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tgcg · 4 months

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bad mouther, hole master

TG: kissing with tongue is gross as hell

CG: COME THE FUCK OFF IT.

TG: what

CG: I'M SAYING SHUT UP.

TG: oh

CG: IT'S NOT THAT WEIRD. IT'S LIKE THE NATURAL PROGRESSION OF REGULAR KISSING TO EVENTUALLY INCLUDE THAT. IF YOU HAD ANY SEMBLANCE OF ROMANCE GHOSTING THROUGH THE DEVOLVING REMNANTS OF YOUR THINKPAN YOU'D APPRECIATE WHAT IT BRINGS TO THE NUTRITION PLATFORM OF ANY CONSENTING CONCUPISCENT RELATIONSHIP!

TG: youre talking about it like its a goddamn military weapon or some shit

TG: some kinda scientific fuckin method to fondle a dudes mouth with your own mouth thats

TG: thats gross

TG: this isnt supposed to be a debate before fuckin congress on the pros and cons of getting your mack on

TG: its i would say a reasonably personal thing to react about and thats just my reaction man you dont gotta arbitrate it

TG: and like why the hell do they have to linger on it so long in these movies do they really want me to immerse myself in people necking each other that much

TG: roll the sounds around in my earholes like im swilling a fine fuckin wine

TG: well my professional opinion is that shit tastes and sounds mad gross and tbh i havent seen a single movie where it was close to being any kind of necessary

TG: its just a cringy waste of everyones time

CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, AND I DISAGREE WITH EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR IGNORANCE GASH, YOU LUMP OF TIGHT-LIPPED CLUELESSNESS.

TG: did you just homestar me

CG: FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, SINCE YOU'RE APPARENTLY DESPERATE TO START SHIT WITH ME RIGHT NOW: HAVE YOU EVER EVEN DONE IT?

TG: hell no

CG: THANK YOU FOR PROVING MY POINT.

TG: proving your point--

TG: bro have uh

TG: have YOU???

CG: EXCUSE ME? HAVE I WHAT?

TG: come on

TG: i walked into this stupid conversation with a fucking shovel and by god am i digging myself a damn hole big and wide enough for every dave across time to squeeze in so i might as well get cosy in this shit before we all start collectively shoving dirt in our mouths

TG: bet your ass im taking you down with me though

TG: grab your spade and get digging man

CG: GRAB MY WHAT????????

TG: just tell me

CG: ???????!!!!!!!!

TG: karkat

CG: NO!

TG: f-

CG: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!!! WHAT PART OF "SHUT UP" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND????

TG: wait no

TG: oh my god dude

TG: you can spin that shit all you want but you can do it the hell away from me

TG: i do not need to be hip to your weirdo foursquare fantasies

TG: patently not my business

CG: STOP RIGHT THERE. JUST SHUT IT. I AM PUTTING US OUT OF OUR MISERY RIGHT NOW. I AM CONDUCTING AN ACT OF MERCY ON THIS INSANE FUCKING CONVERSATION AND YOU ARE GOING TO ZIP YOUR LIPS AND TAKE IT.

CG: HERE IT IS: YOUR SINGLE OPPORTUNITY TO PRETEND YOU NEVER SAID THAT TO ME. I AM GOING TO FORGET YOU MADE A COMPLETE MOCKERY OF ME AND MY CULTURE THIS ONE TIME. AND LET YOU CONTINUE TO DIG YOUR STUPID, SHITTY HOLE.

CG: AND DAVE, I AM BEGGING YOU NOT TO WASTE IT.

CG: TO ANSWER YOUR SHOCKINGLY INAPPROPRIATE QUESTION, NO I HAVE NOT DONE IT.

CG: WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK.

CG: HAPPY?

TG: ……..

TG: way to defuse the situation solid work

TG: real gold star effort grabbin that lit wick and blowing on it

TG: ok first of all you asked me first so dont act like im the one being a weirdo about this

TG: second of all i didnt mean it like that and you know it

TG: THIRD of all what the hell was the point of engaging the knightly theatrics then if you cant even verify that shit

CG: WELL FUCK, SORRY DAVE! I GUESS I'M JUST A FUCKING ROMANCE ENTHUSIAST! I GUESS I GIVE A MAJOR SHIT ABOUT THE THING YOU'RE OPENLY MOCKING TO MY FACE! IS THAT SO IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO WRAP YOUR THOUGHT SPONGE AROUND?

CG: AND IT WAS COMPLETELY REASONABLE FOR ME TO ASK YOU THAT, YOU CONGEALED FETID NOOKSTAIN! MY STATUS ON THE MATTER HAS LITERALLY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE POINT EITHER OF US IS TRYING TO MAKE.

CG: TRY TO KEEP YOUR NUGBONE FROM CAVING IN ON ITSELF WHEN I DROP THIS BOMBSHELL: I'M ALLOWED TO HAVE OPINIONS ON THINGS I ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT, EVEN IF I HAVEN'T DONE THEM! I DON'T JUST GO TROUNCING THE FUCK ABOUT LOBBING MY UNFOUNDED OPINIONS AT PEOPLE LIKE I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING. UNLIKE SOMEONE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INVOLVED IN THIS CONVERSATION WE'RE HAVING RIGHT NOW!

TG: youre

CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU BY THE WAY. THE SOMEONE IS YOU.

TG: oh gimme a break

TG: bro youre going apeshit over something you havent even done

TG: you know what that sounds like to me it sounds like an overcompensating fake fan who doesnt get any

TG: you heard of troll napoleon complex

CG: AT LEAST I ACTUALLY FORMED MY OPINION BASED ON CAREFUL CONSIDERATION --

TG: -- oh yeah i bet huh

CG: -- INSTEAD OF JUST BANKING ON NUBJERK --

TG: -- not a real thing you just said

CG: -- REACTIONS AND WRINKLING MY SNIFF NUB AT ANY SIGNS OF GENUINE PHYSICAL INTIMACY!

TG: stop saying nub

CG: YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BULGEWAD

TG: not too much worse than being a perpetual fountain of emotional diarrhea

CG: DON'T YOU DARE.

CG: DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO USE THAT AS A "GOTCHA", YOU--… YOU! FUCK!

TG: dude did you actually run out of insults

TG: okay this is getting concerning

TG: youre the international dude of verbal dunks

TG: that can not be happening

CG: AAGHRJRGHJRGRHJAGHRJGRHJAGRHJRGRHJRGRHRJR

TG: you cant run out of em youre like the ultimate peddler of hate

CG: YOU DON'T THINK I'M CRITICALLY AWARE OF THE HOOFBEASTSHIT I'M SPEWING NIGH FUCKING CONSTANTLY?! I AM PAINFULLY COGNIZANT OF HOW MORONIC EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS!!!!

TG: feel like ive done some damage here

CG: ESPECIALLY MYSELF!

TG: alright bud time to calm down

CG: YOU CALM DOWN!!!!

TG: okay whatever!

CG: WHATEVER!!!!!!!!

TG: jeez

…

TG: here

…

CG: UGH.

TG: yeah

TG: really glad stuff like this happens in private

CG: YEAH. SAME HERE.

CG: JEGUS, CAN WE GO BACK TO BEFORE WE HAD THIS CONVERSATION? I DON'T ASK YOU MANY FAVORS, SO SURELY YOUR SLURRY OF ILL-DEFINED TIME POWERS CAN ALLOW YOU TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

CG: JUST LIKE, WIPE THAT WHOLE THING OFF THE SLATE.

CG: LET'S START OVER. SAY, FIVE MINUTES AGO. HOW DOES THAT SOUND?

TG: what conversation?

CG: OKAY, GOTCHA.

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #comix #bad mouther hole master

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anastasiabowe · 4 months

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Ahhhhh! I'm so excited someone still writes for KnB, makes me so happy! Your fics are top notch!

Could you possibly to Aomine and Kagami (separate) reacting to their girl rapping WAP?Can be Nsfw pls? Thank you!

"𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗗𝗜𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗔𝗬?" — Your boyfriend reacting to you singing a very... Crude song.

note: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!! I'm really shocked not a lot of knb writers write for them anymore! But thank you, and everyone for your support!

Content warnings:

★ — 𝗔𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘

You pressed your playlist, and put it on shuffle. You started to undress as your fav song came on, WAP by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion. Well, it’s not your favorite song, but it brings you back! You restart the song and get into the shower. The warm water instantly relaxing your muscles as you sung along with Cardi.

Aomine had just gotten home from an intense game down on the basketball courts. It was intense for the other players more so, but the game never ended until his team (more him) got to 200 points, that was the bet, which Aomine with no doubt won, 1,000 USD. His sweaty stinky body lurked up the stairs.

He could hear the shower running, and your loud voice, singing: “I want you to park that big Mack truck right in this little garage.” And so on. His eye twitched at the words, he himself very much knowing what those mean, and doesn’t know you talked like that.

He entered the bathroom, wincing at the hit steam, himself already being so hot. You could see him coming in through the glass, but you couldn’t see the look on his face as you continued to rap, “Gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me, quick, jump out 'fore you let it get inside of me, I tell him where to put it, never tell him where I'm 'bout to be I run down on him 'fore I have a guy running me.”

The more you rapped those lyrics, the more shocked he became. Who are you? So after your little show, and you dried off in the shower, Aomine no longer was in the bathroom, no he was not. He was sitting on the bed waiting for you to come out so he can wash out that filthy little mouth of yours.

“Uh huh, wanna talk all that shit, probably don’t even know what it means, huh?” You choked on his dick as it reached the literal back of your throat. You wanted to take him how you wanted, but this wasn’t for you.

“Why you cryin’? Was talking about wanting all of this earlier! Just giving you what you want!” He pushed your head up and down, your throat spawning trying to protect its sensitive walls. Your spit was all over you lower chin and his dick. Tears spilled down your face as you felt his dick twitch.

“Take this shit.” He came into your mouth making you force yourself off of him and you coughed. He smirked, and wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Good girl.”

★ — 𝗞𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗜

Kagami laid on your shared bed, resting while you talked in the phone with your friend in the bathroom. A song started playing that nobody in their innocent mind should be singing. You started mumbling to the words as you did your post-shower care. Your friend laughed hearing you sing along with the song, voice much louder.

She pointed out how you sang it, “stop singing about what you want and go get it, he’s literally a door away.” She joked, but that wasn’t very funny to you. “Yeah, but he’s not really into that..” you sighed, and she bursted out laughing mocking you.

Once you got off the phone with her and headed out of the bathroom, Kagami’s chest hit your face. You winced and got ready to yell at him, but before you could he picked you up and pushed you against the wall, you practically sitting on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to the side and began to eat you out

“Kagami, chill!” You moaned as he ate you out. He was grunting like a fucking hungry dog, and you couldn’t help but wonder what got him like this.

You didn’t wonder long, you soon were pulling his red locks as you came for the 3rd time. He flicked his tongue in your bud, making you scream in overstimulation.

He brought you over to the bed and laid you down. He removed your panties, and spit on his dick.

“Could have told me you wanted to do more than what we usually do. A song shouldn’t have decided that.” He slowly pushed in, knowing you weren’t all too familiar with his size. He started thrusting, and you smiled, thinking to yourself,

“Thank you Cardi and Megan.”

#aominichi #aomine daiki x reader #aomine x reader #aomine smut #aomine daiki #knb aomine #kagami knb #knb kagami #taiga kagami #kagami taiga x reader #kagami smut #kagami taiga #knb x you #knb x reader #knb smut #knb

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saintescuderia · 27 days

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pancakes (pt. 3)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :)

A/N: don't come for me. i love daniel. it's all for plot. (also, if the timeline seems odd it’s bc creative liberties have been taken 😌)

P3 - stairmaster endurance

As you walked down the steps to the Drivers Gala in your stunning red dress, you were unaware how one Ferrari driver couldn’t take his eyes off you. Looking at you smiling elegantly to one of the reps who greeted you, Charles realised just how much of a mistake he had made. Carlos was at his side, saying something that was back ground noise. All Charles could focus on was you. Your flowing hair, your eyes glinting in the light as you smiled your beautiful smile at whoever was talking to you. You always spoke with such passion. Charles always loved that about you. He would always love every little thing about you—

The alarm went off.

