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suntoru · 1 year

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✧˖°. PRINCESS TREATMENT ONLY!

summary: genshin men being huge simps and spoiling u every chance they get <3

feat. diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe, kazuha kaedehara, scary mooch, xiao, thoma, ayatoe, al-haitham, kaveh

a/n: i swear i was working on the masterlist but the brainrot finally got to me hnghhhh

warnings: gn but feminine implications (ie. princess treatment, reader wears heels and makeup, passenger princess), simping for reader, maybe ooc? swearing, fluff, some are modern aus, maybe innuendos?

─ ✰ DILUC is the gentleman we all deserve in our lives. if it’s raining outside, he’ll make sure to protect you from the wetness! he makes sure you’re fully bundled up in his coat, and that when he’s walking you home, the umbrella is fully covering you. oh, his shoulder’s getting wet? that’s fine, a little bit of water never hurt anyone. but if it happens to you? all hell breaks loose. what if you get sick from the rain? are you feeling alright? do you need medicine? a doctor? and if you’re in a modern au, he’ll definitely let you be the passenger princess 🥰 you can take naps, eat snacks, and pick all the songs! you don’t ever have to worry about giving him directions, you can just do whatever you want. he even installs led lights in his car so you can take asthetic pictures <3 if you’re tired, don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine alone, take your beauty sleep :) he drives you anywhere you want, no questions asked! you want to go to his mansion? you’ll be there in ten. grocery store? sure. nail salon? he’ll even accompany you to get your nails done just so you won’t be alone, pays for everything too!

─ ✰ KAEYA is absolutely whipped for you. to most people, he’s the town flirt, and a drunkard, but to you, he’s the most caring and softest person you’ve ever met, even if it’s hidden under layers of hurt. if you go out drinking with him, and come back drunk, he’ll carry you bridal style back home. pressing your body closer to his, he makes sure to prop your head so your neck won’t get sore. and if you wear makeup, he won’t put in the low effort to wipe your face with a makeup wipe, he’ll do your whole skincare routine for you! first, he uses makeup remover to take everything off, then, gently, he massages the cleanser into your skin and washes it off. he applies your creams and serums, making sure to be as tender as possible, even if you whine that all you want to do is go to sleep. he soothes you, whispering that all he needs is ten more minutes to brush your teeth and get you changed so you’ll feel clean in the morning. and for the hangover in the morning? he makes you special soup and showers you himself so you don’t even have to lift a finger.

─ ✰ CHILDE loves spoiling you whenever he gets the chance to. other people might think it’s just another sugar baby dynamic, but in truth, it’s far from it. it’s a selfless love, not just based on materialistic items. but even then, he’s willing to sacrifice his time and money for you. you’re his baby and his top priority always, no matter what. are you hungry? well, get ready, because he just booked a reservation at the highest star restaurant in town! you’re having a bad day? no problem, he’ll send one of the lower ranking fatui members to do the dirty work and he’s coming home early! he’ll bring home a large bouquet of flowers and a cute stuffie to match. you need new clothes? he’s driving you to all your favourite stores on his card <3 his wallet is practically bottomless, so don’t be afraid to spend what you want! a couple thousand mora is nothing to him if he can see your frowning pout turn into the pretty smile he loves so much. he even carries all your bags for you without asking! he can’t have his darling getting tired after all :(( just as long as after you give him a smooch on the lips and an hour of cuddles, the only payment he’ll accept (´∀｀)♡

─ ✰ KAZUHA, even after years of being in a relationship, still finds ways to give you butterflies in your stomach. when you come back into your quiet home after a long night, too exhausted to take care of yourself, he leads you to a chair and sits you down. he ever so delicately unlaces your heels for you, taking his time doing so, but don’t worry! you won’t ever be bored. if the silence is too much, he’ll ask you how your day was, talk about his, and spill all the tea that happened on the crux. and if your feet are tender, he’ll massage them gently so they won’t be sore in the morning :(( he’s putting the utmost care and effort into whatever he’s doing for you, and that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. he still opens doors for you, dedicates hundreds, if not thousand of poems and haikus to you, and never fails to make you feel loved. he’d never forget an important date, even if you don’t mention it for months before! he always asks for your hand, and when you place it in his with a knowing smile, he gives you a fairytale-like kiss on the top, making sure to peck every little fingertip in the process.

─ ✰ SCARAMOUCHE never thought he’d bow down to anyone again in his lifetime. he’s trained every little bit of himself to be the most powerful, the strongest being he could so he’d never have to go through that humiliation. but yet here he is, tucking away his ego and pride, bending down on the ground for you. yes, he may grumble, telling you to hurry up, and that he doesn’t have all day, but the fact that he’s basically submitting to you speaks for itself. you taught him what love meant, healing, and promised that you’d never leave him, and for that, you have his eternal loyalty. as you climb on his back, he gently hooks your legs against his arms as he stabilizes both of you. the proximity of your face resting against his neck causes him to go up in flames, throwing his oversized hat on your head, telling you to hold on to it for him. but really he’s hoping the large structure obstructs his rosy cheeks. he does every little ‘embarrassing’ thing for you, from painting his nails barbie pink to being shrek for your matching halloween costumes. if his younger self were to look back at him, he simply wouldn’t believe it, but now, he wouldn’t even consider the possibility of even saying no to you.

─ ✰ XIAO never, ever, takes you adventuring with him, simply because he believes someone as precious as you shouldn’t risk getting hurt and scuffed up. so instead, he brings you little gifts that he sees while adventuring. a glaze lily, protective adepti charms, and almond tofu are all gifts that he’s brought to you before. he’s also much softer with you, never raising his voice and being cautious about his choice of words. if you ever get caught in a physical situation with him, automatically he moves to stand in front of you, one arm protectively circling your waist, pulling you closer to him. being xiao’s s/o, you also get special privileges. while he answers most who call his name, if you even utter his in a whisper, he’ll be there in a heartbeat, no matter if it’s an emergency or not. whether you called him to join your tea party, or if you are in the slightest bit of danger, he’ll be there. he also trusts you more than his logic, even if everyone else is against you. if you’re in a scuffle with other humans, he makes sure to hear both sides, but his heart already knows who’s right. whether there are 100 witnesses who all say you’re wrong, he’ll still believe you anyways.

─ ✰ THOMA is absolute malewife material, no questions asked. sometimes, if he’s not busy in the mornings, he’ll surprise you with breakfast in bed without a special occasion. he’ll peck your cheek and give you a soft ‘good morning’ as to not break the sleepy trance you’re in, carefully placing the tray onto the nearest nightstand. whenever he’s around, he does all your chores too, from washing the dishes, to dusting the house and sweeping the floors. you wom’t even have to lift a finger, he goes as far to make lunch too! since he’s not home by then, usually somewhere in the kamisato estate, he leaves handwritten sticky notes on each lunch box he gives you. he fills them with messages like, “the perfume you wore smells good today!” “your smile is blinding, my ray of sunshine” or “you’re gorgeous always, my lovely.” never once is a message repeated, he believes someone as special as you deserves to hear something unique each day. he even goes as far to make your food cute! he’s made panda shaped onigiri’s, cat-like dango’s… all because you asked him once, it’s become a tradition now.

─ ✰ AYATO never leaves you bored when he goes to one of his meetings. his maids set up a spa day, complete with a makeover and evening gown to go with it, but it’s just not the same without your husband :( thankfully, being the significant other of the head of the yashiro commission has its own perks. for instance, you can walk around like you own the place and join in on in his meetings, albeit later you might get punished by ayato for interrupting, but really, he doesn’t mind. seated on his lap, you play with his fingers and let out a quiet huff. why did you think this was a good idea again? what they’re talking about is so boring, you’re beginning to regret your desicion to join ayato, wishing to be soaking in the tub with a face mask again. thankfully, shortly after, he cuts the conference short, apologizing and telling them he has more pressing matters to attend to. you lead him straight home holding his hand, giddy that he’ll join another one of your salon days. he makes sure to pamper you, giving you a massage and washing your hair for you, praising you for being so patient, even if you were the reason the meeting ended early.

─ ✰ AL-HAITHAM, i headcanon, thinks he’s being subtle with putting up with your shenanigans, but he couldn’t be farther off. he might seem indifferent on the outside, but he cares much more than you might think. can’t sleep? just wake him up at 3am, he’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito and read to you until you fall asleep! just got your nails done? he’ll carry all of your books, what else would he need his giant man boobs muscles for? he revolves around you, as if you are the sun and he the earth. and god forbid if you’re ever mad at him, his whole life comes tumbling down. although if you can’t see it in his facial expression, all of his rationality goes flying out the window. he’s snappier than usual, getting annoyed at the littlest of inconveniences. even if you’re in the wrong, he’ll still apologize first, he just wants you to start talking to him again 😢 if you have conditions to making up, he follows them all to the tee. give you one kiss for every hour he’s made you upset? done. buy you the newest line of makeup or skincare? absolutely. cook dinner for the next two weeks? he already does that.

─ ✰ KAVEH is placed 1st on the list of simps. just pout your lips and whimper a “pretty please?”, he’s down bad. he lets you braid, curl, and play with his hair whenever you want, even if it was already styled in the beginning. he lets you steal all of his clothes, who cares if he’s worn the same thing five times in the past week? you look so adorable in his white shirt, he can’t complain. oh, and if you don’t like his style? he’ll let you pick out his clothes and style him yourself, he’ll stand there patiently for you like a mannequin <3 technically it’s not allowed, but he shows you all of his top secret projects and all the cool things he’s doing, you’re the only one allowed in his office! oh, what’s this? you want him to do your makeup? just give him a week, he’ll perfect cat eyeliner, lip liner and blending eyeshadow colors for you! after you’re done, he lets you do his makeup too, praising you for your talent. even if the blush is patchy, foundation cakey and lip gloss smudged, he still thanks you endlessly with unlimited cuddles and a new handbag matching his briefcase!

©hawkssimpsblog 2023.

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imyourbratzdoll · 9 months

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hiii baby 🤍

weird request maybe…

But reader being tired of dating but really wanting a baby…like she just really doesn’t want to wait for the perfect man to settle down with, but she really really really wants a baby.

So she asks childhood!bestfriend!bucky or like childhood!bestfriend!CE!Character to impregnate her…

He (being secretly in love with her) agrees, so they make one 😩

hi honey! not weird at all! I loved this, I'm hoping I did it justice and that you love it!

summary - you've decided to stop going on dates when the last one fails and go to your best friend for the thing you desperately want.

warning - smut, breeding kink, unrequited love (or not), horrible dates, creampie, swearing, slight angst.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You sigh, having just come back from yet another failed date. No man seemed to live up to the expectation you were looking for. You sagged into the couch, kicking your shoes off and beginning to massage your temples. “Ugh, I’ll never find the perfect man to settle down with…” You look down at your stomach, and your mind fills with images of you being pregnant. Your eyes blink it away as you rub your belly. “I just want a baby… Is that so hard?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you have the perfect plan. Bucky! He’s your best friend, an ideal option for a sperm donor. You quickly dig through your purse and pull out your phone, unlocking it and quickly sending him a message.

‘Hey, are you able to come over? I have something important to ask you.’ You send the text, gnawing on your bottom lip as you wait for his response, watching the three little dots appear.

‘Sure, I’ll be there in 10 minutes with your favourite snacks.’

You smile, quickly jumping up and running to your room. You strip from the clothes you sadly wasted on your date and changed into a red lingerie set that Bucky got you for your birthday. You smirked when you remembered how flushed Bucky looked as you opened the gift bag and promised to show him one day. You walk over to the mirror and fix your make-up, reapplying your red gloss.

When you hear the door unlock, you quickly throw on your silk robe and head out of your room, ready to greet Bucky. He enters and smiles when he sees you waiting there for him. His heart practically pounds out of his chest as you smile back at him, walking over and wrapping your arms around his body. “Hey, I got us some Chinese.” He wraps one arm around you, tightly holding the bag of food with the other.

“You came so fast!” Your cheeks heat up at the innuendo of your words. You don’t notice the pout on his lips as you pull away from him and begin to walk toward the lounge room. “C’mon, I’d feel better asking you the thing while sitting down… I don’t really know how you’ll feel about it.” Your chew on your bottom lip, your nerves getting to you as you realise if he says no, you’ll possibly be ruining a good friendship.

Bucky follows you like a lost puppy, practically feeling your nerves radiating off of you. His eyes shamefully land on your arse, watching your hips sway as you walk before him. “So, uh… How did your date go?” This would be the tenth date this week that you’ve been on, and as your best friend, Bucky knows all about them and how lately they haven’t been going well. Except for his heart that constantly broke every time you told him you had a date with everyone but him. Bucky sits beside you, pulling out the hot food and handing you your usual.

“Shit like the others.” You immediately begin to stuff your face with food, starving from storming off during the date. “From the moment we met, all he spoke about was himself and the women he’s been with. Then when we sat down to eat, he ordered for me, but when I stood up for myself and ordered what I wanted. He decided to call me a cow and fat and that no man would ever love me if I didn’t let them take control of my life.” You growl, shovelling more food in your mouth. You swallow and look at Bucky, noticing the angry look behind his eyes but deciding to ignore that. “But, I came to a conclusion. You know how much I’ve been wanting a baby and have been trying to find the perfect man to settle down with.”

Bucky nods before frowning. “Please don’t tell me you're going to just sleep with one of these guys to get one.” His brows furrow. “You deserve more than that. You deserve someone that will be there for you and the baby.”

You wave him off, sucking some juice off your thumb. “Of course not. I had someone better in mind.” Your eyes connect with him, and Bucky’s brows raise when he puts the pieces together. “I want you to impregnate me, Bucky.”

“Y–you–” He swallows, blinking rapidly, wondering if he heard you right.

“I want you, Bucky. Just imagine how cute our baby would be, but I understand if you say no and no longer want to be–”

“Yes.”

“B–”

“Yes.” Bucky immediately scoots closer and cups your cheeks. “I’ll pump you full until you are carrying my child.” You feel slick gather between your thighs, turned on by his words. Bucky’s hands move down and undo your robe, choking on his saliva when his eyes land on the red lingerie set he had bought you. “You’re so beautiful…” He whispers, staring for a while before looking into your eyes. “D–do you want to go slow or…” Bucky swallows, knowing that you weren’t doing this because you felt anything for him. You were doing this to get a baby.

“Fast, for now, I just need you.” You whimper. You grasp the back of Bucky’s head and pull him toward you, devouring his lips with yours. “Please, fuck a baby into me.”

Bucky catches the for-now part, causing his heart to jump, knowing there might be another time. His breath catches as your lips connect, swearing that fireworks went off. His hand lands between your legs and begins to rub you through your knickers, letting out a moan as he feels how wet you are. “D–did you touch yourself before I got here?”

You shake your head, “No, no….” You whine, back arching and legs spreading more as he touches you. Bucky feels his cock harden more when he realises he made you wet. “Bucky, please.” You blink the tears away, so overwhelmed with your feelings for your best friend and your horniness. You hadn’t been touched in so long, and to have Bucky finally touch you with the promise of putting a baby in you intensifies it.

Bucky leans back, giving you a look. “Are you sure about this? Because once I start, I really don’t think I’ll be able to stop.” You nod rapidly, gripping any part of him that you can. He places a hand under your chin. “I need words, Y/n.”

“Yes, Bucky. I’m sure I want this.” You watch him remove your clothes, followed by his, and you gasp as your eyes land on his member. “You’re so big…” Bucky strokes his cock, lining it with your sopping cunt. As he pushes in, Bucky leans forward and connects his lips with yours, swallowing your moans. “O–oh…”

His hands move down and grip your hips, thrusting deep, fast and hard into your tight walls. “Fuck, you feel so good, doll.” Your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer to you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he hits deep inside you, hitting places you’ve never reached before. “I can’t wait to pump you full of my cum, doll. Breed you.” He growls, getting lost in the feel of you.

You moan, gripping onto your best friend, feeling him split you open, bringing you pleasure you’ve never felt before. You can’t wait until he fills you with his cum, giving you what you’ve always wanted. “Faster, Bucky, please.” You don’t know how he’s done it, but you're so close you can feel your orgasm just around the corner.

Bucky’s hips begin to snap, slamming into you hard and fast. “Shit, doll. I’m so close.” His hand slides between your bodies, locating your clit and rubbing it. Your back arches, legs squeezing tighter around him as your juices squirt out of you, your walls pulsating around his thick cock. Bucky groans, burying his face into your neck, pounding into you before burying himself deep inside you. Thick spurts of cum shoot out of his mushroom tip as he pumps you full of his cream. “Fuck, fuck! There’s so much. It feels too good, doll!”

You sag into the couch, pulling Bucky along with you, enjoying the feeling of his softening cock inside of you. He stares at you, stroking your cheek, and you smile tiredly up at him. “Thank you, Bucky. I hope this takes, if not. We will have just to keep trying.”

