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champagnefountains · 3 months

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LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

CHAPTER II - Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Previous chapter: [x] Word Count: 3.4k+ words (unedited). Genre/other tags: Angst with some fluff. Jealousy. Fem pronouns used. Warnings: Swearing. Self-deprecation. Manipulation (on Alastor's part).

It had been nearly over a week since you and Lucifer last talked – it had also been a week since Lucifer was last seen around in the hotel. Angel, being the gossiper he was, relayed everything that had transpired between you two to the others the following day. Seeing the sensitive and sad shell of a person you were left in, everyone remained cautious and had started walking on eggshells around you. Of course, you were quick to pick up on that, as embarrassing as it all was (minus Alastor, who continued on with his usual theatrics and mischief).

Charlie in particular was the most concerned out of them all, since this was her dad we were talking about. She knew with certainty that he was confining himself in the castle to distract himself from what happened – likely something involving his rubber-ducky obsession – instead of facing the problem head on. It was his pride that sometimes got in the way of his better judgement.

Not only that, but Charlie clearly saw the massive toll it took on you. If you weren’t distracting yourself with work or doing something related to the hotel, you would lock yourself away in your room, only coming out to quickly grab a bite to eat from the kitchen. Charlie even made efforts to strike many conversations with you from time to time, but was either excused or was only given one-worded responses. She knew not to take your dismissive behaviour to heart, but she couldn’t help but fret over you.

So it came as an absolute surprise when out of nowhere, Charlie received a call from her father. She messily scrambled for her phone on her desk, fumbling and nearly dropping it in the process before violently tapping on the small screen. “H-Hello?! Dad, hey!” She answers a bit too enthusiastically while nervously combing her hair with a free hand. “Uh, hey Charlie!” Lucifer stiffly greets from the other line, “I just…um, thought I’d give a call to, uh, see how everyone’s going at the hotel!” The Princess noted how much hoarser his voice was than usual, but decided not to comment on it aloud.

“Well, y’know how it is! It’s been busy and lively as always–everyone’s been working really hard and all,” she answers vaguely, nervously chuckling. “Err, yeah! Right. That’s a–that’s a relief to hear. Yep,” he hums. There was a brief, awkward pause that ensued soon after, the both of them not knowing what to say next. The whole exchange was becoming increasingly painful that Charlie resisted the urge to pull her hair. She then clears her throat. “H-How about you, dad? What’ve you been up to? You’ve been gone for a couple or so days,” Charlie finally musters, “are…are you doing alright?”

“Me? Oh yeah, psh! I just got, erm…a lot of things going on at the moment. It’s not so easy being the big boss of hell after all! Got a lot of important things to do! Plus, I’ve got heaps of paperwork to do for the hotel. You should know how tedious that is,” He says, adding an exaggerated groan.

The princess furrows her brows. “Oh, that’s…strange. ’Cause I could’ve sworn you left all the papers here…y’know, the ones you told me to revise over?” Charlie replies, side-eyeing the said documents stacked neatly on her desk. A startled yelp escapes his throat. “O-Oh...did I?” He stammers.

Charlie couldn’t help but wince at the evident panic that began to set in as she listened to her father make incomprehensible noises from the other line. It was a poor attempt in reasoning, which ultimately became useless in the end. Lucifer let out a long sigh, caught red-handed. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding? You guys probably already know what happened–which by the way, Charlie, you shouldn’t be lying to me about!” He pointedly remarks.

“I-I’m sorry, dad! It’s just…I’m really worried about you,” she reasons, before shortly adding, “...The both of you.”

There was a small pause. “...How is she, by the way?” He then asks quietly. Charlie nervously tugs her bottom lip with her fangs. “Well, she’s keeping herself busy. Constantly, as a matter of fact. And I know she’s trying hard to convince us all that she’s holding up okay, but…she doesn’t look too good, dad. She seems really upset.”

A shaky exhale sounded from his end. “I…I really am hopeless, aren’t I?” He mumbles defeatedly. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could picture him burying his face in his hands. The image caused Charlie’s eyes to soften. “Dad, no. It’s not too late. You still have a chance to make things right,” Charlie gently encourages through the speaker, “you just need to talk to each other–”

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a bright, blazing portal manifests from thin air – from it, emerges Lucifer himself who appeared extremely dishevelled, effectively catching Charlie off guard.

“But, hun, y-you don’t understand! I messed up big time!” He exclaims, tugging on his unkempt hair as he aimlessly paced around her office. “I-I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking mess and a coward! Why would she ever think to take me back after what I did!?” He chuckles humourlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, “I-It’s like no matter how many times I try to redeem and convince myself that everything’s finally going right in my life, I just continue to fuck myself over and over again. And it’s just– ugh! It’s pathetic! I’m fucking pathetic!”