You blinked and stopped the timer notification that essentially shook you out of the deep rabbit hole of F1 fanfiction you had found yourself falling into. Closing the purple app, you wondered why you still remained on Tumblr even after the 2013 hype of it died and everyone shifted to Twitter. Let alone the fact that your Tumblr had become your closeted way to fangirl about the sport you had dedicated your life to.

Then again, what were you to expect? The algorithm clearly picked up on your interests. That or the government was listening in and knew that Formula 1 was your day-to-day. That would explain how, one day, you were simply scrolling through the random, niche memes and BAM! You were met with the completely random gif-set of Arthur Leclerc and Oscar Piastri sat in an interview for Prema.

It had caught you off guard, seeing that come up on your phone screen. It had also been a while since you had seen Arthur. For the whole duration of that single and endless moment, you didn't know how to react.

So your thumb double tapped the screen.

And maybe it was your fault for liking it, for encouraging the algorithm. But you could’t help but smile at the gif of Arthur confident and proud of his 18 hour screen time. That boy had no filter and never gave a fuck about the social norm. That and he often just didn’t read the room. Even after all these years, and his climb up the motorsport ladders, that youthful element about him had remained. It made you smile. You always liked that about him.

However, with that gif-set came more stuff. Innocent stuff. More F2 bits - you really missed those boys - and then everything else. Funny bits of Max at Red Bull. Carlos and Lando. All the Guenther Steiner moments. It was a little weird to be liking gifs of a team principal, you were well aware, but if anything it just made you feel proud of how far the German-Italian had come.

Back in the old Red Bull days, Guenther would always tell you about his dreams of directing his own team. It was nice to see him finally achieve that. It was also an endless source of amusement for you.

For example: the day Kevin had shattered the door.

When it happened, though, it was definitely not a laughing matter. You had been just finishing up the lunch service at the Haas motorhome - making sure to pack up some food for the drivers and mechanics who still were in a meeting - when you had heard the loud noise. Mack, the sous-chef, had stopped and looked at you with wide eyes.

You had both exited the kitchen to walk out to the main space of the motorhome and see other Haas employees equally as confused and whispering. Not getting a clear answer, you patted Mack on the shoulder and returned to the kitchen to finish plating up Kevin and Romain’s lunch for later.

Fifteen minutes later, however, and you had gotten your answer when Guenther stormed into the kitchen fuming. “He does not slam my fucking office door! What am I going to do? Call Gene and tell him his drivers are some fucking idiot babies?!”

You had simply stared at him, blinkingly.

Guenther had then spied a plate of food sitting on the bench. “That fucking driver doesn’t deserve any of your fucking food!” And he picked the plate and dumped plate with its contents in the bin.

“Guenther," you had began in a calm voice, "that was my lunch. Kevin’s plate is in the fridge.”

“Well eat his fucking food! Or—" Guenther reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card and slammed it onto the table in front of you. “Go to a fucking five star hotel and have lunch there on that fucking idiot baby's pay.”

And the two of you had actually done so.

Even after he calmed down, Guenther had been adamant to take you to lunch which, admittedly, wasn't the most odd thing ever. Guenther was removed enough from all the driver drama and you had known him a for long time. You were the reason he had helped in the debut in 2016 anyway.

Still, no matter how Guenther Guenther was, Kevin was still a driver. You knew how it might look.

Said driver, however, had thankfully just dismissed it when you offered to pay him back. "Make me those mini pizzas next time you're with us and we're good."

And so when you clocked on this morning to see you were covering Haas, you immediately smiled and went to make good on your promise to K-Mag.

You always loved working in the Haas motorhome. If only half the stuff you saw Guenther did and said ended up in gif-sets on Tumblr.

Pushing yourself off the stool, you pocketed your phone and grabbed the oven mitts to pull out the mini pizzas. You had made extra for the engineers since there was an issue with Nico’s PU and knew they would be up late working on the engine. It wasn’t a secret that your pizzas were a coveted snack, being low-carb and high protein enough for even the drivers to consume. You were half expecting Fred Vasseur to pop in and steal some. He did love these pizzas. Any time you were stationed at Alfa Romeo, it was a guarantee you would be making them at his request.

Though, now Fred was moving to Ferrari. So you weren't sure if he was still going to be nice to you. Mattia Binotto had always treated you like the fucking plague.

"Ah, Y/N. For fuck's sake!" You heard the German accent and felt your mouth curve up into a smile as Guenther arrived on scene. He was dressed in the Haas gear for 2023, lanyard around his neck. "You still here running the coffee when you can beat any of these idiots in the car."

You gave him a fake two finger salute. "If I drove, no one would stand a chance."

"Well maybe you could help us score some fucking points." Guenther said. Immediately, he got down to business. "Harry Kane did well last night. Scored two fucking goals."

You snorted. One of the many reasons you and Guenther bonded so well was that you one of the few people amongst this Paddock that took football seriously. Almost as seriously as Formula 1. Almost.

"Didn't see it." You said, shaking your head. Bundesliga was lower on your list of priorities when it came to games. You only paid attention to the German league when it came to teams making it into Champions League. Besides, Guenther should’ve known what game you were watching last night. Still, you reminded him. "The Reds were playing."

He rolled his eyes, though unsurprised. "Of course you're going to watch English fucking football."

"Hey, only because of Salah.” You reminded him and hit your chest proudly, “I gotta represent."

"That much is fucking obvious." Guenther said. One of the many reasons you liked working in Haas so much was that it was by far the most relaxed garage out of them all. For example, you hadn't yet taken off the hoodie you wore which had, on top, the number 10 Liverpool jersey. It looked unprofessional, having a t-shirt over a jumper like that, especially mixed with the headscarf you had tied on your head like a durag, but Guenther couldn’t care less. If anything, he was probably just offended at your choice of EPL team.

“United is fucking Red.”

"Ah, Guenther. You know my heart really lies." You reminded him.

Your uncle, a Spanish man, had brought you up following the iconic Real Madrid. He literally visited the hospital with a teddy bear and Bernabeu membership, adamant he would get his newborn niece into the sport. No matter what.

From the moment he found out your number one team, Guenther was salty. “Los Blancos.” He scoffed. “The fucking villains of football." He came round to see the circular pieces of bread covered with sauce and an array of different toppings. Guenther picked one up - and immediately dropped it. "Fuck!"

"It's hot." You said, dryly. You took out another tray and set it down. You closed the oven door and turned it off. You flipped the towel over your shoulder as you watched Guenther now at the sink, running water over his burnt fingers.

"You don't fucking say." Guenther blowing on his fingers.

“Stop being a baby.” You laughed, bringing up your hands to your head to fix your headscarf.

Guenther ignored that comment. "Fred fucking loves these things. Don't tell him you made them. I don't want him in here stealing them."

You said nothing and turned around to pretend to busy yourself with the trays of mini pizzas. It was best to just remain quiet sometimes. Bahrain testing had kept everyone occupied and at that start of the season F1 Hospitality were usually running around after Stefano Domenicali and the FIA Co. for last minute set up. It was only into the race calendar that Hospitality were eventually went around to the teams.

So, no. You hadn't seen Fred. You hadn't seen anyone. You were just grateful that your first race of 2023 was in the safety of Haas. Nico and Kevin were older and, therefore, a little more out of it when it came to driver drama. If they knew anything, they were old enough to be mature about it.

Though, that couldn't be the same of others from their generation. You were already losing sleep from the feelings that arose from seeing Daniel in Red Bull gear. It didn't help that the last time you two had spoken, things hadn't exactly been civil.

You were on the stair-master. The clock on the machine read 37:48. The sweat was dripping off you.

Your grey jumper had darkened in shades, wet from the sweat. You kept your hands on your head as you stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped. Angsty rap music blasted into your ears. Tinnitus was likely to worsen, but you would take that over the shit storm that was currently breaking all over the Paddock.

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press statement late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract for Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

Oscar hadn’t even yet joined Formula 1 and he was already stirring trouble. That was a problem. For you. You were supposed to lay low. The whole point of this was to lay low and not drawing any attention to yourself. The agreement was that you could still be there if only in the role of Hospitality.

And the idiot had tweeted that and then, ten minutes later, decided to follow you.

How he even found your Twitter was surprising? It wasn’t very personal - your profile picture was solid black - so no fans would be able to recognise you. But the Paddock? The FIA and your bosses? They were raising confused eyebrows that Oscar Piastri would drop that bomb and then follow you.

You could already imagine what Otmar was going to say. God, the 2023 season hadn’t fully started and you were already dreading walking into the Alpine home. And then Jos Verstappen was rumoured to be attending more races this year and who could forget about Daniel coming back to Red Bull? The universe apparently needed to give you some character development, it seemed.

Your legs ached, begging to stop. Your mind thought about pressing the red emergency button, to just end it. But you knew better. You knew this was all a mind game. Pain is an allusion. Keep going. Shit hurts but you push through. Keep going. Keep going. Keep fucking going. It's what you always told yourself. It's how you got yourself through everything. It's how you'll get through all of this. If you can push through the pain of the stairmaster, then you can push through the pain of anything. You had learned that pain was temporary and it was just a mind-game. You could always go longer than you thought possible. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that fact. So, right now, it was just practice. Each step you took right now was practicing the endurance of pain from this stairmaster fucking filling your legs. If you could get through this, you would be able to handle any drama in the future.

Unfortunately, drama walked through the door before you could make it through the current pain of said stairmaster.

Daniel Ricciardo stormed into the Driver’s Only Gym, knowing all too well that this was where you would be. He had been the one to tell you about this fucking place in the first place. Before everything, you had always loved working out and exercise was part of the reason you two ended up as you did. Now, you didn’t have the luxury you did before. You didn’t have the lanyard.

So, now, you had to workout in the shadows.

That didn't mean Daniel didn't see you. Didn't hear you. Didn't know what you were doing every single day of every weekend the both of you avoided each other at the Paddock. He knew you still wore your sneakers according to the race location. He knew you still wore headscarves when in the Middle East and covered your tattoos when in Japan. He knew you still avoided Charles just he like he knew you still avoided him. He knew you.

So Daniel knew you woke up at 4am every day to work out. And after Zak Brown told him the news, he spent the night dealing with his spiralling career through a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then he had the idea to come out from the four walls of his hotel room and see you.

Because Daniel knew you had made your pancakes for the rookie, that fucking Oscar Piastri. And Daniel was one of the few people who knew, who fully understood just what that meant to you.

Drunk and emotional, Daniel planted himself right in front of the stair master. He stared at you, caught like a deer in headlights and got right to it.

“You must be fucking happy.”

It was the first time he had directly spoken to you in five years.

So it took you a second to process what was happening.

Daniel Ricciardo was right here, in front of you, at 4:50 in the morning as you sweated your body weight out through the repeated steps you took on the machine.

Suddenly you were aware that you had rolled yourself out of bed with a little less motivation than the norm. You had been extra tired, hitting snooze more than twice. You hadn’t washed your face and you wondered if Daniel would be able to spot the stain of egg yolk on your hoodie. It had been some time since he had been this close to you and you were in bike shorts and currently on a bulk. Suddenly, you wished you were on a cut. Why did the one time he came this close to you had to be so big and puffy?

"Excuse me?" You found yourself saying, shifting one headphone off your ear. “Can I help you?”

"Did you know?" Daniel asked. He didn't give you a chance to respond. "Of course you fucking did."

Without even thinking, you pulled the red plug your mind had obsessed over and jumped down. The pain was already here so there was no point going through any more than necessary. You looked up at Daniel, panting. He, too, was exhaling a little heavier than normal. Too angry and, judging by the smell of his breath, drunk to be stable.

There was no point lying to him. Aside from the fact that Daniel was emotionally charged (and drunk - and he got super passionate when he was drunk) you knew he would immediately pick up on it. You don't spend three years with someone and not know them like the back of your hand. And, unlike him, you can safely say that you hadn't really changed since 2018. If you lied, he would know.

"I signed a NDA, Daniel." You said simply, walking to your gym bag sat on the red bench. You picked up your bottle to take a sip, your throat dry. You tried to keep yourself calm and not shaky. Do my legs look too big? God, Please don’t let me smell like BO. Your thoughts were still running rampant. Despite the extensive cardio, your body was buzzing from the anxiety of having Daniel so close.

Daniel. To think you had once been so deeply in love with the man stood before you.

"Fuck off." He spat. You recoiled. "No one gives a shit about that."

"I do." You said, trying to keep your voice from growing small. "Sorry I care about my job."

