting from your lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and all of your crying.
You didn’t look up, even as more of your teammates filtered out to join you. Claudia and Patri stretched next to you, trying to provide jokes for you to laugh at. They didn’t stop even as you didn’t react, continuing to try to cheer you up in the only way they knew how at the moment.
When a whistle sounded to signal the beginning of warmups, you stood instantly. Too fast, however, as your world tilted and spun around you. It reminded you of the first time you’d ever tried alcohol on your fifteenth birthday.
An arm wrapped around your waist and you regained your balance against the firm body of one of your teammates.
“You okay?” You heard someone ask. Looking up, you caught the concerned glance of Ingrid Engen, who had also taken you under her wing when you’d joined the team. You nodded, pulling away from her, too.
So many people had touched you in the past hour, more than you’d had since your mother had passed away. You almost didn’t know how to react to all the comforting touches and glances, having not received them in so long.
Ingrid watched on sadly as you walked away from her, the concern which swirled within herself increasing as she watched you wobble away. Ingrid had noticed how out of it you were, how tiny you had been in the clothes which had fit you a month ago. You were pale, more than normal, and the way you’d nearly passed out showed Ingrid that you were not fit to practice.
The Norwegian caught Alexia’s gaze from across the yard, shaking her head at the Spanish captain to try to convey that you shouldn’t be training.
Sensing that something was wrong, Alexia began to make her way over to you. As she did so, however, your legs finally seemed to cave in from underneath you.
None of your teammates would ever be able to get the image of your crumpled figure on the turf as Alexia and Ingrid both ran to you. The rest of your teammates watched on as the medics were called over.
You were turned on your back by Alexia, one of her fingers touching at your throat as they attempted to find a pulse. It was thready and uneven, but there, and Alexia wanted to cry. She cursed herself for not confronting you sooner, more worried than she remembered ever being as the medical staff pushed her back to give your crumpled form more room.
Alexia had been the one to recommend you to the team, having attended one of your matches for Spain’s U17 match. You’d played up and had still outclassed so many of your teammates, a solid wall in the backline which your teammates depended upon. She’d seen the glimmer of excitement and determination in your eyes, one that you’d lost since the passing of your mother.
She felt like this was all her fault. If she had just spoken to you sooner and had investigated what was going on with you… then, maybe, you would have been okay. She felt as though she had failed you and her responsibilities as a captain to ensure your safety.
You’d become a skeleton of the incredible human that you’d once been, and had watched all the life drain from you while being unable to do anything about it. As you were placed upon a cart to be carried off the field, however, Alexia promised that she would be there for you.
You were wasting your life away, and Alexia was determined to figure out why.
-----
You awoke in a dimly illuminated room, your throat dry and your eyes feeling like they’d been doused with sand. You groaned, attempting to lift your hand as you slowly game through to try and brush at your forehead. You felt cold and sticky all at once– you didn’t feel well at all.
Your hand was caught on something, and you attempted to bat at it only to have your hand caught by something else. As the room slowly began to swim into your vision, you caught the familiar brown eyes of your captain.
“Hola, capi.” You rasped, and Alexia’s concerned face brightened ever so slightly, a small smile gently pulling her lips upward.
“Hola, chiqui. Como estás?” Alexia inquired, her voice far gentler than you’d ever felt.
“Not very good,” You whispered honestly, feeling like shit. You were tired of fighting, tired of feeling like you weren’t enough. You were ready to be honest about how you felt, no matter if the people around you would stop loving you as your dad promised that they would. “What happened?”
“You passed out.” This voice was different, coming from your left. Slowly, your head fell sideways and you caught the glance of Ingrid. The girl looked more worried than you ever had seen her, and you felt truly terrible for worrying the older woman.
“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You knew that you hadn’t been feeling very well for a long time, but you’d been too scared to mention it to anybody but your father. The man who was supposed to keep you safe had failed you in all ways possible, but you didn’t see it that way.
You felt like you weren’t enough and that it was you who had failed, and that you didn’t deserve comfort or love because of it.
Alexia sat up, the motion causing your gaze to come back to her.
“Do you want to tell me why you haven’t been taking care of yourself?” Alexia speaking English took you by surprise. You supposed that it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but you knew that the girl seemed to almost avoid speaking the language. Her voice was still low, comforting, and still worked at lowering your barriers ever more.
You had to resist the urge to throw yourself in her arms and blubber like a baby. You reminded yourself that they would remove you from the team, that they wouldn't accept you, that they would see you as weak.
However, the way Alexia held your hand, her grip comforting and sure, made you think that… maybe… your dad was wrong. Maybe they did care.
“I…” you hesitated, and felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. Glancing over, you realized that Paños was there, too. You caught her concerned gaze, the small smile on her face, and heard her tell you that it was okay.
It was then that you realized, all of the adults that you trusted most in the world, that made you feel better when you were at your worst, were there for you. They were here for you when you were lower than your lowest, and if they hadn’t left when you’d fallen on your face on the field, then they wouldn’t leave now.
That thought gave you the courage to tell the truth, and so you did.
The girls listened throughout your story. You told them how low you felt, how scared you were. You told them that you missed your mom, but so did your dad. You told them that he’d become a shell of the man he’d once been, that he’d become cruel and harsh– everything that your dad was not. The girls’ faces were stormy, but still they worked to comfort and reassure you in every way that they could.
By the end of your retelling, you were crying, but so were they.
You were utterly exhausted as a yawn broke through, revealing your exhaustion to the other girls. It was Alexia who spoke first, frowning at you.
“We are here for you, no matter what. We will fix this.” Her words were hard, but not harsh. They were a promise, one that you trusted. “Sleep, we will be here when you wake up.”
“I’m okay.” You retorted. Truthfully, you were terrified. You were scared that they would leave after trusting them with the information and words that had burdened you for months, just as your father had promised you.
Sensing your nervousness, Alexia gently slid up and onto the bed, taking her time and giving you plenty of room.
As soon as the older woman had sat herself up, careful of the IV in your hand, you moved. You buried yourself against her, an arm wrapping around her back as your face buried itself in her shoulder. Alexia, ever so carefully, wrapped her arms around you in return.
She pressed a warm, careful kiss against your forehead, and allowed you to cry into her shirt. She did not care about the way your tears wet the material, reassuring you in a spattering of both English and Spanish words. Ingrid and Sandra stepped out to give the two of you privacy, although they would be back for you. They would never leave your side, not now that they knew what you’d been going through.
Alexia continued to hold and comfort you in the ways that you’d yearned for months, her touch gentle.
That was how you fell asleep, and how you woke up hours later. Despite the amount of time you’d spent in the spare room of the training center, Alexia had stayed. She had not allowed anybody to wake you up, having come to the conclusion that she would never allow your father to speak to you ever again.
That night, she took you to her home, which she shared with her girlfriend, Olga. There, they cared for you.
Alexia made sure that you spoke to a therapist, and that you never saw your father again. She supported you in the ways that you deserved, and in the ways that you'd lacked since your mother had passed away.
Slowly but surely, Alexia saw you return to the kid that you’d once been: determined, carefree, and stronger than you’d ever been.
Freed from the confines of your father’s sorrow, you were able to soar. You rose to levels of success that you’d only ever been able to dream of, and you stayed true to your promise.
You made your mother proud.
#woso x reader#woso fanfics#barcelona femeni#alexia putellas x reader#woso imagine#woso one shot#harper writes
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Watch it!
Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader request
-> Kyra can only keep her relationship a secret for so long...
-> A little shorter
➳ Masterlist
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
When Kyra joined you at Arsenal both of you could not have been happier, but while you were already an established part of the team and already made a name for yourself in the WSL after joining Arsenal after two seasons at Chelsea, Kyra was new in the league.
So in a joint decision, you decided to keep your relationship private for now. Not a secret, but private. But it was so funny seeing the girls trying to find out who your girlfriend was, and trying to set Kyra up on a date.
As time went on Kyra’s title of ‘annoying little sister’ was slowly set in stone and it did not make her happy. Why couldn’t she just be Kyra – a good, young footballer who was new to the team?
So then she started to actively hide your relationship – even going as far as to ignore you in training, only talking again when she came home to your shared apartment and it was starting to take a toll on you.
But either Kyra didn’t see it or she just didn’t care – even after you tried to talk about it with her she brushed you off, stating that she was meeting up with Charlie, your joined friend, who has just joined you in London.
Conversations got rarer and frosty dinners more often. You hated this. She had to dislike it too, right? No one would like to sit in a quiet, stuffy, tense room. Not even with their girlfriend.
Before the much dreaded Manchester City game you were faced with a screaming Kyra – who had enough of your complaints, so it was safe to say, that the atmosphere was tense once your girlfriend walked in with Katie and Caitlin.
The couple had picked the brunette up at your home after she had refused to enter your cars and decided to make a scene.
Everybody noticed the difference – Steph and Caitlin had already been confused, the two of you had been such good friends in Australia, and the World Cup camp was filled with giggles as you pranked one Matilda after the other. Even Mini didn’t know what happened and Kyra tended to tell her everything.
The match was brutal and your girlfriend couldn’t help but wince every time you went down after a tackle from the opponent. And while you got up every time, she couldn’t bear to watch, trying to keep herself busy somehow.
It was a 0 – 0 deadlock in the 70th minute when Kyra had been subbed on for Kim, who was still struggling a little after her injury. And just a couple of minutes later her worst nightmare came true.
You went in for a header against Alex Greenwood, but the ball rebounded off of someone’s head – who wasn’t important to the young Australian, as she watched her girlfriend immediately crash to the ground after colliding.
Alex stayed down as well.
Fuck there was a lot of blood.
And before she could even think about it Kyra started to sprint across the pitch, and Steph could have sworn she had never seen her young friend that fast.
“Babe? Are you okay?”
You weren’t – evident by the lack of an answer. She quickly noticed your unconscious state and immediately fell to her knees next to you. Shaky hands pulled down your shirt, trying to keep you safe from the stares of the viewers.
“You’re gonna be okay my love – I promise.”
While your teammates noticed the suddenly very affectionate nicknames, there were more pressing matters at hand, you were still bleeding from your forehead.
The medics took a look at you and quickly decided that getting you on a stretcher and off the field was their best option.
Getting you on that dreaded, bright orange thing was a slow process and the paramedics were as careful as they could but a quiet, painful moan left your lips as your eyes cracked open.
You could hear Kyra crying somewhere in the area around your head, while you could see the other girls by your feet, as you were carried away, every step shaking your whole body, releasing a new wave of pain originating from your head.
But it was going fine, until one of the people that were carrying the stretcher slipped, letting go briefly of his corner, sending you into a tilted position. The pain-filled cry could be heard in the deadly silent stands.
“Watch it you fuck – that’s my girlfriend!”
Heads snapped to Kyra, who didn’t even look away from the guy who let go of you.
“Out of my way.” And just like that your girlfriend took over and Jonas had to look for another person to sub in.
“Don’t think you’ll get away with this young lady!” But Steph’s shout was completely ignored as you left behind a stunned Arsenal team who had just figured out, that you and Kyra did in fact not hate each other.
#woso x reader#woso#woso imagine#woso imagines#arsenal wfc x reader#kyra cooney cross x reader#kyra cooney cross#matildas x reader#matildas#tillies
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Honeyed
Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel.
Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~11.7k
Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this
A/N: We're ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. I love this fic with everything I am and hope you all like it too. I'm trying something new with this header because none of the gif were giving me what I wanted, so I hope its not too cringe as I am not an aesthetic girlie. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!
Summer is at its peak when you first happen by Joel Miller's tattoo studio.
The sky is a jewel bright, cerulean blue, the shining yellow saturation of the sun blurring the air around you in a washed out haze that reminds you of childhood summers past.
Main Street’s sidewalk is hot enough to fry an egg, hot enough to boil soup. It sends shimmering waves up from the asphalt. Blinding sunshine pierces through the tired trees that line the road, undulating waves of emerald green and twinkling golden light shifting over the pavement. The leaves wilt in the heat. A single cloud floats on the sky’s horizon.
The sun feels nice, maybe a little like you’re baking alive, but you don’t mind it. When you suck in a deep breath of that sun warmed air, you feel at home—it tastes like dust and heat and the slightly floral desert bloom.
The town, just a couple hours outside Austin, already feels more like home to you than the city ever did. It’s idyllic, lush with shaded parks, an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop, plenty of restaurants and food trucks, a walkable little main thoroughfare not far from your apartment above a bookstore.
It’s more than idyllic; it feels like a town straight out of a novel. Quiet and quaint and safe.
And, apparently, it has a tiny tattoo studio that you’d somehow missed on all your walks through town.
The shop looks a bit rustic—all raw wood tones and metal—but the art that hangs in the front windows is beautiful. Paintings that seem to be for sale hang next to artfully taken photos of healed tattoos.
You step closer, pressing a hand over your brow to block out part of the glare that rains down from the sky in glimmering waves.
The lone cloud in the sky slides over the sun in what feels like a moment of divine intervention, just for you, so you can see the displayed art properly.
It’s lovely, and your skin begins to itch and tingle with a need you know well. You know exactly what you’d ask for, from the hand of the person who’d created that which hangs in the front window.
You want—need—another tattoo. You need this person’s art to live on your skin, to make a home there.
You step back from the glass as the cloud drifts on and the sun reveals itself again, perfect golden rays slipping over your exposed skin. The world seems to filter back in to you then. The heat of the day, the hush of the breeze that does nothing to cool the air, the sweat gathering at the base of your throat.
Children shriek at the park a block over, splashing in the fountain at the center of it all, parents reclined on benches in the sun, cold lemonade close at hand. The scent of sugar and sun and fried food burns through the air.
The buzzing need only increases as you note the name of the shop and move on to the record store and then the clothing boutique, your mind still hovering in front of the studio.
As much as you would have liked to just burst in, you want more than what a walk-in appointment could probably get you. That, and you needed to do some research about the place before you decided, no matter how much your skin itched with want.
To your dismay, the tattoo shop seems to only have one artist, though it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering the size of the shop. It’s tiny and you doubt there was room for more than one artist to comfortably work there.
A fairly new instagram account lists his name as Joel Miller, owner of, and soul artist at, the studio you had passed. The shop doesn’t seem to have a website, but the few google reviews that it does have are all glowingly positive.
Bookings appear to be wide open according to the instagram bio, but a different kind of itch crawls under your skin at the thought of being tattooed by another man. Your stomach goes foamy, gives an uncomfortable lurch, at the thought of any man at all having to touch you.
You scroll through the few posts that have made their way onto the account, the last dated two days ago. And, for the first time in years, you feel the need for this person’s art on your skin begin to outweigh your aversion to touch.
There are no pictures of Joel Miller, just his art, though some of the posts give glimpses of strong hands and thick forearms. Despite yourself, arousal pools in your belly at the sight. A few scars run beneath the wiry black hair on his arms, thick veins snake beneath his skin to collect in rough, strong hands that speak to hard labor. It makes you wonder if he’d always been a tattoo artist or if he’d made a career change at some point.
Some of the captions on the posts make you snort and you have to wonder if he runs the account himself. You somehow can’t picture the owner of those hands typing out the cheesy, often pun filled, lines.
You ruminate on it for weeks, passing by the shop anytime you have to walk through town to admire the ever changing line up of photos and art pieces hung in the windows. The second week a drawing of a doe appears among the photos and paintings—big eyes wide, ears alert as she looks over her shoulder, surrounded by a thick forest bright with sun and shadow. Bumblebees hover around her alert ears.
She looks familiar but you can’t quite place why.
Sometimes you go out of your way to pass by, just to check out the new photos, even making a day of it, buying yourself an expensive iced coffee and lingering far too long in front of the window, just looking, pretending like the small shop doesn’t take up your every thought.
You spend each evening hoping for a new post to the shop’s instagram page, hoping, too, that the new post contains glimpses of more than Joel Miller’s hands.
The man remains an enigma, a mystery, and if he’s ever in the shop when you stand in the window, you never see him. You convince yourself that if you could just get a glance at him, you’d know. You’d know if you could handle being tattooed by him.
You find yourself rolling your eyes at yourself often. You avoid hugs with friends, cringe your way through having anyone unfamiliar do your hair, tense at casual accidental touch. Phantom echoes of pain and want twin themselves around your heart, slide thick and cloying around your chest, breaking your breath from your body.
It’s inexplicable, how much you crave touch and fear it. It’s terrifying, how you wonder what Joel’s hands would feel like.
Probably it would feel like everyone else’s touch always has. Like your skin is too tight, like your heart might stop beating, like there’s something wrong with you for feeling like prey near capture, like the soft press of another person's hand might start burning.
One hot afternoon, you finally find out what Joel looks like.
The heat is relentless that day as it has been for weeks, the ice cream you’d stopped for at the local parlor rapidly melting as you completed your, now weekly, routine of stopping by the tattoo studio. As unbearable as the heat is, you somehow still find it blissful. On this day, a young woman stands outside the shop cleaning the front window. The door is propped open, frigidly cold air swirling out onto the street.
“Sarah?” A voice calls from within, graveled and gruff and warm. “You ‘bout finished up out there? We need to get goin’. Tommy’s waitin’.”
The girl, who could only be Sarah, turns away from the window, swiping a few errant strands of her hair away from her forehead, her opposite hand anchoring on her hip as she answers back.
You don’t catch her response, too distracted trying to glimpse the man just inside the door.
All you’re able to see for a moment is a crop of dark hair laced with a fine sprinkling of gray before his broad shoulders that test the strength of the t-shirt he wears comes into view. Dark wash jeans fit snugly around his thighs and narrow hips, worn but well kept boots on his feet. He’s certainly handsome and looks rugged, and that both scares you and thrills you.
When you glance back up to his face, you meet his eyes. The slash of sun, a spinning shard of light falls over his gaze when he pokes his head out the door. In the warmth of the Texas sun, his eyes are cast in honeyed tones. The man you know must be Joel Miller smiles at you, one forearm lifting to brace against the doorway, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. His beard is threaded with that attractive gray too.
“Howdy,” he says and he looks like he means to say more, but something seizes your throat and you avert your eyes and keep walking, barely managing to nod back politely. You don’t dare to breathe until you’re well past his shop.
It takes you two blocks to realize the ice cream in your fist had melted over the edge of the cup and dripped over your fingers and that the man whose art you’ve been lusting over for weeks is just as pretty as his hands.