Charlie’s chest tightened considerably as she watched her father self-destruct before her. Strands of his golden hair were sticking out here and there, his dress-shirt tousled, and his eyes were glossed over and red, from both a lack of sleep and crying. He looked utterly devastated. Chucking her phone away, she immediately sped towards and enveloped Lucifer in her arms, who immediately broke down into heavy sobs. Seeing him like this brought tears to her own eyes, but she firmly told herself to be the stronger person in this situation, for his sake.

“Hey, hey. Dad, listen to me, okay? Everyone deserves a second chance. You of all people should know–you were the one who taught me that, remember?” Charlie rubbed his back soothingly, trying to ease the jumpiness of his shoulders. “And that also applies to you. I…I know you’ve been through a lot, especially with mum…” She couldn’t help the way her frown deepened as she spoke, “...and I miss her too. I miss her a lot. But…I think it’s finally time for you to move on. It’s been years, dad. You deserve to be happy and you’re allowed to be in love again.”

“[Name]’s an amazing person, and there’s no doubt about that. She’s proved that more than many times already. I’m certain that once things ease over and you guys finally talk things through, everything will turn out okay; she’s very understanding and kind like that. You’ll both be okay.” Charlie gently pulls Lucifer away and with the sleeve of her blazer, she wipes his damp, reddened cheeks. “I know for a fact that she loves and cares about you deeply – we can all see it as clear as day. You…you love her too, don’t you, dad?”

For a brief moment’s contemplation, Lucifer suddenly recalled the times you spent together, from your initial meeting to now. He had always thought you were a strong and independent soul, with the way you carried yourself. You just had something about you that naturally drew in those around you, including himself. When Lucifer got to know you in a deeper level, he was enthralled by how kind and understanding you were – you were always there to listen to his many tales and endless nonsense; you would always seem genuinely interested in his rubber-duck-esque inventions, offering some input and critiquing his creations; and you would always be so, so supportive of all his plans and ideas, no matter how extraordinary they all seemed.

If he hadn't known any better, Lucifer would've thought you were an actual angel. You were the saviour that wore off the darkness in troubling times, and the one who pulled him out of the void that Lilith had left him in. That and more, as you continuously gave him a real reason to remain hopeful. You were proof personified, that he was able to open his heart once more, and to love again.

“I-I do, I really do,” Lucifer affirms in a heartbeat. Charlie smiles warmly, relieved by his answer, “then that’s all you need to say.” At that moment, Lucifer's chest swelled in overwhelming pride for his daughter, knowing that despite not being as present in her life until recently, she grew up to be the good and strong-willed person he had hoped for.

“O-Oh, jeez. Since when did you grow up so big? I should be the one comforting you,” He tearfully jokes, sniffling whilst returning her smile, “but thank you, Charlie. Really. I’m…I-I really am grateful to call you my daughter.” The two royalties then shared a heart-felt moment and a bone-crushing hug, with the King's heart being filled with a new-found determination. Because, just as he always says: The show must go on.

Earlier on:

On the other side of the building, you were drowning yourself in your own self-despair as you overlooked the balcony by the front entrance of the hotel. Your eyes lazily scanned the new hotel patrons below, who were engaging in some trust exercises led by Vaggie, who came in to cover you just moments ago. Every once in a while, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone, silently hoping to receive some sort of notification from Lucifer, or even an inkling of his whereabouts. But you received nothing, which only fuelled your growing anxiety.

You felt awful leaving the way you did that night, especially after dumping so much onto Lucifer. You felt like you were being completely selfish, and had cornered him into making a big decision. And because of that, your relationship was on the line. You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing angrily at your face.

Little did you know however, that you had some company lurking nearby, watching you in silent amusement.

“Now, don’t you look as miserable as ever?” Alastor mockingly chimes in, stepping out from the shadows to make his presence known and joins you by the balcony. You roll your eyes at the deer-demon before turning your head the other direction. “Yeah, and what about it?” You scoff, leaning in to rest your arms against the rails, “Can’t you go bother someone else, Alastor? I’m certainly not in the mood right now.”

“Why, I wouldn’t be a good hotelier if I left a dear co-worker of mine so down in the slumps!” To your dismay, Alastor reappears in front of you, obstructing your field of view, "And might I add, it's not healthy for you to be all cooped up in your room all the time – stay there any longer, and it can do silly, little things to your head!" He emphasises his point as he spins a finger in a circular motion by his temple. You shot him an irritated look, slowly growing fed up by his prodding.