Daniel let out a sardonic laugh. You braced yourself, knowing what was to come. You had experienced this many times before during your fights. "What? Making coffee and fucking washing the dishes? Yeah, great job you got there, babe."

"Don't call me babe." You spat back. "And can you not be a dick for two fucking seconds, Daniel."

You said it. His name. When was the last time you had said it? It made you both take a second to process what was happening, to acknowledge how long it had been since the two of you had actually spoken to one another, how long since you had addressed the other as a human being that actually existed.

In that moment, Daniel finally seemed to lose a bit of anger and, instead, show a glimmer of vulnerability. "I lost my seat. I don't know what I'm going to do."

You looked down at your shoes at show of helplessness. New Balance 350s. Red and yellow. They had been on sale. You liked them for stable LISS circuits but hated the colour way. Now, they were the most interesting thing to look at.

Everyone knew that Daniel Ricciardo was always all smiles and that, no matter what, he was optimistic. Happy. He never showed any weakness.

Except, you had seen him when the smiles fell away and the laughter died. In the safety of your private hotel rooms and Daniel could just be, you saw him vulnerable, you saw him hurt, you saw him stress, worry, cry, swear and be open to how he was really feeling. Like right now.

“Daniel I—“

"You didn’t even think to fucking tell me."

You looked up at the change of tone and how he was frowning-- no, sneering at you. This made you change and any remorse, any pity, you felt for the man in front of you immediately vanished. You weren’t in a hotel room. You were in the gym. And it had been five fucking years.

"Are you fucking blaming me right now?"You snapped back. "What the fuck do I owe you, exactly?"

"I’m the reason you’re here!"

By now, your heart was racing. And not from the exercise. This, this was it. You finally had your moment to say it.

"Yes, exactly, Daniel. You’re the reason that I am, as you said, making coffee and fucking washing the dishes! If it weren’t for you, we both know where I would be right now. But you got fucking scared of Max and blamed me for it!"

This hit a nerve. "I was not scared of Max! I outperformed Max!"

"Yes, on the weeks I fucking trained you!"

"Fuck me,” Daniel was shooting straight daggers at you despite the wry grin on his face, “do you really think that was all you?"

You put your hands on your hips and squared up to meet his eyes, narrowing your own. "Considering how your teammate took me on as a trainer and then became the number 1 driver, yes, I will take some fucking credit for that." Daniel's face dropped when you said it. And you knew it was a low blow, but you couldn't help the words before they tumbled out from your mouth. "The world’s fucking moved on from Monaco 2018. Maybe you should too."

"Fuck you!" He shouted.

"Fuck you!" You shouted back. You grabbed your phone and found yourself tapping onto a recent chat and speedily composing a text. You hated how your fingers shook. You also hated how you were texting for help.

"Well, clearly you haven’t moved on from Monaco if you’re bringing it up." Daniel said, no longer shouting, but his tone still as icily. "You’re going to be mad about that until the end of time?"

You closed your eyes and willed your eyes not to think of the image of him with her, the pain you felt walking in and seeing that. Instead, you opened your eyes and stared him dead in the eye and spoke as calmly as possible.

"Jos Verstappen will be coming to the races more often this year. That means I won't be able to work in the Red Bull garage. If I'm at AlphaTauri, do not fucking come."

Daniel ignored this, undeterred. Instead, he kept grinning down at you thinking he found something. "You seriously aren't over it, are you?"

"No, the memory of you putting your dick into another woman still keeps me up at night." You rolled your eyes despite how it still did admittedly hurt. You pretended it didn’t and hoped he believed it. "Please stop thinking so highly of yourself. Remind yourself of why you're here, right now, talking to me."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to say something but the sound of the doors opening had him closing it. You grabbed your gym bag and finally made a move to turn around and escape the gym.

Ignoring the looks of one very confused Carlos Sainz as you breezed past him.

"I have to go deal with idiots who can’t tell me what’s wrong with the engine." Guenther said. You had brought forth two plates and slide two pizzas onto each.

"Here. For you and Nico." You said, knowing Nico would join the meeting about his car. "I'll bring a tray in a little bit for the rest of the engineers."

"Make me and Nico some coffee, please." Guenther said, taking the plates. "And pour in some fucking whiskey." You laughed and watched him disappear down the hallway of the offices set up. Haas' lack of financial support meant their motorhome was mediocre at best. Still, you loved being here more than anywhere else. It was the safest, really.

Wiping your hands on the towel, you went outside to where the coffee cart was situated. Another example of Haas' lack of funding was needing a Formula One coffee cart and not having an in house machine like everyone else did. You went about preparing the coffees like how you knew Nico and Guenther liked - as well as making yourself one while you were at it.

"No Real Madrid today?"

You found yourself jumping at the familiar Spanish lilt of the other Ferrari driver. Carlos Sainz was someone you never really paid any close attention to. He wasn't close enough to either Daniel or Charles' circles to ever have been on your radar. He had left Red Bull before you did and since he was Ferrari associated, it meant you never really had much to do with him.

Still, he was pleasant and nice. He always had been. He was one of those drivers that if word had spread to him - and it was very likely that it had - he didn't show it. Or care enough about it. Any time Carlos saw you around the Paddock, it was with a warm smile and a quick small-talk question about your thoughts on Real Madrid's latest match. But that was really ever it.

Until that time he had walked in at 5am to see you and Daniel Ricciardo screaming at each other.

"Uh, no. Liverpool was playing yesterday." You said, wondering if he knew you also cared about the Scouse team. Admittedly, you didn’t have the same love for them as you did for the Spanish legends, but you couldn’t have Egyptian heritage and not care about Mo Salah.

"You're Egyptian, no?" He asked. You focused on frothing the milk, unable to really look him in the eyes so soon after this morning.

"Yes." It was there in the mix, yes, but you really weren't up for explaining the complicated heritage of your ethnicity this morning. Looking at the milk circling in the silver jug, you realised your face was heating up. You were slightly surprised he even knew you were Egyptian in the first place. Unlike with Guenther or the splattering of other football fans in the Paddock, you and Carlos only ever had brief snapshots of Real Madrid small talk.

Still, this wasn't an odd conversation, you had to remind yourself. You were talking about the one thing you and him ever talked about. But, again, this was after Carlos had walked in to see you, a Hospitality worker, arguing with a driver.

"Please don't tell anyone about me being in the gym." You finally said, turning off the frother to gently tap the metal jar against the bench and settle the bubbles in the milk. "I could get into a lot of trouble since it's only for drivers."

Carlos waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. When it was clear he wasn't going to, you breathed a small sigh of relief. But then he leaned against the cart and you felt yourself starting to get anxious again. There was a quiet moment for a second as your poured the latte for Nico. Carlos' eyes followed your hands.

"I will say something if Ricciardo upset you." He said in a quieter voice.

You immediately shook your head and finally looked him in the eye. "Please don't. There's enough complication with... everything." You finished lamely.

"So I've heard." Carlos said.

You looked away. He knew.

"So then you'll know I don't need anymore complications." You said through gritted teeth, hating very much the confirmation that word had spread about what had happened.

"You haven't done anything wrong, though."

This caught you by surprise. It was the first time anyone - or, at least, a driver - had said those words to you. At the start, everyone had immediately pointed fingers at you. You were shunned and blamed. Some saw your position with the Formula One Group as part of Hospitality too light a punishment for what had happened. For the longest time, it was the confusion as to why everyone had reacted that way that did that hurt you. You hadn’t thought you had done anything wrong. Not really. You struggled to understand why no one else saw it that way. Least of all any of the drivers that knew what had happened.

Hearing Carlos say that really threw you for a short second. Carlos even caught it. He said your name and you finally looked up at him when you heard him say your name.

"Sorry it’s just - uh, Carlos, man.” You laughed a dry laugh. “You're probably the only driver who thinks so."

"I'm not." Carlos crossed his arms. "I might be the only one who has said so, but if I've understood correctly... then I'm not."

You looked down at metal jug in your hand with the extra milk you had frothed for yourself. Suddenly, you didn't feel like any caffeine. Your anxiety was already through the roof.

"Do you want a coffee?" You asked, sounding, again, very lame as that was your response to Carlos' comment.

The Spaniard looked back down at the spoon and jug in your hands. He nodded. "Have you had one already?" You asked. He shook his head and so you went about pulling down another paper cup to make his piccolo.

"You remembered." He said, laughing slightly.

"First coffee is a piccolo. Second and third are black." You recalled his order. Carlos smiled at you as you poured the milk. "I know everyone's coffee orders."

You didn’t catch how his smile lessened slightly at that.

You looked back at him and tried to ignore the thought of whether his kindness was exaggerated for your sake. A pity thing or something. Carlos accepted the coffee and then he actually offered a thank you in Arabic. You found your lips turning up hearing the marhaba on his Spanish tongue. “Es un placer.” You came back with his own native language.

You don’t work in Formula 1 without picking up a few things here and there.

Hence how you could recognise the German swears that sounded from within the motorhome as Guenther suddenly appeared.

“Where is that Y/N? Liverpool fucking tops the league and thinks she can take her time with— ah, you Ferrari fuckers!” Both you and Carlos looked to where he had come up behind the driver and slapped a friendly pat on his back. “Tell Fred he can’t have any pizza.”

“Pizza?” Carlos asked and looked down at you. “You made your pizza?”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before some Haas engineers appeared behind Guenther and called for you and him. Carlos took this as his sign - he was technically on Haas territory - and nodded at you and Guenther, holding up his piccolo in salute. Guenther had already taken the coffees you’d made for him and Nico and disappeared behind the sliding doors. You made a move to follow when Carlos called out.

"I want to try some famous Y/N pizza!” He said, turning on his heel as he walked backwards and called out to you.

You smiled and shook your head, walking back into the Haas home. You went back to the oven and set about plating up the pizzas to be a little more presentable to them. You also made sure to put some aside especially for Kevin. This was supposed to be for him.

You thought idly of saving some for Carlos when some Haas engineers you vaguely recognised walked past.

"Oh nice!" One engineer said, coming up and immediately reaching for one to stick it in his mouth. You watched him do the same blunder that Guenther did.

The other engineer, a woman with a thick Irish accent? was staring at you. Smug. "Damn, who got you smiling like that, missy?"

"What?" You asked, eyes going wide. You hadn't realised the wide smile on your face that was likely the direct result of one Carlo Sainz. Your face became hot again and it took every ounce of will to not seem affected by her words. “No one.”

"Mmm. If you say so.” She said in a sing song voice. “Well and me Mr Cool over here,” she gestured to the the other engineer trying to breathe through the hot pizza, “are heading to the garage now to see Kevin. Can we take them?"

"Yeah." You nodded. "Go ahead."

"Not saving some for anyone?"

"No." You shook your head firmly. "Take them all."

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3 @hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej

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stevethehairington · 6 months

Text

okay so. overall review:

actually not as bad as i expected it to be! and not as bad as i thought it was going to turn out while i was in the trenches there lol. i still wished it focused a little more on eddie's home life/relationship with his dad and uncle AND his friends, and had way less of the romance stuff (read: none), BUT i will admit that there ended up being a lot less of the romance stuff than i initially expected and a lot less than it seemed like there would be while still in the middle of the book.

the paige stuff still made me uncomfy bc i didn't like the power dynamics there (paige had something eddie wanted desperately, and i don't like the idea that that could have had something to do with his "feelings" for her/why he engaged with them ((esp bc let's be real — he didn't seem super torn up over not getting to be with her in the end)) or that she used that to her advantage bc there was ALSO something in it for her) BUT i will say they did make it slightly less skeezy than i expected bc she was only a couple years older than him instead of like. significantly older like i expected.

i do wish there was more about eddie's friends and their fallout and reconciliation. his friends were super important to him and he just. dropped them. like that. and there was BARELY any blowback. like yeah there was a fight with ronnie, but we never actually got to see the reactions of any of the other hellfire/corroded coffin guys, and i would've liked to see that. same with the reconciliation, it felt very minimal — i would've liked to see more of how that played out too.