Joel noticed you the first day you lingered outside his studio.
He’d watched you cup a hand over your eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. Your nose had scrunched up too as you gazed in at what was hung in the window.
A curl of nervousness that he couldn’t exactly place had settled hard in his gut. But you just looked, eyes filled with wonder as honeyed sunshine fell in drafts around you. He half expected a colony of bees to buzz around you, like some long forgotten god.
You’d reminded him then of a deer caught by surprise, big eyes and searching gaze pulling him in, something skittish and troublesome looming around you.
It wasn’t in Joel’s nature to bother folks on the street anyway, but he suspected if he even cracked the door open you’d go flying down the street in a cloud of warmed sun, just like a deer that hears the first snap of a branch under a hunter’s foot.
Eventually you’d moved on, and he’d tried not to feel too bad about it, not that he had any real reason to.
His hand had itched as you walked away, to pick up a paint brush or a pencil or a whittling knife.
To his surprise, you start coming back all the time. A least once a week, and sometimes it seemed like you came by just to come by, like you didn’t have any other reason to be out.
His girls notice, too, when they visit because of course they do.
Sarah is kinder about it than Ellie who tells him to man up and talk to you.
He just tells her to mind her own business, watching you look at the things he’d created with wonder and reverence. It flatters him, really, makes an embarrassing blush he’ll never admit to heat his chest. He considers himself a pretty average artist.
But each time he thinks about following Ellie’s advice, he sees your doe eyes and knows he’d frighten you.
There’s a drawing that hangs in the window now—several actually—of a doe with wide, curious eyes, not necessarily afraid but cautious. He can’t seem to stop painting, drawing, whittling deer.
One deer really, a very particular doe that bees seemed to want to follow.
He wonders if you know that that painting in the front window is of you, if you recognize yourself. You surely don’t, because you keep coming by.
“Since when are you so obsessed with deer?” Sarah asks one evening. The light has faded from the sky in an orange and red blaze, the close blanket of night wreathing the street outside, street lamps buzzing haloing yellow light in patches down the sidewalk.
“Always liked deer,” he comments, mumbling it more than anything.
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Sure.”
He’s right not to disturb you though. The day he finally gets the chance to say hello to you, when Sarah had insisted on washing the front window free of the accumulated summer dust despite his protests that he would do it, fear darts behind your eyes, nervousness seizing your shoulders. You don’t so much as look at him, head ducked, feet carrying you swiftly down the road away from him.
A thread of worry that you’d stop coming by wrapped around his chest until the next week when you’d again lodged yourself in the window, peering in at the ever rotating catalog of his work.
He figures that’s fine for now.
He’d rather you be there, unreachable on the other side of the glass, than have you disappear entirely.
You are a creature of distrust. Of longing and starved skin, of loneliness and want. You aren’t sure where those things begin and you end, you aren’t sure where it started. Maybe you had been born that way, shoved onto the Earth and into existence with a mistrust of the world that shaped you into an infinitely lonely thing, an incredibly wary thing.
There’s always been something missing inside you, that might let you bridge that chasm inside you, climb to the other side and put yourself in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t burn the path behind you.
Maybe you are skittish and adverse to touch by nature. Maybe it started when you were a kid, with your parents who have never been tactile, not even when you were a child, not even when you were hurt or in pain.
But you aren’t sure, you have never been sure.
What you do know is that it's left behind a raw hole, aching with a loneliness you can't figure out how to battle.
The times you had slipped your heart into someone else’s palm, wet and sticky with blood, the viscera of who you are, admitting to the pain that vibrated always at a low level frequency below your skin, you regretted it.
Mostly because you’re never able to explain it. It just is. You just are.
It’s who you’ve always been, and sometimes one step forward necessitated two steps back with how much you could handle.
Touch wasn’t even always bad, sometimes it was just too much. And no one wanted or tried to understand that sometimes it just felt too good, overwhelmed you to the point of exhaustion, and sometimes to pain.
You’ve always wondered if there would ever be anyone who’s touch felt safe, felt like it belonged.
The aversion you have to touch and the deepening trust issues that grew wilder every year were only solidified by your last boyfriend, by the tattoo he carved into your skin. He confirmed everything you ever needed to know about yourself, that you were not worth cracking the code on, that no one would ever be willing to try to handle you with care, to expose you slowly, to meet you halfway. To know when you asked not to be touched that you weren’t mad or punishing them.
If he wasn’t willing to put up with you, he’d said, to figure it out, then no one else would be.
You swore off having a relationship, content in the loneliness that you were destined to have claw at your heart, at least in that way.
But with that tattoo came too a deep mistrust, an aversion to anyone getting too close to you, a swearing off, a final nail in the coffin of trying for things to be thrown back in your face. He’s the reason you moved to this tiny town, away from Austin and all the memories that he’d left in you like jagged shards of mirror, reflecting everything you didn’t want to see.
Before he tattooed you, you’d been tattooed several times before. The experience had always been good, one of the few ways you didn’t mind being touched. It had always been the making of a happy memory for you. And he had taken that from you.
He hadn’t just stolen something you loved from you, but shut the door on vulnerability or intimacy with almost anyone.
Joel Miller’s tattoo studio, his stupidly attractive hands, the deep drawl of his howdy, and most of all the beauty of his art in the front window of the shop, captures your mind, ensnares your every thought. It’s woven a net around all the thoughts and worries that normally flutter around your head and calls for them to be silent.
“All I do is think about this damn tattoo,” you say to a friend back in Austin one evening, phone squished between your shoulder and your face as you cook dinner. “Is that normal? Like, I can’t just go get one somewhere else, by anyone else.”
No one knew about the sharp fanged demons that lingered in your past. The distrust and loneliness that ate out parts of your heart, bite by bite, year by year. But Leah does know about your ex, about the tattoo on your shoulder that still aches with long healed pain.
“You said it looks like he does walk-ins, right?” She asks, not unkindly. “Why not just go talk to him for a bit,” she eases you into it. “See if it might be the right fit. I know. . .things in your past haven’t been easy. But he might be alright. I can go with you, if you think that might help.”
And that doesn’t seem so bad. Just talking to him doesn’t seem so bad. You find that you want to. Then you would know if you couldn’t be tattooed by him, no matter how much you admired his art. Leah reminds you again of the nice google reviews, the funny little captions on his instagram posts, that he is not your ex even if he is a stranger.
“He’s running a business,” she says gently. “It isn’t like then.”
She’s right, you know she is, and you miss the experience, you miss getting tattooed.
So, the next morning you brace yourself and make the now familiar walk to the little studio, picking up an iced coffee to sip on the way so you hopefully won’t be too sweaty in the early morning sun that blooms rose pink on the horizon. It gives your hands something to do too, and you fidget with the rim of the plastic lid as you walk.
When you push the door open, Joel is standing at the counter. He has glasses perched on the end of his nose and is paging through a leather bound appointment book that sits next to an ancient computer that looks as though it hasn’t been switched on in a decade.
Something about the sight makes your shoulders loosen just a bit. You certainly hadn’t expected him to look like that, domestic and relaxed and calm. His pen scratches across the paper, a landline phone slotted against his ear.
He glances up at you in the still open doorway, surprise pulling over his features for a brief moment before he makes a hasty end to the call. It makes heat crawl up your body, the way his attention latches onto you and sticks. “Hey,” he greets when he sits the phone back into the cradle, sliding the glasses off. “I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally come in.”
There’s something light in the rough, drawling timber of his voice, like he’s trying not to startle you, like he’s inexplicably glad you’re there.
You stiffen and he chuckles, cold air pulsing around you in the doorway before you finally step fully into the shop and let it swing closed behind you. You remain there, just inside the door, trying not to feel like a fish in a barrel, easily caught, even more easily killed. “Caught me, huh?” You try to keep your voice light, waiting for a striking arrow that would never come.
“S’alright. Thought maybe you just walked this way a lot but you always stop to look,” he gestures at the front window. “My daughter is the one that’s always changin’ it around.”
“I appreciate her efforts,” you say, taking a hesitant step forward. “I look forward to seeing the changes. Best part of my week.”
He nods, looking just a tad embarrassed, and then closes the appointment book, giving you his undivided attention. “Lookin’ to get tattooed?” His eyes trace over your exposed skin, noting the few you already have.
“Maybe,” you answer, giving a half-shrug that you hope comes across as nonchalant. “I saw on instagram that you’re, uh, taking appointments.”
“That I am,” he answers easily.
You swallow and glance around the studio. It’s as tiny as it seemed from the outside, but homely and comfortable. The walls are a deep green that remind you of forests you’ve never seen. The walls are covered in photos and art, both created and bought, the styles too different to have been made by the same person.
When you squint closer, you see that a few of them have tiny plaques beneath them, etched with names and dates. Shelves line the walls filled with knick knacks and children’s drawings in frames, and what appear to be family photos. One shelf is stacked with records and coffee table books, an ancient turntable perched precariously on top. A door is propped open behind the dark wooden counter, through which you can see the actual tattooing space, clean and sterile looking.
A lone guitar is hung on the wall, and you wonder if he plays. Your imagination conjures up hands that you’ve been studying for weeks softly plucking at the strings, curling around the bridge.
It’s shameful, the way your body flushes at the thought, the ghost of strummed notes floating in the air around you.
“Darlin’?”
Joel’s voice pulls your eyes away from the guitar and back to his face. Embarrassment drops like hot coal into the pit of your belly. You like the shape of that word in his mouth.
“I just wanted to stop in and see if maybe we’d be a good fit,” you explain hastily, not thinking about the words before they fall like broken promises from your lips. “If you’d be interested in tattooing me.” Before he can open his mouth to respond, you continue, “That wasn’t what I—I don’t mean to take up any of your time. Just if you have a moment. I should have messaged maybe—”
Joel waves you down and gestures around at the empty space. “No, it’s alright, hardly got anyone comin’ through here. Next appointment ain’t ‘til this afternoon.” He reaches below the counter, callused fingers catching on another notebook which he sets on the counter with care.
You follow the motion of his hands, your eyes snapping back to his when he continues, “What are you lookin’ to get done?” The knot of anxiety in your chest loosens a little when he seems to take your nerves for concern over the piece you want done.
Joel’s hands are ones that are familiar to you now after all the times you’d spent looking at the spare pictures of them online. That want, the heat, crawls back up inside your lungs and curls up to stay, making a home among the throbbing tendon and muscle. Though you’d glimpsed him that day on the street, it's a very different experience to stand for an extended period in front of him. His voice paired with the broad set of his shoulders, the cut of his brown eyes focused on you, all adds up to something devastating.
Another vinegary squirm of nerves in your gut is accompanied by your treacherous heart squeezing tight in your chest, battering something long abused, long closed off.
“You can show me reference pictures if you’ve got ‘em,” he offers when you don’t respond again, instead just looking at him, his presence calming in a way you can’t really explain. You blink and pull out your phone, approaching the counter slowly. The ice in your half finished coffee rattles as you set it on the counter, away from the appointment book so the condensation won’t accidentally get on it.
Joel unsettles you, but not in a way that people usually unsettle you. Not in the way your ex-boyfriend had from the very beginning. Instead of feeling the need to flee, you feel the urge to stay.
You show Joel the inspiration pictures you’ve been collecting the last few weeks, swiping slowly through what you have saved in your camera roll and describing what you imagine as best you can. When you lean closer to show him, the scent of clove and cinnamon and leather washes over you. The smell makes you a little dizzy, runs circles around your head.
His brow is furrowed, concentration etched into his features. “I’ll need some time to work out some designs for ya.”
“That’s alright,” you nod, watching those rough fingers sketch broad lines in the notebook he’d pulled out.
“Sorry, sweetheart, don’t know where my manners went. I didn’t get your name,” he says, and glances up at you. “I’m Joel,” he holds out a hand.
Sweetheart. You’ll be hearing the low timber of his voice whispering that and darlin’ in your dreams, you’re sure of it.
You find yourself smiling, your mouth involuntarily pulling up at the corners. You take his hand without thinking. His hand is warm and firm; his fingers engulf yours.
He hums as he takes his hand back, pencil already between his fingers again, and you’re left feeling chilled, like there’s an empty space in the middle of your hand that needs filled. “Real pretty name y’got.”
Oh. You like the hum of pleasure in your chest that chases the nerves below your skin. It’s a pleasant kind of warm.
“You can send ‘em on to me on that. . .app,” he grumbles. And you have to laugh. Between the landline phone, the physical calendar book, and that app he sounds just like the kind of cranky that you find endearing. “Uh, just so you know if you get a reply that don’t sound like me, it’s because my daughter runs it for me.”
“Sarah,” you guess, thinking of the young woman you’d seen cleaning the window.
“Ellie, actually. She thinks she’s a goddamn comedian.” He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the affection lodged in his gaze. He gestures at one of the pictures framed on a shelf where two teenage girls are slotted on either side of him. “Got two of ‘em,” he clarifies. “Sarah—she does the window. You saw her that day you passed by, the taller one there in the picture.”
You tilt your head, Joel’s eyes following the motion. “They help you run this place.”
“They’re my marketing team,” he grumbles. “Self-appointed, if you couldn’t guess.”
You find yourself leaning on the counter, watching Joel’s pretty hands sketch absentmindedly. “That actually sounds like fun.”
“They seem to think so,” he agrees, glancing up at the same time you do. A touch of pink colors the high points of his cheeks. The delicate little shading makes something warm curl into your gut. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “We don’t get a lot of foot traffic around here, you might have noticed. Ellie’s thinkin’ that account might lure people up from Austin.”
You nod. “It’s a good idea. People have traveled further for tattoos. And we aren’t too out of the way up here.”
“I take it you live around here,” he glances down again, like he finds looking at you hard.
“Not far,” you confirm. “That’s how I found you.”
He goes silent for a moment, fingers continuing to twitch around the pencil before he looks back at you. “I’ll, uh, have somethin’ to ya in a couple a’ days. You can let me know if you want any changes and we’ll set a date.”
You straighten, feeling only slightly dismissed. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you.” You start to turn when you remember yourself. That’s not really what you came here for. “Actually, listen, I don’t want to waste your time. You don’t need to start on anything. Not yet. I’m not sure just yet, I just wanted to meet you. I really admire your art.”
You leave it at that. Pouring out all your other issues would just make you look insane.
Joel raises a curious brow at you, waiting, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask as you take a step back. “Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t start on anythin’ just yet.”
“Okay,” you back further away, trying desperately not to turn and run, aware you must look odd. “I’ll see you around.”
“I hope so, honey.”
Though the tattoo shop is cold, heat that rivals the temperature outside dissolves the bones in your chest from the way his eyes linger on you.
But that want—need—is within reach now, and something tells you that you can trust him.
At least with this.
Joel sees you more often after the first day you actually come into the shop.
Well—
He supposes he sees you about the same amount, but now you actually come inside. You always pause in the doorway for half a second, those watchful doe eyes going wide, like your instincts always kick in a second too late.
But once you make it inside, you talk to him, share snippets of your life as you watch him draw, eyes focused on his hands.
You breakup the monotony of his days, those times between appointments and the few walk-ins that he does see.
Sometimes, most times, you bring him coffee from the shop at the end of the road, and he hates that you feel obligated to bring something for him. “For letting me hang around,” you always say.
Most times he feels like he’s trying not to scare you away, like one wrong move will send you bolting right back out the door. But he comes to rely on your presence, the sunshine earthy smell you bring inside with you, the cautious questions and wide eyes, the way you dart to your feet and disappear the second a sign of work for him appears, even if he wouldn’t mind you waiting, taking up room in the tiny front room.
Joel has to wonder what happened to you, if anything, or if you’re just a nervous person. Maybe it’s just in your nature to be distrustful. He doesn’t mind you coming in all the time, in fact he likes it, hates the empty spaces you now leave behind. The studio seems impossibly empty and cavernous without you around now, asking about the guitar on the wall, about where he learned to draw, about his girls.
Still, summer passes by slowly, like a jar of molasses catching sun in a window. He watches you come and go, watches you get to know him through tiny encounters that loosen your shoulders more each time you stop in.
He doesn’t tell you that he spends most evenings working on a design for that tattoo you may or may not get, that he has a dozen different versions of it clogging up his notebook.
He figures if you don’t end up getting it tattooed then he can just give you some of the sketches to keep.
Like he’d ever find a damn way to do that without feeling like a fool.
Toward the end of summer, with heat still burning up all the air in Texas and showing no signs of abating, you push the door open with your chin lifted and a smile on your face. Heat, like the rush of burning air from an oven, whips around you and into the shop.
He tells himself the heat is why his mouth suddenly feels dry. He tells himself it has nothing to do with how your ass looks in those jeans you always wear or the curve of your hips in the snug fit or the tank top that shows off your shoulders and arms and chest. All topped off with you smiling at him.
“Hey Joel,” you greet, crossing the studio in a couple strides where you deposit a cup of coffee onto the counter next to his hand. He likes the way you say his name, breathy and quick. “I think I’m ready.”
“Ready?” He questions, bewildered.
His mind takes a moment to catch up to what you mean. The tattoo. You’re ready to get your tattoo.
And Joel becomes aware that he is distinctly not ready for that. Because then what excuse will you have to stop by so often? “Right now?” He asks.
You smile. “Not at this exact moment, obviously,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just…generally. Whenever you have time for me. I know you’ll need time to work on a design. I’ll send the inspiration photos to the instagram account so you can look at them again.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, the notebook with your designs tucked under the counter burning a hole in the corner of his vision. “Shouldn’t take too long.”
Your smile widens. “Thanks. I can’t hang around today.” You wave a hand back in the direction of the front window, “Errands to run. I just wanted to say that I really love the new painting.”
“The—”
“The new deer. She’s beautiful. More confident than the other ones. I think, or maybe it’s the same. I really like the new one though. You’ve been doing a lot of deer lately.”
He swallows and nods. “Yep.”
Your head tilts to the side before you take a step back, anxiety pulling at your face. “Okay,” you say, your voice noticeably smaller. “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ll message Ellie.”
Before he can stop you, you’ve bolted out the door.
He sighs and rolls his shoulders back as he watches you walk down the street in the honeyed sunshine. When you’re finally out of sight, he pulls the sketchpad out and starts on yet another design.
“Dude, you’ve got it baaaaaad,” Ellie accuses as she sets a platter of fried chicken on the dining room table. “He didn’t even ask for a fucking deposit!”