Bucky smiles, “I’d be happy with that.” He leans forward and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 2 ] || [ Chapter 4 ]

Pairing: Ghost x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: some sexual jokes/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 3: Simon

After doing the dishes, you moved yourself over to the living room and turned on the TV. Some rerun of an older season of Law and Order was playing.

You started watching but you found your eyes drifting back to your phone…

Against your better judgement, you clicked on the Tinder app icon again. Maybe, maybe you should swipe just a little more.

And so you did.

Today you said ‘Fuck you, Beyoncé’ and always went to the Right, to the Right.

Just as you were pondering another profile, the screen darkened with a ‘It’s a Match!’ notification, making you jump a bit, as usual.

You clicked the profile and your brow scrunched.

You didn’t remember liking this one… Though you obviously did, after all, you were liking everyone.

The only picture wasn’t even anything. It was dark and grainy and the man was wearing a black disposable face mask. If that even was him. Could just be a random picture off-Google, picked by someone who wanted to be anonymous. Not quite a catfish but close enough…

“Simon.” You said softly and dragged your finger through the screen to read his bio. For a moment you couldn’t help but smirk a little. He was sarcastic, a bit strange, but charismatic in his own way.

“Bad jokes, Bourbon, Discreet…” You mused while scanning his profile. “Tall enough.” You read aloud and couldn’t help but laugh at it. That made you feel like he was short.

Against your better judgement for the second time, you decided to send him a DM instead of waiting for him to. Something told you he wouldn’t.

you: tall enough - does that mean you’re below 6ft?

Simon: No.

Simon: Means that I have inches to spare.

you: was that a dick joke?

Simon: No.

Simon: Unless you wanted it to be.

You snorted softly under your breath. Of course he was a smart ass too…

you: ambiguous, i like it.

you: so how tall are you then?

Simon: Does it matter?

you: no. just curious.

Simon: 6ft4.

you: that feels like a lie.

Simon: I avoided putting it for a reason.

you: worried people would call you a liar?

Simon: No use. Going to be called it regardless.

you: that’s fair ig.

you: what’s a traveling consultant?

Simon: Similar to a contractor. Get brought in to help businesses all over the world.

you: what kind of businesses?

Simon: That’s need-to-know.

you: you type so formally and professionally jeez.

you: will i ever get to know?

Simon: Force of habit. Don’t text a lot.

Simon: Not if I can help it.

you: somehow i can tell.

you: what are you doing here then?

Simon: Curiosity mostly.

you: trying to see if you attract any fish? 👀

Simon: Something like that. A friend is on here. Wanted to see what all the fuss is about.

you: i see.

you: got anything yet?

Simon: No. But only created this 12 minutes ago.

you: am i your first then?

Simon: Not my first in anything, love.

Your eyes widened a bit and for some reason you found yourself getting a bit flustered, your face warming up just a bit.

you: does that mean you’ve hooked up with people through a dating app before?

Simon: Something of the sorts.

you: aw, im really not going to be your first.

Simon: That’s alright. You can come see me either way.

Simon: I’m sure you’ll find some other thing to be the first at.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you started sputtering. That came out of left field! He had gone from professional and mild-mannered to… flirty so quickly! Gulping, you tried to answer him with something coherent and funny.

you: idk what if you murder me?

Simon: I promise I won’t.

you: is that meant to be enough to convince me? 🤨

Simon: I’ll leave all my guns at home.

you: the fact you have more than one is not reassuring the way you think it is.

Simon: If it makes it any better, I wouldn’t need a gun to kill you.

Even though you don’t know this man, you can imagine that he’s laughing to himself behind his phone screen, all smug, thinking he’s funny. And, the worst part, is that he is.

you: reassuring. thanks.

Simon: Glad to be of service.

you: i think what makes it worse is that uve not got a pic of ur face.

Simon: Wouldn’t hook up with a bloke with his face covered?

you: no? are u trying to get me axe murdered? bc thats how u get axe murdered simon

Simon: LOL.

Simon: No.

you: u sure? a masked face with a mysterious job and a suspicious amount of guns… sounds like the upgraded version of ghostface… except online rather than over the phone.

Simon: I’ll take that as a compliment.

Simon: You’re funny.

Simon: I like that.

you: thanks.

Simon: Wondering if you’re that funny in real life or if you’d get all shy on me.

you: probably a mix of both.

Simon: How about we confirm that then?

Simon: Meet up with me for drinks. No pressure on time or place. You can even postpone if it comes down to it. My job is unpredictable enough so I might have to postpone too.

Your eyes widened. The first attempt at flirting from him, of inviting you for a shag, had been clearly sarcastic… But this one is genuine.

you: ill get back to u on that, is that okay?

Simon: No sweat.

Simon: And if you’re just being polite and not actually going to text me again then: This was fun. Enjoyed myself. Take care.

You bit your lip to suppress a smile when you saw his polite goodbye. He was… sweet, weirdly enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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reiderwriter · 3 months

Note

Okay but, flirty reader majority pointed at Reid, and the scene where he has to get hosed down and says "I'mma bout to get naked, I don't think you wanna see that" and reader's just like raising her hand and says "don't worry I'll stay". And after she walks out to go to the hospital and sees everyone and with an open mouth and wide eyes just goes " woah" cause big dick energy

A/N: Hi, thank you so much for your request! I've been a bit sick lately, so I haven't had a chance to write much, but this was fun and quick to write! I might do a part 2 with the actual smut in the future, so if that's something people would want let me know in the comments!!

Warnings: suggestive content, public dirty talk?

“I really want to see that.”

You heard the words but weren't sure where they'd come from for the longest time. It had been a confusing morning, with a high alert for anthrax and your coworker trapping himself inside a contaminated lab to save you from dying a presumably very painful death, you couldn't be blamed for not realizing that you'd said the words in question.

He'd meant the words sarcastically, of course, and they'd warned Morgan off immediately with a chuckle and a “You better survive this, kid,” but you'd stood rooted to the earth until he'd repeated them again.

“Y/N, they're going to strip me down. You don't want to see that.”

“I really do, though.” Your eyes unabashedly trailed down the contours of his body, soaked from the hoses currently decontaminating him. You could've sworn that he was moving in slow motion as his hand pushed back his hair and cleared his face of water.

If there weren't this many CDC agents around, you'd have likely joined him in his impromptu shower to feel your way along the lines of his clothing, checking to see what was outline and what was the thick layers of shirt and pants that unfortunately still obstructed your view.

Another minute of you ogling him went by before your eyes finally returned to anywhere near his, and you realized that your desire for the man could no longer pass for camaraderie.

“You better not die, Spencer. Not before I can enjoy the meal I'm about to sample.”

His doctors were either ignoring the conversation completely or were busy focusing on other things, and luckily, they didn't react to your words. Other than to take Spencer's temperature one more time when he flushed bright red, and stared at you slack-jawed.

“We're going to have to speed this along, Doctor Reid. Please start unbuttoning your shirt,” one of the hazmatted men said to him, but his eyes were fixed on you.

“Yes, please do, Spencer. It's for your own good. And mine.”

You expected him to blush and fawn again, but his day had been as long and confusing as your own, so you were unsurprised when he looked you directly in the eye and began unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his descent, and your breath faltered, seeing the water drip down his bare skin now.

“I'm not sure which of us is wetter right now,” you tried to joke in earnest, but you felt a sharp jolt of lust in your gut as soon as his hands reached his belt.

“Y/N, you need to leave now. Before you make this any harder for everyone here.” The innuendo in his words were clear, but you were thankful again for the considerate and/or oblivious doctors either side of him bagging up his discarded shirt and jacket.

“Only if you promise I can make your life as hard as I want to when you're in the clear.” You smiled again, hoping the full force of your lust would reach him. Spencer was always oblivious to genuine flirtation, you'd observed enough women throwing themselves on him (had discouraged a few too many with a hand on his arm and a finger playing with the abandoned curls at the back of his neck, too) to know that for sure.

You needed to make your need for him explicit.

“I mean it, Spencer. I really mean it.”

His eyes locked with yours for the last time ad you made to turn around, doing your best to convince him without becoming distractedly horny.

“I know. I'll see you at the hospital.”

“At the hospital? Risky, I like it.” You winked and turned away, leaving him calling back after you as you walked over to the car Derek had pulled around the front of the property.

“Wait, not the hospital! Those beds aren’t comfortable. Y/N! Y/N, really!”

You giggled as you sat down in the car, but you bubbled with anticipation still.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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landosjpg · 16 days

Text

the alchemy | ln

where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me.

lando norris x gender-neutral!reader

word count: ~0.9k

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo at the end

note: i had two similar requests in my inbox (one & two) so two birds, one stone! the first one it’s been sitting on my inbox for a couple of weeks now and it was one of the first things i thought of after processing the race. i love writing taylor inspired things so thank you for sending these <3

also! i know i’ve never celebrated milestones but we’re close to 1k and i was wondering if you guys would like for me to do a little celebration or something like that. if you have any ideas of what you’d like to see then maybe send then to me cause i’m so bad at these things :( much love, n

“lando norris wins for the first time in formula one. it’s victory in miami, for norris and mclaren!”

the words kept ringing in your ears as you ran down the pitlane, a sea of papaya around you. you had been holding your breath for the last thirty minutes; the uncertainty of what the outcome would be had you anxiously bouncing your leg from where you were sitting in the mclaren garage.

it wasn’t unusual for you to attend races; after all, lando had been your friend for some time now, and he liked to have you around. however, it was quite the sight, seeing him finally cross the finish line first.

one for the history books.

you watched as he took his helmet off, carefully placing it on the floor before running to where his team was, only a few meters away from you. your smile grew wider as you saw him jumping into them, the mechanics patting his back in excitement before lifting him in the air. you were mesmerized by the sight of him, he was glowing; the smile on his lips brighter than ever. few hugs and words of praised were exchanged until he finally found you in the crowd.

as you watched him walk over to you, eyes sparkling and most charming smile you had ever lied your eyes on, you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you were. not just to be there, but to have him.

“where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me.”

you opened your arms to welcome him into an embrace, but he had other plans in mind. it all happened so fast, his hands cupping your cheeks before his lips crashed into yours, your heart skipped a beat as all the cameras flashed around you. but before you could even process what had happened, he pulled away.

“fuck. sorry, the adrenaline,” he chuckled nervously, his gaze fixed on yours nevertheless as his hands dropped from where he was holding your face.

“i’m proud of you,” you brushed it off immediately, giving him a smile and wiping the proud tears that still rolled down your cheeks. “you deserve this.”

he smiled and nodded before walking to his post-race interview, leaving you hot-faced and with a knot forming in your stomach.

you watched the celebrations from afar, letting him enjoy his moment; and most importantly, not wanting to get drenched in champagne. everyone chanted his name and your eyes followed him everywhere, but you couldn’t get that kiss out of your mind.

maybe it was a little silly, he had said it was just the adrenaline. but it wasn’t a secret to any of you that lando used to have a crush on you when you first met; perhaps that spot in his heart was still yours.

but the butterflies in your stomach started fluttering again when you saw him taking his trophy in his arms before making his way to you once the celebrations were over.

silence settled between the both of you as you made your way back to his driver’s room. it wasn’t uncomfortable, it never was with him; and the smiles in both your faces said enough.

“i’m sorry for that,” he said right after the door closed behind you. “i don’t know why i did it, i was too high in adrenaline and…”

“lando,” you tried to cut him off, miserably failing as he kept talking over you.

“i wasn’t really thinking, i hope you’re not mad at me and it doesn’t change anything between us, i would hate to…”

“lando,” you took a step closer to him, one of your hands reaching to cup his cheek, but it didn’t seem to calm his nerves.

“lose you over it, you’re one of my best friends and…” you sighed, he was completely ignoring you as he kept rambling.

not wanting to hear anymore of that, you decided to act on it instead; he wasn’t gonna listen to you, anyway.

your hand slipped to the back of his head and you pulled him closer to you, your lips meetings for the second time as he finally stopped talking.

he felt his heart racing, and he swore you could even hear it. he pulled away only a few seconds later, looking at you perplexed.

“what was that?” he sounded breathless.

“i don’t know,” your cheeks felt hot again, maybe he did mean it when he said it only was the adrenaline. “but it feels right.”

at your words he smiled and sealed the gap between your mouths, this time daring to slip his tongue between your lips, deepening the kiss as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“took you long enough to realize,” he whispered in between kisses, making you chuckle.

“you knew i’m not into losers,” you sassed, making him roll his eyes.

“i hate you,” he poked your side, earning a giggle from you.

“sure you do, norris. now go take a shower, we need to keep celebrating,” your hand softly squeezed his arm, the smile on his lips growing wider.

“i guess i’m not the only one coming first tonight, then?”

cocky.

“you’re an idiot,” you sighed, shaking your head. “we’ll see about that.”

he just smiled, pecking your lips before leaving you to gather your thoughts while he got ready.

you sighed. the chemistry between the both of you had always been undeniably strong. and after all that time, all the wait had paid off in the end.

“honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?”

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris drabble #lando norris blurb #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 fluff #ln4 smut

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sugarlywhispers · 3 months

Text

☆– a.n; here's a lil piece for valentine's day, even tho it was yesterday <3

Your first kiss with Bakugou was nothing like you expected. You thought, because of his fiery personality, that it was going to be fireworks and heat and passion all over.

How wrong you were.

Bakugou Katsuki was a massive bundle of nerves, completely clumsy even in his walk–and Jesus, seeing that big mass of muscles trip on his own feet each two or three steps in your walk home from your date, gave you several heart attacks thinking he might kiss the ground at any minute.

You were not expecting this at all. He was so confident when it came to his job, to his friends, to any situation he was in. Except you. Least to say, it took him for-fucking-ever to ask you out, and when he did, he stumbled upon his words and instead of asking you dinner he asked you, "would you like t'go hungry wit' me?" It took you a minute to understand, he almost backed down due to the embarrassment. Obviously, you grabbed his arm, avoiding him to run away –or better said, explode himself away– and said yes. That night, at the door of your apartment, he tried to kiss you. He bumped his forehead with yours in the rush to get his face closer down to you. He apologized and left.

You remember thinking, that was all. He was not going to speak to you ever again, or at least until his embarrassment backed down a bit, which could be months. It surprised you to see him the next morning entering the little coffee shop you owned with a bucket of roses in his hand, cheeks cutely tinted pink and a funny scowl in his face, lips slightly pout.

You decided then that it was your turn to ask him on a date. Of course, he said yes. But this time, you decided to eat something at your apartment and watch movies. Something easy and comfy. No need to let the pressure of going outside invade him, considering who he is and what it means to be seeing outside on a date with the Number Two Pro Hero. You still didn't know how people hadn't already said something about your first date, when Bakugou took you to a very expensive and recognized restaurant.

After dinner, clearly prepared by him and shared in between cheeky jokes, laughs and innuendos, you were finishing washing the dishes while he dried them. It was that domestic kind of view, him smiling relaxed and amused, his big hero body taking a big portion of space in your small apartment kitchen, his hip resting on the counter, hands busy with his task, the lines at the corner of his eyes showing how happy he actually felt, it was all of him that made you realize…

It’s him.

Bakugou Katsuki is the one.

When he finished, he folded the cloth he was using to dry the last plate and placed it on the counter behind him, before he turned to you, the amusement of the last funny thing you said still printed on his face. “What?”

“I’m going to kiss you, Bakugou Katsuki, so don’t move.” You don’t want a repentance of last time and the bump he left on your forehead thanks to his nervousness.

He visually gulped and you chuckled, but still gave him time to assimilate your words, and your actions, so you moved slowly as if it was a scaredy cat you were dealing with. His breathing was loudly heard with each movement of yours and his hands grabbed the counter strongly like his life depended on that grip. He was serious now, concentrated even in not moving. And that was so cute, that even if he looked that desperate to get close to you, he also wanted to do as you said.

You stepped closer, hand coming to rest just above his heart, and his chest loosened. Katsuki let go of his anchor at the kitchen counter and slipped his hands around your waist immediately and tugged you against him, brushing your noses together. Choosing to dive into whatever ocean you were living as a siren in.

“If you don’t want to…”

Oh, yeah. You were going to make him say it. Because he was Bakugou freaking Katsuki and you were on fucking cloud nine at the knowledge that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

“If you don't kiss me right now…” he murmured, voice trembling, and you couldn't avoid the smirk that appeared on your face.

“Then what?” You whisper, your other arm surrounding his neck as your fingers interlace with the short hair at the back of his head, and he breathes out loud.

“Then I'll… I’ll have to do it myself.”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, smiling one more time, before your lips finally pressed over his. This time softly, generously and carefully loving.

His arms around your waist tightened just as his heart beated fast and strong under your hand. A clear sign that he was as human as you. And he felt as deep into you as you to him.