I LOVED EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN SECOND OF WAYNE MUNSON CONTENT, THAT MAN IS A GIFT HE IS AN ANGEL I ADORE HIM WITH EVERYTHING IN ME. IF THERE IS ONE THING THIS BOOK HAS DONE IT HAS SOLIDIFIED MY STANCE THAT WAYNE MUNSON IS THE BEST GOD DAMN CHARACTER AND I WOULD DIE FOR HIM.

as for eddie — i think the author did an alright job finding his voice. there were times where i thought she really nailed it, but there were also A LOT of times where i thought "he would never say that!!" "he would never do that!!". it wasn't very consistent, but overall it wasn't awful and there were some good parts!

the other characters we know and love that made cameos — VERY fun to see them (gareth, chrissy, jason, hopper, will, jonathan!!!) gareth was ESPECIALLY fun to see because they really embraced that feral chihuahua boy energy we love to assign to him. BUT. i am SO incredibly upset with how badly they massacred my boy tommy h (whOSE LAST NAME THEY COULDNT EVEN GET RIGHT I MEAN W H A T!?) they fucking. got his characterization SO BAD. it was awful. i am. personally offended by it (joking, mostly rhsjsi). (as a tommy lover i am. devastated tho. HE WOULD NOT DO THAT!!!)

OH ALSO — reefer rick. WHAT a fun dude. hes out here in his robe and bunny slippers drinking darjeeling tea, living it up. what a guy.

id like to give a huge FUCK YOU to principal higgins too! they made that dude a straight up MONSTER. he was unnecessarily CRUEL and some of the things he said straight up to eddies face,,,,,,, sir what the FUCK. i know the 80s was a different time but jesus fucking cHRIST was casual cruelty and bullying from grown ass ADULTS commonplace? i sure hope not.

ALSO FUCK AL MUNSON LIVES ALL MY HOMIES HATE AL MUNSON LIVES. that man was AWFUL, TRULY HONESTLY GENUINELY THE WORST. neglectful and cruel and downright AWFUL. NOT ONLY DID HE CONSISTENTLY ABANDON EDDIE THROUGHOUT HIS LIFE BUT THEN HE DREW EDDIE INTO HIS SCHEMES, CONNED HIM, FUCKED UP REAL BIG, AND THEN LEFT EDDIE IN THE ASHES OF THEIR — OF HIS — HOME AS THE ONLY PERSON LEFT WITH THE COP WHO GOT SHOT AND IS LIKE SLOWLY BLEEDING OUT. TALK ABOUT FUCKING TRAUMA WHAT THE FUCK. i hope he got flayed ALIVE by charlie greene lmao it would serve him right that absolute twat waffle.

also, im gonna be real. the end of that book was actually INSANELY depressing. like, it tried to be positive because you gotta end on a positive note right? but it just fell. COMPLETELY flat. bc we all know what happens to eddie in canon. he's sitting there reenrolling in school, peacoking around about how he's GOING to finish high school and he's GOING to graduate and he's GOING to show principal higgins that he CAN do it and that he ISNT the fuckup deliquent he's convinced he is. BUT WE ALL KNOW HE DOESNT FUCKING GET THAT IN CANON. he's taking waynes advice and fully embracing who he is and he's learning to be comfortable in his own skin and to rise above all the noise of people who don't like him and think he's a freak. ONLY WE KNOW HE NEVER TRULY GETS TO DO THAT EITHER BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HOW IT ENDS IN CANON. so yeah it just ends up being a REALLY fucking BLEAK ending because all of that "positivity" is absolutely tainted. it's fucking soured. and i am once again INSANELY INFURIATED about eddies death. so fuck the duffers, again.

also, eddie munson literally never caught a fucking break. not one fucking break. his ENTIRE life was just one series of tragedies after the other and it truly just continued on that way until he fucking died. honestly, its a goddamn MIRACLE that he has ANY ounce of positivity and optimism and hope left in his life when we get to him in s4. thatd how utter dogshit a hand he has been dealt in life. and it only.got worse from there. and i will NEVER forgive ANYONE involved in his creation for that.

so yeah! that concludes my journey reading flight of icarus. it was a wild ride lol.

#flight of icarus #flight of icarus spoilers #eddie munson #stranger things #mack reacts

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rhoorl · 22 days

Text

Weathered In

Pairing: Frankie x OFC

Word Count: 5.4k | AO3 | Main Masterlist

Summary: After a couple of weeks of trying out this long-distance thing, Frankie decides to travel from Tampa to Atlanta to spend the weekend with Jo. Despite having a whole itinerary planned, they have to pivot because of the weather. It’s ok though, it allows Frankie to share an important part of himself with her. How will she react? Is this thing over before it started?

Warnings: Alternating POVs. There’s some angst but fluff too. Frankie is a year sober, and there’s some discussion of his journey, including past drug use, the death of his mother, and a past toxic relationship. There are allusions to smut but it’s all pretty PG. Frankie’s curls come with their own warning. Also, Frankie’s been training with Benny so our boy is looking good.

If you have questions, please feel free to reach out!

A/N: This is a follow-up to the Turbulence series but could be read as a standalone. This relationship is featured in Delta Landscaping as well.

Walking up to the airport bar, Frankie immediately spotted Mack and his friendly smile. The older man came over and took care of Frankie right away, giving him a drink on the house on the promise that he’d say hi to Jo for him. They weren’t able to chat for long – with several conventions in town a crowd of those departing and arriving was starting to form, so Frankie decided to head to his gate to wait. As he walked, he tuned out the constant murmur of the overhead announcements, the squeaky wheels of passing suitcases, and the occasional fussy toddler who must have missed their nap. Instead, he was deep in thought, he was good at that.

As he sat at the gate, fingers tapping on the armrest he looked outside. The typical Florida summer storms were looking to roll in and he was thankful he was the one flying and not Jo, given the inevitable turbulence he was bound to experience. Looking at his phone, he cycled through who he could call to help pass the time. Jo was at work, Benny took Connor to the gym to train, and Santiago and Will were wrapping up a landscaping project. Not wanting to sit alone with his thoughts any longer he decided to try and see if his sister Valeria was around.

“Hey, can you talk?” he chewed on his thumb. He was lucky to catch her at a good time as she and Tim just wrapped up at a crime scene.

“Yeah…espérate…sorry, I'm back, left Tim with the paperwork so he’s going to be in a great mood when we’re done,” she chuckled, pausing when she heard the hustle and bustle of what sounded like an airport on the other end of the phone. “Qué pasa Paco? Where are you?”

Frankie smirked, there was never getting anything past his sister. There's a reason why she was one of the best detectives in Dallas. “I’m…uh…at the airport.”

“Airport? Where you going?” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth.

“Atlanta.”

“Atlanta? You boys doing a trip or something before Benny’s big fight?”

“Um…no…I’m kinda going to see someone,” he swallowed hard, waiting for her response.

She paused for a moment, countless questions swirling in her mind. Her brother was usually pretty reserved when it came to his love life, but he slipped up a couple of times in the past week or so – sharing something funny that Jo said or reminding himself of something he wanted to share later when they talked. Naturally, Valeria wanted all of the details about this person but didn't want to overwhelm Frankie by prying. So, she did what she always did, let him tell her his news at his own pace.

“Oh, that's fun. Is this someone's name Jo by chance?” She asked as casually as she could manage despite wanting to squeal and kick her feet excitedly. If she were right, this would be a big step for Frankie. It would show his willingness to open himself back again to love, which made her heart burst.

“I…um…” Frankie shook his head with a lopsided grin. He proceeded to tell Valeria about how he met Jo and their weekend together, skirting over some of the details – this was his baby sister he was talking to after all. He mentioned how over the past two weeks they stayed in touch via phone calls, FaceTime, and texts.

Valeria could hear the smile in her brother’s voice. She’d never heard him talk like this before about any of his partners. He sounded…happy. And on a day like today, a momentous day, it was like icing on the cake.

She could hear the announcement for his flight in the background, which prompted them to wrap up their call. But before they hung up, she paused, took a deep breath, and told Frankie how proud of him she was. It was exactly what he needed and gave him that extra boost of confidence to board the flight, ready to tear down the remaining walls around his heart and let the light in.

___________________________

Jo nervously tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel as she sat in the cell phone lot, waiting to hear from Frankie. Thanks to her boss, she only worked a half day today, a small token of appreciation for all the long hours she’d pulled the past few days. The only sounds she heard were the windshield wipers going back and forth and the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting her windshield. The forecast called for a gloomy and stormy night, the perfect recipe for some quality couch time curled up with Frankie. But first, they had plans to go to the grocery store and pick up some ingredients for dinner.

She had the whole weekend planned out. This evening: a chill night at home. After two weeks apart, she just wanted him all to herself. Tomorrow's plans included a hike in the morning and then a stroll through the Botanical Gardens in the afternoon with a picnic at Centennial Park to wrap up the day. And Sunday, she left it up to him to decide. She half thought about recommending brunch and then the aquarium, but she also wouldn’t mind another day at home since he'd be going back to Tampa early Monday morning.

Her mind drifted off to thoughts of feeling him again, running her fingers through his curls, feeling his weight on top of her, hearing his laugh, and seeing the glimmer in his eye and mischievous smirk when he was being playful. The buzz of her phone brought her back to reality. He was off the plane and walking to baggage claim. She put her car in reverse and braced herself as she returned to the congestion of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

As her car inched its way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic of arrivals, she scanned the crowd looking for Frankie. She let out a little squeal when she saw that trusty blue baseball cap and curls peeking from beneath it from above the crowd. He looked so handsome and so broad. The workouts with Benny had picked up and wow did it look like it was paying off. She sat up a little straighter in her seat, appreciating how his gray t-shirt stretched across his chest.

Once he spotted her, his face broke out in the largest grin. All she wanted to do was throw the car in park and run to him, but alas she navigated her way closer, butterflies filling her stomach as she finally parked and got out.

Frankie dropped his duffle and backpack on the curb and rounded the front of her car, wrapping her in a tight hug. This was what he’d been craving for the last two weeks – the chance to feel her, to be reminded that she was very much real and he wasn’t making all of this up. A faint hint of citrus wafted through his nostrils as he buried his nose in her hair. She nestled her face into his chest, slotting perfectly into his arms like they were tailor-made for her.

Neither spoke for what felt like minutes, just basking in the moment, in that feeling of home. That feeling when you’re with someone who makes you feel utterly and completely safe and comfortable.

Frankie was the first to pull away, kissing her forehead and looking at her with a soft smile, while rubbing up and down her arms. “Hey, mi cielo. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she softly placed her lips on his, giggling when he quickly deepened the kiss.

The whistle of the guard directing traffic pulled them away from each other. “How about we get out of here, yeah?” Frankie smirked.

Frankie kept his hand on her thigh while she drove them to the grocery store. He needed the physical reminder to ground him; he was finally here with her. Walking around the grocery store, Frankie navigated the cart through the aisles, stealthily checking Jo out as she walked in front of him. All of this felt so natural like it was just another Friday night for the two of them.

Despite it all, there was still a little part of Frankie that wasn’t fully present. A little nagging voice wouldn’t shut up. He wanted to tell Jo about what this day meant – the culmination of a yearlong journey to getting back to himself. He owed it to her, he wanted, no he needed her to know everything. But knowing everything may spell the end. What if she thought he was a loser or a fuck up? He tried to push the thoughts away, tried to smile through it as she picked out a bottle of wine, asking if he preferred a cabernet or a malbec. He pointed to a bottle, not caring which one, too preoccupied with his thoughts. He knew the conversation he wanted to have needed time and doing it in a Publix or even in the car on the drive home wasn't the right place.

___________________________

When they finally arrived at her apartment building, Frankie carried the groceries and his duffle upstairs, refusing to have her take anything else other than the wine. Walking in, he took a quick scan of her place. She had a few picture frames on the wall, a record player in the corner, and a basket overflowing with blankets of varying colors and textures. The kitchen was a nice size with a large island and a lot of counter space. This place was very much her. It felt cozy and like…home.

Jo flitted about, lighting a candle and helping Frankie settle in as she unpacked the groceries and started making dinner. Somewhere between chopping up the vegetables for their salad and tossing the pasta in the boiling water, she stopped to look over at him, noticing how cute he looked as he concentrated on trying not to burn the sauce. She smiled seeing that little line forming between his brows, the one that popped up when he was really focusing on something.

The conversation flowed as they made dinner and then ate. Jo talked about how work was going for her, while Frankie filled her in on this girl Benny was head over heels for, despite being too shy to actually make a move. She laughed as he shared the latest news from around Will and Benny’s neighborhood, wishing she could put a face to some of these names – especially the guy who basically stopped the whole barbecue when Frankie mentioned he was going to cut his hair, a trim he reassured her. The visual of it all made her crack up, tears streaming down her face. Frankie was so good at making her laugh. Like, really laugh. You know when you're gasping for breath and your stomach starts to hurt.