“No deposit?” Sarah asks, adding a bowl of salad next to the plate. “That’s just bad business practice, dad.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “Not everyone takes deposits.”
The girls glance at each other. “Yeah, but you usually do. You told me not to ask for one!”
He grumbles under his breath, settling at the table, just glad that his girls were there at all. He’d half expected the standing weekly dinner to fizzle out once he moved out of Austin, but they always made the drive up, or he went down to them each Friday.
His girls had their own lives, Sarah still in college, Ellie still trying to find her footing as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city.
“Did she seem interested?”
Joel assumes Sarah is asking about the tattoo.
You seemed exactly as he’d thought. A little nervous and wary, but mostly curious and eager. He’d been blushing like a kid, the warmth you always tugged along with you into the shop no match for the air conditioning.
“Yeah,” he answers, shrugging. “Ellie’d know more than me—”
“I mean does she seem interested in you?”
Joel glances sharply up to find both his kids grinning at him. “I’m talkin’ about the damn tattoo,” he says, exhaling sharply through his nose before he reaches for a plate.
“Well, that’s obvious,” Sarah mutters with a roll of her eyes.
“Yeah, c’mon, man,” Ellie leans back in her chair. “Isn’t she there, like, every fucking day?”
Joel frowns at her. “Manners,” he reminds her.
He gets an eye roll from her too, before she tilts her chair back down onto all four legs.
“Watch it,” he says, “Your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.”
“Joel—”
“She’s nervous enough as it is,” he grumbles. “Never met someone s’damn skittish.”
“What, like a horse?”
“Like a deer,” he corrects. “She don’t need me makin’ passes at her. I think she’s just now comin’ around to the idea of trustin’ me so don’t say something stupid to her.” He directs the last bit to Ellie. “Clear?”
She spears a piece of chicken. “Clear,” she grumbles.
“I think she likes you dad,” Sarah says, primly cutting into the chicken on her own plate. “I don’t think she’d mind it.”
Ellie sends you scans of a couple designs two days after you abruptly tell Joel you’re ready to get tattooed. It’s accompanied by a message that makes something in you squirm in such a pleasant way that you worry there might be wrong with you.
the old man told me you know i manage the account for him. he’s really excited about this one and can’t wait to tattoo you. he worked on the design for weeks - ellie
Another message pops up almost immediately after the first.
don’t tell him i told you that
A warmth that has nothing to do with your open balcony door and the heat pouring into your apartment floods your veins. He’d said he’d need to work something out for you.
The two designs she sends are beautiful, and it's easy to see not only the talent but the time he put into them. Clearly he’d been working on a design since you first talked to him all those weeks ago.
Your whole body goes awash with heat, warming you pleasantly from the inside out.
You message her back to figure out the day and time, before flopping your phone face down on the couch, a nervous thrumming centering in your body. It folds your veins up into anxious little knots. The phantom echo of his low, drawling voice reverberates around your brain, the casual little sweethearts and darlin’s he throws your way kicking your heart into overdrive, a skittering pounding knocking against your ribs.
A thrill goes up your spine. At the prospect of a new tattoo, at the thought of spending so much uninterrupted time with Joel, of his hands on you.
The last thought jolts you a little.
That that’s something you’re looking forward to.
You aren’t expecting another message, not after finalizing a date only a few days in the future. But your phone buzzes again, yet another message waiting for you.
just a heads up - joel said you’ll have to sit for two or three sessions. he doesn’t want to wear you out.
Well, at the very least he was more considerate than the last man to tattoo you.
A rare rain splashes down the morning of your appointment, driving away the humidity that had curled in the air like a choking wraith the last few days and cooling the temperature down to something mild. It’s the first false start of what will always turn out to be a warm fall.
You take your time getting ready just to ease your nerves, hydrating and eating a bigger breakfast than you normally do.
In the afternoon, the walk to the studio is dreary. The street smells like petrichor and summers long gone. The gloom only makes the interior of the shop feel more cozy.
And more intimate.
When you push the door open, Joel’s daughter, Ellie, is standing at the counter complaining loudly about how old fashioned Joel is as she slowly pages through the leather bound appointment book that seems to never leave the side of the ancient computer you suspect is rarely, if ever, switched on. She seems to be logging appointments from her phone into the book.
Her eyes snap to you the moment the door swings shut, then glances at the clock. “Early,” she says. “Joel is still setting up.”
“That’s okay,” you say, pointedly sitting down on the leather sofa that takes up most of the floor space of the front room. “I can wait.”
You snap your mouth shut to avoid the waterfall of words that want to cascade from your lips. Nerves tingle under your skin, buzz lowly just beneath the surface.
Waiting makes you hot, makes heat rise from your skin in painful waves, as your anxiety continues to crest.
At the counter Ellie snaps the appointment book shut, now grumbling about Joel’s chicken scratch, when you peel off your sweatshirt. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn’t know you had tattoos already.”
You jump a little, eyes flashing to the woman leaning on the dark wooden counter. Her chin is propped in her hand. You aren’t quite sure what to make of that, that she thought you didn’t have any.
“Yeah,” you stand and move closer to the counter. Maybe she’s just trying to distract you. “Why is that such a surprise?” You smile and offer her your arm. “I not look like the type?”
“Joel just said you were nervous,” she says, turning your arm in her hand, inspecting the tattoo on the top of your shoulder, and then the one that wraps around your bicep. “So I figured it was your first.”
Joel had talked to his daughter about you.
Maybe he talked to her about all his clients; she did manage the instagram account for the shop after all.
“I’m always a little uneasy beforehand.”
Your excuse is weak but Ellie doesn’t call you on it. Her eyes are latched onto the tattoo over your shoulder, the one your ex had done. You know what she’s seeing, how a few of the lines are blown out, how it healed badly.��
She releases your wrist with a nod, her eyes more knowing than you would like. “Scared of the pain?”
“No,” you shake your head. “It doesn't hurt much, usually. It's relaxing more than anything.” You nod to the tattoo on your shoulder. “But, that one was the last and it did hurt and, uh, it put me off getting more for awhile.”
She looks it over for a minute, brows furrowing at what you know is shoddy work. Your gaze slides to the tattoo on Ellie’s forearm. “You don’t have to worry about that with the old man,” she informs you and releases your arm, her tone serious. “He might not look it, but he’s got a light touch.”
Before you can respond, Joel emerges from the back, rubbing his hands together as he glances between the two of you, his eyes wary. “Ellie,” he says, his voice that low gravel. “You stickin’ around, kiddo?”
“Nope.” She stabs a finger into the top of the appointment book, “Get fucking rid of this.” She grabs her jacket and hops up onto the counter, swinging herself over it, as Joel snaps at her not to. “Too late,” she chirps already out the door. “See you Friday.”
When you turn back to Joel, those splotches of pink and cresting red are back in his cheeks and neck and you have to wonder if he heard what Ellie had said. “That girl,” he grumbles. “Come on around here, darlin’,” he gestures with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t have to climb over the counter like a wild animal.”
You round the end of the counter and follow Joel into the back room where he’s already meticulously prepped everything. He sits on a rolling stool and gestures you in front of him. “I take it you already know the drill?” He asks.
You hum in affirmation and try not to jump when his hand brushes yours. “Easy,” he mumbles, almost to himself. It doesn’t stop a flare of heat from spiking in your blood. “You already decided on your left forearm, right?”
“Yeah,” you answer, holding your arm out to him.
You wonder what it is about Joel that makes him so magnetic, that makes him feel so safe. His hand, already in a sterile glove, slides around your wrist to hold you steady while he cleans your skin thoroughly. The sharp scent of antiseptic blooms around you, chasing away the clove and leather scent that usually lingers around Joel. “You alright?” He asks, glancing up at you to watch your face.
“Yep,” you answer tightly.
“Alright,” he agrees warily, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I’m gonna haveta shave the area.”
You nod, you already knew that, and watch him pick up a disposable pink bic razor from the tray to his left. Despite having gone through this whole thing more than a few times before, this feels different, it feels more intimate and reserved.
He drags the razor over your skin slowly, carefully, then sanitizes your skin again when he’s finished, the cool flush of the moisture against your skin almost shocking. You go back and forth about the placement of the stencil. Your body tenses when you waffle for what feels like too long. You expect him to get frustrated with you but he doesn’t. His voice remains unbothered and patient.
Maybe your standards are in hell, maybe he’s just being a proper tattoo artist like all the others that had tattooed you before your ex, but it still makes a knot form in the back of your throat.
Eventually Joel presses the stencil into your skin when you give the go ahead. He rubs at it gently, warming your chilled skin, before he peels it away. The warmth of his touch is surprisingly soothing, the loss of it leaving you cold. “If it ain’t right, we can do it again,” he says, jerking his chin at the mirror in the corner, the picture of calm. “Go on and take a look and let me know.”
You both agree the placement looks good, and then comes the moment when you have to climb onto the table and put yourself in his hands. You will have to lie there and let another person touch you, albeit professionally. It doesn’t make it any better, any easier.
Your skin is so empty, so hungry, and Joel’s attention makes you feel like wax held too close to heat.
It already feels like too much and he’s barely touched you.
A cold prickle of fear slides down your spine too, pulling your shoulders in tight. The last time you did this you—
“You comfortable?” Joel is watching you, his eyes shaded and attentive.
You nod, aware that you are the picture of uncomfortable as Joel changes his gloves. Your hands are in fists, your spine hard and tense. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, cold and sterile and icy in your lungs.
“I ain’t touchin’ you until you relax,” he says when he turns back to you, settling next to you on a stool, hand hovering over the tattoo gun on the tray by his elbow. “You don’t gotta—”
“I am relaxed,” you interrupt in a bite, harsher than you mean to. You grit your teeth, your hand only curling into a tighter fist.
“Sweetheart you’re as taut as a bowstring,” he says gently. “Take a couple breaths.”
You do and your heart rate slows. Now isn’t like then. Now is different. “Good,” he says and the praise slides warm against you. “I’m gonna touch you now.”
You nod and the buzz of the tattoo gun starts, his free hand curls over your fist, warm and reassuring and so present it makes tears sting at the backs of your eyes. You realize then that Joel has been touching you quite a lot, and that you haven’t exactly minded.
“Relax, I got you,” he reassures. “You’ll tell me if you need a break,” he says and it’s not a question.
You nod anyway, not sure which part you’re agreeing with.
Joel talks while he tattoos you, mainly about his kids, his two daughters who are clearly his entire world, the point that his life hinges on.
The pride in his voice, the love there, makes you smile.
Joel is much chattier than usual.
Normally you talk his ear off while he works as he silently listens and nods along. Joel is the gruff quiet type, not that you much mind. You’d expected to sit in relative silence, to listen to the rain still drumming against the roof and the low hum of the tattoo gun.
Listening to his voice is a welcome change. You would listen to him read from a dictionary.
Sarah is from his first marriage, Ellie adopted. Sarah is going to college— “Gonna be a doctor someday,” he says proudly. “For kids. Pediatrician.” Ellie is following in Joel’s footsteps, apprenticing as a tattoo artist. “Hope it's what she wants to do,” he says, equally as proud. “She’s got some art out there on the wall—well, I’ll point it out later, much better than mine—it took me long enough to make this switch.”
“What did you do before?” You ask as Joel swipes a damp paper towel across your skin. Ellie had been right, he does have a light touch, a gentle touch.
“Carpenter,” he answers, and you can’t decide if the way he squeezes your wrist is conscious or not. “Long hours, hard work.”
So you’d been right about the look of his hands. Hands that so carefully held yours as his other drew over your skin. “Mm,” you hum distractedly. “What convinced you to take the jump?”
“My girls convinced me. Gettin’ outta Austin helped. Havin’ the money to finally slow down.” He chuckles to himself. “That’s why the marketin’ is a little ridiculous. Moved all the way out here just to complain about the foot traffic.”
You find yourself smiling, watching the flex of tendon in his forearms as he works. His mouth is set in a concentrated line, a divot between his brows. “Looks like you’re doing alright.”
“We manage,” he says with a groan, straightening from his position hunched over your arm. Something in his back creaks and then cracks before he goes back to work. “Although I regret not startin’ a little younger. My brother, Tommy, manages our business now.”
“Carpentry business?”
“That’s right,” he hums, leaning in closer to your arm, his breath ghosts over your arm, goosebumps racing across your skin. You swallow and your hand clenches reflexively beneath his. “You doin’ alright?”
You wonder if he knows his hand is still cupped over yours, if he can feel the racing of your heart beneath his fingers. Maybe he did that with all his clients, just a way to steady himself and you.
You don’t expect him to be looking at you when you lift your eyes back to his face.
Heat blooms in your chest, the flutter of wings beating against your ribs. “Mhm,” you give a nervous hum, trying not to show the feathering thoughts that float like down through your mind, swirling and impossible to bat down.
“Y’have to tell me if you need to take a break.”
“I don’t,” you say quickly, wondering if you should explain yourself a little, if it would be better or worse for Joel to know exactly how fucking nerotic you are.
It shouldn’t matter if he thinks you’re crazy or not.
But it does.
“Just…I’m not so good with touch,” you admit. “I never have been and my last tattoo was…”
You aren’t sure how to phrase it, so you stop and look at his hands again. His hand swallows yours, barely any of your skin visible beneath his touch. You wait for your skin to prickle, for the urge to rip your hand away to swim up the back of your throat, but it never comes. “I’m fine, really. I’d tell you if I needed to stop.”
“I know it,” he says, not blinking, watching you carefully. “I’m just checkin’.” He looks back down, adjusting his grip before he continues, his thumb sweeping over your wrist. “Was it the one on your shoulder?”
“What?”
“The tattoo that was a bad experience?”
You suck in a deep breath through your nose and look away from the top of his head, away from the graying brown that makes your belly clench and the butterflies that live permanently in your chest swing back to life.
The breath you pull in does nothing to steady you, instead flooding your senses with the clean woodsy smell of him. It’s dizzying. “That easy to tell?” You sigh.
“Just a few of the lines are blown out,” he says, not unkindly. “Thought maybe an apprentice did it or somethin’.” Joel’s voice is mild, only lightly prying, an extended hand that you could lie a pearl truth in if you wanted to.
The nerves subside a little. “Apprentices aren’t usually that bad,” you joke.
“No,” he agrees. “Ellie’d never get ya like that. Shouldn’t be tattooing on people yet if you’re gettin’ ‘em like that.”
He doesn’t ask what actually happened, but you find yourself answering anyway. You find that his hand still securely over yours acts like an anchor rather than a weight.
“I had bruises for a couple weeks after,” you admit. “It hurt. He wanted it to hurt. And it healed really badly.”
Joel’s hand pauses, the needle lifting away from your skin, but he doesn’t look up. A long moment passes, and his voice comes out in a forced calm. “Who wanted it to hurt, honey?”
“My ex,” you say and Joel leans back, dark eyes flashing to yours. “He wasn’t my ex then, obviously. He wanted to tattoo me, but he wanted it to be his name. I wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to compromise for initials but I just…couldn’t. Something about it felt wrong. I let him—” you wave your free hand at your shoulder. “—do that. And…I don’t know what happened,” you say. “I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.”
Joel doesn’t say anything for a while, just blinks away from you and slowly leans over your arm again to continue working.
The tattoo your ex did is the only one that ever hurt, but Joel is gentler than you remember. Or, maybe you simply can’t remember the other times as well, pain of the most recent one blotting out the memory.
“I don’t want you to think about this like that,” Joel says eventually, not looking up. “I don’t.”
“What do you mean, Joel?”
His hand stills, his fingers flexing around your wrist, thumb subconsciously sliding against the side of your wrist. “I mean—I’m not puttin’ something of mine on you,” he says. You frown and open your mouth to protest. “I made it for you. This is yours,” he says adamantly.
You watch him for a long moment, not sure what to say, an emotion you can’t name welling up into the back of your mouth, swollen and trembling.
“I want you to think about it like that,” he says, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.”
You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak.
You avert your eyes, blinking away the water that crests against the edges of your lash line.
Though you’ve been bothering Joel for the better part of the summer, you don’t really know much about him. Today is the most he’s talked, about himself or otherwise. All you know is that he makes you feel oddly safe, that he has gone out of his way to try to make you feel comfortable. You can hear the words he doesn’t say, the quiet anger that vibrates under the surface of it. What happened to you was wrong, I would not do that to you.
He wants you to believe he’s gifting you something, and you suppose he is.
You remember Ellie’s message, how she’d said he’d been working on the design for weeks. You think of every moment you spent hanging around his shop for the last few weeks while he worked on a design for you, never saying a word about it, knowing you might decide not to get tattooed.
“Joel,” you murmur, carefully lying your free hand on his shoulder. Muscle flexes beneath your hand, thick and warm. “I know you wouldn’t do that. And you know I wanted to do this, right?”
Joel’s hand squeezes yours again. “I know it,” he shrugs and leaves it at that.
Something unspoken passes between you though. He would not do that to you, but you also sense he would never let anyone else hurt you like that again either.
You watch the feathering of his lashes against his cheeks, the firm set of his mouth, the way he keeps sliding his thumb over your wrist. You study his nose, the line of scar on the bridge, the hard ridge of his brow, the wrinkle that pulls at the skin of his forehead.
“You don’t have to be mad about it,” you say. “I already have that covered. I think I’ve been angry for a long time.”
The room is quiet, the sound of rain on the roof having abated in the hours you’d been there. Joel doesn’t say anything for another long moment, the only sound his breathing and yours, the sound of the tattoo gun buzzing its familiar tune. “I could, uh, fix some of it for ya,” he offers, eventually, leaning back to study the progress he’s made on your arm. “The lines where they’re blown out, we could think of somethin’ to blend it into.”
You look away again, not able to answer around the thick knot braided into your chest. You try swallowing around it, trying desperately to think of something to say. His hand is starting to feel a little heavy on yours. The aching clawing that is two steps back begins to threaten you.
This time, unlike the others, you aren’t quite sure if you want him to stop touching you or for the feeling of his hand to melt into yours, if you’d just rather he became a part of you instead.
You decide to try to ignore it, to focus on the nice parts of it all — how warm his skin is, the calluses you can feel, the scent of his skin and hair, so close you could press your nose into him if you leaned forward a little.
“You have really nice hands,” you comment, entranced by the flex of muscle and vein and sinew even through the black nitrile gloves.