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

Text

healing

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 5,445

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of past trauma (starcourt), slight sexual innuendos??

a/n: hi! remember when i made you do a poll for my 1k celebration? and one bed with billy won? well this is that fic! i'm sorry it took so long to get here, but school was kicking the ever loving shit out of me. anyways, i really hope you like it. it's a little different than other fics i've written, but i think that's a good thing. just for context, this is post the end of season three, with billy and hopper being okay and jopper being in full swing. i think that's all i wanted to say. thanks again for 1k followers. that's still so wild to me. i love you. and billy loves you too <333

————

November 1985

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You just fought an interdimensional being, don’t you want a vacation?”

Lucas wipes both hands down his face, flopping down on the arm of the couch beside where Max sits with El between her knees, tying off one of the two braids she’s trying to make.

“Max, can you help me? Please?” Lucas has been arguing about this for fifteen minutes.

She rolls her eyes, but looks up from her work nonetheless. “Billy.”

The man in question crosses his arms, locking eyes with the redhead. “Maxine.”

Max finishes Eleven’s braid and she hops up to join Will where he’s working on a puzzle. Joyce brought it home from work a few days ago, and it’s been spread out on a card table in the corner of the living room since then. Will couldn’t watch The Golden Girls with Joyce from the kitchen table.

“Just come with us, Billy. We all know you hate it here. It’ll give you a chance to get away for a little while.”

Except that’s not totally the truth. He doesn’t hate it here. Not with you around.

“There’s a pool.” Will looks up, a little shyly, from the puzzle, fingers flipping around a single piece. “At the place Robin found.”

Billy nods, and it’s enough to make Will smile at the acknowledgment.

It’d been Steve’s idea, after everything that happened in July. He thought everyone going on a trip together might be a good idea. Go a little ways out from home, calm down.

You and Billy started going to school, though Billy is still working. He found a job at a record store across the street from Melvald’s that opened after the mall went to shit. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but it works. And he’s slowly fixing up the Camaro.

Steve had offered to pay for the repairs in full, considering he did most of the damage when he rammed the side of it, but Billy couldn’t handle that. So far Max has only convinced him to let Steve cover the really expensive parts. It hurts Billy more than he’d care to admit—having Steve Harrington give him money.

But he can’t lie, going somewhere away from Hawkins, even just for a couple days, sounds really nice. It’s the group part that’s bothering him. He’s still not used to everyone wanting him to tag along, but apparently major trauma brings people together.

There’s the slamming of car doors, and footsteps running up the driveway before the door swings open, Robin bursting in with a stack of movies in her arms. She’s followed by Dustin and then Steve, bags and keys being tossed every which way.

Billy doesn’t see you for a moment and starts to worry maybe you aren’t coming. He’s already supplying excuses for having to go home, but Steve left the door ajar, and after a moment, there you are.

You look sleepy, footsteps the quietest of everyone else as you carefully push the Byers’ door shut behind you. He watches as you accept a hug from Eleven, overhears her ask, “how did your test go?”

He’s happy to hear you tell her it went well. It’s only after you’ve looked at her and Will’s puzzle and snapped a few more corner pieces in that you make a beeline for the open spot on the couch beside Billy.

When you’ve settled, your knee bumps against his. “Hey.”

He looks at you, a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His arms are still crossed, thumb playing with the pendant resting on his chest. A chest surprisingly covered by a sweater, though the sleeves are pushed up.

“Hey. Glad your test is over?”

That sound of his voice makes you smile, and he’s never been so grateful for something, even if it’s just an expression. “Yeah.”

You glance down at the new tattoo on his arm, a dark colored snake wrapping around the skin covering his elbow. You run your thumb across the tail that flicks across his forearm, and Billy relaxes into your touch.

“You have work today?”

Billy shakes his head. You’re glad he had the day off. And you’d tell him so if it weren’t for the sudden bombardment.

Lucas is suddenly standing in front of you, having returned from the kitchen where you think he and Dustin may have been cleaning out Joyce’s fridge.

“Holy shit, thank god you’re here. I need you to convince Billy to go on vacation.”

You glance at Max, assuming she’s already tried. She looks rather annoyed. “Lucas, would you sit down?”

The boy looks at Max, and she glares at him. Clearly he knows better and sits down next to her.

“Billy doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” you finally say.

The man in question turns to face you. You have to lean your head back some because of how close he is.

“Are you going?” he asks, voice quiet and thick with something you don’t know that you’re supposed to notice.

“Y-yeah. I was gonna. Robin only went on about it to me for an hour over the phone last night. I just think it might be nice to get away for a little while.” Billy doesn’t break eye contact with you, and while it makes you a little nervous, it tells you he’s listening.

“And I can watch Max for you if you really don’t want to go. Just make sure she doesn’t kill Lucas or anything.” Max snorts at your response, though Lucas looks at her in panic, already calculating how best to prevent that sort of situation.

Your gaze softens and you fight the urge to reach out and run your thumb across Billy’s cheek.

Please come with us. I want you to go. I want you there, you think. But it’s not what you say. You don’t know how badly he needs to hear it.

“You really don’t have to go, Billy. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But there is enough space, man.” Steve stands behind the couch, handing El a scrunchie he retrieved from her bag. His voice is calm, informative. “If you decide to go. There’s plenty of room, and we’d be happy if you did.”

Billy could make some smartass remark. But he won’t. He knows that Steve is being honest, and that he’s not trying to be a dick. It seems that witnessing the guy who beat the shit out of you almost die not even a year after he moved to town really brings you together.

Billy gives an acknowledging nod. “I’d be very happy if you did,” Eleven says. She loves having Jonathan as an older brother, really she does, but Billy lets her play with his hair. And in her books, that really ups the scale.

He smiles at her, and El considers that a win.

You notice him shift next to you, and then he’s leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Come with me?” He cocks his head in the direction of the door.

He gets up, assuming you’ll follow him. You always do.

When you’ve shut the door, you move to the porch swing. It’s your favorite spot out here, and Joyce says it makes her happy to see someone use it. She used to sit there with Will in the mornings after Jonathan left for school and read to him. She did the same with Jonathan, but he was a much more fidgety kid, wanting to find something else to do.

Billy lights a cigarette, and you watch where he fidgets with the ring on his middle finger.

He’s standing a little ways away from you so as to not breathe the smoke directly in your vicinity, but you wish so badly that he was closer. You like having him close. The weight of his body next to you, the warmth, how solid his arm feels when it’s pressed to yours or when he slides down on the couch some and it's more so pressed to your side.

“Which part of it are you worried about?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “You really think they want me there? You think Max wants me around?” “Billy, I know she does. And I know that voice in your head is telling you that it’s a pity invite, but it’s not. And, besides…” you trail off, but he’s not having that. He needs you to reassure him.

“Besides what?”

You look up at him. “I want you to go. And yeah, I’ll be sad if you don’t go, but that shouldn’t sway your decision either.” You push your feet against the concrete porch a little harder, and the swing responds to the movement. You move quicker, now feeling very pleased with yourself.

Billy almost laughs at the child-like look on your face, but you look so at home on the swing that he holds it in. A grin escapes nonetheless.

“Say that again.” He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray either Hopper or Joyce have left outside. He’s watching you again.

“What?” He’s not gonna let you go all shy on him now. He needed to hear that. He needs to hear it.

“You know what.”

“I want you to go.”

“Then it’s settled. Need to get out of this shithole anyways.”

————

The place Steve found is about two hours from Hawkins, with three bedrooms, a shockingly luxurious pull-out couch, and bigger common areas than you’ve ever laid eyes on. Excluding the ones in Steve’s house. In short, the rental is like Hopper’s cabin, if Hopper’s cabin were updated and substantially larger. It feels like the kind of place rich people have to take weekend trips. You’d rather not find out how much Steve is paying for the lot of you to stay there.

Robin takes you on a grand tour while everyone else explores the backyard. Dustin is already determined to climb a tree. One of the rooms has two sets of bunk beds, dedicated to the four boys. “To ensure no cootie-spreading,” Robin proclaims.

She and Steve will share the couch, with Max and Eleven in the smaller bedroom.

Robin stops at the end of the hallway. “Which leaves…”

You and Billy.

You and Billy Hargrove.

Sharing a room.

Sharing a bed.

Speaking of, the man in question brushes past you, setting his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. Robin takes that as her queue to leave and gives you a thumbs up on the way out. You hope she can feel your death stare on the back of her head, and she knows it, being quick to run down the hall.

“So we’re roomies, huh?” Billy says, gathering his hair at the base of his neck. You hadn’t even realized he had a tie on him, and it takes him finishing off a lazy bun to realize it’s a blue scrunchie. You have to bite your lip to keep from saying anything.

“I can sleep with Max and El, if you want. Or–”

That crease between Billy’s brows forms. “Why would you do that?”

You’ve gone all warm. You’d have to sleep in bed with him. And you sit next to him all the time, but this is different. Isn’t it?

Maybe it’s not so weird. You’re just friends. It’s like a sleepover, right?

“I don’t know, you might not want to sleep together or something.”

He cocks a brow, but you catch the double meaning of your words just in time. “You know what I mean, Billy.”

He sits on the end of the bed, and reaches out for you. You move towards him slowly, but the moment you’re within his grasp, Billy spreads his legs and grabs your waist, slotting your body between them.

“You can go if you really want to. If you think I’ve got cooties or somethin’ and you don’t wanna share a bed with me.”

You snort, and Billy drinks in the sound, knowing he’s the one that made you laugh.

“I don’t think you’ve got cooties.”

You realize in that moment that his hands haven’t left their spot on your waist, never straying anywhere else. The weight of them on you is enough to keep you focused on him, and he seems to acknowledge that.

“Then what is it?” he asks, in that low drawl you fear could get out any answer he wanted from you.

You hesitate, but say it anyway. “You don’t think it’ll be weird? Sleeping in the same bed?”

Billy fights the urge to rest his forehead against your stomach. He wants to tell you he’s wished you were in his bed on more than one occasion. Sometimes he just wishes you were there so it wouldn’t feel so cold, so he’d have someone to pull him out of his thoughts before they eat him alive altogether.

“No, I don’t think it’ll be weird.”

You nod your head, and try to move back from him.

Billy whines. “Uh uh. Nope.”

You go to put your hands on your hips, and they graze Billy’s on the way. He grabs hold of them. “You don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”

Billy’s looking up at you with those watery blue eyes, and you know this is a battle you’ll never win.

“Really?”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, and your eyes fall to his neck when he tosses his head back.

“Yeah, baby.”

Baby.

It feels like every cell in your body has been sent into overdrive, like you can’t compute a single coherent thought. All because Billy called you “baby”.

And if he’s being honest with himself, he feels the same way. He hadn’t meant to say it. It’s just that he calls you “baby” in his head all the time, and it just…happened.

“I’d love to have a sleepover with you, Hargrove.”

“Mhm. Thought so.”

This time he lets the laugh out, and it’s a beautiful sound. The kind of sound you’d commit unspeakable acts to hear again. And this time, he does let his forehead drop to rest on your stomach. It surprises you, but you’re not mad about it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, and you can feel his chuckle against your skin.

When he quits, you find yourself just standing there, find your hands moving around his back. He’s always so warm. You rub your hands up and down his back, the denim of his jacket rough on your fingertips.

You feel him shift, feel his change in position, the hard press of his chin against you. Billy is looking up at you, and you know he’s hoping you’ll return his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you hate to think of what you must look like from this angle. Clearly he doesn’t mind.

You push a curl behind his ear, a shockingly perfect ringlet that’s too short to be contained like the rest of them.

Billy would be taken aback by the gesture if it weren’t for the fact that you always go this easy on him. Like you know he’s healing, in more ways than one.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I wanna go look around.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m sure it’s riveting.” He lets you go anyway, following you down the hall to the rest of the cabin.

————

Your back rests on the base of an oversized chair, one that’s surprisingly comfy, your body in between Robin’s legs. She’s sitting next to Steve, watching you moderate El, Lucas, and Will play Twister. Dustin’s already out.

“Right hand blue.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Sinclair, have you never played this game before?”

Lucas scoffs, trying to reach the blue on the other side of the mat without toppling into Will. Max went with Billy to the store, but they should be back soon. You have a sick feeling they’re taking advantage of having been given Steve’s debit card.

“Yes, I’ve played the game before. If you’re so good, why don’t you get down here and show us how it’s done, Harrington?”

“Yeah, Harrington, why don’t you show us how flexible you are?” Billy’s voice makes you look up from where you’ve been mindlessly twisting the spinner on the board around with the tip of your finger.

He stands just inside the living room, holding the door open with his leg. He kicks it shut once Max has made it in. She heaves the paper bags she’d been holding up and onto the counter. Steve rises to help unpack them. You follow on instinct, handing the spinner to Robin instead, and Dustin is quick to take Steve’s spot before Mike can.

Billy won’t let you take anything from him, but he will let you help figure out what the hell to do with all of it. “Do I even want to know how much you both spent?” you ask.

He gives you that fucking smile, and you know you don’t. “Max said she wanted to have a spa night–whatever that means–with El, so we sort of split up. I’m sure Steve’ll live.”

“For your information, Lucas,” Steve continues, clearly not ready to let the quips towards his limberness go, “I was the captain of the swim team.”

“What’s that got to do with being flexible, dingus?” Robin directs the two remaining players, the young boy in question having just busted his ass.

“Swimming is an art form, Rob. You gotta learn to respect it.”

You choke on a laugh, and Billy is quick to rub your back while he chuckles into your shoulder.

“Something funny over there?” Steve questions.

You straighten, trying to wipe the smile from your face though it’s to no avail. “Nope, Steven. I’m sure you’re just incredibly stretchy. Like Mr. Fantastic.”

His brow furrows. “Mr. Fantastic?”

Dustin snorts, elbow deep in a bag of chips, and you quickly realize that you probably shouldn’t have given him an opening, but you don’t exactly regret it either.

The lot of you spend the rest of the night in this fashion, playing games, eating way too much food, taking turns smacking the top of the television so your movie will keep playing.

It feels like home. It feels safe. You wish it always felt this way.

————

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when you hear the bedroom door click shut, hear footsteps you can tell are in search of you.

You peek your head out of the bathroom and Billy grins at the sight of you in pajamas, a smear of moisturizer on your forehead you’ve yet to rub in.

He squeezes in the small room, about the same size as his at home, to join you. There’s something about this moment, the domesticity of it, that makes your heart swell. It feels like something you could get used to, getting ready for bed with him. Neither of you have to say anything, you just do your own thing, but having him be there, having his presence–it’s more than enough for you.

When you climb into bed, you try and read for a while, the sounds of Billy washing his face comforting you. You find it easy to read even when he does get in with you, the mattress sinking underneath his weight, the sheets rustling as he moves around experimentally, trying to get comfortable in a bed that isn’t his own.

You feel odd though, reading when he’s right there, so it isn’t long before you close the book and slide further into the covers with him. Billy’s quick to turn on his side, wanting to see you like this.

He watches you yank the blankets up to your chin, looking at him over a blur of fluffy white comforter. “It’s fuckin’ freezin’ in here,” you tell him.

“C’mere then.”

You burrow further into your pillow, fearing you know exactly what he’s going to suggest. “Huh?”

“You’re cold. You always whine about me being warm or somethin’ and I’m telling you to come here.”

“Billy.”

“Stop.” He lifts the covers up some, untucking you from them, and he wraps his arm around your back, tugging you into his side.

Suddenly you’re pressed against him, having slid across the sheets easier than you’d have imagined.

He’s let go of you, his arm hovering over your back. “You want me to hold you or no?”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets his arm drop against your side, his fingers splaying out over your back. He rubs his hand up and down your spine, hoping it’ll warm you up. “This okay?”

“Yes.”

He nods. You’re looking at him like he’s something special.

Billy realizes, in that moment, that that’s how you’ve always looked at him. Even before.

He also realizes that your hands are tucked under your chin and your legs are curled up and into you like you’re afraid of making any contact with him.

“You can loosen up, you know. It’s just me.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, and he can feel it against the skin of his neck.

“It’s okay, I promise. You can touch me.” Billy has this feeling that you’re afraid of hurting him. He’s sure you’ve noticed that he’s wearing a shirt to bed, something he never did before. And he thinks that you’re worried he’ll break.

“You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

He watches you unfold your hands and stretch your arm over him, hooking it around his hip. You want to rub up and down his side, but you’re nervous.

It’s just me.

“Do they hurt at all?”

Your thumb skates up a little further, and you don’t have to tell him what you mean.

“Not all the time,” he says, voice low and thick with drowsiness. “At first, yeah, like hell. Now it’s just sometimes. They can feel a little tight, or just bug me. Depends, I guess.”

You nod, feeling brave enough now to slide your hand up a little further. Your touch is light, barely there. You close your eyes, trying not to think about when it happened. How he’d screamed.