"Listen, I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do. I’m more than capable of deciding that on my own,” you growl, straightening up to cross your arms firmly against your chest. “Hm...no, I don’t think so!” Alastor hums, shaking his head disapprovingly, “The unfortunate affair that took place in your courtship with the King has left you in such a vulnerable, and problematic state. And I’m sure you’ve taken note of how everyone’s been acting around you – constantly walking on their tiptoes in fear of setting you off on a hissy-fit. You’ve caused them to worry a lot about you, dear. Poor ol’ Charlie, especially.”

You open your mouth to retort back, but nothing came out. A strong pang of guilt struck you as his words began to sink in. Seeing this, Alastor’s grin widened a faction as he stepped forward and levelled himself with you, now facing you eye-to-eye. “And as the executive producer of this fine establishment, might I critique that your behaviour is affecting our team’s morale and performance…and we mustn’t have that now, should we? Especially not since we’ve all been more preoccupied recently with our guests!” He…had a fair point, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t…know…” Your voice began to trail off, shoulders slumping in realisation of how selfish and contemptuous you’ve been acting this whole week. You recalled the fretful expressions of your friends and your dismissive attitude towards them. “I-I didn’t mean to make everyone worry…” you quietly say. Alastor’s words only made you feel immensely worse about the whole situation, leaving you sniffling on the spot.

“Now, now. As long as you realise your mistakes, then you shall be forgiven,” he coos, softly patting the tuft of your head. At that, you couldn’t help but send a doubtful glance his way. “W-wait a minute…why do you care all of a sudden? What exactly are you playing at?” You suspiciously question as you rub at your eyes.

“Oh, how you wound me, dear! Why must you always question any act of kindness I display? Is it really that hard to believe?” He adverts, evidently feigning hurt. You deadpan. “Yes, it is,” you reply almost instantly. Alastor chortles at your bluntness, “Haha! You’re quite a work of art, aren't you, dear? Now, let’s go out for a walk, shall we?”

Before you could’ve processed what he had said, Alastor had already spun you around, pulling you with him as you both headed down a flight of stairs. “Wha–Alastor, where are we–where the heck are you taking me?” You asked, trying to keep up with his long strides so as to not trip down the stairs. “Hm? Did I not already specify? It looks like your brooding has impacted your hearing, dear. That’s a shame,” he slyly comments, now dragging you towards the entrance, “We’re both going for a walk around town, it’ll help clear that cloudy head of yours!”

“Hold on-Stop! Just what makes you think I’d agree to go out with you?” You shoot back, retracting your arm from his hold and stopping metres behind him. Alastor sharply turns around and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow piece of paper out of thin air. Your eyes dart towards the sheet, seeing a familiar hand-writing across the page.

“Why, I just knew you were going to question me – you're so predictable. But might I add, we’re not going out without purpose! No, no! Our lovely Charlie has composed a list and requested we fetch a couple items in town!” Stepping forward, you swiftly snatched the paper from his clawed hand and briefly scanned the list, noting that it largely consisted of decorations and party items. “She wanted to organise a heart-warming celebration for the wayward souls here who have accomplished some milestones on their journey to redemption! An anniversary ceremony of sorts, if you will,” Alastor explains, lightly patting the non-existing dust off of his suit.

“But couldn’t you just…I don’t know, teleport the things here?” You blatantly ask, raising a brow at him. You knew he was more than capable of doing such minuscule tasks within a span of seconds. “And waste such a beautiful day outside? Now, why would I even consider doing that?” Alastor states matter-of-factly, “And like I said, the short trip will help clear your troubled mind! Consider it a gesture of compassion from yours truly.”

There was clearly something off about all this but you couldn’t see any reason for an ulterior motive. It was just…simply a manager looking out for the well-being of his work-colleagues, as uncharacteristic and off-putting as it sounded out loud. Already exhausted, you couldn’t bring it in yourself to question his actions any further.

“You’re really not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, are you?” You ask. Seeing the way Alastor’s grin widened had you sighing in defeat. “Shall we then?” Alastor questions, offering an arm out to you. Rolling your eyes, you loop one of your arms through and follow him out the hotel. ‘A small walk wouldn’t hurt…’ you think to yourself as the doors shut behind you.

Currently:

Lucifer tiredly dragged himself to his designated room in the hotel, to rest for a while and take a much needed bath as per Charlie’s advice. He gave himself a lengthy pep-talk in front of the mirror as he brushed his teeth, deciding to approach you tonight to finally talk and clear things out. Yes, he was absolutely terrified about the possibility of things going south during the confrontation, but he didn’t think he could handle another second being without you. And he needed to make that loud and clear.