Joel glances up, his face close to yours. You can see the threads of honeyed gold and warm hazel in his eyes, almost sun-spotted “That so?” He asks with a quirk of his brow, fingers tightening over your hand.
You swallow, glancing away from his eyes to focus on anything else, and give a nervous hum.
“You still alright?” He asks, his thumb slipping back and forth over the back of your hand. “Still comfortable?” When you just nod, suddenly too anxious and warm to do anything else, he leans back and releases your hand to strip off his gloves. “Let’s take a break.”
The loss of his touch is—you aren’t sure what it is.
You just know you hate it, and that has never happened before.
“I’m alright,” you protest.
“You’re startin’ to shake, which means you’re goin’ into shock. I’m sure Ellie told you this’d take more than one session,” he says, matter of fact about it.
“She did,” you breathe.
He grunts and offers you a hand down from the table. “Let’s get you wrapped up and then I’ll take you to get somethin’ to eat.”
“Oh,” you say, surprise and that spark of warmth flooding you again. “And you do that for all your clients?”
“Just the ones I like,” he deadpans, fitting a second skin over your tattoo before giving you the usual spiel about how to care for it once the second skin was removed. You hardly listen, thinking only about how Joel said he likes you. “But I assume you know all a’ that,” he says, twisting your arm. “And ya know where to find me if somethin’ ain’t right.”
“Mhm,” you hum, trying not to let the disappointment show when he releases you again. “I’m something of an expert with tattoo care, I think.”
“Three tattoos makes you an expert?” He asks, not looking at you as he meticulously cleans up.
“Well, three that you can see.”
He turns, eyes sliding over you. You’re awash in that warm feeling again, the one that is an anchor and not a weight. “You got more than three, honey?”
You just smile and make a show of looking over the work he’d done on your arm, ignoring his question.
Joel chuckles, “What else do you have?”
“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”
He laughs again and herds you out the back room when he’s finished cleaning up, keys jangling in his fist. “Shouldn’t I pay—”
“Nope. You’ll do that when it’s done. Should just need one more session.”
“Joel really—”
But you’re already out on the street, the door firmly closed behind you. You watch him lock up and then gesture you down the street with a jerk of his head. It’s dark outside, the sky still tinged with dark blue on the horizon. The road smells like heat and rain, like damp dust and lightning.
“You really ain’t gonna tell me what other tattoos you got?”
“You really ain’t gonna let me pay?” You ask, imitating the gruff cut of his voice.
He rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine.” He walks away, leading you down the street, light from the streetlamps cartwheeling over his face, throwing his jaw and eyes into sharp relief and then plunging him into shadow. “C’mon now. You need somethin’ in you.”
You’ve never ventured into the center of town after dark. You’re always at home long before that, curled on your balcony with something to read.
Cicadas light the air with sound, the crisscross of wired lights spear butter yellow onto the pavement below where a bar is serving drinks and a local food truck still idles.
Someone has set up a speaker that folks twirl each other around to, old country music, the good kind. Others park themselves on benches, chatting and eating. It’s nice.
It makes you feel incredibly lonely, reminded of all the gaps in your life, all the places people should be, all the places love and familiarity should be.
Before you can sink into that mire, Joel’s guiding you into line with a careful hand against your back.
His palm is broad and warm, heating you from the inside out. It rivals the warmth pulsing around you, the leftover heat of the day leaching into you.
“What d’ya want?”
“Shouldn’t I get you something?” You offer. “You worked all day, I just laid there.”
“I drew a nice picture,” he retorts. “You lost blood. Pick somethin’ sugary.”
“Bossy,” you comment, feeling alight with nerves as his fingers flex against your spine.
“Mhm, that’s what Sarah and Ellie are always sayin’.”
You glance at him—at the rough cut of his jaw, the thick tendon in his throat—and swallow, nerves pinching at your belly in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time. You press back, so his hand rests more firmly against your back and hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, just humors you by tracing his hand up and down your spine. “Maybe they’re onto something then.”
“Definitely are.” He glances back down at you, “Pick somethin’ yet?”
You look over the menu as the line inches forward, and pick something to drink. Something sugary, as Joel had demanded.
But when he orders he makes a show of not letting you pay and ordering something for you to eat too.
“You should after sittin’ for as long as you did,” he argues when you settle at one of the picnic tables. “You don’t gotta, just thought I’d offer it.”
You and Joel face each other, one leg on either side of the bench, knees brushing. With each tiny touch, lightning zings up your spine, settles in amongst your bones and blood. You have a feeling you could lie all the bones and blood and viscera of yourself right at Joel’s feet and he wouldn’t so much as flinch.
“Right,” you say, picking at one of the tacos he’d ordered. “I can see why you have such nice reviews on google if you’re taking your clients out on your dime after tattooing them.”
“I wouldn’t say you’re that,” he scoffs.
“Mm,” you nod, not sure exactly what he means by that. “What does that make me then?”
You glance up at him and Joel just stares at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “You really not gonna tell me about your other tattoos?” He ignores your question to go back to his own.
“Nope,” you take a sip of the lemonade you’d ordered. Despite what you said to Joel, you are exhausted, muscles still trembling in little starts, and the sugar does help. “But you can guess.”
You know he won’t try to guess. He’s too gentlemanly, too mindful of his manners to go around pointing at body parts and guessing if there might be something inked there.
Joel raises a brow, taking a bite of his own taco. “Are you using my manners against me?”
You shrug, smiling. “Maybe.”
“That ain’t playin’ fair,” he accuses, leaning in, the inside of his jean clad thigh brushing against the outside of yours. Your belly clenches, the center of you suddenly aching.
“Who said anything about fair?” You manage. “Do you have any hidden tattoos?”
He shakes his head and glances briefly up, like he’s asking for patience from the stars. But he doesn’t answer your question.
It makes you smile. “Fine, you can keep yours a secret. I won’t pry,” you tease.
“Mhm,” he grumbles again, ignoring your jibe. “You’re mighty brave tonight.”
And suddenly your teasing feels dangerous, falls flat against the stone shore of Joel. The air seems to go frosty, a shiver raking down your spine as you shuffle back a little, suddenly aware of how close you are, how very brave you’ve been. You aren’t sure when Joel started to feel familiar to you.
Since you first met him, you suppose. You’ve carved out a place on that rocky shore whether he wanted you to or not.
“Sorry,” you say, starting to stand, thinking of how annoying you must have been all evening, all day, every single day you’ve taken up his time. You let him comfort you, plied him with trauma you’ve barely touched yourself, let him buy you something to eat against your better judgment when clearly it’s his manners that made him do so. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ll message Ellie to figure out the second session. Thanks for everything. You didn’t have to—”
“Your hip,” Joel says, curling his hand around your wrist so you can’t move any further away than you already have. You pause, your mind spinning as he clutches you gently.
His voice is steady, like you’re a spooked animal that might dart away at any moment.
“What?”
“I bet you one of your other tattoos is on your hip,” he drawls.
He squeezes your wrist again, now familiar and comforting. You fight the urge to pull your hand away, and instead let the feeling of his skin sink into yours, no cheap plastic gloves separating you now. You can properly feel the calluses on his fingertips, the catch of them against your skin, the soft center of his palm and the lines carved into his skin.
“No,” you lower yourself to the bench again, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “None on my hip.”
“How many other one’s you got?” His hand stays around yours.
“Two, not including my new one,” you say, laying a hand over the ink, your skin warm under your hand. “That’s my prettiest one, for sure. And it’s not even done.”
Joel ignores your compliment entirely, like he always seems to. His eyes rove over you, trying to guess the places you were inked, trying to picture it you would guess. It makes you squirm, the thought of him trying to imagine your bare skin, all the hidden places you might be tattooed.
He nods, his gaze heavy on you.
“I’ll just have to keep guessin’ then,” he says, taking a long sip from your cup of lemonade.
You glance away and bite the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be guessing a long time, I think.”
“I’ve got time.” He releases your arm when you start to squirm under his attention, chest burning, lungs compressed into too small a space. Your chest doesn’t seem large enough to contain the feelings beating to life in your heart. “So long as you keep comin’ by.”
A smile pulls at your mouth again, feeling unreasonably charmed. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you what they are, but not where they are.”
“I ain’t askin’ you to,” he says, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, mustache twitching, like this concession is the only thing he’s ever wanted for.
“One is a honeybee,” you answer. “The other is antlers.”
Joel goes still and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “A bee?” He asks, like he’s never heard of the creature before. “And…antlers. Like a deer?”
“Yeah, like a deer. With flowers and vines and moss all tangled around it.”
“Huh.”
“What? Don’t like deer?” You smile. “Funny isn't it? You’ve been drawing them a lot the past few months.”
He eyes you and then shakes his head, “Don’t like ‘em? Jesus Christ, no. I think I’m gettin’ to be real partial to deer.”
💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#tlou fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters
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#WRIOTHESLEY — Favorite Part
Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
[ Typing… ] got drunk n wrote this n made a new format nd a new header cowabungaaa
Wriothesley sees you in the nooks and crannies of your shared home. He sees you in the scent of you that lingers on your pillow, the fingerprints that you trail on his glass coffee table, and your things that you’ve left around every possible surface.
As a man who had brought nothing with him when he was sent into the fortress save for the clothes he was given and the vision he found in his pocket, little to nothing decorated his quarters before you had come into his life. Aesthetically pleasing as it could be this deep underwater, so far from the opulence and grandeur of Fontaine’s city, even he had been aware that it was sparse to say the least. No knickknacks from his childhood, nothing that held any sentimental value— some generic decor, of course, and a couple of things that he thought interesting enough to buy, but inevitably just a place to rest his head before he moves along with his day.
But in the weeks after you both decided that his quarters could easily fit another person, he can’t help but cherish the new things that dot the place.
A small group of potted plants on the dining table, specially chosen to survive in the low-sunlight environment of Meropide. The throw blanket you brought from home, softened and loved and thrown on the couch for cold nights together. Your toiletries that fight his for space in the bathroom. Framed pictures hanging on the walls— some of them with your friends, some of the landscape, and some (his favorites) are pictures of the two of you. This week’s bouquet stands pretty in a vase on the coffee table, painstakingly chosen and arranged by the duke himself.
But Wriothesley’s favorite part of having you here— his absolute, hands-down favorite, is being able to lay on the couch as he waits for you to come home (home, he thinks giddily. His home. Yours.) all wrapped up in that old throw blanket while he keeps an ear out for the sound of the door opening. And when it does? When he hears you leave your shoes at the door and hears the sound of your footsteps coming into your home, he can’t help the dopey, wide grin he gets when he hold out his arms for you to fall into after a long day’s work.
It’s so natural how you melt into embrace, letting the fatigue from today slide off of you as you relax in his hold.
“Hey, sweet thing,” Wriothesley says as he cradles you close to his chest, peppering kisses across your hairline. “How was your day?” His arms hold you so gently, as if he never wants to let you go. One of his hands rests on your back, leisurely stroking up and down the length of your spine in soothing motions, making you go boneless in his grasp.
Under his affection, a hum akin to a purr escapes you. You snuggle closer. “Better now that I’m home.”
And it’s the sleepy, happy way that you say it— full of satisfaction and dripping with affection as sweet as candy. Wriothesley’s heart skips a beat, and he presses his face into your hair to hide the growing flush on his cheeks
This, he thinks to himself, wondering if you can feel the curve of his smile— if you know just how many butterflies you let loose in his stomach just by existing. This is his favorite part.
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#astronetwrk#「 🐈⬛ 」 catcze.desserts#wriothesley x reader#genshin impact x reader#cw gn reader#genshin impact#wriothesley
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— heavy lifting
sub!gym buddy!changbin x dom!personal trainer!reader | 8.1k words
♡ … sequel to uplifting
After Changbin’s gotten too comfortable around the gym, you needed to remind him of his place. You’re his significant other, sure, but you’re still his personal trainer — and his training is only getting even more personal.
❥ gender neutral reader (they/them pronouns, no specifics). smut. fluff. established relationship. pure porn, no plot.
❥ bratty perv changbin. petnames “baby,” “coach,” “rat,” and “bun”/“bunny,” semi-public unprotected sex, anal creampie (reader receiving), fingering (changbin receiving), strength kink (headlock), no specifics about y/n’s physique—but y/n is strong.
📝 happy new year bitch!!! i finally fucking finished The self-indulgent fic!!! header art by ME! otherwise, enjoy!
18+ only. minors do not interact.
You and your client — now boyfriend — Changbin were getting ready to go to the gym. Staring at your bathroom mirror together, he flexed his arms as he hugged you close to his body.
One look at the man and you can tell he’s changed.
He’s far from the man you met a year ago, the boy with a thick build that shyly signed you up as his personal trainer. He used to close his big body into itself every time he wasn’t trying to impress you. Shy as he was with you, his crush, Changbin was also confident whenever he had the opportunity to try and make you swoon.
Now that he got you in his arms, you all his and him all yours, he’s a lot more toned now and a lot more open.
You got very clear glimpses of his personality at the gym, but dating him officially was like opening a gate and welcoming yourself into his colorful world. It didn’t take too long to find out that he works as a lifestyle journalist, but it took many months more to find out that his side gig is working as a talent manager for some small-time DJ named CB or something. Whoever that guy is, your boyfriend claims that he’s just as shy as your coworker Chris, hence why he doesn’t show up often.
Changbin opened up more of his life to you just as you gave lots of your life to him. Every date extended from the gym to the cafe next to it, from fancy restaurants in each of your hometowns to humble home-cooked dinners at either his or your apartments. He stutters less and he’s more giggly around you, while you’re definitely not your usual strict self when it comes to cuddles in his bed.
You two allowed your lives to meld into each other and bond, mix in, and create one shared universe that you can both breathe in. He loved you and you loved him and that never seems to end anywhere.
But it all starts at the gym, you figured, and it always goes back there; he hasn’t signed out of being your client and technically still pays you to help him work out.
“Y/N,” he said with a smile on his face. “Wait first, please? I’m not ready to go to the gym yet.”
You raised an eyebrow at him and struggled to look back as his arms engulfed you. “First time I’ve ever heard that from you. Why?”
Changbin is always more than eager to go to the gym, so the request set you back. He giggled and you could feel his chest pump against your back. He smiled at your figure in the mirror.
“What are you plotting?” You squinted your eyes back at his reflection. Changbin smiled dumbly in response.
You almost asked again until he leaned down to kiss your cheek from the side. It wasn’t a peck at all, his lips solidly planted on the apple of your cheek for a bit longer than two seconds, and it ended with an audible smooch at the pucker of his lips.
“Heh. I love you, bun.”
The smile on his face returned bigger and brighter. His cheeks heated up and his ears turned incredibly red at his own actions even if he was supposed to leave you melting; well, you were, definitely relaxing in the hold of his biceps at the simple display of affection.
But you’re stronger than him, at least emotionally, and he knows that.
“That was it?” You faked dissatisfaction in your tone and it turned him back into the shy guy you met a year ago. “Gonna delay your gym appointment for just a little kiss?”
His eyes didn’t leave your figure in your bathroom mirror. Changbin’s body heated up and you could feel every bit of him collapse slightly as he stared at your face.
To him, you’re still as handsome and as pretty as the time he met you, if not significantly more beautiful now than ever. Even when you were intimidating.
“I don’t think my coach minds if I’m late,” he attempted a smirk.
Changbin grabbed your wrists with a swiftness and held them against your back. Holding them with two hands, he made sure that you were unable to separate your arms, teasing you with one of his strength displays.
“Coach probably wouldn’t mind, especially when they’re late too.”
He wasn’t just planning on locking your hands there. He was feeling bold and you could feel it in the strong hold of his hands against yours.
But you’re physically stronger than he is.
You raised your arms and his hands together over your head, catching Changbin off-guard, twisting your wrists and your body so that you finally faced him. With his hands in the air, you grabbed him by his wrists this time, holding your shocked boyfriend’s hands together and slamming his frozen body against the wall.
You had his hands over his head, locking him in a far more vulnerable position. A blush ran through the apples of his cheeks and painted his ears red. He looked most delicious with his eyes wide open, mouth hung ajar, and pretty little head racing endlessly with thoughts.
“And what makes you think your coach would excuse this unnecessary tardiness?” You asked him with an ear-to-ear grin and half-lidded eyes.
“I’m not saying they’d…allow it…” Changbin bit his bottom lip for a second to ease his stammering. “I’m saying I don’t mind the punishment.”
You chuckled at his weak response. “Where’d you get this boldness?”
“From you, bun.”
You leaned in impossibly closer to his face, tightening the grip on his wrists. Your thumbs massaged the peaks of his palms as your gaze drilled into Changbin for making moves that you never thought he’d do. The man felt so much smaller under you, his biceps clenching suddenly at the tense atmosphere that he initiated.
You stepped away, releasing his hands, and softly smiled. “Binnie, you owe me a hearty dinner tonight.”
Changbin blinked. “Is that my punishment?”
“Yes and no,” you tapped his bicep and squeezed at his muscles. Your sultry voice returned briefly. “Why, do you want more?”
Changbin nodded almost a little too quickly to be subtle.
You turned around to face away from him and smirked.
“How about we go to the gym and find out?”
The trip on the way to the fitness center went on as it usually did, full of banter and tight hand-holding. Your boyfriend was extra giddy in the driver’s seat — he insisted on driving — and seemed way too excited for something just a little less special than a date. After all, this was your work, and he’s still your client.
That didn’t stop him from wanting to be yours for a day.
You both greeted Chris, your coworker, and Changbin’s right-hand man, and Minho, Changbin’s left-hand devil. They were both sparring until you two entered the picture. After handshakes and smiles, they noticed the subconsciously possessive hand of yours snaking around your boyfriend’s back.
They always had knowing grins and your boyfriend always looked like a bullied little dog whenever they teased him.
Whatever it was between you or the two friends, you shrugged it off and headed to the semi-private training room that Changbin liked. It was a four-walled room full of mirrors and equipment, almost always reserved for you and him, your personal training all upgraded to something much more personal now that everyone in the gym knew the both of you.
Shutting the door behind you, your boyfriend let out a giggle. You turned to see him hiding a smile with a dumb look on his face as if he was aching to tell you a joke. You lightly tapped his cheek and he shrugged it off with a downturned smile.