He can tell when you’ve calmed down some, because your arm relaxes and you hug him a little more firmly. You scoot in a little closer, close enough that your noses would touch if you tried to make them.

“Goodnight, Billy.”

He makes the move, dragging the tip of his nose across your forehead. He kisses the top of your head, and you grin so wide you feel like a kid in a candy shop.

“Goodnight, baby.”

————

When you wake up, you almost don’t want to disturb him, but you know you should get out of bed.

Billy is sprawled out on his stomach, having separated from you at some point during the night. His tank top is rucked up from the tossing and turning of sleep, and you look away when you catch a glimpse of pink skin. It doesn’t feel like your place to look.

You wander out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind you. You make it down the hall, and find that Robin seems to be the only other one awake. You should’ve guessed. She told you once before that her body doesn’t seem to let her sleep in.

Steve is still passed out on the pull-out couch, completely covered by the blankets. The only sign of him is a tuft of messy hair against the light colored pillow case his head rests on.

Robin waves at you from her perch at the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in front of her. “Want some?” she whispers, pushing the box in your direction.

You fill up your own bowl, having a feeling that Robin is about to ramble.

“Sleep okay?” she asks.

“Mhm. You?”

“Fine. Though, y’know, Steve is a horrific bed hog. Seriously, he was half on top of me the whole night. I might have to bunk with Max and El.”

You laugh, and Robin takes that as her queue to ask what she’s been pondering since she woke up.

“Was it okay? Sleeping with Billy? Well, not like that. Well, I’m assuming not like that, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just meant like actually sleeping? Please stop me.”

You grin at her. “Please breathe, Rob.” She does, over exaggerating her inhales. “And it was fine.”

“Okay, good. I was kind of worried you’d be frustrated with my matchmaking tendencies. I just really want you two to be happy. And he seems so calm when he’s with you, and I realize I’ve just told you that I’ve been pushing you two together and I–”

You wipe milk from your chin, having almost spit out your cereal. “Robin, sweetheart, it’s okay, I promise. I know about your matchmaking tendencies. But I think we’re just friends, right?”

“Just friends, my ass.” You hadn’t even seen Steve get up, but he’s reaching for the fridge and pulling out a carton of chocolate milk. He really can’t say anything about Dustin’s eating habits when he has the exact same diet.

“Oh my god.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, there’s been something going on between you two since before the world went to shit. I don’t know why you two tiptoe around each other like it’s not obvious that you’re in love.”

“Steve!” you exclaim. “Seriously, what the hell? I’ve been up for like twenty minutes and you two are schooling me on my love life?”

“Or lack thereof,” Robin says.

“Okay, damn. You know what, I’m going back to bed.”

Steve pushes your bowl back towards you when you attempt to get up. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying, there’s no sense in avoiding this. You both clearly feel a lot for each other, and I don’t see any reason to avoid it when you could be together.”

He’s being vulnerable with you, his big brown eyes boring into yours and trying to convey how serious he’s being.

“Just think about it, okay? There’s no harm in talking about how you feel with him. And don’t say that you don’t feel anything, because that’s a goddamn lie.”

————

Billy’s had his swim trunks on all day, but he hasn’t done more than sit in the shade by the pool while everyone else makes a mess and plays ridiculous games in the water.

It’s killing him to watch you in there from time to time, swimming around or sitting in the shallow end. You told him once that swimming calms you down.

It’s not until after dinner, when everyone has moved inside for the most part, though there seems to be the plotting of a water balloon fight out front, that he’s brave enough to head for the pool.

You follow him out there, see him contemplating the water.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Billy drops the cigarette he’d been smoking, snubbing it out. “Thought about going for a swim,” he tells you.

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm.”

“I can go back inside, if you want.”

Billy turns to face you. “No. No, I want you to stay.” He wants you to see. He can’t explain why, but he does.

“Okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, hoping you don’t catch it. You do. You always do.

“I just…wasn’t ready for everyone to see.”

“I understand, Billy.”

You know what he’s really saying. He wasn’t ready for everyone to see. But he’s ready for you to see.

“I can get in first, if that helps. And I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” you say.

“That helps, yeah. And you can look. It’s okay.”

He watches you wade in, watches the way your swimsuit changes color as you tread water.

Billy takes another deep breath, and he’s pulling his shirt off. He’s quick though, diving straight into the deep end, knowing he needs to get it over with.

When he comes up, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he flips it out of the way, giving you a glimpse of the broad pink scar on his chest.

He meets you halfway, and you think he’s in a serious mood until he’s splashing you like a child.

“You motherfucker!”

You get him back, and he’s laughing.

Billy is laughing and he looks so pretty in the last of the day’s sunlight, beads of water sliding over his collarbones and down his arms, and you feel like you could die. Like seeing him this way is enough. You don’t need anything else.

You try to return a particularly aggressive splash, but he catches your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder.

“Billy!”

“What?” His voice is teasing. He tosses the rest of the way over, your laughter fading out into the water.

You come up, a brilliant smile on his face. Billy’s sure if you stood close enough you’d be able to hear his heart beating.

When you’ve both gone quiet, your eyes drop to the scars on his sides, the way they stretch across his skin, mean and twisting. Some spots are darker than others, and while it hurts you to look at them, you know it must hurt him even more. But he looks just as beautiful as before, if not increasingly so.

“See something you like?” Billy says it on instinct. To hide the fact that he’s worried you don’t really like it. That maybe you think he’s gross looking. But he knows that’s all in his head. He fucking knows it.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Billy Hargrove.”

You say it with such surety, such admiration, that he can’t even begin to doubt that you mean it.

He smiles at you. It’s boyish. You’d do anything to see a million more of them.

He moves towards you, the sky having darkened enough that the outside lights have come on, the lights in the pool too. All that remains of the sun is a slash of deep orange, though the night quickly pushes it away.

Billy’s got you backed up against the wall of the pool now. His hands find your sides.

It’s overwhelming, having him this close. You can feel his breath on your face, see the rise and fall of his chest, the freckles on his cheeks.

When he kisses you, you think your heart stops. His mouth is warm against yours, and he tastes a little like chlorine, but you don’t care. Your hands find his face, and you’re smiling so hard that he pulls away because he wants to see. You don’t let him for long though, pulling him back, wanting more. He laughs into your mouth, and your chest aches with this feeling.

Eventually you do let go, and when you hold his eye contact, he knows what you’re going to say. He needs to tell you first, though.

“I’m in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” you respond.

He tosses his head back in a laugh, and you press a sweet kiss to his throat.

“I’m in love with you too, Billy.”

“Damn right you are.”

You snort against his chest, lowering slightly to kiss his scar. His breath catches. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

“About fucking time!” Steve’s shouting and Robin is yelling, and Max would be making barf sounds if she wasn’t so pleased with seeing her brother so happy.

“So much for that,” Billy says.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

————

“I’m regretting this, Billy.”

“Stop whining.”

Billy wraps his arms tighter around your back, pressing a kiss to your jaw in hopes that you’ll let him keep doing this.

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Get off, please.”

“Make me.”

There’s the sound of a slap, your hand having met his ass.

He raises his head from where he’d buried it in your chest, looking at you drowsily. “You just spanked me.”

And you’d do it again.

“Didn’t work, did it?”

“No. Shut up and take it.”

By that he means continue letting him lay on top of you, his entire body pressed to yours. It doesn’t matter to him that there’s an entire bed, one that’s made for two people.

You settle for playing with his hair, something he seems to enjoy, and you’d mess with him about the fact that he’s essentially purring if it weren’t for him looking so content.

He might be heavy, but having Billy Hargrove sleep on top of you isn’t exactly something you just give up.

He’s never had this before.

Hell, you’ve never had this before.

And he thinks it’s healing him. More than the salve he puts on his scars, or the physical therapy, or fixing up the Camaro.

You’re healing him. You.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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scudevils · 10 days

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champagne coast — LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public, swearing, alcohol, sexual innuendo, not proofread and rushed ending!!

synopsis: lando finally won his race, there’s only one way to celebrate [2.4k]

a/n: the ending was so so bad these exams have been kicking my ass :/

"stop staring and pick a shirt." you looked back at him in the mirror, fixing the smudged lipstick lando had been the cause of.

"can't help myself when you look that pretty."

lando almost looked proud of himself at his reply, yet you could only give a drawn out groan in response. "stop being cheesy and get dressed. we're leaving in 10 minutes." he rolled his eyes before getting up, ultimately choosing the white linen shirt you had left out. "we're celebrating you, remember."

the cuffs were rolled up to just below his elbow, lando had a gift of somehow making ever outfit make him even more attractive to you, and tonight was no different. you just wanted to throw him back against the bed, fuck your friends waiting for the pair of you to meet them, and have him all to yourself for the night.

unfortunately, that wasn't the case and it was now you being called out for your shameless staring, a boyish smile on his face as his curls framed his forehead. you ignore him though, giving yourself another once over in the mirror, letting your eyes fall to landos just barely taller frame behind you, his hands finding your hips and lips just grazing over your neck.

he pressed a kiss against your pulse point, taking in the smell of the perfume he'd bought you for your birthday, the same one he'd been buying you for years. so much so that he now associated anything even similar in scent to you, driving him crazy from the first time you wore it.

"no, no, we need to go." you almost gave into his advances, ready to ditch the plans made, before finally you came to your senses, knocking him back off of you and reaching for your heels. "you better behave tonight."

it was an empty threat, and you both knew it.

the club was busy, probably the most packed you had ever seen it, buzzing with young drunks ready to celebrate the race result with their friends and a one night stand they'd regret in the morning, drivers joined them, alone or with their partners to congratulate the young brit on his first victory. it was nice though, coloured lights stream from the ceiling, a steady thrum of music vibrates lowly through the walls. the smell of alcohol flowed through the air like it did in the veins of the people there. the heat almost bound you together, sweat coating bodies as they danced against one another, drinks in hand to refresh their never ending thirst.

lando is just behind you, a hand on the small of your back when he spots a few of the other drivers and their girlfriends, directing you over to them and you move, heels already killing your feet and you knew it would be a sore night.

"thought you'd never show up." max sniggers, the boys giving lando a knowing look that had your face going hot, the girls not sparing you one either, kelly laughing at the way you blushed at the implication. they all knew how you and him were, in the honeymoon phase still despite the years of dating.

"blame him, took him about an hour to choose a shirt." you're quick to pass the blame, sitting next to one of the girls you're closest with as she makes space for you and the brit. you eye up her drink, the blue shade piquing your interest. "what are we drinking then?"

she lets out a giggle, passing you a straw and letting you have a taste of it. before you can ask lando to get you one when he goes to the bar, max and carlos are sat back at the table, a tray of shots each. half the shots are a golden, bronze color and the others are crystal clear.

everyone plucks shots from the table, you play it safe though. taking a clear one first, you cheers it to the table, grimacing at the burn when you throw your head back, the liquid flowing down your throat, you make a face at the strength, recognising it as vodka.

your eyes follow lando as he lifts the golden coloured shot from the tray. he brings the small glass to his lips, and you can still feel the way they felt on your neck just half an hour ago, the jut of his jaw, and how the stubble would cause an itching sensation against your cheek, leaving pink marks in its wake as he kissed you. it's gone in a flash as he downs the shot like it's water. "patrón." he groans.

"you two have lots of catching up to do." they're quick to remind you, some of them even three, four, drinks deep meanwhile you and lando had had one shot each, although he'd been drinking champagne since his win earlier in the day, tipsier than you already.

you could feel the music thumping through your body, the humid air already getting to you, standing in the line for the bar, with lando just behind you. his hands rarely left your hips, sometimes he dared to move them just lower to the hem of your dress when you swatted them away, reminding him to behave.

you weren't afraid of lando touching you in public, everything he was doing his friends had seen before, but tonight he was feeling more dangerous, maybe it was the adrenaline of his first win, or maybe he was just really fucking needy for you.

his one-day stubble scratches your soft cheeks, when he presses a kiss there, almost an invasion for more. although your annoyed at him for smudging even more of your makeup, it doesn't last long when he places a drink in your hand. no matter how much time you spend on yourself, he always ruins you. your makeup, your clothes, covering your whole body in hickies and marks. simply because you're his, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't do the same to him.

he tests his luck, the hand at the bottom of your dress finding it way under and squeezing the soft skin of your arse, and you gasp before turning go face him. "behave." you warn him, but ultimately it goes in one ear and out the other, his eyes zeroing in on your lips as he innocently pecks them.

"thought we were celebrating me?" he parrots your earlier words, lips so close to yours you can feel them moving against yours, you can taste the fruity cocktail he's been drinking. "you gonna let me celebrate with you?"

you're nodding your head before you even realise. drink being abandoned on the table before you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, kelly and alex offering to come with you before you shut then down, passing a worried glance in lando's direction but he only encouraged with a smirk.

you were gone more than five minutes before they got worried about you. "the lines probably long, i'll go check on her, keep her compancy." lando offered, the group either too drunk to care or not wanting to say anything out loud.

that was how you found yourself now, lando's lips on your necks, red marks turning purple in the aftermath, your small gasps and whines echoing off of the tiled bathroom walls. you couldn't take your hands off of him, trailing up his toned stomach, the way his muscles tensed under your touch had you wanting him even more.

you weren't sure wether it was the high of his win that was making him look even more attractive than usual or the heat was getting to you but he just looked so fuckable in that moment you didn't want to let him go.

threading your fingers through his hair you felt his groan against your neck, he'd been freeing his curls more and more each day not doing well to help your obsession with pulling on the strands. "lando-" a breathy moan falling from your lips in the sound of his name.

you'd managed to finally get him away from your neck, hands cradling his face as your thumb swiped across his cheek, slotting your lips over his as your back pressed against the sink counter. lando's hands wandered your body as if for the first time, leaving no part of your exposed skin untouched, pawing at the clothes he'd commented on earlier for being too small and now he thought you had too much on. "you gonna let me reward you for being my lucky charm, hm?" his hand ran down the side of your cheek, taunting you, a mocking tone to his words as his eyes stared into yours.

"please, lando." your voice was just above a whisper, shame seeping into your words, the realisation that your friends, his colleagues, were just outside and could interrupt at any moment, hear you at any moment, they could get worried about how long you were taking and try and come find you.

"you're gonna need to be real quiet, okay?" the pads of his fingers rubbed circles against your hips bone, lifting you up onto the counter, your back pressed against the cool glass, heading falling back and exposing your neck to him again, goosebumps raising on your legs as the bottom of your dressed had already bunched up below your waist.

the belt from his trousers was quickly undone, pulling them down enough to free himself, tip already leaking pre-cum, begging for you to touch him. your hand wrapped around him, squeezing lightly as you worked your wrist feeling him harden underneath you.

you whined as he pulled your hand away, pressing a small kiss to the palm. "fuckin' love your hand, but i wanna come inside of you." he groaned, watching the way you dropped your feet back onto the bar floor, turning your body so your eyes met his on the mirror and teasingly arched your back against his front.

there was something about the way he towered over you when you were bent down that turned you on like nothing else, knowing he could manhandle your body like a rag doll if he wanted to, fuck you like you wanted him to. your hand dipped between your own thighs, rubbing circles over your clit as your eyes closed, feeling him watching you.

his hands found home on your waist, tight enough that your eyes opened, staring back at him, your dressed hiked up your hips and panties pulled down enough to give him access to you. but instead he watched the way your hand moved, focused on the small moans that fell from your lips, arm threatening to buckle under your weight but you knew if you took your eyes off of him you'd be in trouble.

you managed to focus on him for the first time, seeing just the underside of his neck as his head lolled back. the sound of you moaning from your own doing had him groaning, the sight in front of him something he'd never forget.

"don't stop, fucking don't." he warned, seeing the way your hands grew weaker, movements becoming tired as you grew closer to your high, legs beginning to shake against his own. "so good for me-" your eyes screwed shut, head falling back against his chest as he let you come undone against him, arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up.

lando intertwined his fingers with your own, bringing your fingers up to his mouth as placed kisses to them, taking them in his mouth, cleaning them off. "looked so hot on the podium, wanted to fuck you right there." you spoke against his neck, pulling away slightly and looking up at him for his reply.

"yeah?" you nodded. "gonna let me fuck you now?" nodding again, lando's hands were back on your hips, pushing you down against the cold counter.

his hands ran down your body, a harsh hit against your ass caused you to jolt towards the sink, a whine falling from your lips at the stinging sensation. you felt him against you, moaning as he slid in, stretching you out as if for the first time, feeling every inch of him inside of you.

"lando-" moaning his names he made a makeshift ponytail in your hair, moving against you at a quick pace, the sound of skin against slim bouncing off of the walls in sync with both yours and his groans.

you never felt his pace falter even when his movements became erratic, when he could see your thighs shaking, arms threatening to give out when you held yourself up. "look at you baby, looking so pretty when you let me fuck you."