With the dishes put away, they poured the last of the wine into their glasses and settled on the couch to attempt to watch a movie. Jo nestled into Frankie's arms under a fluffy blanket, curling into him and feeling the warmth coming from his body. When an especially loud crack of thunder startled her, he pulled her in even closer.

As the rain pelted the window, Frankie chuckled to himself at the irony – the weather mirrored his mood. There was a storm brewing inside him as he grappled with when to share the deepest and darkest parts of his past with her. This final bit felt like a make-or-break. Putting it all out there was going to make him feel raw, exposed…vulnerable. But, he couldn’t go through the weekend without addressing it. It would feel like he was putting on a facade and he was done doing that. He was so consumed in his thoughts that he didn't hear Jo ask him a question until he glaced over and saw her eyes searching his face.

“Is everything ok?” She looked concerned as she toyed with the frayed ends of the blanket.

Frankie chastised himself for being so wrapped up in himself that he didn't realize how he was affecting her. She was probably stressed and nervous about their reunion too and all he wanted to do was reassure her.

“Yeah I…I want to tell you something, but I'm not sure how you'll take it,” he winced.

She turned, sitting cross-legged on the couch facing him. “You can tell me anything.”

He took a deep breath, bending his knee to turn his body square to face her. He reached for her hand, rubbing circles on the back of her palm with his thumb. “Today is kind of a big day for me…it's an…anniversary of sorts.”

His big brown eyes searched hers, expecting confusion but instead met with curiosity. She leaned her elbow onto the back of the couch and scooted a little closer to him, giving him time to share when he felt comfortable.

He proceeded to tell her everything, well almost everything. She already knew about his mother and the way his father descended into a numb shell of himself in the aftermath. She already knew he'd served for 20 years, moving up to join the elite Delta Force ranks with his friends. She already knew that he had to endure some pretty horrific things which caused him immense guilt and anxiety. She already knew that he wasn't there when his father died. And, she already knew his ex cheated and made Frankie believe the baby she was carrying was his.

What she learned was how over the years, Frankie tried increasingly dangerous and self-destructive ways to calm down his mind and forget everything. She learned about how dark his thoughts got and how poorly he thought of himself.

He shared some ways he tried to cope with his return to civilian life; he tried to borrow techniques from his friends, but it never worked.

For Santiago, it was sex. The thrill of finding someone new and losing himself in them was the closest thing he felt to a high. It made him feel wanted, desired, and powerful. But to Frankie, waking up to a different person every morning didn't quell the voices; it only made him feel empty and used.

For Benny, it was fighting. He channeled his frustrations and rage onto his opponents but also relished the feeling of taking the punishment himself. Each blow was a physical reminder, a penance of sorts, for all of the people who died because of his rifle. But to Frankie, getting the shit beat out of him didn't quell the voices.

When it came to Will, he was much like Frankie. He internalized everything, analyzing every last detail and keeping meticulous mental notes which meant his mind never stopped. Running through numbers calmed him down. There was an order to it. But Frankie didn't want to spend any more time alone with his thoughts than he needed to.

So, eventually, he started down a path to numb it all. His drinking increased, but when that didn't solve things he tried different drugs. It wasn’t until he took his first bump, that he finally found what he'd been searching for. Peace. Quiet. Escape.

At first, he thought he could control it. And he did for a while. But eventually, that need to feel nothing consumed him and pushed everything and everyone who ever mattered to him away. He got sloppy and failed a drug test, which resulted in his license getting suspended.

He skimmed over the details of the trip to Colombia, just telling her that the mission went south and they ended up losing Tom. In the aftermath of it all, he spiraled even more before he finally looked at himself in the mirror one day. He wanted more out of his life. He wanted to feel joy again. So, he decided to flush his stash down the toilet and finally go to that meeting he had been putting off for months.

“And that was 365 days ago,” he exhaled, looking down at his hands. Throughout the entire time he recounted his story, Jo’s hand never left his. Occasionally she would give him a reassuring squeeze when she sensed he was having some difficulty.

They sat in silence for a while, Frankie too nervous to look at her for fear he'd see disappointment etched across her beautiful face. That would break him and he wasn't ready for that. He felt her squeeze his hand again and move closer, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. This quiet show of acceptance and compassion made tears well up in his eyes. When she started stroking the back of his head, he finally broke down.

He cried for all of the pain he put everyone through over the years. He cried for all of the time lost, time he could have spent being there for his friends or family. He cried for still feeling unworthy of all of the compassion and love he had received. First, with Lucille, and now with Jo. She squeezed him tight, murmuring quiet praise and thanking him for being so open and willing to share. It felt like a weight had been extracted from his shoulders.

Once the tears stopped, he pulled back, wiping the tears from his eyes and noticing Jo’s red-rimmed eyes looking back at him. “I'm sorry, I…I just wanted you to know me…everything. I understand if you want me to lea-”

“Frankie stop,” she cut him off, cupping his face between her hands. “Thank you for sharing that with me…for feeling comfortable to do that. It means a lot. I…I don't know what the right things are to say, but I'm proud of you. You're a good man Frankie and…I'm glad you're here.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, one that showed how much he missed her and how grateful he was for her. She threw her leg over his lap, straddling him as their kiss grew more frenzied and passionate. Soon it was a dizzying mix of mouths chasing each other, hands roaming, and soft moans and whimpers.

“Take me to bed Frankie,” she whispered against his lips, giggling as he lightly swatted her ass to get up.

As she led him down the hallway to her bedroom, Frankie couldn't help the grin on his face. He couldn't believe the situation he found himself in, one where compassion and acceptance won.

___________________________

When Frankie’s eyes fluttered open, he was greeted to a dark room; it was overcast outside, raindrops still on the windows from an early morning storm. It took him a second to register where he was. Last night felt like a blur. Sharing his past, the good, bad, and the ugly, followed by one of the most passionate nights he'd ever experienced in his life. It all felt like a dream, like an alternate reality, almost too good to be true. But his arm around Jo's waist and the soft sounds of her breathing grounded him into this moment.

She stirred, stretching a bit before turning around to face him. “Hi,” she smiled, tucking one of his curls behind his ear.

“Hi, preciosa,” he smiled back, kissing the tip of her nose.

They basked in their little cocoon, sharing giggles and cuddles and stealing kisses. It didn't take long before Frankie's mouth traveled down her body, finding its home between her legs like it did last night. He wanted to show her his gratitude for listening with an open heart, being receptive, and not judging him.

___________________________

Frankie got out of the shower, quickly toweled off, threw on a pair of gym shorts, and padded down the hallway to the kitchen to find Jo preparing coffee.

She turned and gave him an appreciative up and down. Training Benny for his fight had yielded very positive results – his chest and shoulders seemed broader somehow and his stomach was the perfect mix of toned but still soft.

“Looking good, Morales,” she winked, handing him a cup.

Frankie blushed. Walking around with his shirt off felt a bit foreign to him, but seeing how much she was turned on by it made his chest puff out a bit.

“Do we need to change plans for today?” He raised an eyebrow as he brought the cup to his lips.

“Why? Wanna stay in,” she wrapped her arms around his waist as he leaned against the counter.

“Well, yes. I could think of a few…indoor activities,” he bent down to kiss her. “But no, I was talking about the weather. It looks like it may rain today.”

“Nah, it will be fine. C'mon get dressed, we have a full day of playing tourist.”

___________________________

Their hike unfortunately was over before it got started. As they started down the path, the sky opened up, causing them to race back to her car where they sat soaked to the bone but all smiles. Since the rain was so heavy, Jo decided to stay parked for a bit until the worst of it passed. Plus, it gave them a prime opportunity to have a little make-out session. Frankie kept joking that he felt like he was back in high school going to the lookout to make out with a pretty girl.

Eventually, they managed to pull away from each other long enough to make it to lunch, having to dodge some sprinkles as they went into the restaurant. But, the rain grew into a full-on downpour as they finished lunch, causing them to rethink their plans for the rest of the day.

“There's a bunch of indoor things we could do. The aquarium, we could go to the movies, I dunno walk around the mall,” Jo laughed as Frankie shook his head.

“I think this is a sign,” his mouth twitched.

“Oh, you into signs now?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

He shrugged, “I'm just saying. It's an ugly day outside. I think the universe is telling us to stay in.” He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, “Besides, just because we're staying inside doesn't mean you still won't get wet.”

She swatted his arm, giggling at his insinuation, but also trying her best to not melt into a puddle.

___________________________

Frankie’s fingertips traced up and down her bare back as she lay on his chest, in a complete state of bliss. He was trying to not think about the fact that tomorrow morning he'd be heading back to Tampa.

“I feel bad,” Jo finally said, lifting herself on an elbow to look at Frankie who furrowed his brow. “You came all of this way and the weather has been shit. We couldn't go do anything fun.”

“Baby, I'm having a lot of fun just staying here with you. All of the plans you had in mind were great and all, but honestly, this is all I wanted from this weekend,” he smiled, kissing her forehead.

“Oh I see, you just came all this way for some sex huh?” She teased.

“Last I checked, you were the one who couldn't keep your hands to yourself, mi cielo” he flipped her around so she was on her back, giggling as he crawled on top of her.

“What can I say, I'm really liking this trainer era you're in.” Her hands gripped his curls as he started to kiss up her neck. “Ooo speaking of,” he pulled back to look at her. “I was thinking … I have some miles I need to use before they expire. What if I came down for Benny's fight? You can say no it's totally ok, if you need to concentrate on him or if it's too early to meet your friends and -”

“Hey, hey, shhh,” he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You can come visit literally whenever you want. Everyone wants to meet you and I want you to meet them.”

“Oh yeah? Even Lulu?” She smirked. Benny and Will's elderly neighbor Lucille, or Lulu as Frankie called her, had quite a soft spot for Frankie.

“Especially Lulu. She wants to see who keeps making me smile when I look at my phone. Besides, I think the one you really have to impress is David,” he winked.

Jo wrapped her legs around Frankie's waist, pulling him flush against her body. “Then it's decided, I'll be there for fight night and I’ll stay the weekend.”

___________________________

The rain did not let up that evening and parts of the metro area were experiencing localized flooding. Warm and cozy on the couch, neither of them wanted to move, so they decided to stay in for the night, playing games, cuddling, and just talking before making their way to the bedroom.

As Jo laid on her side, Frankie enveloping her in warmth, her mind started to battle competing emotions. She was replaying her favorite parts of the weekend, sad that it was already coming to an end. It wasn't what she had originally planned, but it ended up being perfect. Being with Frankie made her want to slow down, really enjoy things, and be in the moment.

The past couple of weeks were intense. Up until this point in her life, she’d been on her own, relishing her independence. But seeing Frankie’s name pop up on her phone gave her instant butterflies; she felt like a school girl. Her whole mood depended on when she’d hear from him and what they’d talk about. She was hyperaware of not wanting to come across as clingy or needy, but when they would go long stretches without talking her stomach would be in knots. She immediately feared the worst – that he’d gotten annoyed by her or worse, met someone else, someone who could be there for him physically. Having all of this be long-distance brought forth anxiety as she wondered how they would make this work.

What even was this? Is he her boyfriend? Are they just “talking” or whatever people say these days? Where was this going? Would it just be stolen weekends here and there? Banking up enough PTO to sneak in a few extra days or maybe take a week off to escape somewhere together. How long would that be enough for him? For her?

A little voice reminded her of how busy these next few months would be at work. Between conferences and events, she already felt exhausted by it all. How would Frankie fit into all of that? Would he get tired of her being so busy during the day that she’d just crash at night? Would he grow resentful? He had his own life too, it's not fair to assume he'd always come up here to visit her. How long would they go between visits? She was falling so hard and fast for Frankie that she feared it would crash and burn as quickly as it started. And if it did, she wouldn't be able to come back from it.

Meanwhile, Frankie lay on his side, arm wrapped around her waist, and deep in his thoughts too. He had never felt this close to another person so quickly. It's like she just…fit. Giving his heart over to someone else like this was terrifying but also thrilling. This was all so fast and so intense, but it felt…right. And for once, his mind felt quiet.