“Anyway, silly boy, we’re here to work out your upper body and arm strength,” you headed over to set up the equipment, yet Changbin’s eyes wouldn’t stop following your figure as you spoke. You could feel the stare right onto your ass, his favorite part of your body, and it felt nasty yet comfortably familiar.
“Binnie, please pass me the—”
“Hmm…” Changbin crossed his arms, pretending to stand inattentively.
You blinked. Tapped your shoe to grab his attention. Nothing worked, and your boyfriend — your client — just looked at his reflection in the mirror, biting back a grin with sharp teeth.
“Bin?” You called out to him. “Baby.” No response. “Bun, bunny.” The eyes that were once on your ass seemed to look away, settling for your impending reaction.
“Seo Changbin.”
He whipped his head your way, feigning surprise, but you didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips turned upwards for a split second. He loved hearing his name, loved it so goddamn much that he’d tease you this way just to hear it fall from your lips, no matter how stoically you called him. If it meant that you would succumb just to say his full name, a sign that you were his, then that meant he won in his own book.
“Mhmm? Oh right, what’d you say?”
If he was going to play some stupid game again, you were definitely catching on, and you were going to fucking win it.
“Put the bench down here.”
Changbin’s ears were impossibly red again at the sternness of your voice, but he scoffed, appearing like the overconfident self that he wanted to be to you. He grabbed the bench, sure, but he hovered it just above the spot you wanted him to place it on.
“I said put it down.”
He dropped the bench down with a loud thud. His eyes shifted back and forth between you and his pathetic reflection in the mirror.
You smirked at yourself after watching his natural obedience shine past his antics. “How about we try something?”
Changbin shook off his nervousness to listen to your inquiry.
“Plank with me underneath.” Your voice was stern, eyes all strict on his figure; if an outsider was watching, they wouldn’t know that you were looking at your very own boyfriend.
He merely scoffed in response.
“Extra bossy today, huh?” Changbin smirked at you, the shit-eating grin leaving your heart burning.
You’ve seen that smile before: he flashed that smirk often, teasing you especially whenever he sent you mirror selfies from his apartment with suggestive follow-up voicemails. It made you laugh every single time how tough he tried to look, flexing whatever muscle he wanted and texting like he was going to ruin you; only to look like a piece of dumb melted mess whenever you teased back with the promise of breaking his cock.
And now, of all times, you couldn’t back down. “Of fucking course. Aren’t you forgetting who’s boss?”
Changbin wiggled an eyebrow, knowing he was pushing exactly the right buttons. “You already know.”
“I don’t care. Remind me who your personal trainer is,” you sternly said.
A whisper left his lips. “It wasn’t supposed to be you,” he subtly said, but you unfortunately picked up on it.
The dark stare you gave him was all he needed to realize what he had done, mouthing “oh shit.” All he could do now was expect you to double down on whatever you were already doing.
He fucked up, pushing the one last button too early — but he loved that he did, and maybe you did, too.
“Who’s your trainer?” You walked behind his figure on the weight bench. The reflection of your menacing stance in the mirror in front of Changbin left him nervous, his heart skipping a beat as he watched you trace a hand down his back.
You grabbed him: one hand pushing his upper back down while the other hugged his hips upwards. With full force, you caught your boyfriend off-guard by making him fall on all fours on the bench in one singular motion.
“Who is it?” You reiterated, ignoring the long whine that escaped him.
“…Y-You, babe. I-It’s…you—” The words left his mouth all chopped up in stutters.
“I need a name.”
“Y/N,” Changbin whimpered before biting his lips to smile again.
“Seo Y/N.”
If he hadn’t pushed enough, then he did now. It was your job to tease but he was catching on. “Don’t play with me.”
“You know you l-like it. You love my name—”
His response earned him a sudden and firm slap on his ass. The boy cried out, his smile replaced by a scrunched face, his giggle replaced by a full moan.
“Filthy little gym brat,” you hissed.
You grabbed a fistful of his curly hair, forcing him to stare up at your reflection in the mirror alongside his pre-fucked-out face. “That’s what you are. Some dumb little workout junkie who thinks of nothing but their trainer’s ass.”
Changbin subtly turned his head in an attempt to look at your actual face. “You’d do the same if I was your trainer.”
“That’s what you think, rat.” You spanked his ass again, this time allowing it to sting through his thin shorts. “At least I’m not a weak little submissive toy of a man like you.”
He whimpered again, this time sounding pained. You thought it was from the spank itself but immediately figured that he was attempting not to leak precum in his shorts. His cock strained against his pants painfully. How cute.
“Y/N! Please, please!” Changbin hissed.
In a twisted attempt to worsen his situation, you sneaked your hand under his shorts to grope one of his ass cheeks, your nails digging into the spank mark. “Please what?”
“F-Fuck…” He attempted to speak straight, holding back drool from spilling out of his mouth by biting his lips back. He stared at you through the mirror with glossy eyes. The hearts in his pupils shined through his bangs, affecting you as if they were aphrodisiacs.
“Please fuck me?”
Without a doubt, his bratty antics were getting to you, but you merely smirked back at him. The same grin he flashed you earlier now pasted on your face, mirroring everything he did from the ego boost down to the annoying scoff that left his mouth. Only yours was more sadistic, infuriating, yet all sorts of hot and addicting.
Changbin anticipated your response, the brattiness leaving him, faux fear inching close to his heart.
“Do you really think you deserve that?”
He tried to whine but nothing could escape his mouth. He was incredibly hard and his poor little fat dick couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe if he didn’t rush his flirtatious antics before you two got into the gym, he would’ve changed into looser shorts that could actually give his cock some breathing room.
What’s worse is that you probably knew this but never gave him — nor his cock — the mercy to breathe.
Changbin settled on shaking his head, his scalp stinging a little from the hold of your hand on his curls. At his response, you forcibly let go of the hand, pushing his head down slightly, making his head bow in painful humiliation.
A delicious whimper made its way out of his mouth.
“I’m here to train you,” you said, your other hand still firm on his ass, “I will train you to be patient, hmm? I’m not your partner now.”
You squeezed his ass one last time before removing your hand from his shorts. “I’m your coach for now, you’re my client, yeah? I’ll fuck you if you’ve been good enough.”
Changbin simply nodded his head eagerly. You chuckled darkly, impressed at your brat’s sudden obedience.
“Now, where were we?” You slapped your palms on his round and bouncy pecs. “Oh right.”
You got on your knees down to meet his eye level, him elevated as he was supported by the bench. You looked like you could kiss him, or if he stood up then you would suck him off, or maybe eat his ass in that position — but you simply grinned, laying down with your back to the floor and front facing up under Changbin.
“Do a bench plank with me underneath. One minute and thirty seconds. Go.”
Poor guy had the most agonizing minute and a half of his life.
The sight of you, winning at the game he set, and teasing him with the nastiest curl of your dark smile left him struggling when he usually never did. He could’ve gone on for possibly two minutes or more, he never tested the limit, but maybe he hit it when he was forced to stare at you.
“Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two.” The husky timbre of your voice rang in his head as you counted the seconds down, a daunting timer right underneath him. He couldn’t believe himself, that he tried to become an annoying brat — and he never expected such a return.
But what was he supposed to expect from you — the partner he bagged through fucking in the very same gym he was struggling to work out in.
Changbin’s cock was straining, raging boner only ever getting harder while staring at you and your body that he loved so much. He couldn’t say a word, mutter a single word of worship even if he wanted to; he was still keeping up the act, refusing to succumb to the game he was still trying not to lose.
Maybe he already did, but he’s stubborn, just as you found him out to be.
“Fifty. Fifty-one, fifty-two…”
Flowing through his popping veins, his blood heated up his entire body when he was just planking, a simple warm-up exercise, as he fell into the pit of disbelief that you held the reigns and all the power even while being physically under him. He felt humiliated, less than the confident man he wanted to be, feeling smaller and significantly less strong than he actually was.
“Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine…”
At some point, he felt like giving up, like bucking his elbows and letting go of the bench. That unfortunately meant that he would drop onto your body and crush you, losing the game and, more importantly, hurting you.
It was beyond a game at that point. His nerves were fighting themselves, he wanted to cum, to drop onto your hips and just be fucked by your body. He was so ready to admit defeat, but he couldn’t at the cost and real fucking risk of crushing you.
Crushing the body he so loved. The collection of parts that made up the whole that is you, the one he fell in love with. The curves and sharp edges that framed your plush skin and contours, the hairs that grow in directions that flatter you. There’s something in the way the sight of your body places him in a trance; perhaps because it is the very body that houses the person he loves, his coach, the one who loves him, the one who knows how to love him. And god, you were strong, strong enough to bear his weight, but his anxiety boiled all the way down his crotch.
Can’t crush the body he loves.
He didn’t want that. Of course, you wouldn’t want that. He shut his eyes and listened to your voice instead of the thought. His sweat dropped from his forehead and neck down to your cheek, making you chuckle. The lightness of your laugh relieved him a little, but also made him harder, his hips wishing to line up against yours.
Of course, you noticed. Of course, you knew how badly he wanted you. You pulled your knee up and brushed it against his crotch.
“One hundred!”
Changbin yelled loudly at the action and your last count, failing to realize that he had gone ten seconds past a minute and a half. He tensely let go of the bench, only to catch himself painfully with his elbows and propping his body just inches above yours.
He flinched more at the fact that you barely flinched rather than the last-minute save down on your body.
“Good job, Binnie. You went beyond the time limit!”
Cock aching between his legs, Changbin resisted to call for a restroom break as he knew you would’ve humiliated him. He would want that, but not in the way he truly needed. He craved your validation in the form of proper disciplining, wishing to bring out that side of you, his coach.
But lord was your praise music to his ears.
If he had a tail, he’d be wagging it then.
The workouts went on for what seemed like hours of agony and his cock wouldn’t soften at all.
He did more reps on the pulldown machine than usual. It didn’t help that you hovered over him with your ass just above his hips as his back ached and arched at each pull. He looked beautiful, *fuckable,*especially when he complained slightly about doing another set at your command.
“Another?”
“Why, can’t do it?”
“What if I said no—”
You pulled the bar down with his arms in a sudden burst of strength, stretching his entire upper body, making Changbin groan so loud it might’ve echoed beyond the private room.
“You’re doing it anyway, that’s a demand.”
Then he got on the bench press while you hovered over his crotch. You counted the reps as he tried to focus on the heavy barbells. Your ass teased him, luscious hips just above his own in a way that made him feel like throwing the weights and pushing you down on his cock instead.
Turns out that wait is more tiring than weights.
Then you commanded him to use the sit-up machine while your lips were dangerously close to his every time he curled up. Then you took him to the chest press and forced him to stare at you, not your ass in the mirror behind him. Every single other exercise felt like another lap down the circles of hell.
He also did elevated push-ups on the bench as you sat on his lower back. The tease of your ass against the back of his hips drove him insane.
You spanked his ass again and he almost came then and there.
He was heaving, not just from the muscle soreness, but also from the thought that you could just fuck his ass in this position if you could — but alas, you held it over his head, and he was just a “filthy fucking gym brat.”
You could feel your veins popping as he smirked at you upon accomplishing his last set, only to feel satisfaction when he ducked his head and pouted when you raised an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t get too cocky, rat.” Your hand found his right bicep and held the firm, exhausted muscles.“How about I check your progress, hmm?”
A finger ran across the grooves of his shoulder blades and defined collarbones. “Oh, this rat did so well after all.” You ran your knuckles against the firm skin, feeling his biceps flex under your bones. Changbin shuddered at the touch, affecting him mentally and physically.
But god was your lovely voice making it so much worse. “Body got so much prettier.”
So was your teasing. “And you’re still so eager.”
You pointed straight at his erection while your other palm squeezed his strong forearm. He hated the teasing, or loved it; he isn’t too sure. Before he could say anything, feel the humiliation creep in for being a huge pervert, you bent down — and intentionally showed the curvature of your ass — to pick up a bottle.
“Does my baby want a treat?” You offered the treat in the form of a bottle of his favorite energy drink, still all cold even after being sat on the floor throughout the entirety of the workout.
The boy was thirsting, sure, but he wanted to quench a different kind of thirst. If the short yet thick tent on his crotch was any indication, then it was the darkened gaze that suddenly flickered in his eyes when he stared at you.
“No.”
A bratty side was returning and you hated that same lopsided smile on his small, puffy mouth.
“I want Y/N.”
You fiercely grabbed him by his cheeks, pinching your thumb and index finger down onto the softness of his cheeks. Your boyfriend’s luscious lips puckered at the pressure, but he tried to look less cute in your hands with a little tinge of failure.
“Demanding now, are we? You’re gonna have to train more if you think you deserve me.” You dug your nails harder into the skin of his cheeks. “What are we here for again?”
No response. Your nails sunk in more, making your boyfriend whimper. “Answer me.”
“Training.”
You let go. “Good. Training for?”
“M-My body.”
“Yes,” your voice softened. “For your pretty body.” You felt up his muscles, fingers walking across the thin fabric of his shirt and dancing around his firm, sweating skin. The threads were cool due to his sweat yet his skin was warm under your touch, the blood of a full-body blush creeping just within his veins, flesh reddening where it’s most sensitive — which is everywhere your hands graced.
“Such a glorious thing. So thick. So firm. So smooth, so beautiful.” Fallen into a trance at your warm words and touching, Changbin grew lightheaded, losing sense of thought almost completely even if he was feeling all sorts of emotions at once.
With a dark voice, you asked him an important question. “My baby worked out so well. But you’re missing something, why are you really here?”
Everything had to be mustered up for him to even reply. “To be…a good boy.”
Dumbing down, he felt his head spinning at your touch. He couldn’t form full sentences as he grew dumb, but he tried, and you could feel him trying. He still wanted to impress you but you had him drunk on the thought of you.
At this point, his poor cock had been edged past his record limit, but he hadn’t backed down to rub one out even in the private room with you.
Even if he wanted to. God, it would be nice, being sat with his back laid flat on the bench while your glorious ass cheeks bounced on his fat cock—
“I don’t think we’re done though.”
Feeling the grooves of his well-carved muscles, relishing in the subtle instinctive flexes, you felt a burn inside your heart just above the chest. Changbin was shaking ever so slightly, judged by the mere touch of your fingertips, a lovely little tactile feeling all contrasted with the flaming intent of your actions.
“I want more from you. How much can you lift again?”
Dryness caught itself in Changbin’s throat. “M-More than…130 kilos…”
“How about we see who’s stronger?”
“Baby—” Realizing how deep your pupils seemed to drill themselves into him, he changed terms of endearment. “Coach, what do you mean?”
“I lift you, then you lift me. Let’s see who’s stronger then. Got it?”
The matter-of-factly tone of voice and hands on your own hips got Changbin reeling. He especially loved seeing your displays of strength, something you were ironically subtle about even as his own trainer.
Is it bad that he got more excited to watch you outdo him than to prove you wrong? He hadn’t realized yet, but he was losing his own game.
This gym session was going overtime.
“You gotta be stronger than me to pass.”
Squatting before him, you looked up at him with shiny eyes as you readied yourself to carry your big boy.
He thought he would look unattractive from the lower angle however you digressed. His tummy became more apparent, one of your favorite parts of his body, alongside his ass.
It was no secret that the both of you were obsessed with each other’s bottoms. He wanted yours in a way that a hungry man would want to savor the food he’d finally get. You wanted to finger his as if his plump, round, and firm cheeks weren’t an invitation to be violated.
Maybe you should finger him.
Maybe you’d do it after lifting him off the ground.
“Holy—woah, Y/N, woah woah! Put me down!”
“Ah. Won’t put you down for a minute, I kind of like the heaviness.” You lifted him up by snaking a strong arm around his hip and supporting his heavy upper body with your other arm. “You weren’t this big before.”
You spanked his ass one more time, watching the jiggly form recoil, until you held it firmly in your hand.
“Now, I’m sorry Binnie, but I can’t resist you.”
While holding him up, you slammed both of your bodies against the wall, making sure not to break the mirror behind Changbin or hurt him in the process. After realizing that it had only gotten his cock pulsating in his shorts, you made the wise decision to pull it down.
The yelp that Changbin let out was to die for.
You hastily pulled his shirt all the way up to his mouth, forcing him to bite onto the fabric as his belly and chest exposed themselves to you with the prettiest subtle bounces. They had been freshly worked out, skin glistening and glowing from his sweat. Each form of his pecs and the round firmness of his tummy was detailed enough to make you admire it even more than when it would naturally be while relaxed.
Every side of him was attractive, whether or not he worked out, but the view of his exposed body made your core tingle with delight.
Tracing a finger up his stomach, you felt up his skin until the dip of his chest. His cleavage was extra prominent, especially in the way you squeezed his body between your own and the wall. You played with the space before your fingers settled on pinching his nipple.
Of course, you were aware of his sensitivity around his chest, and that made you intentionally tease him even more.
Changbin let out a muffled cry, drool pooling in the fabric of his shirt where his mouth clamped on it. You still held him up, but this time, you adjusted your hold by throwing his leg up and over your arm. He shuddered at the action and then at the realization of what was to come.
Before he could even think, your finger dug into his exposed asshole, and prodded it open.
Changbin bit down and cried, writhing in your arm and attempting to grab anything. He settled on holding onto your shoulders as he felt your finger enter him even deeper.
His cock seemed to move painfully on its own. It twitched rapidly as the heavy dick was left unattended but his ass clenched around you in the same way.
Figuring that your boyfriend already had enough stimulation going on in your little game, you decided to make it worse by sucking on the nipple you pinched earlier.
At this point, Changbin’s mind had gone completely hazy, all thoughts fogged out as he could only focus on the pleasure on opposite ends of his body. Your tongue swirled around his hardened nipple as your lips sucked around the skin of his tit. Your finger was joined by another digit, slowly going as to let him adjust to the sensations. His prostate was getting violated, used, and abused, but it only spurred the both of you on to keep going.
And then you went merciless on him.
Your fingers curled against his sweet spot before getting pulled away, only to push back as soon as Changbin attempted to whine; his subconscious obedience proved itself to manifest as he dropped the bratty act and kept his mouth clamped around his shirt. He made muffled noise after muffled noise, tearing up and drooling, wishing for his cock to be satisfied. He was close, dangerously so, and you could feel it in the way his balls started to grow heavy against your wrist.
Denying him relief, you moved on to suck on his other nipple, picking up the pace in which you fingered your boyfriend.