"only for you lando." his thrusts seemed almost deeper now, a new feeling of pleasure rippling through your body, the warmth coming from him in contrast to the coolness of the counter against your skin. "gonna come, please."

he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, his chest pressed against your back, biting down onto the skin there to muffle the moans he let out, although failing as they mixed with your own, the sounds begging him to let you have your release. "please, lando, please let me come-"

you felt his hips stutter against you, movements faltering and becoming sloppy, and he couldn't hold back when he twitched again inside of you, the feeling triggering your second orgasm of the night as you moaned into your fist, trying to muffle the sounds of your desperate whines, clenching around lando as he reached his own release, feeling him deep inside of you, your vision blurry but you could feel his hands on the backs of your thighs, massaging the muscles that would sure to be sore in the morning. "fuck, i love you." he murmured against your skin.

"i love you too," your eyes met his in the mirror, the mess of his and your hair had you blushing, his pupils blown out, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. "my race winner."

#lando norris #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #f1 #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #scudevils

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antiquarianfics · 9 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster, or so they say. You’d argue that jealousy is actually a blue-eyed, one-armed, super soldier.

A/N: 1989 (Taylor’s Version) announcement led to this. You’re welcome! Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendo. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or copy my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

—

“Boys only want love if it’s torture.” —Taylor Swift

You are incredibly aware of Bucky Barnes’ infatuation with you. You aren’t blind to his gaze; you aren’t deaf to his words. Bucky Barnes is in love with you—and he refuses to admit it.

You are also incredibly aware of Bucky Barnes’ tendency to distance himself from good things. He is a man who believes he deserves the worst; he is a man who does not believe he is worth loving. Bucky Barnes will accept hate all day, every day. He won’t accept love.

So, clearly, he will not act on his feelings unless it’s absolute torture. Right?

This idea you latched onto days before is what got you into your current situation: flirting obnoxiously with John Walker and letting the man put his hands all over you.

“If this isn’t torture for him,” you think, “it’s at least torture for me.”

You chance a glance at Bucky across the room. He is clearly displeased with the development between Walker and yourself.

Ever since Walker was introduced to Sam, Bucky, and yourself, you were all off put by his overconfident, entitled behavior. You all agree he does not deserve to carry Steve’s shield—he does not deserve to be called Captain America. So, flirting with Walker, you know, is absolutely a sure way to get under Bucky’s skin.

You weren’t quite prepared for how uncomfortable it is making you, however.

“So, what do you say, sexy? Want to celebrate when we win this fight?” Walker flashes you what he clearly thinks is a charming smile.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky tense; his enhanced hearing picking up Walker’s innuendo. You take it to mean your plan is working.

—

“For the love of god, Barnes, just go tell her how you feel. It’s the quickest way to get her to stop talking to him!” Sam berates Bucky. Frankly, he’s sick of this will-they-won’t-they game you and Bucky are playing.

“No,” Bucky says simply, clenching his jaw and causing Same to groan.

“Why the hell not?”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“She’s trying to make you jealous. You know that, right? She is intentionally torturing you so that you’ll man the fuck up and make a move.”

Bucky glares at Sam.

“That’s not what she’s doing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam challenges. “You think she looks happy to have Walker touching her and making suggestive comments?”

Bucky purses his lips and turns to stare at you again. He is keenly aware that you tense up every time Walker touches you and that you clench your jaw whenever he insinuates anything.

“Because I don’t think she’d be glancing over here to see your reaction if she was actually interested Walker over there.”

Bucky shoots Sam another annoyed look before returning his gaze to you. That’s when he makes eye contact with you.

You raise an eyebrow. He keeps his face stoic. You smirk. He scrunches his eyebrows. You keep a watchful eye on him while you stand on your tip toes to reach Walker’s ear, whispering something unintelligible to Bucky.

Walker’s eyebrows shoot up before looking at you with shocked, yet excited, eyes.

“Damn. Yeah. I, uh, I’ve got a good 20 minutes before I have to head out. We can go to my car?”

Bucky’s neck turns red as anger creeps through his body when he catches Walker’s words. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.

Boys only want love if it’s torture.

—

You inwardly cheer when you see Bucky start towards you with a furious look on his face.

You back away from Walker, pretending to mull over his proposition as you let Bucky reach you.

Bucky shoves Walker out of the way and plants himself directly in front of you. His hands reach to your face, holding either side so gently—a direct contrast to the aggressive demeanor he carried on his trek to you. He leans in and kisses you passionately.

Bucky’s lips on yours is everything you hoped it would be: euphoric. His lips feel pillowy against yours, albeit slightly chapped. The force of his lips connecting with yours is gentle enough not to hurt you but aggressive enough to tell you he wants you. His teeth gently pulling your bottom lip between his makes you weak in the knees, and you can’t help but gasp.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

Your arms quickly snake around his neck, eyes fluttering shut. You let him keep control of the kiss—you’d tortured him enough—and only pull away when you desperately need to breathe.

As your lips disconnect, he rests his forehead against your own, but he stays silent.

“Well, hey there, Sarge,” you tease. “That was quite the hello.”

Bucky scoffs.

“Don’t be coy, Doll. I know what you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“You know.”

“I don’t. You should tell me.”

“You were torturing me.”

“I wasn’t doing anything to you, Bucky. I wasn’t even talking to you!” You allow your tone to remain playful while you deny any scheming that took place.

“You were talking to him,” he says with disgust.

“I can talk to whomever I please,” you point out.

“Not men who want to take what’s mine,” Bucky grumbles before connecting your lips again:

“Yours?”

Bucky nods, “If you want to be.”

“Obviously. Took you long enough. Can’t believe you made me flirt with Walker to get your attention.”

“Shut up.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x f!reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

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Seams

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part II: Threads }

Rating: M

Summary: Joel has a problem. Having settled into some semblance of a 'normal' life in Jackson that no longer involves running for his life and living off scraps, his clothes are getting a little… tight. Self-conscious, he deals with it the way he does most things - he ignores it.

That is until one day, the zipper on his jeans finally gives up after one too many desperate tugs, leaving him stuck. With neither Tommy nor Ellie anywhere to be found to get him out of the tight spot, Joel begrudgingly heads to the clothing store he’s seen in town for help - and a new pair of jeans.

There, he meets you.

Warnings: Spicy thoughts, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, body insecurity, some language, Joel being unkind to himself, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 6k

Notes: I haven't written anything this fast for a hot minute. It's both exciting and terrifying, especially as Joel is so new to the fandom. So this is a one-shot as it stands, but I'll be lying if I say I haven't thought about where this story can go. Please be gentle with me, Joel is easily the most intimidating Pedro boy I've written for so far. I hope this doesn't disappoint 🥺

‘TommmMMMMMYYYY!’

His voice echoes in the empty street, gruff with irritation. He can feel eyes on him - he always does, wherever he goes in this damn place - covert stares from behind curtains, peeking out of windows from the neighbouring houses.

The polished wood thumps hollowly under his fist. Head bowed in surrender, his forehead makes contact with the surface of the door with a dull thud.

‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath.

Trudging back to the house that’s been allocated to him - he still struggles to think of it as his - he slams the door shut behind him so hard that the sound rings in his ears. Well, more in his left than his right.

Tossing the keys onto a chest of drawers in the hallway, he yells in a last-ditch attempt, ‘Ellieeee!’

The house is silent.

The one time he needs either of them, neither can be found anywhere. Even Maria has made herself scarce - not that he’d ask her for help for this.

This being these stupid fucking jeans.

His trusty jeans that he’s worn for years, other than on laundry days, which were few and far in between. They’ve literally seen him through thick and thin - the knees are so worn he can almost see the web of white thread beneath the denim.

Tess had gotten him these jeans. Stole them, if he remembers correctly. Once upon a time, he needed a belt to hold them up, or they’d hang down to his ass crack. By the time Ellie came into the picture, they fit well enough to render the belt redundant. He could still easily fit things into his pockets though, like a map or a switchblade.

But now -

Now he’s stuck, and he can’t get them off.

If he’s being honest with himself, the jeans haven’t fit for months. The jobs in Jackson don’t come anywhere close to the backbreaking work in the QZ or being on the road with Ellie. The food is plentiful even during the harsh winter, and as much as he looks down his ideological nose at it, Maria deserves credit for the thriving commune.

He had a late start this morning. Ellie had already vacated the house by the time he came to. He was on autopilot, distracted by his thoughts about the porch steps that have rotted and need to be replaced.

He was making plans in his head to nip down to the workshop to get the wooden planks when he started getting dressed. Stepping into the legs of the jeans, he pulled them up, hopping to stretch them over his thighs. Out of habit, he sucked in his belly to button them up, the waistband seemingly even tighter than usual.

He relegated that to the back of his mind, the same way he’s ignored the fact that the jeans have been uncomfortably tight for months - to the point of hindering his movement when he lays bricks, or cuts off his breathing when he sits down. But he’s gotten used to it, like he does everything else. He’s Joel Miller with the stiff upper lip, after all.

The zipper was next. As usual, he met resistance about halfway up. Baring his teeth, he gripped the tongue of the zipper and yanked upwards.

Except this time, it didn’t budge. Grumbling, he pulled harder, feeling the burn in his biceps -

It happened so quickly that he wasn’t even aware until he was wheeling backwards from the force, his arm flying up in an arc - and a metallic clink behind him registered faintly in his good ear.

Disoriented, he glanced down at the zipper. The slider had come clean off.

‘Fuck,’ he swore and turned to the full-length mirror on the wall to inspect the damage. Running an experimental finger along the seam, it was clear that the zipper had somehow snagged on the denim. It was stuck. Dead stuck.

Turning the house inside out, he couldn’t find a single pair of scissors, and there isn’t enough space to fit a knife in without slicing himself open, at which point he left on his ultimately fruitless search for reinforcement.

Joel scrubs a tired hand down his face. He’s never been a vain guy - Tommy is that sibling. But he’s never needed to stress about his looks either, with contracting keeping him in shape before the outbreak, and the fight for survival after - until now.

Grabbing his jacket, he shrugs it on, hyper-conscious of whether it’s a tighter squeeze than usual (fortunately not) - and heads into town.

Main Street Outfitters, the only clothing store in Jackson, sits in the middle of the high street, sandwiched between the pub on one side and the welder’s on the other. For the most part, residents come in to trade in old clothes for new ones, but there’s also a nicer selection for the occasional party that one can barter for.

You’re in the workshop at the back, the afternoon sun filling the room through the skylight.

With your skill in thread and needle, you were the obvious candidate for the job when you arrived in Jackson. Over the years, it has become your sanctuary. The walls are lined with wooden shelves, where neat - though mismatched - boxes of buttons, trimmings, thread and trinkets slot perfectly into place.

You spend the days checking over incoming clothes after they come back from the laundry, making sure they are in reasonable condition and mending those that are not. The shop also charges for adjustments and repairs, and the tasks easily fill your working hours.

It’s a Tuesday, and it’s usually quiet this time of the afternoon. If you’re lucky, you can be undisturbed until you clock off at five - which is why you’re surprised when you hear the tinkle of the doorbell.

The footfall is heavy, it sounds like a strong work boot. You hold your breath and your fingers hover mid-air as the door shuts with a slam. You hear the customer clear his throat - definitely a man - as you wait in vain for the front of house to greet him.

But of course Lucy has sneaked out again. She’s a sweet girl, but manning the counter has always been too dull for her.

‘Hello?’

The voice is deep and gravelly, and despite your reluctance, it doesn’t sit well with your work ethic to keep a customer waiting. Sticking the needle into a pin cushion, you noiselessly rise from your seat and make your way to the front of the shop.

Your first glimpse of him is his back. Standing in front of a rack of jeans, the grays in his hair catch the light streaming through the shop front windows. You study him for a minute, curious eyes running over the width of broad shoulders under a beat-up, khaki jacket. Lower, his jeans are… well-worn, to put it kindly. And from sight, a sitting a bit tight on his hips -

You must have shifted your feet without you noticing. At the minutest creak of wood, the man whips around, one hand reaching behind him in search of the butt of a loaded gun or the hilt of a knife. It’s your good fortune that you see neither on him. The intensity of his gaze is just as effective as a blade on your neck to pin you to your spot.

There’s no question that he’s a newcomer. You’ve seen the same kind of intensity in everyone who’s braved what’s out there to get here.

But even if that didn’t give him away, you already know who he is. He’s Tommy’s brother. Joel, if you remember correctly. Maria approached you for some clothes a few months back when he arrived with his kid for the second time. They’ve been the talk of town since - not that you listen. In fact, you try not to, but you can’t help it if someone talks loudly enough at the next table in the canteen to interrupt your lunchtime reading.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles as the tension in his body recedes. ‘You’re very quiet.’

You duck your head. ‘Sorry.’

‘You work here?’

Wringing your fingers nervously, you nod and take two timid steps towards him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremour in your voice. ‘How can I help?’

You’ve heard things about Joel Miller. The words most frequently whispered as he ambles by in town include ruthless, cold-blooded and steer clear.

You can’t exactly reconcile the man in front of you with those particular words right now.

There’s nothing that speaks to ruthlessness in the way he averts his eyes and shuffles his feet, the blunt tip of his shoes catching the wooden floor. You also find it hard to believe that a truly cold-blooded person would willingly cross the country and all its horrors in search of his brother, or take a teenager under his wing.

You might not think much of yourself, but you know that your judgement of character has kept you alive so far. And your instinct isn’t telling you to steer clear of this man - quite the opposite, in fact.

But that’s neither here nor there.

He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with your scrutiny. ‘Just lookin’ for some new jeans.’

‘Alright,’ you reply, taking the remaining five steps to the other end of the jeans rack, a safe distance away from him. ‘What’s your size?’

To your surprise, he huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘At least one up from whatever I have on right now.’

Sucking in a breath, you gesture vaguely at him. ‘Um, do you mind if I take a look at uh - you? So I can guess what size will fit you?’

You’re used to being the most awkward person in the room wherever you go, but this man is giving you a pretty good run for your money right now. While you divert your gaze as he unbuttons the front of his jacket, he fixes his somewhere over your shoulder to the right, grinding his teeth, as if he wishes he was anywhere but here.

Dragging your eyes back to him, you take stock of your customer as he sweeps the lapels of the jacket to the side. Underneath, the green flannel cuts off at the top of the jeans, and you see the soft pouch of his abdomen beneath the fabric. While the shirt is well-fitted, the jeans are obviously too small. The waistband bites into his sides, you can see the subtle overhang of his love handles. Even by the way he’s standing you can tell he’s uncomfortable, packed in way too tight in the denim.

And then… you really shouldn’t, but you stare at the front of the jeans. Now, you know for a fact that the fit will be just as snug there even if he goes a size up…

‘Sorry, not much to look at,’ he grunts, breaking the silence.

Taken aback by the self-derision in his voice, the words leave your mouth before they register, sharper than you mean them to be. ‘Don’t say that.’

He blinks at you. ‘What?’

You gape at him. Does he really not see? His tall, solid frame? The strong columns of his thighs? Is this man blind on top of being frustratingly attractive -?

But of course you can never say that. Instead, you pull out three different pairs of jeans in quick succession and all but throw them at him, heat prickling the tips of your ears as the disbelief that you spoke to a customer like that sinks in.

‘The dressing room is there,’ you squeak, pointing at the far corner. ‘I’ll be at the back if you need any help -’

You turn on your heels, in a hurry to get back to your workshop, but you only get halfway through the spin. It takes you three seconds to realise why - his calloused palm is on your wrist, holding you in place.

‘Actually, I do need help - I broke the zipper, and I’m stuck in these damn jeans.’

You ignore the clench of your stomach at the way he spits out the word damn. You’re not big on swearing, but the cuss word sounds good rolling off his tongue in his Southern twang.

To your horror, a giggle bubbles up your throat before you can slap a palm over your mouth.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you apologise profusely, heat flooding your cheeks.

You stare in consternation when those broad shoulders of his quake, a half-smile on his lips as they part in a scratchy chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’m glad I found you first. My brother or my kid would have given me a much harder time. Probably would’ve pissed their pants laughin’.’

Despite yourself, you smile back with a weak attempt at a joke. ‘I mean, I’ll try not to -’

He smirks, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘That’s all I can ask for.’

You lead the way to the back of the shop and Joel follows three polite steps behind, pausing by the doorway. Running practised eyes over the space, the contractor in him appreciates the well-built skylight and the sturdy furniture in the room, pieces that were clearly built to last. He places the jeans you picked out for him on the big work table, made of strong timber and aged with time.

He picked up a change in your demeanour the moment you crossed the threshold into the workshop. There’s a quiet confidence in your measured steps, the way you move speaking volumes - this is clearly your place, and you’re so much more comfortable in your skin here.

You point at the spot marked by a round, cosy rug directly beneath the skylight. ‘Could you stand there for me?’

Doing as he’s told, he startles when you march straight up to him, sliding your palms under the shoulders of his jacket to push it off. Your front brushes his chest briefly when you reach around to catch it, but not brief enough for him to ignore the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against him.