___________________________

Jo stirred, and the crack of thunder woke her up. She reached over and felt a cold spot next to her on the bed where Frankie should have been sleeping. Sounds coming from the kitchen made her reach for his flannel. She paused for a moment before putting it on, taking a deep breath, and inhaling the scent of him that lingered in the fabric. She buttoned a couple of buttons as she tiptoed down the hallway to see what he was doing.

What greeted her was quite a vision. Frankie's back was to her, giving her ample time to check him out. His hair was sticking up in all directions, partly from sleep and partly from the fact that she couldn't keep her hands to herself last night. The muscles in his back flexed as he flipped the skillet, one of her kitchen towels slung over his shoulder. Her eyes took note of every freckle and every scar as trailed down his body to his waist, finally landing on his cute little butt in his boxers.

Sensing a shift in the room he tensed up and slowly turned around and let out a breath when he realized it was Jo.

“Oh shit, sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you,” she winced.

“No, no it's ok, good morning mi cielo,” he closed the distance between them and wrapped her in a kiss, the taste of coffee on his tongue. “I wanted to make you some breakfast before we had to leave.”

“Chef Morales, I could get used to this,” she peered around him to see an omelet cooking and some toast laid on a plate.

He pulled her close, taking an appreciative look down the opening of his shirt, “Well, I could say the same thing.”

“You like seeing me in your shirt?” She wiggled her hips.

“Looks a hell of a lot better on you than me…you should keep it.”

“Keep it?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah,” he gave her a lopsided grin as he turned around to flip the omelet. “I have some more at home anyway.”

“Hmm…leaving clothes at my place…seems like this is getting kind of serious don’t you think?” She tried to sound casual and flirty, but inside she was freaking out, hoping it wasn’t too presumptuous.

Frankie stopped, swallowing hard and trying to steady his breath. “Would that be a bad thing?” He turned the stove off and faced her, seeing her fiddling with one of the sleeves.

“I don’t think so…I’d…I’d like that.” Her eyes lifted, finding his as she held her breath.

He knitted his brows, closing the distance between them and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “I’d like that too.”

They smiled, relief washing over them before leaning forward and crashing into a kiss. He was thankful for the ample counter space in her kitchen, which provided the perfect place to enjoy his favorite meal.

She giggled as he helped her get up, unbuttoning the few buttons she had hastily fastened. “Babe, we’re going to be late,” she murmured against his lips, gasping a bit as his fingers teased her folds.

“Shh, we'll be ok…I got you,” he winked.

___________________________

The drive to the airport was quiet as they were deep in their thoughts. Frankie’s hand never left Jo’s thigh as he tried to take mental notes of how she felt, how she sounded, and how she smelled. He was thankful they already had their next time planned, that there was a date he could immediately circle on his calendar when he got home. It was a struggle to not think beyond that, to think of the what ifs or when he'd see her after that. For now, for once, he didn't want to think about logistics or plans, he just wanted to be in the moment.

As she pulled up to the curb, she took a deep breath in through her nose, resolved to not break down in front of him. The rain was picking up again like the sky was crying because they were parting from each other.

Sensing her nerves, Frankie squeezed her hand, “Don’t get out and get all wet. We’ll just say…I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, quickly wiping a tear that rolled down her cheek. “We aren't saying goodbye ok? You're going to land and then head to the gym and see Benny and get him all ready for his fight. And we’ll FaceTime tonight, it's your turn to choose a movie.”

Frankie chuckled, comforted that this was as hard for her as it was for him. “Ok, mi cielo,” he kissed her. “I'll miss you.”

“I'll miss you more. I'll see you in 11 days,” she smiled into his kiss.

“The countdown is on,” he winked.

___________________________

A/N: The inspiration for the title of this comes from an aviation term which means “forced to stay grounded due to bad weather.” I thought it was fitting given how their plans kept getting thwarted by the weather. I'm entering this is in @undercoverpena’s April Showers Challenge! I always planned for this little one-shot and the timing was perfect.

Hope you enjoy!

#undercoveraprilshowerschallenge #frankie friday #frankie morales #frankie morales x ofc #turbulence #delta landscaping

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tropes-and-tales · 6 months

Text

A Bit of Color (Redux)

Day 7: Virginity (Ray Merrimen x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Light angst (implied attempted SA, but nothing graphic); loss of virginity; smut (Fingering, PiV, protected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4448

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by @chemicalalice)

After the debacle of the Christmas gifts, and after Ray apologizes, he tries to do better. After learning about your similar childhoods—growing up in difficult military families—he finally feels a kinship to you. It’s a commonality he never had before. You with all your color and light, you baked goods for the crew, your care for them. Ray’s never known anyone so much his opposite, yet that common facet of childhood give him an in to understand you.

He tries to do better by you. He tries to not be such a dick all the time, tries to remember his home training and thank you when you do something nice for them. He tries to tell you when you do a good job; he tries to offer one of his small smiles when you make a joke.

He doesn’t tell you: when LA has an unseasonable cold snap, he uses the quilt you made him for Christmas. He doesn’t tell you that when his insomnia plagues him that night, he runs his fingers over the small, neat stitches of your handiwork, over the small blocks of soft cotton you cut and sewed together.

He doesn’t tell you that months after you gifted it to him, months after he hurt your feelings and then clumsily apologized…months after all of that, he finally realizes how much time and energy you put into this quilt. For him.

It doesn’t make him cry or anything like that. Ray has no outsized flood of emotion at the realization. It simply knocks something loose in his chest, scores a microscopic crack in the flinty wall around his heart.

-----

Your secret reveals itself after a heist. You hacked the security system of a club, the guys robbed it, and now there’s a celebration out at Bosco’s house. It’s low-key, just a laid-back thing. There’s plenty of beer in the backyard strung up with lights against the Los Angeles dusk, music playing on the speakers.

Everyone is loose, relaxed. The guys start to reminisce about their glory days in high school, and by the time there are through their first case of beer, they shift to reminiscing about their high school conquests, their first times.

Ray sits back and listens; he barely participates beyond the occasional grunt of acknowledgement or chuckle when someone makes a joke. He thinks back to high school, his football days. Holly had been a cheerleader, and they’d been each other’s first—and Ray slips back into those memories. The chatter and laughter around him fades, and he thinks back to how young he’d been then, how his future seemed to stretch out in front of him—

He's yanked out of his memories by Lavoux’s bark of laughter, then Bosco and Mack joining him.

But not you. Whatever joke Ray has missed, you’re not in on it. Which makes sense—you didn’t go to high school with them, so you’ve been quiet for most of the night. But when Ray sits up and looks at you closer, you’re slouched in your seat. You look…discomfited.

It takes a long moment for Ray to catch up, but he does. Amongst the memories of the guys’ respective first times, they asked you for yours—and when you told them you don’t have a “first time” story yet, the guys reacted with incredulity.

Ray just watches at first, his eyes bouncing between the guys and then you, their questions, and your squirming discomfort as you give sheepish answers. The guys don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Ray guesses, but you clearly are.

“Are you religious or something?”

“No.”

“You waiting for marriage?”

“No.”

“Are you one of those…what are they called? Asexuals?”

You shake your head at that, and it makes you stammer out an explanation: that you want to, you’ve wanted to for a long time, but it’s complicated now that you’re older, that guys aren’t kind about it—

“Do you have any experience at all?” It’s Mack who asks the question, and you drop your gaze into your lap. You give a halting explanation about some moment in college at a party when a lacrosse player tried to…well, you hedge around it, you don’t say the word of what that guy tried to do to you, but you’re clear that he failed, that he’d been unable to get it up enough to do that to you, but that the moment made you fearful, and now you’re stuck, and it seems like only Ray can hear the edge of tears in your voice, the wobble in your words like you’re about to cry.

“Leave it,” he cuts in, but when you glance up at him in surprise, Ray is looking at Mack and Bosco and Lavoux. “Leave her be.”

They do. There’s a moment of awkward silence, but then Bosco shifts the conversation to the Lakers, and within a moment, everyone seems to have forgotten it.

Not you. Ray catches you staring at him from underneath your eyelashes, and when he meets your gaze, you tip him a slight nod.

Then you mouth a grateful, “thank you.”

Ray tips you a nod back. He doesn’t acknowledge the feeling in his chest, the dull ache: another knock against that flinty wall, another hairline crack in his defenses.

-----

Months pass. If any of the guys remember that night and the revelation of your virginity, they don’t mention it to Ray. You obviously don’t mention it either.

Ray doesn’t forget it. It surfaces in his thoughts when he has a quiet moment, when he’s lying in bed during one of his bouts of insomnia. His imagination pulls together that moment in college with the lacrosse player, and it makes Ray sick to think of you: sunny, colorful you. Young but already so steeped in tragedy with the death of your father. The universe was cruel to put you in the path of a drunken rapist, so much larger than you. Even if you escaped before the worst could happen, you didn’t escape unscathed, and here you are years later, wanting to be intimate with someone but too scared to do it.

You need someone you trust, Ray thinks. Someone you feel safe with. Someone who will keep your confidence, who won’t tease you. Someone who will take you seriously and understand how important losing your virginity must be for you.

Sometimes, when he’s lying sleepless under your quilt, he wonders if he might be that someone.

-----

More months pass. The crew is laying low since Mack got busted for a bullshit parole violation. They go semi-straight, work in the garage working on cars and trucks. They spend their evenings on their own, in a fallow season until Mack gets sprung in a few months.

You pick up work bartending, and Ray stops by a few nights a week. He sits at the corner of the bar and usually stays silent, but when it’s quiet in the bar, you’ll come and talk to him. Which with Ray mostly means you talk to him and he listens as he sips at his beer.

But the bar isn’t in the best neighborhood, and soon Ray finds himself there every night you’re scheduled. He stays until closing time, and it isn’t long before he goes from walking you to your car to just driving you home outright.

It isn’t long before you go from sliding out of his truck with a thank you and a wave to inviting him in for a beer.

When he notices that you’ve started stocking your fridge with his beer of choice, he doesn’t mention it.

If you notice that he lingers longer each night he drives you home, that he nurses that beer a little longer, you don’t mention it either.

-----

Mack’s release date keeps getting pushed back. It’s the legal system and its red tape at its finest.

You and Ray fall into a rhythm. He drives you home after your shifts at the bar. You give him beer, but you also feed him a late-night dinner. It’s never anything spectacular, usually just reheated leftovers, but he likes the cozy domesticity of it. Eating your food while he sits on your couch, you eating beside him. Nearly close enough to touch.

A long time has passed since the last heist. A long time since your reluctant admission to being a virgin, but Ray has never forgotten it. He’s mulled it over like it’s a problem to solve; like the complex blend of your past trauma and societal expectations are, say, the schematics to a bank vault.

“You need someone you trust,” he blurts out one night. You’ve been chatty all evening, telling him about some friend of a friend who got engaged. You’re a little down on yourself—the news of the engagement has sent you into a minor tailspin. You think you’re so far behind everyone that you’ll never catch up.

“Huh?”

“If you want to lose your virginity,” he clarifies, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the bottle of beer in his hand. “You need someone you trust.”

“Oh.” He feels the tension seep off you. He winces inwardly to have made you uncomfortable, but he plows forward. It’s a problem he wants to help you solve, and he doesn’t examine why he wants to help you so much.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he continues. “You just need someone you feel safe with.”

It takes you an entire month more when you finally ask him. You don’t meet his eyeline when you haltingly tell him that you trust him. That you feel safe with him.

You’re so quiet, so unlike yourself when you tell him. He can feel the fear and hesitation in you, and he can feel his own response to you trusting him enough to consider this: the hairline cracks in his stony heart growing wider, fault-lines nearly wide enough to let you slip in entirely.

*****

You keep expecting there to be a reveal, a moment where the guys jump out and make fun of you. You keep expecting this to have been an elaborate put-on by Ray and the guys, a cruel joke at your expense.

You’ve never been more wrong in your life.

Ray plans everything, which is pretty much Ray’s thing. You wonder how much difference there is between planning a heist and planning the loss of your virginity, in Ray’s eyes.

You don’t have enough experience with men to catch the way his gaze falls on you, turns soft by a degree or two. You don’t notice that he gifts you with his rare, small smiles more than ever. You don’t notice—how could you? —that Ray has fallen in love with you, a falling of miniscule moments, of quiet instances where you creep into his heart like groundwater finding its level.

How could you notice that? Even Ray hasn’t noticed it, and he has far more romantic experience than you.