He threw his head back against the mirror with a loud thud but he could care less. Your other arm’s hold around his body kept him in place but also flexed enough to make him feel all of you.
Maybe it was subconscious possessiveness. Maybe it was the need to keep his melting body up. Maybe it was the lone sensation of being surrounded by muscles and also being penetrated by muscles that made Changbin—
“No, you’re not cumming yet baby.”
Your lips left his chest with a pop and your big boyfriend ducked his head in response. You pulled the shirt off his mouth and dragged it down while your other arm set him down on the ground.
Still shaky, Changbin grew confused and frustrated — not at you, but at the denial of relief once more.
“Time to show your strength Bin. Show me what you got—”
Changbin hastily pinned your body to the mirror wall as well, breathing heavily while holding your body by the hip.
Just as you held him practically with one arm only, he did the same, this time using the other to pull your own bottoms down to reveal your ass.
“Please, Y/N, p-please, ‘m so needy.” Changbin was out of breath, brain still jumbled from being fucked mercilessly in the ass. “Can’t take…anymore…please, please…”
He mustered up every single bit in him to form sentences. The poor thing’s bicep wrapped around your ass as if he could never let you go. “Wanna fuck coach, please, let me fuck you.”
It would’ve been a grave sin to detach from you at any moment. His hunger for your body had grown past his primal instinct and now he had been craving you like crazy.
“What’s gotten you so horny?” You had to ask, shocked at the drooling, sweating, blushed-up mess of a man that you still proudly call yours.
“Couldn’t…stop staring at you. Since earlier. S-Since last night. Since yesterday. Couldn’t get my mind off you.” The words that fell from his mouth graced your ears as slowly as possible yet tasted sweeter than ever.
Praises and worship left his mouth at a rapid rate as he felt up your body lazily with his free hand. “You’re just…so strong…Y/N, you drive me crazy.” Changbin kissed any inch of skin he could get. “I really love you, you know that?”
“Of course. I love you too and you are mine.”
Your response made Changbin shiver, evident in the breathy whine he let out. “I promise I’ll be your baby b-bunny forever. Your strong bunny.” Your boyfriend shook as his mouth left love bites on your neck. “I’m obsessed with you, I love you, I love you, I—”
You shushed your boyfriend’s mindless mumbling with a deep kiss, one that Changbin had been craving for hours. He relished in anything that was you, felt like you, tasted like you, and he couldn’t bear to bring out the bratty act once you finally planted your lips on his.
Sighing into your mouth, he shuddered, leaning into your touch and pouting again to receive more of your love. You smiled in response, teasing ever so slightly, before returning the favor with a dart of your tongue.
Changbin’s arms shot up to hold onto you for support, the strong man crumbling under you. What was better was that you held him up, your own arms circling his body again, the grip from every inch of your body around his putting him steadily in his place.
Then you squeezed.
“Fuck, coach, you—” Then you pinned him down on the bench. “Y/N!”
“Hush, boy, aren’t you so excited?” You chuckled as you repositioned yourself and him. “Wanna fuck your coach so bad?”
“Please! Please, I tried to be good!”
Adjusting your hold on him, you gently laid him down on the bench and abandoned your bottoms completely. “Aw. Not so much of a brat now, are you?” You shuffled your hips to hover over his thick, desperate cock.
“Deep down you’re just a pathetic little boy, yeah?”
“Y-Yeah,” Changbin whimpered mindlessly. “Couldn’t be a brat!”
All you could do was laugh while lining up the entrance of your ass with his tip. “So why’d you try?”
“Because…” He choked on the lump in his throat.“Y-You’re so hot when you’re strict, Y/N…”
You shoved your ass down onto his cock in one fell swoop, enveloping your boyfriend whole.
It was known ever since the beginning that he loved anal; your first bit of sex in the very same gym was telling enough, but he loved giving and receiving in both ways. He loved the dirtiness but also the fact that the both of you prepare and clean yourselves well for it “just in case” it comes up.
This scene was one of those emergency moments that you were glad you both prepared for. Otherwise, you would’ve had the worst time adjusting to Changbin’s sheer girth.
His size was something he had never truly believed to be astounding, but even with your strength, you couldn’t help but lose a bit of yourself to it. The girth was to die for: even if his cock didn’t reach deep, it was heavy, loaded, and big enough to stretch your ass wide. As you lifted your ass before slamming it back down, the feeling of your behind being opened and filled despite the tightness felt amazing.
Changbin felt like crying at your first strokes. He always loved it when you two fucked or made love, but shit, he basically edged himself the whole time in the gym. He had never done such a thing, most especially while putting up a brat act, but every single morsel of thought flew right out of his head as your ass picked up the pace and took him whole.
Somehow, you’d both become sopping wet as you both met in the middle once, twice, thrice, four times — you’d lost count, unable to keep the seconds and rounds of body slamming as you would’ve earlier.
You couldn’t help but moan from the pleasure, making Changbin hold you using all of his limbs with the last bits of strength in him. The both of you knew that he wouldn’t last.
A heat was pooling in your stomach as well, sliding all the way down to your crotch just in front of your ass. While his cock hit the sweet spot in your hole over and over, you could feel your own orgasm building quickly alongside your boyfriend’s.
Neither of you could care less about the mess you were about to make.
Quickly picking up the pace, you slammed your hips down over and over again and pressed your hands against his chest, rubbing his nipples and soothing the sore muscle. The stimulation grew far too much and too fast, but Changbin was so lost in the ecstasy that he couldn’t complain, and he grew so physically tired that he couldn’t hold you off.
Despite the hurt in his cock he still didn’t want to stop you.
“S-So fucking…close…holy shit, Y/N, gonna cum!”
“Cum inside me,” you demanded.
Fully shaking, Changbin dug his fingers into your thighs with all his remaining might and held you in place, shooting load after load from his poor, aching cock deep into your plush walls.
He was so warm, his release filling you with a certain nastiness that you loved so much. You could tell how much he saved all of it from the amount he shot into you. It even started spilling despite the fact that you stilled in place, unable to move from the force of his hands pulling you down. Maybe his training on the pulldowns earlier helped him with it.
But you were both far from done.
You kissed Changbin on his plush lips and sighed in faux contentment. “Binnie baby, you filled me well…” He could only mouth “thank you” in reply.
Then you pulled his sore body up after pushing yourself off his sore cock. “But I want more.”
His eyes widened in a mix of surprise and fear at the prospect of you using his spent cock more than he intended. This might’ve been the punishment he wanted, but it was nothing like what he’d expected.
Making matters worse, you sat behind him and suddenly wrapped your arm around his neck. The other hand found his cock and both arms squeezed, locking Changbin in your hold.
The boy moaned the loudest he had ever done in his entire life.
“Gonna fuck you like this,” you said as you pumped his cock at a rapid pace, “I’ll milk you dry.”
Your words left Changbin gasping, moaning, whimpering, and whining like a trapped dog. The tears in his eyes flooded down as he struggled to adjust in your arms, but god, you were far stronger than you displayed earlier. He barely had any strength left to push you off, to wiggle out, to even form a coherent enough sentence or word.
Was it bad that he liked it this way?
Changbin could only tremble. He moaned your name deliciously over and over as your hand pumped his fat cock from the tip all the way down to his balls at a breakneck pace. You softened the headlock slightly to make him breathe, but the flexing of your forearm drove your boyfriend past the point of self-control. He was overstimulated in every single way.
Again, it was the strength display. The fact that you were putting such a huge man like him in his place. You rendered him unable to function, tired him out until he became putty in your arms, and now you had him caged like a real rat. You flexed your forearm again and Changbin let out a severely choked out whimper.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He came non-stop with his head rolled back to your shoulder, curly bangs covering the fucked-out face he gave you from the sheer amount of pleasure.
Overstimulation sent him over the edge though, making him cum again and again. You could even feel the vein on his cock pop and pulsate under your palm. The lone fact that it only seemed to soften after a few more shots of cum on Changbin’s own belly and on your hand made you feel powerful.
“My tamed brat, my good boy.”
The praise made Changbin see stars. You saw the hearts in his eyes as he struggled to look back at you.
Wholly dumb and unable to move, your boyfriend simply lay in your arms and you both sat there for a moment. You pet Changbin’s fluffy hair with one arm and rubbed his belly with the other, playing with the cum on his tummy before you two shifted in your seats.
A year or so ago, you two had been in the same dilemma and position as you were. You and Changbin were both sweaty and exhausted, his head rested on your shoulder, unable to move. The both of you relished in the glow of being fucked nasty in the gym with your clothes barely hanging onto your bodies, soiled with sweat and cum — it sounded disgusting, but it was the reality that you two had to face with your puffy cheeks.
Lord knows how agonizing the cleanup would’ve been if you weren’t going to do it with your boyfriend at least.
Guilty at the mess he made, Changbin kissed your face everywhere and mumbled to “take care of it” as he attempted to stand up — only to groan in pain after the soreness hit all of his muscles at once. You laughed and supported his weight with your own. Unable to register how you’re still managing, you guided him up and took mops, towels, and bottles of isopropyl alcohol.
Everyone knew you two were lovebirds, but nobody could use this room after you tainted it with an atmosphere of pure sin.
It’s funny though, you thought; Changbin’s goofy self returned in full force, albeit in a tired body, but still entertained you enough to keep your spirits up while cleaning the room. He hummed, giggled at you, nudged his face into your arm, and even sniffed at you as a joke.
It was your silly signal to take a break in a shower together within the adjacent locker rooms that, somehow, were empty then.
Perfectly enough, you two took a single stall together and showered together just as you two were accustomed to doing. This time was a little more special, the deja vu of the first meeting settling in as you happily scrubbed your boyfriend’s once-sweaty scalp. He was too tired to do it to himself he returned the favor by cleaning you too. The rest of the shower was quiet save for a few “I love you’s” and light chuckles.
He gave your back a peck before drying it, relishing in your natural scent and the aroma of the post-shower lotion. You dressed him up in your extra clothes the same way that he dressed you up too, feeling at home even in a slightly public space.
Home was wherever Changbin was, in the same way, you were his home as well.
Back to the reality of the messy room, you handed him a mop and he grimaced.
“Hey, Y/N, slap my wrist next time I try to act bratty. That’s not really me.”
Your reaction must’ve been funny, as your face earned Changbin a hearty giggle.
“Then who might this just-as-handsome asshole-ish guy be?”
“I’m thinking Changbin would be a fitting name.”
“Ew.” You grimaced in the same way he did earlier. “And you should be jealous of him?”
“Nah. ‘Cause I know you love The Seo Changbin only.”
You snorted at him and threatened to swipe his leg with the mop. He laughed and snorted back. He liked the idea of poking fun at you with his own name so much that he pulled it thrice.
“Say, I owe you dinner tonight, right bun?” He huddled closer to you, the comfortable distance only growing warmer. It was touching to know that he remembered your silly claim from earlier, softening your heart. You got excited to listen as his ideas for hearty food were always right, a privilege you unlocked by having a lifestyle journalist wrapped around your finger.
“Mhmm. Gotta heal from that ass-kicking I gave you.” You bumped the side of your hip onto him, but he blushed as the slight memory of half an hour ago flashed before his eyes.
“Anyway! I know a cozy restaurant just downtown that serves banger seafood. It’s the side branch of that beachside bar I told you about.” Changbin went on to describe his recommendation.
Your eyes lit up at the idea. “Wow, your lifestyle writing really takes you places, huh?”
“Yeah, but actually,” Changbin raised his index finger, “I discovered it through my side gig’s talent, Chan—I mean CB.”
You paused and raised an eyebrow back. “…Interesting. Tell me about it.”
“How about I just show you?”
As if on cue, you both heard a punch, then a comically loud groan that sounded like Minho. Following it was an even louder apology from Chris. The other end of the gym must’ve been busier than you two, you thought.
The laughs that escaped both of your chests filled the air of the private room. It was one of many beats in your relationship that you shared with him often but it’s still an unconfined joy to have with him. You could live in the banter and tiny conversations forever, even the bratty behavior he displayed only cemented how much you loved the man even if he made your heart burn and filled your ass up.
Brats used to be off-limits until you brought him to his limit, and now it’s all you could ever think about.
Changbin expected punishment but only got rewarded with your love and warmth in the end. It’s a mission he successfully failed and a game you aimlessly won.
As you two walked out of the fitness center, wobbling in your steps back to the car, you fought over who’d be the driver. You won again, and Changbin fell asleep angelically in the backseat. At least then you’d wake him up with the hearty meal he recommended.
Even after all this time, your client — and boyfriend — never changed the love he had, has, and always will have for you. He might as well renew his gym subscription under your name even after the gym closes.
taglist: @toastyseungmo @hobihearteu @biddes-enthusiast @snow-pegasus @subby-kpop @myrandomthoughtsandhobbies @eggielix @turnipfizzle @hanniecheesecake @chrisbahng @laylasbunbunny @ppiri-bahng @he-they-heathen @chriscentric @svintsandghosts @starryoong @bbyquokka @abiaswreck @suengmi @fun-fanfics @fairylouist + @stupidshitsworld @compersian @skz-hell @certifiedwootiny @xcookiemonsteer @lino-jagiyaa @imrllytootiredforthis @straykidsholicleigh @wonhosmistress @fruitcakebin @jisvngc0re1 @silentreadersthings
very special mentions to @meivida for proofreading and editing my fic (and for indulging in my nonsense). please wish them good health this year!
header art is mine! have a great new year everybody :))
thank you for reading ! consider reblogging and leaving feedback if you loved my work 💗 artwork and writing © ipegchangbin. no reposts and translations.
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𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈
🍑peaches world (and the men that just exist in it) masterlist🍑
summary - the beginning on how you were kidnapped by the king of koopa kingdom, buckle in your seatbelts and enjoy the ride, because this will be a smutty rollercoaster.
warning - mentions of cock, kidnapping, inappropriate feelings/thoughts, swearing.
18+ only please, the gif isn’t mine, header created by me.
Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.
You watched your kingdom from above, it was a peaceful day as your people walked around and lived their lives happily. Usually, things were more of a ruckus. With a smile you turned and began to walk out of your room and down the hall, your pretty pink dress falling gracefully to the floor and sways with each step. You were happy, Lloyd and his brother Tangerine were currently out helping the people, so you had the castle to yourself.
You were wondering what you were going to do with your free time. You had many options, you could improve your parkour, do some painting that you always wanted to do but pushed to the side, you could go outside and tend to your flowers. The possibilities were endless and just as you were about to take the last step, a hand wraps around and covers your mouth. Your eyes widen, your hands immediately go up to try and pull whoever it is away. You freeze when they speak, feeling their massive body pressing against you.
“Shh, little Princess. You don’t want to warn the guards now, do you?” Ari Bowser Levinson is the one currently holding you. Your enemy, your rival. The King of The Koopa Kingdom. “That’s a good little Princess, staying nice and quiet for me.” You try to fight the shiver that runs through your body, knowing it’s wrong to feel this way when you are with someone. “Do you know how shit your security system is, Princess? I managed to slip right in, I mean. Someone really bad could’ve broken in and taken you for themselves, don’t you understand how dangerous that is.” He whispers like he isn’t the really bad person. You wiggle, trying to move away but you end up brushing your arse against him instead causing him to groan. “I wouldn’t do that, Princess. Unless you are wanting me to take you right here.”
You stop abruptly and your eyes widen, suddenly everything goes black. You don’t remember anything after that, and when you finally wake with your eyes fluttering open. You look around, confused. The walls and floors are grey, you tilt your head as you notice a large screen resting against the wall. Your attention is brought away from it when Ari enters the room. “Good morning, little Princess! Has my little Princess made herself comfortable in her new home?” He towers over you as he’s around 8 feet tall. He stalks closer, bending over to stare at your sitting form. “I sure hope so, because if I get my way, you will be staying here for the rest of your life!” He grins, and you shiver as it comes off evil-like. His eyes holding something much darker behind them.
“Screw you and your plan, Ari! I’m sure Lloyd and his brother are already on their way to come rescue me!” You huff, arms crossing over your chest unknowingly pushing your breasts together and giving the older man/monster a lovely view. Your bottom lip juts out and you try to glare at him, failing miserably with how small and cute you are compared to him.
Ari coos, “You are correct, my smart little Princess. As far as I’ve been informed, they are already on their way!” He watches you jump with joy, your breasts bouncing with each movement, and he feels his cock twitch, licking his lips as soon the fun will begin.
“Really?! They are coming?! That’s great!” You continue to jump, clapping your hands as a giant grin appears on your face.
Ari laughs, shaking his head and moving closer to you. Backing you into the wall. “Not so fast, little Princess. Not everything is going to be easy for you.” He grins, placing his arm next to you against the wall. Ari directs you toward the screen, his arm wraps around you, making you feel even smaller, those darn tingles appearing again, and you try to push them away knowing how wrong it is. His hand reaches into his pocket, receiving a remote and you eye it. Your eyes move from the remote to his hands, wondering how they can still look so good with the claws.
You had always heard stories before Ari turned his attention toward you and your kingdom. (Mostly you, but you didn’t think someone would be so obsessed with just you.) He was once a man that got his karma, being turned into half of a turtle. His already big build helped him mutate into something more monstrous. Horns in certain places, claws, sharp fangs, a larger cock. (Not that anyone got to see, but I guess it’ll be your lucky day.)
Ari snaps you out of your thoughts, smirking when he catches you staring at his hands. “Two days have passed since I kidnapped you, little Princess. Where do you think Lloyd and his brother are now?” He hums.
“I presume they should be knocking at the door to enter the castle, right about now. I think…” You blink up at him, brows furrowed.
Ari boops your nose, smirking wider than before. “Alright, if you have that much hope in your little boyfriend. Let’s watch it live to see how they are doing, shall we, little Princess?” You both face the tv, his large finger pressing the on button and he grins at your wide tear-filled eyes.
“They’re at the beginning?! But how?! What are they still doing there?!” You yell in disbelief. Sure, the brothers were a bit slow sometimes, but you would’ve thought that saving you would make them go a bit faster. You begin to scream at the screen, hoping that they would be able to hear you. “It’s been two days, and you are still there?! I’m not even in that fucking world!” Ari chuckles behind his hand as he hears you swear, you look so cute as your cheeks puff out. “I’m in Bowser’s castle! Everyone knows it’s the biggest and most guarded of them all! Those are just fucking decoys!” You stomp your foot, practically throwing a tantrum, not noticing the big bad King sneaking closer behind you. “You fucking idiots! They’ll kill you now! Fucking watch out! That’s just the first Goomba of that level! Don’t let him touch you, you idiots!”