Joel is all too aware of his pulse going from zero to a hundred at the fleeting touch, the collar of his shirt suddenly a bit too tight. For fuck’s sake, Miller. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since his head has gone anywhere near there, but of course it has to happen at the most inconvenient moment.

At least you don’t seem to notice, draping his jacket over the back of a chair before retrieving a pair of tailor’s scissors from one meticulously organised drawer.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten a handle on himself, you hit him with a non-sequitur. ‘Are you wearing underwear?’

Only when Joel splutters wordlessly does the full weight of the question seem to hit you. You stutter, ‘Oh god, I didn’t - I mean - I only asked because if push comes to shove, and I have to cut through the jeans, I don’t want to ruin any underwear you’re wearing -’

You trail off, and it’s his turn to stammer, scratching an invisible itch on his elbow as he struggles to remember what he usually does with his hands.

‘No, no, I get it. I’m ahem -,’ he pauses with a cough. ‘I’m not actually wearin’ any underwear right now. Not out of habit, it’s just that I’ve been barely squeezin’ into the stupid jeans even without it.’

His honest answer seems to put you at ease, and you purse your lips. ‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

He shrugs. ‘Have been for months.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He arches an eyebrow. ‘What for?’

‘That you’ve been uncomfortable. That’s one thing clothes shouldn’t be.’

Not quite knowing how to answer you, he watches you grab a velvet cushioned footstool from under the work table and place it squarely at his feet. Then, without further preamble, you sink onto your knees in front of him, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.

As he stares down at the crown of your head, your nose at the level of his waistband, he muses that he hasn’t seen this view for a long time, a very long time. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he closes his eyes, fighting the base instinct to cup the back of your head in his palm and to pull you close -

He breathes out hard through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, casting his gaze heavenwards through the skylight as he actually prays for the first time in years.

Don’t you fucking dare get hard, Miller.

You chew on the inside of your mouth as you consider what’s before you. It’s tricky. The jeans are unbuttoned and zipped up most of the way, but the denim has been caught tight in the metallic teeth, and the handle of the zipper yanked clean off.

Cocking your head to one side, you think out loud. ‘I think we should at least try and unsnag the zipper before cutting. But we’re going to need some lubrication, and we’ll need to give it a really good, firm tug -’

The man chokes on nothing above you, and you frown up at him in a question.

Clearing his throat loudly, he asks through gritted teeth, ‘Do we have to?’

‘I mean, I can just cut open the jeans, but then you’ll definitely have to trade in something extra to cover the costs of the repairs -’

He interrupts, ‘That. Let’s do that.’

‘Alright, your call,’ you say with a nod. ‘Can you hold up your shirt?’

You try not to gawk when he draws up the tails of his flannel, revealing his soft stomach underneath. The mid-rise jeans cut off beneath his belly button, and you eye the trail that sneaks full and dark under the waistband. He’s obviously sucking his tummy in, and you catch yourself wishing he doesn’t feel like he has to.

You bite your bottom lip. ‘Do you think you can fit a couple of fingers into the waistband so I can slide the scissors in? They’re sharp, I don’t want to cut you.’

You watch as he tries, first his index finger, then his middle, but he can barely squeeze in beyond the nail, which turns completely colourless from the pressure. He sighs in surrender. ‘Mfraid you’ll have to, sweetheart.’

You have to close your eyes for a moment, your head swimming. You’re not sure whether it’s from the sweetheart, or the fact that he wants you to stick your hand down the front of his pants.

Well, not exactly that he wants you to. And not your hand. But still.

You squeak. ‘Do I have to?’

He pins you a sarcastic arch of his eyebrows. ‘Well, if you’re sure that you won’t cut my dick off -’

Your face heats up at his blunt words, falling back onto your haunches. ‘Great, now you’ve got me worried -’

Palms up in apology, he shrugs. ‘Sorry -’

‘No, no, you’re right. I don’t want to accidentally castrate you,’ you sigh. ‘Are you - um - well adjusted in there?’

‘I’d go down the right side of the zipper,’ he answers diplomatically.

Taking a deep breath, you ask, ‘Ready?’

‘Whenever you are, sweetheart.’

The first contact is the brush of your knuckles against his stomach, the skin warm and soft on the back of your fingers. You don’t dare look up, but you can feel his eyes on you as you burrow your index finger under the waistband. Though it’s a squeeze, you manage to wriggle in nail side down, creating a small gap - still not quite enough to get the scissors in without nicking him.

Talking more to yourself, you mumble, ‘Better safe than sorry. Let me just get one more finger in -’

Joel chokes so hard that you almost jump back in fright, frowning at him as he catches his breath. ‘Are you okay? Do you need some water?’

His voice tight, he shakes his head. ‘No, I’m fine.’

You wait a beat to make sure he doesn’t go into another coughing fit. When the coast is clear, you gesture at his jeans. ‘Can I just -’

‘Get one more finger in?’ he finishes your sentence in his raspy baritone.

You finally hear it when he says it like that. And oh god, your ears burn as you stare up at him, lips parted, torn between outrage and a very disorienting arousal. ‘You - you -’

A wicked smirk tugs unexpectedly at the corner of his mouth. ‘I already tried, sweetheart. My fingers are too big to fit inside.’

The touch of playful condescension in his tone has your jaw going slack, and your brain practically short-circuits at the thoughts of where else they are too big to fit inside of -

So as it turns out, you’re brave, or just downright stupid, when you’re turned on. Next thing you know, you hear yourself telling him off. ‘I could just leave you in those jeans you know.’

Joel smiles wider, and retorts, ‘I don’t think you would.’

‘Just because I’m shy doesn’t mean I don’t have a mean streak,’ you shoot back.

He seems pleased to have lured you out of your shell, grinning down at you. ‘Believe me, I’m shakin’ in my boots, sweetheart.’

It’s really unfair that he looks this good from where you are on your knees. His eyes are hooded, curls flecked with grays sweeping his forehead. Even though the apocalypse has left its marks on him in wrinkles, frown lines, and smudged bags under his eyes, it has clearly not taken away from that proud nose or plush lips -

Steadying yourself with a deep inhale, you shake yourself out of it. With an in, it’s slightly easier to push in your middle finger into the waistband to widen the gap. Happy with the quarter inch of space, you hold up the scissors. ‘I’m ready to cut if you are.’

He nods his acquiesce. ‘Do your worst.’

Opening up the scissors and carefully fitting the blade beneath the denim, you carefully begin snipping away. They are sharp, but the fabric is tough and you’re conscious of the very tight fit, so you take it slow.

You pause when you’re a couple of inches in, when Joel lets out a groan of relief. Absent-mindedly, you run a soothing thumb over the angry, red indents the waistband dug into the soft pouch of his tummy, sending a shudder through him.

‘Sorry,’ you squeak, snatching back your hand as if he burns you.

Too preoccupied with the relief of being able to breathe, Joel shakes his head. ‘Don’t be. Just keep going. Please.’

Why is that one word - six letters - making your breath hitch?

Gripping the top of the now open fly and pinning it against his body so you don’t accidentally see anything you’re not meant to see - whether you want to deliberately is a completely different matter - you hunker down and keep cutting along the zipper.

Each snip gets easier as the jeans release their death grip on him. The right side of the fly falls away as you cut, the denim peeling back slowly to expose the skin underneath. Your eyes drift to the curve of the pubic bone that’s now completely in view, and it’s taking everything you have to not lean over and run the broad of your tongue along it -

How long has it been since you’ve been with a man? When was the last time you had someone stand before you, pants unzipped and hanging open -

With tremendous fortitude, you tear your eyes away to check on him, ‘All good?’

The grunt of respite that he lets out is almost guttural, going straight between your legs. ‘Feels so fuckin’ good to breathe.’

‘Before I keep going, do you want to - uh - rearrange yourself?’

You expect him to turn around, or at least give you a second to turn around to give him some privacy, but he’s obviously been too deprived of oxygen to think straight. One big palm snakes down his front, right in your face, and he cups himself through the denim.

You stop breathing, eyes wide as he adjusts himself.

Holy fuck.

When he’s done, he gives you a thumbs up. ‘All good.’

This is it. You’re not making it out of this alive.

You can barely get the words out, your throat suddenly drier than sandpaper. ‘Can you, um, hold up the other side of the fly?’

When he does, you stare at his hand next to yours. How is it so big? The veins are prominent on the back, leading down to thick fingers, the nails neatly trimmed and clean - but you bet there’s residue gunpowder underneath.

There’s still a slither of skin peeking through the V of the fly as the scissors slice through the denim, following his happy trail. The lower you go, the thicker and darker the curls, and goddamnit - what is wrong with you - all you can think about is burying your nose right in there, nudging through the hair, lower and lower and lower still -

A sharp pain on your left finger makes you yelp, the scissors falling from your other hand to the floor with a loud clang. A small bead of blood wells up on the tip where the sharp blade nicked it, and in a panic, you let go of his jeans.

‘Shit,’ Joel curses and covers himself up quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. ‘You okay?’

You nod in embarrassment while you get on your feet. ‘I - my hand just slipped. It’s nothing, the smallest cut, I’m fine -’

Well, to be fair, you were fine - until he grabs your left wrist, brings your hand up to his face and sucks your bleeding fingertip into his mouth.

As if it’s the logical thing to do.

Your knees buckle, and you collapse into his front, but he doesn’t even budge, as if you weigh nothing. Taking a deep breath - wood smoke, simple soap and man fill your lungs. Peering up at him through your lashes, you spot the silver flanking the hinge of his jaw, leading down to a peculiar bare patch on the left side of his beard.

He watches you back as he releases your finger with a wet pop. Tracing his bottom lip with his tongue, he pronounces, ‘Just a small cut. You’ll live.’

Will you though? Because it feels like you’re on the verge of expiring from breathlessness.

He glances down at his front, which he’s still holding up. ‘I guess I can get out of these now.’

It takes you three seconds to catch up before you stumble backwards. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Thank you for freeing me,’ he says with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head, unable to meet his gaze all of a sudden - hypocrite, you had no problem perving on him a minute ago - and nod at the jeans on the table. ‘Why don’t you try those on?’

He clears his throat. ‘I, uh, should probably put on some underwear first.’

You barely manage to hold back from smacking yourself on the forehead. ‘Of course. We do have some in stock. Boxers or briefs?’

He looks amused. ‘What do you think, sweetheart?’

You hesitate, but you force yourself to be brave and venture a guess. ‘Boxers.’

He winks, and you grin back.

Joel hovers uncertainly in front of the mirror in the fitting room, having exhausted all the angles he can see twice, and wonders if he’s been dithering for too long. He’s not even sure what he’s looking at anymore, so he bites the bullet and draws back the curtain.

‘How do they feel?’ you ask.

He was counting on some hint from you, but you give nothing away. So he shrugs, hands on hips. ‘I honestly can’t tell you.’

‘May I?’

At his nod, you step into his space, and he watches as you hook your fingers into the belt loops on either side of the jeans and pull them up, as if gauging the size. He holds his breath as your hair grazes the front of his chest.

‘They’re a bit loose, to be honest,’ you tell him.

He scoffs self-decrepatingly. ‘Probably not for long at the rate I’m going.’

You take a step back and level him with a glare. ‘Stop it.’

He frowns, hackles rising. ‘What?’

‘Stop putting yourself down.’

That he didn’t expect. He protests, ‘I’m not putting myself down -’

‘Yes, yes, you are,’ you interrupt him with a boldness that has his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. With fire in your eyes, you go toe to toe with him, poking him in the chest with a firm finger. ‘You’re alive, you’re safe here, and you’re fit as hell. If you’re going to make fun of yourself for putting on a bit of healthy weight, you can go ahead and get out of my shop.’

Warmth blooms in his chest as Joel stares down at you, breathing heavily after your little speech but showing no intention of backing down. You don’t know him, but for some reason, you’re fighting his corner.

That shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Pursing his lips, he towers over you as he teases, ‘You think I’m fit as hell, sweetheart?’

With a roll of your eyes, you walk backwards to the shelves, rummaging through the sizes before returning with a pair of dark wash jeans. You quip, ‘Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.’

You snap the curtain shut in his face with a flick of your wrist before he can answer, and he chuckles to himself as pulls on the jeans you picked out for him.

When he pushes open the curtain again, Joel doesn’t miss the way you pause as you stare.

The waistband sits on his hips without cutting into his stomach, and he’s pleased that he can comfortably slide his hands into the pockets. The denim wraps firmly, but not tightly, against his backside, holding his thighs comfortably and falling straight down to the ankles. The wash is dark and flattering, smarter than his old ones.

When the silence has stretched on long enough, Joel shifts on his feet and asks, ‘Well?’

You turn the question back at him. ‘What do you think?’

He shrugs. ‘They’re alright, I guess.’

With a tilt of your head, you prompt, ‘You can say it, you know.’

‘Say what?’

‘You can say that you look good.’

Joel huffs, shaking his head and catching his reflection in the mirror as he does. At your look of insistence, he reluctantly parrots back, ‘Alright. I look good. Happy, sweetheart?’

Then you smile, really smile, and he feels himself soften - his eyes, his face, his mouth, his fucking old, rickety knees -

Suddenly, the bell over the door rings and a woman bustles in. ‘I’m so sorry, Pin! I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I got your favourite tea to make it up to you -’

She stops abruptly when she spots him. ‘Hey! You’re Joel Miller, aren’t you?’

Before he can answer, she crosses the shop in a bundle of energy, sticking her hand out. ‘I’m Lucy, I’m a friend of Tommy and Maria’s. It’s so nice to finally meet you.’

He lets her shake his hand, then she continues without skipping a beat. ‘How are you settling in? You got that house in the street near the stables right? It’s great, it’s quiet but not too far from everything -’

Since she doesn’t seem interested in his participation in this conversation, he doesn’t. But he notices, with regret, the way you start to retreat, the shyness making a return in the shadow of her clearly more outgoing friend - like a bad habit.

He’s suddenly aware of a lull, and that Lucy is looking at him expectantly, like she’s just asked a question that he didn’t hear.

‘Yeah sure,’ he replies dismissively, stopping you with a hand on your wrist just as you try to slink away unnoticed. ‘Hey, wait a second -’

To Lucy’s credit, she picks up on the snub and the energy between the two of you at the same time. Instead of taking offence, she gives you a knowing look and points towards the back diplomatically. ‘You know what Pin, I just bumped into Maria and she asked me something about our fabric inventory, so I better go check it out. I’ll see you around, Joel.’

With a wink in your direction, Lucy makes herself scarce, leaving the tea on the counter for you.

Joel’s quiet for a beat when you’re left alone again. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to run off your friend, but I just wanted to uh - thank you. For all this.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘Like she said, I’m Joel. Probably should’ve introduced myself before I asked you to cut me out of my jeans.’

You quip, ‘There’s always next time.’

He chuckles, and asks, ‘Did your friend just call you - Pin?’

‘It’s just a silly nickname,’ you explain. ‘As in pins and needles, for obvious reasons.’

Then you give him your real name and your hand, his palm warm and calloused against yours as he shakes it firmly. When he lets you go, you notice the watch on his wrist, the veins of broken glass on the face catching the light.

Nodding at it, you ask, ‘Do you need that fixed? There’s a repair guy down the road who can fix anything.’

Confused for a moment about what you’re referring to, Joel pauses before realisation dawns on him. His answer is suddenly polite, a stark contrast to the light-hearted conversation just now. ‘No, I - I like it this way. But thanks.’

You don’t miss the emotional weight behind his words, and the air thickens with unspoken meaning, but you know better than to ask.

‘I understand,’ you say simply.

Everyone has something like the watch is to him. God knows you do. A moment of quiet understanding passes between you, one that needs no words.

Breaking the silence, he says, ‘So, you mentioned I’ll need to trade in something else for these jeans -’

You dismiss that notion with a wave of your hand. ‘Oh no, it’s ok. I got it.’

‘You don’t have to -’

You shut him down. ‘It’s not a big deal, it will take me two minutes to replace the zipper.’

He hesitates. ‘And the boxers -’

Passing him his jacket, you insist, ‘Seriously, Joel, don’t worry about it.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes it from you and shrugs it on. You try not to look too conspicuously when the bottom of his shirt draws up, flashing a bit of tummy, but it’s gone too quickly. With a nod, he concedes reluctantly, ‘You really shouldn’t, but thank you. I owe you one.’

You roll your eyes with no real exasperation as you walk him towards the exit. ‘I know you haven’t been here for long - that’s just how things work around these parts. We do things for each other, you don’t owe me anything.’ Pulling the door open, you give him one last grin. ‘Welcome to Jackson, Joel.’

‘Thanks, Pin,’ he says as he crosses the threshold. He pauses on the porch and looks around the high street slowly, as if he’s taking it in for the first time. He then turns to you with a parting wink that is charged with easy confidence. ‘I think I’ll like it here.’