He plans everything. He sets the date. He comes to your house, paper bag in hand, and you guess it’s condoms, but you notice that he’s put effort into himself: he’s cleaned up his facial hair. He’s put on a nicer shirt, and when he walks past you, you catch the scent of a recent shower—the slight spice of his body wash, the clean smell of his shampoo.

He brings a bottle of Moscato for you, but he’s clear—stern, in fact—that it’s just to take the edge off. It’s just to smooth out the rough spikes of your fear.

“You need to stop if you feel yourself getting tipsy,” he tells you as he pours you a glass. “You are in control tonight, so you need to be in control of yourself first.”

When your hand trembles as it grasps the wine glass, Ray’s eyes turn soft. He reaches out and lays one of his big hands over yours, steadies you.

“Everything is fine,” he tells you, low and soft like he doesn’t want to spook you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, okay?”

-----

Ray has thought of everything.

The realization of how much thought and effort he put into this makes you flush from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Ray Merrimen, your favorite grump. The stone-faced, unsmiling behemoth who glowers from the shadows and leads the crew like some grouchy demi-god.

Who thought he could be so gentle? He takes his time. He leads you carefully, but he checks in with you at each new step. From sitting together on the couch, his palm gently laid on your bare knee as you sip at your wine. From when he eases the glass out of your hand, then carefully tilts your face towards his. From when he studies your expression before he leans in and presses a plush kiss to your mouth.

From when he builds up the kisses: from closed-mouth to open, to teasing you when he sucks against your lower lip, when he slips his tongue against yours. When he chuckles at the first low, involuntary moan you loose just from his mouth against your neck. When his hands find your breasts and palms them softly through your shirt, when his thumbs find the pebbled nipples even through your shirt and your bra, and when he breathes in your ear how much fun he's going to have drawing your pleasure from you.

When you shiver at his words, he draws away and studies your face again. There’s a question in his eyes, so you nod at him.

“I’m okay,” you say. “I’m fine.”

He studies you a beat longer, then nods back. He smooths his big hands down your arms, then reaches out and grasps your waist.

“Bedroom?” he asks.

You swallow hard, and you hope he doesn’t hear the gulp that sounds so loud in your own ears.

“Bedroom,” you agree.

-----

You know from working with Ray that the man is meticulous. He never rushes a job; he always takes his time.

He takes his time with you. His patience for your insecurities feels infinite: he strips you, he eases a thick finger into you, and he stills when you gasp, when you freeze up. When you tell him to keep going, he doesn’t—instead he kisses you, works his hot mouth against your face, your neck, your breasts. He kisses you until he feels you relax, and only then does he keep going.

He works his finger in you. He adds another, kisses you through the stretch of it as he scissors his fingers to help stretch your tight channel open. You can feel where his erection presses against your leg, and sometimes he presses himself against you hard, an involuntary reaction to whatever lust he may be feeling. But he never rushes it, and he mumbles shy words of praise in your ear, and he takes his goddamned time.

He makes you come with his fingers first, the blunt end of his finger stroking some inner part of you, his thumb circling your clit. You’ve masturbated plenty, but this feels like nothing you’ve been able to coax from yourself before: his hand works you like a finely tuned instrument, but his other hand works against your breasts, pinches lightly at your nipples, rubs the pad of his thumb over the curve and swell of you until goosebumps prickle against your skin. His mouth breathes out low-voiced orders in your ear, his breath hot against you as he commands you to come for him, to let yourself go, and you do.

It's not like anything you’ve felt before. It’s the sudden release of tension. It’s the hard snap of a rubber band pulled taut, then loosed. It’s a flood of heat and light, its epicenter right where Ray’s hand skillfully works you, and it courses outward like shockwaves that make you tremble and whimper as you give yourself over to the sensation.

“That’s it,” Ray whispers in your ear, and you feel the brush of his lips a beat later against your cheekbone. “Just like that.”

-----

Then comes the main event, and Ray slows down even more. He checks in with you, props himself on an elbow to peer down as he interrogates you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and his stern face is softened by his low, quiet voice. “Do you want to stop now?”

You lay a hand on his shoulder and study his tattoos as you answer. “I’m sure,” you assure him. “I don’t want to stop.”

“I’m gonna need you to look me in the eye when you answer, sweetheart.”

You take a deep breath, then you do as he tells you. You feel shy, suddenly, exposed at the realization that Ray Merrimen—grouchy Ray, the leader of your crew—has essentially fingered you, wrung an orgasm out of you. Shy too that you want to keep going, that you want him to be your first.

“I’m sure,” you repeat, and you look him square in the eyes when you say it.

The corner of his mouth twitches into his version of a smile. “You’ll tell me if you want to stop, right?”

“I will.”

His small smile falls, and he hesitates before he adds, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You can’t know that he’s thinking about the man who hurt you all those years ago. You can’t know that Ray is uncomfortable to be so much bigger than you, so much stronger. You can’t know that Ray worries that something about this moment—him looming over you, you defenseless underneath him—will spark against your trauma and cause you anxiety.

If you knew any of this, you’d be able to reassure him: that other guy is so far from your thoughts, he may as well not even exist. Nothing about Ray’s care and attention conjures up the specter of that unhappy memory. You feel safe underneath Ray. You feel safe with him.

He takes a long moment to roll the condom onto himself, and then another long moment easing himself between your legs. He props himself on one forearm and then presses forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick and swollen folds. He pauses and looks down at you.

“I’ll stop if you tell me to,” he says, and for the first time, he sounds uncertain, even a little shy. It strikes you all at once that maybe he’s nervous too, so you lift your hands and cup his face, draw him down to you. You gift him a sweet kiss, then you deepen it. You tilt his head and suckle against his lower lip as he had done to you earlier, and the groan that breaks free from him is sudden and loud.

“I trust you, Ray,” you tell him.

He drags the thick length of him along your slit, coats himself in your arousal before he pushes forward, breaches your entrance with the crown of his cock. He never looks away from you, and his unflinching, unblinking stare feels almost unbearably intimate. Like he can read your thoughts, like he can see into your soul.

He pushes forward, draws back. He works himself into you, but he pauses to kiss you, to whisper in your ear how well you’re doing. It doesn’t hurt, not really—it’s just the sense of pressure, of stretching, and you can see how it might hurt with an inconsiderate lover, but Ray takes his time to let you stretch to his invading length, so there’s no pain. There’s only the overwhelming sense of being taken, claimed.

You realize he’s fully seated when you feel the press of his hips flush against yours, and he lowers more of himself onto you. You feel the hot flush of skin on yours, slick with sweat, and his hot breath pants against your neck.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice sounds strained, but he lays a trail of kisses along your collarbone. He doesn’t move otherwise—doesn’t pull out, doesn’t thrust. He’s letting you get used to the feeling of him being inside you. He shifts his head and gazes down at you.

“Good,” you mumble. “I feel good.”

“Need your eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You do as he says. There’s tension in his face, and you reach up to brush your fingertips over the lines in his brow, the two deep lines between his eyebrows.

“I’m good,” you repeat.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it’s…” You trail off, try to focus. You’d heard the term ‘cock-drunk’ before, had always scoffed at how stupid it sounds, but having him inside you, thick and hot and throbbing leaves little room for intelligent thought.

Ray dips his head and kisses you deeply, licks against the inside of your mouth. He kisses you until you’re breathless then breaks away.

“Gonna need you to use your words too,” he says, and it comes out gruff except for the smirk curving his lips.

You smile back up at him. You lay your hand on the back of his head, run your fingertips through his close-cropped hair. “It’s good. It’s better than good, Ray.”

“Ready for more?”

You nod. “Yes.”

Another long, lingering kiss and then he starts to move. He pulls out halfway, pushes back into you, and his thrusts are smooth. No jarring, no rough jolts as he reseats himself over and over. The motion renews just how big he is; the tight walls of your pussy grip him, the friction of it knocks the wind out of your lungs. You cling to his broad shoulders, and you feel the flex and tension in his muscles as he fucks you gently. But he’s big, he’s so fucking thick, and you gasp each time his hips settle against yours.

“Still okay?” he grunts out, and you whisper that you’re fine, you’re perfect, but that he’s so big, so goddamned big like he might split you in half—

“No,” he groans. “Fuck, don’t.”

You freeze underneath him, suddenly terrified you’ve said something wrong, but then he groans in your ear before he lifts his head and stares down at you, clarifies.

“You can’t…. shit, you can’t say that, sweetheart.”

“S-sorry—”

He shakes his head to interrupt, quirks his mouth into that half-smile he has. “You can’t look at me with those goddamned puppy-dog eyes and say stuff like that.”

“I’m sorry, Ray—”

“I’m already on a hair-trigger,” he grits out, and you’re too inexperienced to know the warning signs of his impending orgasm, the erratic way he’s thrusting into you, like he’s trying to hold back but his body is working independently of his will. “Fucking jacked off twice before I came here…shit, want to make it good for you…” He groans again, drops his head beside yours. “Fuck, you feel so good, I can’t—just don’t—”

But he’s passed the event horizon of his pleasure, it’s too late to stop himself, and you’re bewildered for a beat as he groans out a string of curses, as he deals you a couple of shallow, rapid thrusts…but then you feel the throb of his cock inside you, his body rigid above you before he sighs and sags against you.

“Shit,” he breathes out. “Shit, shit, shit.”

*****

Ray would be ashamed, but you don’t let the feeling take root in him. Once you realize what has happened, you soothe him. You kiss him, you stroke your hands over his arms, his shoulders. You tell him everything is fine, that you enjoyed yourself.

Only you. Sweet, sunny you. Only you could turn your disappointing first time into a loving moment for him, and after he cleans you up, he grumbles as much to you.

“But I’m not disappointed!” you protest. “Not at all!”

“You didn’t get to come.”

“I did,” you point out. “And it was amazing.”

Ray rolls his eyes. He’s trying to argue with you; he wants you to yell at him for failing you. “You know what I mean.”

“It still counts. And I’m not a virgin anymore, so…mission accomplished.”

He sighs, and he makes one last attempt at wallowing in his failure. “You want me to leave?” he asks, and he doesn’t know what scares him more: you sending him away, or you asking him to stay with you.

“No! Not at all.” You look at him with those big doe-eyes, like some anime baby animal, and it’s made worse that you have no idea the effect you have on him. “Will you stay? Please?”

And maybe getting a lousy lay under your belt gives you some courage because you hook your chin on his bare chest, cast those sad eyes on him until he’s staring back at you…then you drop a kiss on his chest.

Then you bare your teeth and nip him there, light as air, but enough for him to feel the indent of your teeth against his skin. And then your tongue on him, laying wet line along the line of his tattoos, and the whole while you bat your eyelashes at him. Ray’s cock twitches at the sensation.

You goddamn menace. Has he created a monster?

He stays. Ray gets his hands on you, manhandles you until you’re underneath him again—your squeal of surprise makes his cock twitch again—and he cages you in with his arms. There’s a split second of worry that you’ll react badly to him being a shade rougher than he has been all evening, but there’s a gleam in your eyes, and your lips are parted as you gaze up at him.

He opens his own mouth to tell you he’ll stay, that he owes you after his embarrassing premature ejaculation, that he intends to make you come on his cock more than once, but maybe he has created a monster after all.

You don’t let him get the words out—you arch up towards him, you surge up and kiss him hard. It takes far less time than usual for him to recover, and when he finally slides into you the second time, he’s able to make the first time up to you—he makes you come twice before he finally joins you on your third orgasm, and when Ray comes with you, it’s not like any orgasm he’s had before: sparks of color explode behind his eyelids, and it’s damned near percussive—enough to finally bring down the stony remains of the fortress ‘round his heart, leaving him defenseless to you.

#ray merrimen #ray merrimen x reader #ray merrimen imagine #den of thieves #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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fiapartridge · 3 months

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💌 with the sweetest boy himself, the bu boy, macklin

i loved writing this, i love him, & yes, he is the sweetest boy ugh

and i haven't seen a single mack fic on here like 👀 why we sleeping on mack?? anyways, this is fluffy to the maxxxx

Stepping into his dorm, you took off your beanie as he worked to unzip the zipper of your large puffer. You grinned, placing a soft kiss on his lips as he smiled in return.

You loved days like this: grabbing coffee from the cafe downtown, shaking off snow and laughing at how ridiculous the two of you looked, comparing yourselves to dogs after a bath, and coming back to his dorm as he removed your articles of clothing without you ever asking because that was just the boy he was. He was your perfect boy.