“This is going to take a while, little Princess. So… Why don’t we have some fun while we wait.” Ari smirks as you turn with a confused look on your face. Before you can react, he rips your dress from your body, and you stand there with wide eyes. “Oh, we are definitely going to have some fun, little Princess.”
would you like to follow the game? if yes, please click round 1 when the link is avaliable.
𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 1
thank you for reading!
feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
#imyourbratzdollwork#peaches world (and the men that just exist in it)#bowser ari levinson#bowser ari levinson x princess peach reader#super mario au#ari levinson angst#ari levinson fanfic#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson fic#ari levinson fluff#ari levinson imagine#ari levinson x fem!reader#ari levinson x female reader#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson x y/n#ari levinson x you#ari levinson au#ari levinson imagines#ari levinson oneshot#ari levinson one shot#chris evans angst#chris evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans characters#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x reader#ari levinson#chris evans blurb#chris evans character#chris evans drabble
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❝ ALL I NEED IS YOU ❞
MASTERLIST!
pairing . . . lewis hamilton x reader
◦∘｡ﾟ. request . . . “could you do slut! for Lewis? and maybe a combination of angst and fluff?”
◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . fans hate you for dating their favourite driver, but it all might just be worth it for once.
◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . I’M BACK WITH THE FICS!! i’m not quite sure why i had a creative drought, but i’m glad i’m out of it🙏 alsooo, hope you guys liked the new theme bc i brainstormed for hours about it and i’m actually really liking it
liked by ynfan1, lewisfan1 and 85,326 others
f1gossip Once again, Y/N Y/L/N is back in the paddock! The unofficial but official girlfriend of Lewis Hamilton has now been present for all of the triple-header and fans have noticed! Now, many aren’t happy that their beloved F1 Superstar is entangled with the model because of her dating tendencies. Will she be at the Las Vegas Grand Prix? Let us know your thoughts! 👀
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lewisfan2 need her far far away from my man
lewisfan3 sick and tired of seeing her appear on my screen🙄
ynfan2 don’t know who this lewis guy is but i’m loving all the y/n content we’re getting!!!
⤷ lewisfan4 and thank god you know nothing of the sport. we don’t want any of her fans ruining it.
lewisfan5 unpopular opinion: i actually like her and lewis together🤷♀️
ynfan3 i hope she continues dating lewis just to piss you guys off
ynfan4 SHE LOOKS SO GOOOOOOD
lewisfan6 🤮🤮🤮
lewisfan7 bye not her taking a photo in front of his car
⤷ ynfan5 she’s his gf? why wouldn’t she do that?
⤷ lewisfan7 it’s giving attention wh0re
⤷ ynfan5 or (and hear me out) she’s just a supportive gf!!
lewishamilton and yourusername posted an instagram story!
liked by lewishamilton, rosalia.vt and 2,018,376 others
yourusername brasil, eu te amo
view all 30,275 comments
ynfan21 mother is mothering
lewisfan21 STAY AWAY FROM HIM! GET A JOB!
ynfan22 they’re actually so cute
adrianalima Bonitos! 💜
liked by yourusername and 65,274others
lewisfan22 girl, that caption is not for brasil😭
lewisfan23 sick and tired of her appearing in my feed
lewisfan24 can’t wait until lewis leave you!!!!!!
user21 since when are they dating?
⤷ ynfan23 it’s really unclear, but everyone points to this year’s silverstone gp when she went as a mercedes guest!
⤷ user21 and people are still hating on her???
⤷ ynfan23 yeah lmao
lewisfan25 mama y papa
lewisfan26 crazy how just a couple mints ago she was supposedly dating tom brady and now she’s “in love” with lewis… such a slut
⤷ ynfan24 you literally don’t know her. stop insulting people you don’t know.
ynfan25 mourning the loss of my wife rn 💔
liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt and 2,537,104 others
yourusername it’s raw, it’s real and it’s here!
this interview is extensive, but interviewer was so polite and just the perfect person to be interviewed by, to have my voice told by.
my vogue article will be yours too on the 22nd of november.
comments are turned off
liked by yourusername, alex_albon and 2,075,138 others
lewishamilton FIA Gala, 2023
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yourusername an honour to be by your side 💜
⤷ lewishamilton The honour is all mine 💜
lewisfan41 THIS SHIT IS SO CUTE OML
lewisfan42 did not expect the hard launch, sir hamilton
roscoelovescoco I love’s my mum’s
liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 201,849 others
ynfan41 my heart literally flew out of my chest when i saw that they were together at the gala
mercedesamgf1 Our second Mercedes royal couple 👑
liked by lewishamilton, yourusername and 174,052 others
lewisfan43 bro you didn’t take the prize home😭
⤷ lewisfan44 he already has the biggest prize with him
⤷ ynfan42 lewis fans got poetic all of a sudden
⤷ ynfan43 lewis fans stopped hating on y/n all of a sudden*
lewifan45 if he’s happy, i’m happy
sebastianvettel Congratulations! Finally the secret is out 😁
⤷ lewishamilton Thank you 🙌
ynfan44 need them both desperately!!!!!
ynfan45 i just know wag pages are having a field day
translations:
— brasil, eu te amo — brazil, i love you
— bonitos — beauties
-ˋˏ *.· taglist . . . @lorarri @lpab @noncannonships @lunnnix @elliegrey2803 @schumacheer @saintslewis @leoramage @toomuchdelusion @anthonykatebridgerton @enhacolor @gulabjamoon @toomuchdelusion @goldenalbon @ravisinghs-wife @racingtrail @hobiismyhopeu @celestialpato @lecsainz @kkeels
#*ੈ✩༄ my works !#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton x reader#irina shayk#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x y/n#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton angst#lewis hamilton social media au#lewis hamilton smau#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis hamilton au#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 social media au
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「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」
part xii
✧.* triple header, triple podiums, and triple the love.
✧.* quick little filler before it kicks off. Foreshadowing? Maybe. More insight in the y/nlando household? Yes 🥰 getting to know girlie even better? Yes ❤️this is a psa for the people who wanted to be on my taglist but never got tagged, i didn't forget or ignore you, I simply am unable to tag you and therefore removed you from the list feel free to ask me again so I can take a look at it. Taglist is open Love ya ❤️
✧.* prev part - next part
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mclaren
liked by yourmumsuser, maxfewtrell and 253,678 others
mclaren front row locked in once again!
#imolagp
tagged: landonorris, y/nusername
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mcpapaya this team!!!! 🧡
johnson87 them sharing the sheets really works out for us fans huh
bott_ass you're so real for this
norry4 that's my team y'all 😭
sharllekler girlie really said I'm in a good mood, let me give my man a tow and then proceeded to take his pole away 😭
norrizz gotta keep him on his toes :')
marcusklein she's gonna make it up to him tonight
lanlan 🕯 lando p1 🕯
maxfewtrell absolutely mental!
teampapaya HAPPY MCLAREN WEEK 🧡🧡
y/nloveee can't wait to see my girl pull a max verstappen and win her 4th wdc halfway the season 🥰
ohnomeshoes no joke, bagging y/n might just be the best thing to happen to lando, man's is killing it on all fields!!
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y/nusername
liked by cecilemoulin, riabish and 672,652 others
y/nusername fam fam ❤️
tagged: landonorris
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hamilt44n once in a while y/n posts one of these fam fam posts and every time there's a new addition 😭
norrizz a new cat, dog and boyfriend 😂
yukisan I wanna live with you guys, pls, I know I'd be spoiled rotten
y/ngirlie bestie you're such a mom
alex_albon you're going to end up with more pets than us..
norry4 lando being accepted as a part of the family, my boy promoted to dad and step dad 🥺
cecilemoulin something tells me lando did not know about the goodest little doggie 😍
y/nusername unplanned parenthood
y/nlandooo girl stop, what's next, a goat? 😂
bobnorriz she already got a goat back at her parents house, two horses and one fucking duck 💀
y/nusername they didn't fit in my place here in Monaco unfortunately :(
bobnorriz girl get a farm 😅
carlandooo wait so you really adopted a cat back in Spain lmao
landonorris I'll find a cow in the living room next week
y/nusername don't give me ideas
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y/nusername posted to their story
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y/nusername
liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 789,672 others
y/nusername España, un hogar lejos de casa ☀
tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell, cecilemoulin
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mrsnorris 'home far away from home' and for what reason? Oh that's right..Carlos..🥴
chilisainz okay bestie, let's put you to bed..okay? You're talking shit again.
norrizz honestly, it's been a while since we last saw you..how have you been my love? Enjoying every single piece of y/nlando content we've had so far? 🥰
yukisan okaaay but that food looks amazing 😭
teamnotrell bunch of cuties enjoying their few days off :)
landonorris can't believe max got a girlfriend
maxfewtrell okay mate..
cecilemoulin I'm getting paid for this
maxfewtrell you're always bullying me and for what?
y/nusername I've got your back babes ❤️
maxfewtrell thank you ❤️
charles16 lando, y/n and Cecile podium this week? 👀
norry4 I love this little group of gremlins <3
landonorris love you muppet ❤️
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Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13 @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @buckybarnessweetheart @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @babyvinnie @mishaandthebrits @hockeyboysarehot @ironmaiden1313 @justdreamersdream @dreamsarebig @angelfreckless
Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10
Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie
#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris#lando norris x oc#lando norris fanfic#lando norris au#lando norris smau#lando norris imagine#lando x reader
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Here's a Lando nsfw for you
"I'll take care of you, an orgasm for every night we were apart" - when he comes back from the race....or the triple header (imagine)....
send me thoughts/blurb requests (sfw & nsfw) for lando weekend
notes: i genuinely don’t think anyone would survive that many orgasms after a triple header, but i do think that lando would definitely need to you two to fuck like rabbits when he gets home from one
warnings: !!CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, slight cum play
His lips traveled along the slightly damp skin of your torso. He was grinning like a mad man at you as he crawled back up your body to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, understandably so seeing as he had just spent the better part of the last hour with his head between your thighs.
You were both disappointed when you told him you wouldn’t be able to join him for the race this last week. Lando looked forward to seeing you in his garage during the race week, cheering him on. But your job needed you to stay for the weekend, so you sent your pouty boyfriend away without you.
You still managed to watch his practices, his qualifying, and the race at work. You kept your phone tucked next to your computer playing the race while you worked. You longed to be with him when he crossed the line, scoring yet another podium finish.
When he came home he was all smiles and soft touches, keeping you locked to him in a hug, refusing to let you go anytime soon. You managed to slip away from him long enough to cook some dinner. The two of you ate while he told you about his weekend, about the media stuff he filmed, about getting to be on the podium again, and once again winning driver of the day.
“Well it’s not surprising. You’re my favorite driver.” You tell him as a soft blush covers his cheeks.
He softly pulls you towards the bedroom once you’ve finished your meals, telling you that he missed you, that he needed you.
You end up laying on the bed, with him on top of you, your lips locked in a passionate kiss. He rolls his hips against yours and smirks when he feels you tug on his hair.
“Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you. How about an orgasm for every night we were apart?”
You nod your head, and moan when he pushes his hips against yours again.
“Four then. My favorite number.”
And he had kept his word.
He gave you two with just his tongue, his arms holding your legs apart as he devoured you like you were his last meal. He moaned into your folds as you gave him your first release, the feeling sparking another to follow not far behind.
Then he gave you one with his fingers. He knew how much you loved his hands, they were strong, the veins occasionally more visible than usual. His fingers were thicker than yours, so when he pushed three into you, it was no surprise that you were thrashing on the bed, practically begging him to make you cum.
He licked his fingers clean after the third time, which led to now. He pulls his shirt over his head, then his pants and boxers down. He’s got a decent girth to him, even his three fingers might not have been enough to prepare you to take him.
He strokes himself a few times before leaning down to kiss you again.
“You think you’re ready?” He asks, even three orgasms in he wants to make sure you’re comfortable.
“I am.” You tell him.
He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, just barely brushing against your clit. He pushes himself into you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to his size and him to how much you’re clamping down around him.
He stills when he bottoms out, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. The feeling of your bare walls around him, all soft and warm and wet, could very easily throw him over the edge before he really even got to fucking you.
“Move Lando.” You you whine, shifting your hips to get some movement.
He pulls himself back and forth, pushing himself deeper into you with every thrust. You wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer. Your nails dig into the skin on his back, leaving long red trails where they’ve been.
It doesn’t take long for either of you to feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Lando uses one of his hand to play with your clit while he fucks himself into you, determined to make you cum before he does.
He succeeds, but is quick to cum when you clamp down around him tightly, practically milking his release from him.
He pulls out of you with a groan, and watches as his cum starts dripping out of you. He swirls it around on his finger, then pushes it back inside you. You yelp, closing your legs.
“Don’t want to waste any of that.” He says.
He refuses to move for the rest of the night, not letting you get up either. He’s spent the whole weekend away from you, now he’s going to keep you in his arms for as long as he wants.
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Wow! As the header says, my blog just went past 5k followers - I'd like to extend a heartfelt thank you to everyone who hopped on for this journey; I'm having the time of my life sharing my writing with you all.
In celebration and as a way to have a little fun - I'll be opening my inbox for a day and letting those who want to send in something fill it up!
Now, I know you're probably asking yourself 'Hal, I thought you said requests are going to be closed so you can finish the ones you have and work on the AUs?' And you'd be correct - I did say that. I'm not going to be writing full-length works for this event.
To anyone who sends something in (and follows the rules I have in place on my Request Form (be sure to check it even if you've already read it, I added some more characters and other stuff)) I'll be writing one-to-two page drabbles!
All this being said, after this post is uploaded I'll be opening my inbox up to anyone who would want to participate and closing it exactly one day after!
Thank you again for being the best community ever - I'm incredibly lucky to be surrounded by kind and respectful individuals as well as mutuals who are mind-numbingly sweet. I could not have achieved all of this without you; I think that's beautiful.
This post will also serve as the Masterlist for all of the expected drabbles, so if you'd like to keep updated on what's going to be happening/being written soon, this would be a good place to hang out!
ALL COMPLETED AS OF 11/5/2023
IMAGES USED: A black retriever in an extensive mountainous landscape by Maud Earl & L'angelo, la morte e il diavolo by Roberto Ferri || TOTAL: 5
➣The Perfect One
╰┈➤ ❝ [He stares at the rings under the glass with an acute narrowness to his eyes. He inspects every one as if a bomb might go off at any second, not missing a single detail in the metal.] ❞
➣Get In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Coming home with bruises and stitched wounds, you drag him into the bathroom to wash away the memories.] ❞
➣Hum Me A Tune, Blue-Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [You listen to his heartbeat as he keeps you to his chest, his breath tickling your hair.] ❞
➣Here Now
╰┈➤ ❝ [He nearly misses one of the most important moments of your lives together.] ❞
➣Burst Veins
╰┈➤ ❝ [He never noticed you weren't behind him.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Fallen Angel by Roberto Ferri & Nature of Fear by Nicola Samori || TOTAL: 5
➣Nervous Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [No one understands how you two get along - not when you're so different. It makes you second-guess yourself. He notices.] ❞
➣Blood Like Obsidian
╰┈➤ ❝ [Simon can only fight against so many nurses as they shove him back from your operation room.] ❞
➣Supposed To Happen
╰┈➤ ❝ [You died and left him a child he had no idea existed. How can he even begin to try and understand?] ❞
➣Digging Gaze
╰┈➤ ❝ [You indulge in a one-night-stand after you'd both called it quits, only, it leads to more problems. When he sees you again, how will he react to the swelling of your stomach?] ❞
➣Sole Survivor
╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞
IMAGES USED: White and Black by Vadim Gorbatov & Saint Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne || TOTAL: 7
➣Didn't Mean It
╰┈➤ ❝ [Arguments are rare, certainly ones that leave you in tears.] ❞
➣Him, Her, and the Dog
╰┈➤ ❝ [The woes of pining after a woman whose deadly K9 looks like it hates his guts.] ❞
➣Drunken Sappiness
╰┈➤ ❝ [You can't say you've ever had a boyfriend as perfect as Kyle.] ❞
➣How Do You Listen To That?
╰┈➤ ❝ [It was three a.m. when you all got the call to load up, but what's the best way to wake both yourself and the Sergeant up?] ❞
➣Finally Broken
╰┈➤ ❝ [Childhood friends turned lovers. The realization was far more violent and instantaneous than you'd like to admit.] ❞
➣Don't Look At Her
╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞
➣In His Head
╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of his SFW and NSFW quirks.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Scene from the Great Flood by Joseph-Désiré Court & Saint Jerome in Prayer by Carlo Dolci || TOTAL: 7
➣Life Snaps By In Flashes
╰┈➤ ❝ [A collection of memories from the second he laid eyes on you. All flashing past in the soft buzzing of the overhead lights.] ❞
➣Heart-Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [Being a medic wasn't pretty, but when your boyfriend was the subject under your needle you can't help but enjoy his unwavering gaze. Today, he has something to share with you.] ❞
➣From Ten To Twenty & Beyond
╰┈➤ ❝ [You've known him ever since the incident on the playground, and now you can't help but imagine that same boy as you watch him make supper with flour in his hair.] ❞
➣Find Me
╰┈➤ ❝ [You're finally back in One-Four-One's hands, but that doesn't mean you're saved. Johnny tracks you down after a violent episode.] ❞
➣Still The Same Fools
╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞
➣Is This Why?