You linger by the door, leaning against the frame as he jogs down the front steps with a swagger, watching in appreciation at the way his new jeans frame his backside. You smile when he slides his hands into his pockets as he walks away, the afternoon breeze ruffling his curls and the sun warming his broad shoulders.

You think you’ll like him here as well.

Notes: As I was writing this, I couldn't help thinking that it reminded me of Grays 🙈 What can I say? I want to give middle-aged men in need of self-love all the reassurance that they need. I hope you enjoyed Pin and Joel's meet-cute, I'm honestly so nervous about this fic I had to stop myself from compulsively over-editing.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated as always 🥰

P.S. Apparently, there is a Main Street Outfitter in the game, so I ran with it.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

#tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller oneshot

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

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It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 1 ] || [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: a bit of dirty talking/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 2: Johnny

“Oh, hello…” You remarked to yourself as your eyes locked into a stunning pair of blue eyes on your screen, stopping your mindless right-swipping. “...Johnny.”

“You’re 29… A soldier… Scottish… Are you friends with Kyle?” You mused playfully. “Let me guess, you’re a gym bro, aren’t you?” You asked sarcastically as you tapped your finger on the right side, skipping through his pictures. The first one immediately after was him lifting while wearing a weightlifting belt. “Yup… Mandatory gym pic.”

Chuckling to yourself, you snap a screenshot of his profile to the girls as well, sending it quick.

leah: @/mia Whatever good energy you sent its working. second hot guy in the last 5 minutes! mia: i lit a CANDLE for this!!!!! leah: there weren’t any handsome guys like this when i was on tinder?! 😫 UNFAIR. 🙄 you: blow it out then cause this is the 3rd actually. leah: 3rd??? Where’s number 2??? you: didn’t think to snap a screenshot. hasn’t matched me back yet. mia: has he posted a shirtless pic? you: kyle did and this one idk but probably. need to check. leah: Don’t forget to send it over.🥴

Shaking your head and laughing in amusement, you went back to Tinder, checking on ‘Johnny’. The mandatory gym pic was there… a couple of them in fact! And then the mandatory shirtless selfie. Or rather… The mandatory shirtless SELFIES. Plural.

Three of them… The first one was him just straight up wearing just a towel… And the next was him in a kilt… And the next was him with a button-up very much so unbuttoned.

“Oh, my, Johnny-John-John… You sure know how to woo a bird…” You joked to yourself.

You dragged your finger down to check his bio and immediately frowned. “Of course…” You trailed off with a disappointed frown as you snuck another spring roll into your mouth.

He might be stupidly attractive, but his personality… Gosh, he doesn’t know how to sell himself. Boring, boring, boring. “I work out and like video games!” You quipped mockingly and scoffed a bit.

“Artist.” You remarked when you reached the last of his profile’s tags, spotting that word in the hobby section. “An artist? You?” You asked your phone screen as if Johnny would come alive in it and answer you.

You’d admit, him calling himself an artist was intriguing enough, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to make you Swipe Right on him… But you’re not under normal circumstances. You promised your friends you’d Swipe Right on everyone so…

Your phone almost dropped out of your hand as soon as the ‘It’s a Match’ screen showed. “Of course… He’s probably swiping right on everyone as well…” Rolling your eyes, you go to click off the screen but accidentally enter DMs.

Johnny: ye have any scottish in you? you: not that i know of. Johnny: would ye like to? 🫦 Johnny: wait. wdym not that ye know of??? Johnny: i was trying to be filthy and now got me curious bonnie

“Fuckin’ hell…” You said as you set down your phone and covered your face before breaking into a fit of giggles.

The fact you had accidentally ruined his pick-up line and succeeded in stumping him got you very, very amused. Okay, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as boring as you thought.

you: story for another time. you: i walked right into that one tho. good job. Johnny: no ye cant do that Johnny: gotta tell me all about it now you: i mean werent scottish people everywhere in the uk at one point? you: i might be 1/370232103484320th scottish. Johnny: would ye like some MORE scottish in ye then? 🫦 you: solid attempt again. you: if you keep trying you might just get there. Johnny: i intend to dont worry you: soooo… Johnny: so? you: were you wearing underwear under the kilt? Johnny: no Johnny: why want a peek? 😏 you: i’m good you: so ur an artist? Johnny: i am Johnny: ur fast at typing fuck you: what kind? you: keep up then! Johnny: drawing Johnny: im trying 🥴 you: can i see some? Johnny: hanging with my mates difficult to text fast 😤 Johnny: idk if ull be in the mood to see anything after im done with ye you: why? 🤨 Johnny: might be too tired and need to be cuddled to sleep 😏 you: oh fuck off. Johnny: u just cursed me out Johnny: i think m in love 😫 Johnny: gonna tell my mates i just met my spouse 🥴🥴 you: don’t give them any ideas. you: haven’t even agreed to meet up with you. you: haven’t been invited in the first place. Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏

Your eyes widened at his enthusiasm and persistence. Okay, he was definitely not boring… It was actually kind of endearing and funny!

you: jc r u copypasting that? Johnny: yes Johnny: are ye going to or not you: can i get back to you on that? Johnny: ill wait for ye you: sure you do that johnny Johnny: ow the sarcasm burns

Concealing a chuckle, you clicked off the DMs page for the second time tonight… but, this time, you closed the app and focused on eating dinner.

Sure, this whole dating app thing was stupid, but at least you were enjoying yourself.

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader

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pink-princess-pussy-pop · 1 year

Text

Rafey - Rafe x Reader FLUFF

Req: I am in need of rafe fanfics so here I am requesting …. I was wondering if you could write something about rafe being really soft when it comes to reader and being completely different from his usual mean personality and just being completely whipped for her?? Hope this is alright :)

Rafe x Reader est. relationship

Warnings: Language, violence, alcohol and drug use, rafe making sexual innuendos lol

Summary: You witness Rafe's animosity towards others and notice the difference in his treatment of you.

SOFT! RAFE IS MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE.

Summers on The Cut were the absolute best. Parties every weekend, the beach with your friends, all the time in the world with your boyfriend, Rafe. The Kook life suited you well.

You stepped into Tannyhill, the blast of the AC immediately cooling your body down from the hellish weather of the OBX. Rafe and Sarah had come together, a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, to plan that weekend's party. Rose and Ward had taken Wheezie out of town for her birthday, leaving the elder Camerons alone in the big house. Sarah was in the kitchen, stirring a big cooler of some sort of beverage you guessed you would be indulging in later that night.

"Hey Y/N!" She smiled at you. "Rafe is out getting some stuff for tonight, but he should be back soon!" You nod and cross to the counter where she is.

"Alright." You look around the big room. "Do you need help with anything? Should I-"

"Could you get the ice from the freezer?" You smile.

"Got it."

Fifteen minutes later, and a few sips of Sarah's concoction later, you are giggling on the sofa.

"No way."

"No, I'm serious. After he got his wisdom teeth out, he kept asking to watch The Backyardigans. It was hysterical. Wheez got so many good videos of him." You simply couldn't contain your laughter at the thought of Rafe watching a kids' TV show.

"Yeah yeah. It's hysterical." His voice rang out from behind you and Sarah's eyes went wide as they met yours, a laugh threatening to escape from her lips. You, however, kept giggling.

"Rafey... How often do you watch The Backyardigans?" He rolled his eyes and set his hands on the back of the couch, bending down to meet your height.

"It was a one-time thing, baby." You giggled again and Rafe smiled the tiniest bit. "Geez, how much have you had to drink?" He sat up, running his hand through his hair, which you were thankful for. After you had kept stealing his gel, Rafe left his hair natural, which you were very thankful for.

Sarah started laughing again, which made you start laughing.

"Not a lot!" He rolled his eyes and turned away from the two of you, going to the kitchen to finish preparations. Sarah suddenly gasped and tapped your shoulder repeatedly. "D'ya wanna get ready with me? It will be so fun." You immediately nod.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Sarah jumps off of the couch reaching her hand out for you.

"C'mon!" You grabbed her hand and let yourself be pulled in the direction of the stairs before Rafe's voice stopped you.

"Hold on ladies. I'd like to talk to my girl before you leave me all alone." Sarah giggles again before running up the stairs. You smile and turn to Rafe, jumping a bit in shock when you see that he is already in front of you, his hand on the wall beside your head.

"Hi." You whisper.

"Hi." He whispers back. You grin at him, which makes him smile.

His unoccupied hand brushes a strand of hair away from your face before he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

"I bet you're gonna look beautiful tonight. Have fun with Sarah and holler if you need anything." He gives you a real Rafe smile and you return an even bigger one.

Hours later, you were riding on the buzz of Sarah's tasty drinks and some weed. You felt great, the light blue dress you chose for the night fell just below your bottom, something that Rafe had noticed the moment you had walked down the stairs.

He had been keeping an eye on you all night, how could he not with that fucking dress? You looked like you were having a good time with Sarah and the rest of your friends, smiling at you from afar.

"Yo, Rafe!" Kelce clapped him on the shoulder. "Special delivery from Barry." The mention of the drug caught Rafe's attention quickly and he grinned at Kelce.

"Where?" Kelce jerked his head behind him and began to walk away. Rafe turned his head back to where you were and decided you'd be fine on your own for a bit. He met Kelce and Topper in a spare guest-room. The white power clumped on the table made Rafe's heart pound in anticipation. The three Kooks indulged in the drug, making their noses burn and heads spin.

Rafe left the room and made his way back to the party, rounding a corner when a touron bumped into him.

"Hey man! Watch where you're going. Asswipe." The dark haired guy spat out. With the drug mixed with Rafe's temper, the guy was on the floor in an instant.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Topper and Kelce were right behind Rafe, amused looks on their faces. The party had quieted down, eyes and ears on Rafe and the kid on the floor below him.

You pushed your way to the front of the crowd, staring with wide eyes as Rafe's body loomed over the touron.

"Dude! what the fuck?" The guy scrambled up onto his feet, pushing Rafe back with as much force as he could. "Do you wanna fight?"

Rafe's dark laugh could be heard over the music.

"Awe dude's gone and fucked up." Topper said, coaxing a laugh out of Kelce.

Rafe smirked, pushing the sleeves of his button down up to his elbows.

"Won't be much of a fight dude." Rafe's fist collided with the guys face seconds later, sending him back onto the floor. Gasps sounded throughout the room.

"Rafe!" You screamed as he bent down to deliver another blow. And another.

Rafe managed to control his anger and picked the touron up, clutching him by his shirt.

"Get the fuck out of my house." The touron wasted no time scrambling out of Tannyhill and seconds later, the party was back in full-swing, like Rafe hadn't just beaten a tourist up.

Kelce and Topper patted Rafe on the back as he inspected his hands.

"Rafe." The prior actions had sobered you up almost completely. Their heads snapped to yours and Rafe gave you another one of his rare smiles. You fought the urge to smile back. "Come with me. Let me help you." You glared at Kelce and Top as they giggled at Rafe nodding and following you out of the room like a puppy.

The cocaine had made Rafe hyperfixate on you. Your pretty face, your sparkling eyes, the slight pout of your lips while you cleaned off his bloody knuckles.

"Hi, baby." He whispered. You were standing in between his legs, with him on the counter in his bathroom.

"Hi." You didn't look at him when you replied, too focused on fixing him up and too mad to meet his gaze. That is until Rafe started giggling.

"Well isn't this a switcheroo." Your head jerked up at Rafe's odd choice of words.

"What?" He's grinning at you again and the sight makes your heart race.

"Usually I'm in between your legs." Your head drops in exasperation and you take a deep breath.

"Jesus, Rafe." You refocused back on his hand, cleaning it up before wrapping it with bandages.

"We could make that happen, if you want..." His voice is just above a whisper. You are waiting for a giggle to follow but the room is silent. You look at him and his eyes are wide and pupils blown.

"Rafe..." You take his head in your hands. "Are you high?" A sheepish look wipes across his face.

"Only a little bit." His strong arms wrap around your torso, pulling your body closer to his. His head drops to your shoulder. "Mmmm. Yof snel go." His words are muffled and you stifle a laugh?

"What?" His head pops up a little.

"You smell good."

"Thank you, Rafe." His head pulls back so his eyes can meet yours, a frown present on his handsome features.

"Stop calling me that."

"Rafe? Baby that's your name." He shakes his head.

"You haven't called me Rafey all night." He pouts and you smile.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes, please." Even though you hate Rafe's use of drugs, you do enjoy this side of Rafe that comes out after he indulges in it.

"Aright, baby." You grab his hand to pull him off of the counter but he doesn't budge. "C'mon big guy." He shakes his head.

"Not until you say it." You set your hands on your hips as you stare at your boyfriend, Rafe Fucking Cameron, the scariest Kook of them all who just fucking broke a kids nose, is sitting on a counter in front of you, acting like a baby and begging you to call him by his nickname.

"Then I guess you're gonna have to be nice, Rafe." His eyes narrow.

"You're being mean. I'm always nice." You roll your eyes. "To you." He reaches his hands out and pulls you back to his embrace. "Please?" His eyes are like a puppies and you can't hold back your smile.

"Rafey..." Out comes another true Rafe grin which makes your heart soar.

"Say it again." His fingers brush your sides as he looks at you expectantly. Your hands reach up to push his hair back.

"Rafey." He thanks you with kisses. Your forehead, nose, cheeks, lips.

"Stop! Ew!" You are a giggling mess. You manage to push the large man away from your body, trying to catch your breath.

You look at him, standing by the door, watching you with a small smile.

"What?"

"I love you." His words go straight to your heart.

"I love you." He pulls you in for a real kiss, one that makes you melt into his arms.

The two of you leave the bathroom hand-in-hand.

"Did you call me 'big guy' ?"

"Shut up."

THIS MADE ME SMILE SO MANY TIMES!

Enjoy!

#rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe #rafe cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks fanfiction #outerbanks #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #obx

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mrs-weasley-reid · 9 days

Note

Hi , can you do one fic where Spencer and the reader who has to go under cover as a stripper and Spencer gets jealous when she gives the unsub a lap dance. Sorry if it's too much trouble

Purple Silk and Laces

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Warning: NOT SMUT (sorry to disappoint) sexual innuendos so we cool, I guess, but still MDNI!!! lap dance (duh) on the UnSub. curses. a pinch of mental feminine rage honestly lol. jealous!spencer (double duh). tell me if I missed anything because I didn't proofread! A/N: part of me had a cardiac arrest and died writing this because sflkjnwjkfbwrijgbf got me giggling and shit. I imagined season 7 Spencer. Anyway, I'm not sure if I depicted what anon imagined, but tell me your thoughts!

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

A flimsy curtain slides to reveal such a sight Spencer never dared imagine, not so much as letting it form in his head—not during work hours anyway.

Pink blush burst all over the skin on his face, neck, and ears. Very much thankful for the distance he's established, or so help his impulse—he just might jump and take you then and there.

Dainty fingers fasten the purple silk belt just above your waist, and the urge to replace your hands with his creates a fuzzy clot in his throat. Twenty-thousand words per minute turn into the shape of you. Each micromovement plucks in his line of sight. You're a prey, and he's a mighty lion—hungry and close to going berserk.

You have always been a beauty. A sight to behold. No doubt about that. In Spencer's mind, you're much more of a goddess than anything he's ever believed in. Something so out of reach yet accessible for him.

But at that moment, in the dressing room, in front of half of the BAU team, you're a lewd image killing him softly with the sake of public decency.

Spencer gulps the imaginary hairball that obstructs the breath from escaping his throat, clenching his fist to contain the blood rushing through his veins. He can't possibly let himself slip and ruin everything over his failure to keep his dick off his shoulders. Much less do something stupid in front of his team and, most importantly, in front of you.

He blinks and crashes down back to earth at the sound of Derek's playful, raunchy whistle. He glares at the hunky agent, gritting his teeth with silent indignance.

"Not trying to be rude, but," Derek starts as his eyes trail from your head to toe, "What's a guy like me got to do to get a chance with a lady like you?" His brows bounce on his forehead. A flirty smirk danced over his face.

With a cheeky smile and a hand reaching for his chin, you lean close to him—somehow both galvanizing and obscene in Spencer's point of view, neither a good feeling— "Kill me." Your lips drop upside down, shoving his face with your palm.

Derek recoils from the force of your hand. The fact that you are a federal agent trained to obliterate murderers comes back into his knowledge. "Least you got the role to a T—" He raises his hands defensively while he shuts his mouth under your dagger glare. He knows better than to try and get another rise out of you when you're already grumpy enough.

Emily coughs a laugh at the interaction as she helps you plug an earpiece inside your ear and tries her best not to cop a feel while she does her best to set up a small microphone between your left breast and an awful excuse of a bra.

Going undercover is nothing new to a seasoned profiler like you. Granted, you're second to the youngest member of the team next to Spencer, but you have your fair share of gut-wrenching trauma. This case is nothing compared to any of them.