You moved to sit atop his bed, opening his laptop, and scrolling through Netflix to find a movie to watch before you had to head back to your own dorm and brave the cold sheets of snow outside. He shrugged off his winter coat as you eyed his new shirt that you hadn’t seen him put on this morning before leaving to grab coffee.

“Mack?” you asked as he laid in the spot next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into the comfortable curve of his body.

He hummed in response, paying more attention to the movie on the screen rather than the curious yet amused tone in your voice.

“When did you get that shirt?” you laughed as he looked down at his top as if he had forgotten he even put it on in the first place. The shirt in question? A white tee with the words “I love my girlfriend,” except the ‘love’ was replaced with a big red heart. And the back? A picture of you two on the ice during family skate at BU, smiling brightly at the cameraman (thank you, Lane Hutson).

“Oh,” he huffed out a laugh, a tinge of pink settling on his cheeks. “Case got it for me for Christmas.”

“And I’m just now hearing about this?” You rolled onto your stomach, your chin resting on his chest.

Even after a year of dating, you still made Macklin nervous. You kept him on his toes, never knowing how you'd react or if he scared you away or if he would lose you by doing one thing over another. He was very subconscious in that way. If he lost you, he wouldn’t know what he’d do. You were his whole entire life, and while many say it’s unhealthy to rely on a person that much, Macklin didn’t care. He was head over heels for the girl sitting beside him, and maybe that’s why he wore the shirt, to show people that you were his, that he was very much in love, and that he was very much taken.

“I-” he nervously stammered.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m messing with you, Celly.” You shrugged. “I think it’s hot.”

He rolled his eyes. “There is no way you think this is hot.”

Moving closer, you watched as his eyes wavered down to your lips and quickly back to your gaze. A small smirk danced on your lips as you mirrored his movements, glancing back and forth between his eyes and his lips. “I don’t know. Telling everyone you love me with a picture of us on your back? It kinda makes me feel special, you know?”

“Any other ways I can make you feel special?” he smirked.

You gasped, smacking him in the shoulder as he let out an amused chuckle. “You are so gross, Mack!”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he replied, drawing you closer to his body until you were resting on top of him.

“You implied it.”

“Mhm,” he chuckled. He gazed at you intently, admiring his girl as you looked away, feeling exposed. His hand lightly held your chin, moving your head to look back at him. “You’re the prettiest girl ever.” he whispered, holding your waist as your hands steadied yourself on his chest. He ran his thumb up and down the exposed skin on your hip.

“I hate you,” you said softly, trying to hide the light shade of blush that was increasingly spreading across your cheeks.

“Embrace it, baby,” he remarked, dragging one of his hands up your back and leaning your body down to his chest, your arms falling to either side of his head as he closed the small distance between the two of you, brushing his lips against yours before fully capturing them in a tender kiss.

Your bodies pressed together as if you were trying to melt into each other, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being so close, so connected. Your breaths were mingled, hot and ragged as you somehow pulled him closer, kissing him with so much desperation you were unsure where this fervent fire came from.

Maybe it really was the shirt.

Your lips parted reluctantly, and with a soft, breathless laugh, you traced the contours of his skin, marveling at the way his features felt as if they were made for you and only you to enjoy. They were made for you to kiss and to admire, to love. With a soft sigh, you leaned down, resting your head on his chest as his arms encircled your small frame, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

“I should wear this shirt more often, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

#> fias 600 celly! ★#macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini x reader #macklin celebrini blurb #macklin celebrini imagine #boston university #boston university hockey #bc hockey #hockey imagines

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throwedgenji · 1 year

Video

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Freestyle rapper reacts to Harry Mack Omegle Bars 18 - Emotional connection through freestyle

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fangirl-writes · 1 year

Text

Macking on a Pogue

Topper Thornton x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): swearing?

Request: Hi would you be willing to do Topper Thornton from outed banks if so I would love an imagine exactly like the John b one you wrote for me except the reader is a Pogue please if not it can be a Rafe Cameron imagine.

Notes: I can do that! I don’t usually write for Topper cause he’s not my favorite but I get the appeal. And it’s not exactly like “Kiss the Kook” but the concept is around the same. I had such a hard time writing this for some reason.

It was a mutual decision to keep the relationship a secret.

Topper’s parents liked Y/N well enough, they were courteous at the very least, but she wasn’t Sarah Cameron and she wasn’t a kook.

Sometimes if she was over with Topper while his parents had friends over, the friends would give her a look. Like they weren’t sure why she was there or why the Thorntons let her in their home.

Topper was the only thing keeping her around.

For all of his arrogance and privilege, he was really sweet. She never expected to fall in love with him, but she knew him. He was always boating with Sarah back when they were dating, he went to beach parties the pogues held, and attended annual bonfires where the two sides considered a truce.

And despite the annual truce, she was sure her pogues wouldn’t take it too well if they found out she was dating Topper.

And Rafe was a psycho so telling him was out of the question, which made telling Kelce out of the question as well because he couldn’t keep a secret from Rafe to save his life.

But nothing stayed a secret for long in the Outer Banks.

“How long have you been fucking Y/N L/N?” Rafe asked.

Topper paled. “What?”

The kooks and pogues were stood at odds on opposite sides of a room at the midsummer’s venue. At Rafe’s words, the pogues had frozen in shock.

That sinister smirk made its way across Rafe’s face. “Oh, you thought we didn’t know about that?”

“Rafe, stop,” Sarah pleaded, eyes jumping from kooks to pogues.

Truthfully, Topper had hoped they were being more sneaky about things.

“No.” JJ spoke up, angrily. “No way, you’re lying out your ass, Rafe! Y/N would never date one of you pansies.”

“Come on, Top,” Rafe taunted, throwing an arm around his “friend’s” shoulders. “Tell them all about how you’ve been screwing your dirty pogue.”

Topper reacted fast and punched Rafe in the nose. “Don’t talk about her that way.”

The pogues were gaping, but Rafe seemed unfazed by the assault. He had no qualms about what he’d just likely ruined. “You got a mean swing, Top, I’ll give you that.”

Things started to click in the pogues’ minds.

Y/N had been...off lately.

She skipped out on hangouts, left the chateau early, disappeared for days on end, started dressing differently, wearing new clothes she hadn’t worn before and owned jewelry they’d never seen.

How could they have missed it?

Topper was seething. He grabbed the front of Rafe’s shirt, nearly ripping the buttons apart on his white shirt.

“Topper, stop!” Sarah shouted.

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on in here?” Kiara’s dad said, running into the room and separating the two boys. “What’s the matter with you two?”

“That little bitch has got you brainwashed, Toppy-boy!” Rafe shouted over Mr. Carerra’s arm. “Got her bottom-feeder hooks in you like they got Sarah!”

“That’s enough,” Mr. Carerra said, sharply, shoving Rafe roughly. “Let’s go have a discussion with your father. And you” - he pointed to Topper - “don’t think your parents won’t be hearing about this either.”

He and Rafe went one way and Topper went another.

“Hold the fucking phone,” JJ said, rushing after Topper with the other pogues following. “You and Y/N are dating?”

Topper didn’t answer.

“Topper wait-!”

“What? What do you guys want, huh?” Topper asked, still angry from his altercation with Rafe. “You want to ruin another one of my relationships? Because you really did a great job the first time, no need to bruise my ego any further, alright?”

“Topper we just want an explanation-”

“Well, Kiara, it’s none of your damn business.”

“Hey, don’t talk to her that way!” JJ defended. “You’re being an asshole, man!”

“Sorry, guess that’s just what us kooks are like, right?” Topper spat, walking across the dock and getting in his boat.

“Topper, wait, please!” Sarah said, but Topper was already pealing out of the marina and driving away.

“He’s gonna get himself killed driving like that,” John B. said.

“Has anyone heard from Y/N?” Kiara asked.

And they hadn’t.

Because Y/N was cozied up in the Thornton’s beach house, sleeping through the last half of Cheaper By The Dozen and her phone dinging with a hundred messages.

Topper had to smile when he saw her.

He silenced her phone, opting to text the group chat that Y/N was asleep and perfectly fine.

He also shut off the T.V. and snuggled in next to her.

She shifted awake, snuggling into him further.

“How was the party?” She asked, groggily.

“It was fine,” Topper replied. “Would’ve rather been here with you, though.”

“Sap...”

And then she was asleep again.

Topper felt a burning regret in his chest. Regret for letting his anger get the best of him, for putting his hands on Rafe (he’d be lucky he wasn’t faced with assault charges), for letting it out on Y/N’s friends...on Sarah.

But Y/N was still there. Still willing to snuggle into his side and love him like nothing had changed. To her, it hadn’t.

The morning would change this fact.

“Good morning,” Topper whispered when the golden rays of sunshine started peaking through the curtains.

Y/N let out a small whine and buried her face into his chest.

He chuckled. “Is it a breakfast in bed kind of morning?”

She leaned back, flopping against the pillow and looking at him with her best puppy dog eyes. “Chocolate chip pancakes?”

Topper laughed. “You got it.”

He went to get up but she snagged him, forcing him back onto the mattress.

“Not yet,” she whined. “Pancakes can wait a little bit.”

Topper glanced at the clock. “Well, if we don’t do it soon, we’ll be eating them for lunch.”

“I’m alright with that.”

He hummed and kissed the top her head. “I suppose I am too.”

She adjusted to lay her head on his chest and he ran his fingers through her hair. It was the perfect morning.

He would wake up like this every morning if he could, lost in their little bubble of paradise.

“I fucking told you!”

Topper and Y/N both shot up, Y/N holding her pocket knife aloft as a weapon.

“How long has that been under the pillow?” Topper asked.

“All night.” She paused. “I may or may not have a bunch of them hidden around the house.”

“Babe, what the fuck.”

John B., Sarah, Kiara, Pope, and JJ were stood in the doorway of Topper’s room, looking in on them with shocked and horrified looks on their faces.

“What the hell, guys?” Y/N said.

“What the hell us? What the hell you!” JJ exclaimed. “What’re you doing canoodling with Topper?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“How’d you guys even get in here?” Topper asked.

“JJ got a lock-picking kit for his twelfth birthday,” Y/N answered for them. “Though he promised not to use it to invade our privacy!”

“Hey, this could’ve been an emergency!” He argued. “You could’ve been tied up in the basement for all we knew! You never answered our messages last night.”

“That’s because I was asleep like a normal person!” Y/N retorted.

“Y/N you don’t even know what happened last night,” Kiara said.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “What?” She turned to Topper. “What happened last night?”

Topper avoided her eyes. “Ah...well...”

“He got into a fight with Rafe,” Pope said, ripping off the bandaid. “It was actually kind of awesome.”

“You did what?” Y/N shouted, rounding on her boyfriend.

“He was disrespecting you! He called you a dirty pogue and shit! You would’ve punched him too if you’d’ve been there,” Topper said.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t there and you’re already on probation for anger issues. God, Top, you’ll be lucky the Cameron’s don’t press charges, you know how they are. No offense, Sarah.”

“None taken.”

“Rafe won’t press charges on me,” Topper said. “Their lawyer is my lawyer too. And he’ll damn sure choose me over them.”

“Doesn’t excuse it. You know your parents are gonna be pissed about it.” Y/N said, then sighed. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but let JJ throw the punches next time, okay?”

“With pleasure,” JJ said, cracking his knuckles.

“Shut up,” Y/N told him. “And as for you guys, maybe don’t break and enter somewhere until I’ve been missing at least a whole day, okay?”

“So...this is really a thing?” Kiara asked. “You and him?”

Y/N nodded, intertwining her and Topper’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Not that it would matter if it wasn’t,” John B. said. “But yeah, it is.”

“Fine with me,” Sarah said. “I’m glad you guys found each other.”

“I’ve honestly been rooting for you two the whole time.” Pope said with a shrug.

“JJ? Kie?”

The two of them were silent, thinking it over.

“I guess if I can forgive Sarah, I should be able to forgive Topper,” Kiara said.

Y/N smiled. “J? Ground control to Major Tom?”

JJ's face was a mix between pouting and annoyance. “I...I guess it’s fine with me, but if you hurt her, Thornton we’re going to have problems. Again.”

“Fine by me,” Topper said, smirking. “I always kick your guys’ asses anyway.”

You smack him.

“Ow!”

#topper thornton #topper thorton x reader #topper thorton imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #obx imagine #obx x reader

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