╰┈➤ ❝ [He finally sees why you never introduced him to your parents.] ❞
➣Oblivious Pining
╰┈➤ ❝ [Johnny hangs off you like a silent beast. Not that you would notice, of course.] ❞
IMAGES USED: King Gustav III of Sweden and His Brothers by Alexander Roslin & Geography lesson by Eduard Karl Gustav Lebrecht Pistorius || TOTAL: 6
KEEGAN P. RUSS:
➣Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞
➣Hold Her Close
╰┈➤ ❝ [Keegan cares for his young daughter.] ❞
➣When The Fighting Stops & The Silence Sets In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Continuation of (Don't) Go To War: the aftermath of recovery and a budding relationship.] ❞
➣Movies and Stale Popcorn
╰┈➤ ❝ [Oak and Keegan finally get to watch that movie.] ❞
DAVID 'HESH' WALKER:
➣To The Boy of My Childhood
╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞
➣Keep The Sheets Warm, My Love Is Coming Home
╰┈➤ ❝ [If this wasn't enough to prove that you were the only person for Hesh, you didn't know what did.] ❞
IMAGES USED: Saint Catherine of Alexandria by Caravaggio & Amor Vincit Omnia by Caravaggio || TOTAL: 17
CAPTAIN JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH:
➣New Paint
╰┈➤ ❝ [Fighting to forget you, MacTavish finds comfort in whoever he can. Yet, like the layers of paint on the walls, it always peels back to you.] ❞
➣A Song of Gnashing Teeth
╰┈➤ ❝ [There was never a day where the two of you weren't butting heads - everyone was at their wit's end. Of course, you would both be forced to cooperate at some point.] ❞
➣Listen To My Voice
╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞
➣Look At The Stars; Look At Me
╰┈➤ ❝ [Stargazing in the middle of an overgrown and wild glade.] ❞
➣Alive and Breathing
╰┈➤ ❝ [You're sick. Very sick. John takes drastic action.] ❞
➣I Can See It In Your Eyes
╰┈➤ ❝ [It's finally time to meet the family.] ❞
➣A Green-Eyed Monster
╰┈➤ ❝ [You'd slept together, sure. No strings attached. Then why are you trying to make him jealous? Who cares, the point is that it's working.] ❞
SERGEANT GARY 'ROACH' SANDERSON:
➣Dance With Me Before The Chill Sets In
╰┈➤ ❝ [Tired? Yes, but he's never too tired for you and your loveliness. But maybe you need to remember to lock the door when you're home alone.] ❞
➣Raining Cats and Dogs
╰┈➤ ❝ [Roach has a deep love of storms.] ❞
OPERATION OFFICER ALEX KELLER:
➣Bright-Eyed History Lesson
╰┈➤ ❝ [A librarian with a fascination for war history and a soldier who loves how her eyes light up. Like a dog, he can't stop himself from coming back; smiling like a fool.] ❞
COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS:
➣Hold Me Longer
╰┈➤ ❝ [Mornings spent in the sanctity of warm sunlight and bare skin.] ❞
SERGEANT MAJOR RODOLFO 'RUDY' PARRA:
➣A Love Like Ours Makes Us Strong
╰┈➤ ❝ [Rodolfo came back, alive but bruised. How do you explain how terrified you were?] ❞
COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES:
➣Sleeping On The Porch
╰┈➤ ❝ [As it turns out, your husband never really died. It's safe to say you're not overjoyed.] ❞
➣Love Echoes In Silence
╰┈➤ ❝ [You can feel him watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a small smile. Humming to yourself, you listen to the birds outside the window.] ❞
SEBASTIAN JOSEF KRUEGER:
➣Ain't Giving Up My Pride
╰┈➤ ❝ [You get on his nerves, partially because you want to. But what happens when he finally snaps?] ❞
ALL 141 INCLUDED (SEPARATE):
➣Count The Hours
╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞
➣Wide-Eyed Panic
╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞
#halcyone updates#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod x female reader#5k celebration#cod masterlist
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league champs || alanna kennedy x reader ||
you and alanna celebrate man city winning the league.
alanna was on cloud nine. it had seemed a little far fetched to win the league at first. alanna had brushed you off whenever you mentioned it, but now that she was champion, she was glad that you were right. winning felt great for herself, but alanna really liked the looks on her teammates' faces when the final whistle was blown.
"finally, it's rude to leave a girl waiting. especially, an angel like (y/n) here," sam teased. alanna rolled her eyes as she pulled you out from under sam's arm. the two of you had been waiting to see alanna for a good 45 minutes or so. you had been comforting sam for most of that time, reminding her that even though she lost, kristie would be so happy to see her at home.
"whatever, just keep your hands to yourself. my girl only wants winners," alanna teased. you rolled your eyes, but still gave her a kiss when she tapped her cheek.
"let's go, i have a surprise for you at home," you said. alanna didn't need to be told twice. she readjusted the straps of her bacpack and followed you out of the stadium. the two of you walked to your car together. she put her things in the back, opening up the passenger's side door for you. "would it kill you to let me drive?"
"maybe, you don't have a lot of practice," alanna joked. you got huffy, but alanna gave you a couple of kisses to correct your mood. she was being sweet with you, sweeter than you had expected for the game that she just had. usually, alanna was a bit more handsy than this, especially after scoring a goal. it wasn't often your girlfriend got the opportunity for what was truly a beautiful header.
she drove home and immediately went back to shower, sweetly asking for you to join her. alanna did test her luck in the shower, but luckily, she didn't take up too much time. you were quick to exit the bathroom after the shower to get some clothes out for both you and alanna. she looked a bit miffed about having to dress up, but she didn't voice her annoyance.
"you look hot," alanna complimented as she watched you put your makeup on. you had chosen a little black dress, one that you knew would have alanna struggling to keep her hands off of you.
"thank you baby," you said sweetly. alanna sighed as she laid back on the bed, already dressed for whatever you had planned. you glanced back at her through the mirror, admiring the way that the white polo shirt you had picked out stretched across your shoulders. whenever you and alanna had first gotten together, you had teased her a little for her frat boy wardrobe, but now you had to admit that it all suited her very well.
you grabbed your car keys as the two of you left. alanna wanted to argue, but you hadn't told her where the two of you were going for the night, so she couldn't. alanna was restless as she sat in the passenger's seat, constantly bouncing her leg or shifting around in her seat. you had a bit of a drive, so you ended up just putting her hand on your thigh a few minutes in.
"i am begging you to sit still for me," you told her. alanna nodded, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder. she kept her hand on your thigh, rubbing teasing little circles all over it as she waited as patiently as she could for you to get there. the restaurant was nice, one that opened up a couple weeks ago about an hour away. "i got us reservations."
"there was never a doubt in your mind about me winning today, was there?" alanna asked.
"of course not. you could play barcelona all by yourself, and i'd still swear you'd be the winner," you told her. alanna smiled as she pressed a kiss to your lips. you kissed her back, smiling as the two of you pulled away. "come on, let's go. i don't want to be late."
"let me get your door," alanna told you as she raced out of the car. you let her get the car door and every single other one that you came across. alanna even rushed to get your chair for you whenever the two of you were led to your table. "this place is nice."
"we deserve something other than nando's and prep meals," you said. alanna nodded in agreement. the prep meals were good, yours almost always a bit better than hers, but they still weren't as nice as this place. alanna ordered a glass of wine for herself before the food came, swearing that it'd be her only one so she could drive you home.
dinner was nice, but your favorite part of the night was once you got back home. alanna's exhaustion from the day had started to settle in about halfway through her changing out of the clothes you had picked out. you had gone into the bathroom to change and take off your makeup, only to come back to alanna sitting in bed wearing a pair of shorts and a sports bra, nursing a six pack of beer.
"careful, i wouldn't want you to get whiskey dick," you teased. alanna rolled her eyes, but you didn't miss the blush that had risen to her cheeks. you knew she'd never live down the very bad drunken attempt to top you after she had gone out celebrating with some of your german teammates.
"this isn't whiskey, and if i am being honest, all i want right now is a cuddle," alanna said. you gasped in fake shock at alanna's words. the woman had a libido like nobody else's, and it was extremely rare for her to admit that she would rather cuddle with you than have sex. "(y/n)."
"i don't know how focused i'll be with such a fine specimen on display, but i will try to keep my hands to myself," you teased. alanna rolled her eyes, but you didn't miss the way she smiled when you crawled into the space next to her. you sat up on the bed a little and pulled alanna down so that she was in your arms. "you played great today, i'm proud of you."
"thanks babe, it was a good game. are you sure that you can't just transfer back to city for a bit? i'd love to have you here." you knew that alanna wanted you back more than anything, but you were happy playing where you were. it had been rough at first, but you were coming into your spot as captain in both a national and club respect.
"hey, you need some good champion's league competition. now, rest up, i'm sure that we'll both need it for the weekend. you have a reputation to uphold, and i know macca was already texting you." you fell asleep fairly quickly, but alanna finished her drinks first. in the morning, you were unsurprised to find her out cold with her face pressed against your chest and your shirt bunched up in her fists. you had half a mind to take a video of it, but decided against it as alanna started to stir above you.
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Reader waking up to feel Carlos peacefully sleeping w his head on her chest n hands gently squeezing her boobies
I’m fine w whatever
I gotta say that ur work is absolutely scramdelicious n every time I read on of ur f1fics I eat it all up
the thoughts I thunk.....
seeing as Carlos just got home from a double header, you thought he'd sleep in for the first time in awhile. wrong. think again.
you were half awake really, eyes wanting to open but they seemed glued shut with sleep. you could hear your lover next to you, shuffle around until his head found your chest. you smiled and let a hand fall to his hair, scratching enough to keep him asleep.
you finally opened your eyes and saw him in all his glory. Carlos was happily asleep against your boobs, back bare against the sunlight and hands under you armpits. you admired him for awhile, wondering how you got so lucky to have a beautiful specimen in your life when - oh
Carlos hands travel to rest against each boob and gave a gentle squeeze. you gasped and tugged on his hair, making him groan. you froze and waited for him to wake up and when he didn't you relaxed. you thought that would be the end of it, that he'd drift back into a deep sleep, not moving. wrong again.
he squeezed your breast again, this time sliding a little upwards to pinch your nipples. while this is happening, Carlos hips rutted against the bed without permission. "Carlos? honey?" you shook him a little to try and wake him up. he groaned before settling back in, moving his fingers so they focused on your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.
his hips kept moving under the sheets, bumping into yours. if you could get your legs around his waist he could hit the perfect angle.
instead, you tried to take him again before this could go to far. "carlito? c'mon baby wake up." you pushed against his shoulders, and nothing. you resorted on giving a sharp tug on his hair. his head shut up, "aye! dios mios amor! what was that for? was having a great dream" he asked as he rubbed his head.
you looked down at him with wide eyes, "yeah I could tell." you gestured to his hand glued to your boob. his mouth dropped open and he slowly moved his hands.
"amor I'm so sorry-" you stopped him with a hand over his mouth.
"if I hated it, I would have stopped you the second it happened. I just wanted you to fuck me while we were both awake. we haven't really had the somno talk yet." you both laughed as he kissed you passionately and got to work.
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You Are My Sunshine
Pairing: Dad/Husband!Lando x Reader
Warnings: Slightly mentions of smut, pregnancy, fluff, dad!lando (yes that needs a warning that man would kill me being a father), just overall tooth rotting fluff
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: Lando comes home after a race and has memories of your life leading up to this moment of him coming home to you and baby Carlie
A/N: I’m in a dad and fluff moment this week so be prepared for soft dad!F1 and fluffy writings
It wasn't every day that Lando could come home to you and the baby. But he was able to find a way to do just that and surprise you both. Lando hated being away from home more than ever now; when he was younger, he could've cared less, but then he met you.
At first, you both were just casual; everyone kept telling him to make it official before someone else came along and swept you away. Lando just laughed and shook it off, not wanting to face the truth of genuinely wanting to be his, fuck, he even wanted to marry and have a family with you.
Lando finally told you after his wreck in Miami, where he came back furious at how close he was to finishing, only to knock tires with Pierre and have to DNF. He didn't even know you were at the race until he walked into the garage and a body collided with his.
The familiar scent of your body wash soothed his anger and beating heart as he didn't care for the shuttering of the cameras catching the tender moment between the two.
"You're here?" He whispers in the crevice of your neck while you smile and kiss his temple.
"I'm so proud of you, Lan." It was simple words, but to him, it meant everything, knowing that even when he didn't finish the race or do fantastic, you still rooted for him no matter what.
After Miami, everyone knew that you two were official as Lando refused to let you out of his sight, and how he would defend you like crazy, hell he even shoved a fan once when they got far too close to you and tried to touch you.
Lando slowly pushed his front door open, trying hard not to wake anyone in the house since it was barely 3 in the morning. He smiled at the Monte Carlo skyline that dusted the tall wall-to-floor windows, having missed this view so much.
He remembers the first time he bought the place and showed it to you. He still gets worked up thinking about how he fucked you against the windows, finally telling each other that you loved one another.
It was another 2 years when he proposed to you. It could have been fancier. Hell, he didn't even have a ring when he proposed. Lando arrived home from a triple-header, exhausted and wanting nothing but to sleep. Instead, he was welcomed to you in the kitchen wearing his shirt and underwear, cooking his favorite meal.
"Will you marry me?" He blurted it out, scaring the shit out of you, making you jump and almost drop the plates.
"What?" You laugh, not believing your ears.
He walks over, gently takes the plates from your hands, and sets them down, turning back to you.
"Marry me. Will you marry me?" He repeats, fingers dancing on your waist and pulling you into him.
"Yes." You didn't think twice about answering him. You loved Lando nothing more in your life could take that away. He busts out that dazzling smile while he pulls you in for that warm heart-stopping kiss.
Of course, dinner was cold after he was finished with you, but he could've cared less about that.
Putting down his luggage, he steps out of his shoes and heads down the hall stopping at the first door and noticing it's cracked open. This wasn't normal for you or him to leave this door open to the nursery. With a gentle nudge, he opens the door and sees that your baby isn't in the crib. He feels that all too well-known panic clutch his heart but stops when he looks down the hall to see you asleep in your bed.
He sees a more petite body next to you and exhales that panic as tip-toes down the hall and leans against the door watching the both of you.
"You should tell him you're pregnant, Y/n." Daniel and Max argue as you fuss with your outfits, trying to plan what to wear, not to show off your bump.
"I can't, he's too stressed, and I don't want to make it worse with a baby. What if he isn't ready? What if he feels pressured to give up F1? What if he hates me for us having a baby so soon after we've been married?" You ramble off, your hormones and emotions taking over.
"Woah, okay, that was.....something. But, Y/n, you know damn well known of that is true." Max reassures you while Daniel nods, helping you pick out your clothes.
"Real question is, how does he not know with that small bump of yours?" Daniela asks to lay down an oversized Mclaren shirt and loose jeans so they won't hug your stomach.
"He's been super busy, and I've been wearing large clothing recently, so he hasn't questioned it." You shrug, walking into the hotel bathroom to change.
"Tell him, love, he deserves to know. Besides, all he has been talking about at the paddock is babies since Carlos and Pierre recently brought theirs to the races." Daniel shoots, making you groan and storm out of the bathroom.
"I'm scared." You mumble, shoving your feet into your tennis shoes.
"Listen, we would love to help you, but this is a conversation to have with Lando himself. Just tell him okay." Max whispers, kissing the top of your head and leaving Daniel not far behind him.
Never would you have thought you'd tell him you were pregnant while he celebrated his first P1 finish. People swarmed you both, screaming and spraying champagne when you yelled those two words to him.
Lando's smile grows to the point it hurts when he pulls you into his arms, kissing you deeply, but he soon makes sure to get you out of the crazy crowd.
Lando loves the picture in the living room; it was taken at the P1 finish when you told him you were pregnant. He moves closer and smiles at how your body is curved slightly around his whole world, his sunshine.
The little girl you had given birth to stole Lando's heart at that moment. Lando's wallpaper was a picture Daniel took of him holding your little girl while tears fell down his cheeks. Lando slowly slides his pants and shirt off and climbs into bed.
With careful movements, he pulls you both into his arms, making your tense body relax into your husband's arms. But his daughter Carlie named after Carlos, stirs awake and starts that heartbreaking whimper.
"Shhh sunshine, it's okay, it's just your daddy," Lando whispers, kissing her chubby cheeks as those gorgeous eyes glisten with tears.
He loved her eyes, she got them from you and swore it makes him want to have another one now, but he knows it's best to wait a year or two before another.
Carlie keeps up the soft whimpers while Lando ponders how to stop it before you wake. Hating it, he picks up Carlie, gently gets out of bed, and heads to the living room.
He starts to rock while he stands in front of the windows overlooking the city and starts to sing a lullaby.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away." He whispers the words softly, Carlie looking up at her daddy, having heard his voice. Lando smiles at her, feeling his world stop at this moment.
"The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken
And I hung my head and cried
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away."
Lando first sang this silly little lullaby when you were 6 months pregnant, and the baby kept kicking you; it was the Baku race, hot and miserable, and you just wanted to cry.
Lando remembers looking up and seeing the overwhelming look on your face and the way you pushed on the area where the baby was kicking. He stopped talking to the mechanics and walked over and pulled you close by your chair.
"Shhhh, it's okay. Take a deep breath." He mumbles while grabbing a cold water bottle; he replaces your hand with his own and tries to calm you down.
He couldn't help but start to hum the lullaby and soon began to sing the words that only the two of you could hear, but the baby soon began to settle as he kept singing. You stare at your husband as he smiles at your stomach and helps you calm down from the panic and emotions that grapple you.
"I love you." You whisper as he finishes singing and looks up at you; a tender emotion covers him as he kisses you gently on the lips and then your stomach.
"I love you both so much, My world and my sunshine." He kisses you one last time before he heads back to the car.
"I'll always love you and make you happy
If you will only say the same
But if you leave me to love another
You'll regret it all some day
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You'll never know dear, how much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away."
He soon starts to hum the rest when Carlie has her eyes closed and nestled into Lando's chest, her soft breaths hitting his skin. He smiles and leans down, pressing a kiss to her head.
"Hey." You whisper, startling him, making you giggle at the tired shocked look he gets as he relaxes again. "Sorry, did I wake you?" You shake your head no and walk over to Lando, wrapping his arm around you as he pulls you into him.
"No, I woke when you first came into the apartment." You smile at your baby girl snuggled tight against her father.
"Damn, and here I thought I was quiet." He curses, making you smile, but you don't reply as you just turn and hide your face in his neck, enjoying your husband's warmth.
"I'm glad you are home." You whisper after a few minutes of silence. "Me too, baby. Me too." He smiles into your hair, wishing he could save this moment forever.
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#formula 1#f1 fandom#f1 imagine#f1 2022#f1 scenario#formula one#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando x y/n#lando norris x reader#lando norris gif#mclaren lando#lando f1#f1 fluff#lando fluff#f1 mclaren#max verstappen#daniel ricciardo
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