Still, you wish it consisted of far more clothing than the patches of laces that barely covered the pout of your nipples and sheathed the crack of your ass. The silky 'robe' the ladies at the establishment called feels more like a slap of cheap toilet paper covering the little dignity you have left.

You make a pact that the UnSub better be down on his knees while you cuff his dirty ass. It certainly sparks your skin with rage, contrary to the blasting AC in the dressing room.

"We'll be on high alert. Remember, you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with." Hotch counsels by the door, standing like an ashamed tree stuck on the floor. He's got a guilty look on his face, and he's been keeping himself from glancing past below your neck.

You won't hold it against him, or Derek—or Spencer in the corner of the room as if you haven't noticed the way his face looks like he's been slapped into oblivion. Anyone who's got a cock (and even a cunt) wouldn't manage the sight of a woman closer to naked than clothed. If Emily was in your position, you don't doubt you'd be jaw-dropped, too.

A grimace adorns your lips, "I'm wearing the littlest lingerie I've ever seen in my entire life, Hotch. I think I'm way past feeling comfortable, don't you think?" You slump on the couch, slipping on the pair of terrifying heels one of the strippers lent you.

"Most likely, the UnSub is impotent, so he might ask you for more than a show and pay you for a lap dance..." The words die in Spencer's throat as your eyes catch his. He hates how the mere look from you makes him twitch on his seat, and he's roughly fifteen feet away—he thinks.

You trace your brows with your thumb and index finger, sighing. After a few moments of questioning the complexity of the case and your situation, you sigh again, louder this time.

"A lap dance wouldn't hurt. I mean, what could go wrong?" Everything. A wry laugh echoes past your lips. It's decided. This case is on top of the worst ones you encountered yet.

Spencer looks away in hopes that no one has noticed him gawking. He really shouldn't be feeling hot and heavy when you're about to show skin in front of a man who's killed five women in six days. Now's not the time.

Derek chuckles, though the undertone of worry and guilt hits the high pitch in your attentive ears. "If only the UnSub preferred abs, I would have taken your place." He's trying to lift up your mood, and you're grateful for it.

— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿

The club lights blind you.

You trace your frame at the beat of the music, taking in the rhythm while keeping your eyes sharp with every move.

Five men already threw their savings at you, whistling and shouting crude comments about your body. You mentally salute all the women who take the job by choice—or circumstances. Because all you wanted to do was hurl your stomach out and shoot each one of those men, execution style.

Like a bright spotlight, your eyes land on one guy at the bar. Spencer. His jaw is tense, and his hold chokes the glass of Shirley Temple in his hand as he watches you with fixed eyes.

A surge of electricity flushes you with goosebumps like the time you stupidly accidentally poked your finger in your car's power outlet while driving. You've never felt so exposed to the way he's staring at you. With a thick gulp, you shift your eyes away from him.

Then, your line of sight falls on a suspicious figure, two drunk perverts away from the stage. You hook your leg and spin around the pole like you've been practicing the trick your entire life.

"My twelve o'clock, blue shirt," You state with your back behind the audience. You ignore the fact that everyone's got a nice view of your ass right now.

Hotch's voice echoes in your ear, "Alright, one of the ladies will replace you in one—"

Kiara, a sweet lady, taps your shoulder with a dramatic show. She runs her hand down your stomach, and the animalistic crowd goes rabidly wild.

"Be careful, please," She reminds you before she shoves you off the stage to steal the show.

In an instant, the man you suspect waits next to the stairs. You aren't sure when he started heading towards you, but he fits the profile like a glove.

He's definitely attractive. Not Spencer Reid attractive, but enough to understand why the victims fell for his charms. You feel giddy at the thought of the doctor but force yourself to focus on the task at hand.

"You danced so well," You fight all your senses from decking the dirty smile off his face and give him a sultry one of your own.

Pressing your body onto his, you play with his collar, "I can give you a better view for a good price." He nods, placing a callused hand on the soft of your back.

Just like the plan, you lead the UnSub to one of the arc leather seats, sitting him down by his thighs as you provocatively fall on your knees, then standing back up with your back resembling a bow.

Crescent temporary scars sting Spencer's palm. The sight is like a sucker punch for him. Your hips swaying, grinding on someone that's not him. The UnSub's hands tracing your figure.

He feels livid. Dizzy of murderous thoughts that an FBI agent should not have. But he does and can't wait to get the green light from Hotch.

Despite the sick feeling in your gut, you did your best to see the task through, making filthy conversation with the UnSub like it's a walk in the park.

"So, any man in your life?"

There it is.

A narcissistic, pitiful man cheated by his lover due to his impotence.

You hide a smirk. "Will you give me a hefty tip if I say yes?" He stays silent, so you flash a mischievous smile before turning back around to grind on his nonexistent bulge. Not like it changes the fact that you're grinding on a killer, but it gives you a tinge of relief.

"He's better off sleeping at night not knowing, and—" In the midst of the flashing lights and heavy crowd, your eyes meet Spencer's. A tickle flutters in your stomach. "It's not like he's any good of use. The guy can't get it up to save his life, which reminds me..." You turn back to face the UnSub, staring at the area of his crotch with an odious giggle, "Does your friend need a little help?'

The UnSub yanks your wrist—bruising. "Don't fucking laugh," He growls at you.

Bullseye.

Strike a nerve.

"Oh, please, don't blame me for your silly problem," You roll your eyes, getting a rise out of him. You hear Hotch instructing you to back away as the team slowly moves in, but you just can't let the anger and disgust go. "Just when I thought I got a hot one—"

Cold metal kisses your skin, and you remember that state you're in. Gunless and almost naked. You mentally curse.

He pins you down on his lap, hovering close to your ear. "One wrong move and I'll fuck you up. You understand?" His breath burns your skin.

The next motions happen so fast you don't get the chance to process the way Spencer almost flew to your spot and snatched you from the UnSub like you're a prize possession in his name.

Guns drawn.

UnSub cuffed.

Blood drools.

Your orientation momentarily comes back at the stinging feeling of disinfectant against the thin slice on your right waist. Then, suddenly, you're on your flight back to Virginia—with more coverage.

Sitting in what is supposed to be a breath of fresh air, the tension between you and Spencer is suffocating the least. He hasn't said anything to you since his random thought about the UnSub's impotence in the dressing room. You figure he's avoiding you, even.

A sigh passes your lips.

You and Spencer have been dating for a while now. It's not on the surface, and surprisingly, despite working with a herd of profilers, no one has sniffed you out yet.

The relationship is very new. A lot of things to figure out between the nature of your relationship, but never has he ignored you the way he's doing right now.

And when you twist the knob open to his apartment, Spencer's not waiting by the door like usual, rummaging through his shelves for a book to read.

You cross your arms against your chest, "Alright, Spence. What is wrong?"

"What do you mean?" He doesn't even look at you, making a show of tracing each book's spine as if he hasn't read them more than five times.

"Really? You're gonna do that to me, Spencer?"

"Do what?"

"You know what? Whatever. I'm too tired for this." When he doesn't say anything, you grab your purse and start heading for the door.

"Yeah, maybe you can lap dance your way back home."

A pause.

Blinking at his image, "What?" Your eyes widen—one of them twitching with fury.

It's not like Spencer to say such a stupid thing. You've had arguments, but he's never acted so stubbornly.

"You've got two seconds to convince me that I heard you wrong, or so help me—"

"Or what? Find another guy to flirt with? Call Morgan?" Spencer holds his fists with tight grips, gazing at you with a shot of insecurity you have never seen him express.

Oh.

The fury dissipates instantly, and a different kind of fire sparks as if he's suddenly under a different light. A good one. One that electrifies your entire body into an ecstatic wave.

"You're jealous."

A statement.

Loud and clear.

Spencer furrows his brows like you'd just said something scientifically impossible. "W-What?" He stutters, and the smirk on your lips only grows.

"You"—One step—"Are"—Another step—"Jealous."

You're three steps before him now, holding eye contact. "You're jealous and with an UnSub, to say the least." You tuck your lower lip between your teeth.

"What are you talking about?" He scoffs. Your stare overwhelms his senses, but he's not backing out yet.

"But you are," You bite back a grin, entertained by the way his body stiffens the closer you get.

Spencer shakes his head, an excuse to break eye contact. "No. That's impossible. I don't get jealous." The protrusion on his throat quivers.

You raise an eyebrow, "Okay, so, you don't mind if I take Derek's invitation to hang out tonight?" You reach inside your bag, fishing out your phone. "I think if I call him now he'd still be—"

He engulfs both your hand and phone with one hand, "Don't." Spencer gulps—the third one in two minutes. He lets out a heavy sigh when you grin at him, softening his grasp. "Fine, I was—am jealous." His cheeks glow red, widening your shit-eating grin.

Spencer turns his head away from you, but you're quick to hold his chin and make him face you back, pecking his lips—a redder face before you.

"It was part of the job, Spence. Believe me, I wanted to shoot him so bad." You reason gently, yet the buzzing between your thighs makes you swallow the thick emptiness in your throat.

He lowers your hands and off his skin, running his hands over his face. "I know!" Spencer groans, turning away from the embarrassment that's beginning to eat him. "I just—I hated that the UnSub gets to experience you like that. It pisses me off!"

Spencer's rambling now, throwing statistics and facts and how it somehow correlates to you.

Although you're busy yourself, plucking each button of your shirt through each slit. And when he spins back, his mouth shuts up—still agape.

He's speechless, eyes fixed on you.

Your shirt droops on your arms, revealing the same lacey cloth latched on your breasts.

Spencer blinks rapidly, unsure whether to breathe or completely deprive his lungs of air supply, "Y-you kept it?"

"Are you still feeling jealous?"

"A l-little, yeah..." You didn't miss his quick glance below your waist to the spot you're craving him the most. And you can hear the question that's running in his head.

With a soft giggle, you audibly answer, "Yes, I kept that too."

Spencer thinks he should be jealous more often as he swoops you off your feet and brings both of you to his bedroom.

#spencer reid #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencerreid #fem!reader #criminal minds #criminalminds #cm #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you

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tayytayy12 · 9 days

Text

But Daddy I love him! | LH44 x Horner!Reader

Summary - You, a twenty four year old with an overprotective father. Lewis Hamilton, your much older (secret) boyfriend who works for the no.1 competition of said protective father. So when he finds out about you and Lewis, things aren’t too pretty.

Warnings - (legal) age gap, swearing, arguments, secret relationship, innuendos to intimacy

Type - SMAU

Requested - No

Wrote this at 4am, not been proof read and probably makes no sense

“Lew, you can’t keep cornering me in the paddock, anyone could see us.” You whispered out with a laugh as your boyfriend dragged you into a corner where you was hidden away from anyone’s prying eyes.

You and Lewis has been together secretly for almost a year, and no one knew about the relationship except the pair of you. It was a combined decision the two of you had, to keep your relationship a secret; you both knew full well that nothing but drama would come from the news of your relationship.

The media would have a field day with it, for many reason, the large age gap that the two of you shared, even if you both had gotten together when you was both of legal age and you was old enough to make smart decisions for yourself, you both new that the press has a habit for twisting things.

The other main reason that you also decided this, was your father. Everyone knows that red bull and Mercedes has one of the biggest rivalry’s in the history of formula one, and with Lewis being the Mercedes golden boy, and you being the daughter of the redbull team principal if your father and Toto were to find out, you both know that it wouldn’t matter if the pair of you were happy, they would make an uproar of the situation.

So that left the pair of you here, sneaking conversation around the paddock, sending each other longing stairs at FIA parties, trying your best to be together without people knowing.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Love,” he whispered into your neck as he pulled you into a hug, which you of course instantly returned, “let them see us, I’m having withdrawals.”

You laughed and pulled away from the hug as he smiled down at you a kissed you gently. He was right, you hadn’t seen each other in almost two and a half weeks because of some work related things he had to do, and he’d been waiting to get you alone since he saw you walk into the paddock with your father.

“I hate that I can’t be with you all the time,” you whispered as Lewis smoothed your hair down, he sighed and kissed the crown of your head and hummed in agreement, “Me too, sweetheart. More than anything. But you know why we’re hiding it. It won’t be forever, I promise. I want nothing more than for all those wag accounts pairing you with a different drivers, or random football players every week,” you laughed at the annoyance in his voice. He always sent you the posts by these accounts as made a point of how stupid it was that everyone was convinced that you had a boyfriend who was a footballer, this week the main speculation was Mason Mount. A friend of yours for the past couple years, who was very much nit your type, and very much in a relationship with someone else behind closed doors.

“I want them to stop as well,” you shivered before kissing him one more time, “now go get a podium for me, hmm?”

He smirked down at you, “Anything for you my love.” He said before walking back into the loud paddock, you leaving a few minutes later to avoid anyone seeing the pair of you leaving together as you made your way back to the red bull garage.

You were beyond happy, Lewis had managed to score a P2 in the race, his best result in a few weeks and seeing him up on the podium again brought a giddy smile to your face.

You went to the podium celebration with your father, using the excuse that you wanted to be there for your Max for his P1, believable considering the two of you were very close friends, but the whole celebration your eyes didn’t drift away from the Brit standing on the second place position. Lewis not being able to keep his focus off of you much either.

You didn’t manage to see Lewis until late that nights when the pair of you had arrived back at your hired (you somehow always managed to convince your father to book the same one as Lewis, of course he didn’t know it was the same but still).

After your father had gone of his room to turn in for the night, you sent Lewis a message, giving him the okay to come over to your room, it must’ve been a record time that he showed up at your door at.

“Why hey there my winner,” You said with a whisper as you opened your hotel room door, Lewis with a beaming smile on his face and he pulled you into a bien crushing hug, kicking the door closed behind him as he didn’t let you go from his hold, “not quite a winner for you yet, baby. It will happen though, just you wait.” He whispered into your shoulder before placing a gentle kiss there.

You picked up his face in your hands and looked into his eyes and said, “Lew, you have seven world titles. You are one of the greatest in formula one history. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, especially me,” you whispered as you placed a kiss on his lips, “and plus, with Max in that redbull, second is practically first. It’s how I judge the races anyway.”

He smiled down at you. God he loved you. He loved you more and more everyday, “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered as he pulled you in for a deep kiss, only pulling away when you both were gasping for air, “god I love you so fucking much.”

You groaned as you woke up in the morning, the sun light glaring in from the gaps in the curtains making you turn around and burrow your head into Lewis’ bare chest, him having lost it in a rush in the events you two took part in last night.

He must’ve already been awake, you hearing him let out a gruff laugh at your sounds of annoyance of being woken up prematurely, “Morning baby.” Lewis whispered, smoothing a hand up and down your back as you closed your eyes again.

“No,” you mumbled, “it’s not morning till I say so. Now, let me sleep.”

He laughed once more, pulling you flush against his chest as you felt sleeping pulling you back in, you felt at peace.

But all aspects of that peace were shattered far too soon as you both jumped up at the sound if the doer of you hotel room being opened, followed by the voice of you father travelling through the suite. Shit.

You scrambled out of beds both trying to find something to wear in the piles of discarded clothes on the floor as your father walked closer to the bedroom, “Y/n! Are you awake? We have a plane to catch.”

“Fuck.” You whispered as you cleared your throat, “Yeah I’m just um, finishing up packing, took me longer than I’d expected.” You said, it was the first thought that came to your head as you a Lewis sent each other alarmed looks, neither did you knowing what to do.

“Oh well I can help you with that.” Your father said, and before you could yell out your protests he had twisted the handle and opened your bedroom door, his normally cheery face when it comes to you immediately vanishing when his eyes landed on a certain shirtless seven time world champion in your room.

“What on earth?” He said angrily, eyes darting between you and Lewis, “y/n. Explain.” He said and when you didn’t say a word he rolled his eyes, “Now!”

“Don’t yell at her.” Lewis said as he came to stand behind you, not using your panicked stance. Christian looked livid as he turned to Lewis, “maybe I should get answers from you instead, what was you doing with my daughter? Hmm?”

“Now, Horner. I think we both know you wouldn’t like the honest answer to that question.” Leave it to Lewis to be making jokes in a time like this, you thought, semi-affectionately.

Your dad looked that angriest you had even seen him in your life as his fury filled he’d flickered between you two, “Y/n,” he said looking towards you, “I’m taking this as a stupid, drunken mistake you have made. I don’t care if that’s not the case,” he said seeing that you was about to interrupt him, “I’m going to wait at the airport until our plane leaves. If you meet me their it means you have ended this with him,” he said it like Lewis was disgusting, something that needed to be locked away, “if you don’t meet me there, and you continue this, don’t come to see me unless you’ve realised how stupid this is.” He said and without another word, he left.

You broke it into tears as Lewis pulled you into his chest, leaving you to make one if the hardest decision of your life, the love of your life, or your family.

——

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