After putting on an outfit and neatly slicking his hair back, Lucifer looked at his reflection once more in the bedside mirror, inspecting himself up and down to flatten any remaining creases of his clothing. But it wasn't until his gaze landed on his left hand that he tensed up. Peering down, he brought his hand into view to inspect the very wedding band that caused it all. With a shaky sigh, Lucifer slowly pulled the ring off of his finger. He took a moment to examine it, eyes filled with sentiment before kneeling down to open his bedside drawer, where its designated ring-box sat. The moment he encased the ring in its box and locked it away in his drawer, it felt like a breath of fresh air. To his own surprise, Lucifer found himself tearfully laughing – he felt...genuinely happy. Proud, even. It was at this very moment that he felt like he was finally ready to move forward.

After patting the stray tears away from his face, Lucifer slowly made his way down to the front lobby. There, Charlie and Vaggie were talking amongst themselves by the lounge area, whilst Angel and Cherri chuckled away by the bar, with Husk tending to their beverages. The King didn’t give an inkling of care as to where Alastor had gone, and he was certain that Nifty was hiding somewhere in the small crevices of the hotel, cleaning away. All in all, there was no sight of you whatsoever, visibly disappointing him.

Seeing his approaching form, Charlie waved his father over towards them. “Hey, dad. Are you feeling a bit better now?” She asks with a comforting smile. “Yeah, totally. Thanks, dear,” he says, patting her shoulder affectionately before turning his attention towards her partner. “Hey! How’s it going, Maggie? I’ve heard you’ve been working real hard lately, huh? Good on yah!” He commends, playfully nudging the said demon. “Oh, um…it’s–it’s Vaggie, sir. And uh, thanks,” she nervously chuckles, rubbing her arm. “Mhm, yeah…that’s–that’s great,” Lucifer distractedly hums, all the while scanning around the room. Noticing this, Vaggie shared a worried look with Charlie.

“Erm, dad, she’s not here at the moment if that’s what you’re wondering,” Charlie starts, alerting her father. “Oh? Well, is she up in one of the guest rooms?” Lucifer asked, gesturing upstairs with a thumb. To his confusion, Charlie appeared somewhat nervous, her hands fidgeting with her suit. “Uh, no, she’s actually not in the hotel at the moment,” Vaggie steps in, “she’s been out doing a couple of errands for us.” Lucifer raised a brow at the slight edginess in her tone, eyes darting back and forth between the two girls. “...Um, alright. What the heck is going on right now?" He asks, pointing an accusatory finger at them both, "You guys are acting sketchy as fuck. Are you...are you guys hiding something from me?" He narrows his eyes. Charlie sucks in a breath, brows pinching together, “Well...dad, t-the thing is–”

“She’s out with Smiles right now!” Angel suddenly intervened, calling out from the other side of the room, and causing Charlie to cower and duck behind Vaggie. Lucifer felt his shoulders grow rigid. “She’s…what now?” He dangerously asks, glaring at the arachnid. Before Lucifer trudged towards the direction of the bar, the front doors of the hotel abruptly flew open. He felt the vein in his neck nearly burst at the sound of your laughter interlacing itself with that god-awful, irritating radio feedback. What a wild coincidence.

As Lucifer turned around, his eyes nearly flew out of his head as he saw how close you were with Alastor, arms basically locked together. The radio-demon was quick to meet eyes with the King, and out of spite, Alastor flashed him the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

“Oh, fuck no!”

Chapter III - Finale [x]

Thank you for reading!

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar

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golden-cherry · 3 months

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deal - cl16 (23/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's nothing sweeter than unexpected visitors.

Warnings: 18+ (just be prepared for some words), fluff (like a lot), Pascale is the sweetest thing on this planet, teeny tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: hello everyone! I hope you all are doing okay after the Ferrari-Carlos-Lewis thing, because I'm still in denial. this is mostly fluff, because I couldn't manage you dealing with more bad stuff this week. love you! feedback is appreciated!

Before you can say anything or even react, the blonde woman lets go of your hands and snatches one of the magazines lying on the coffee table in front of you. She rolls it up with her slender fingers before smacking Charles across the back of the head.

"Maman!" he exclaims angrily, rubbing his head. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

The woman holds the magazine under his chin so that the Monegasque has no choice but to look her in the eye and return her stare. "That's no way to talk to your mother." She puts the magazine back in its rightful place before turning to you again. "Try again, chéri."

Your friend has to hold back a grin before he spreads his arms out and hugs his mother. "Good morning, Maman. It's really good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, mon chéri," she replies lovingly, stroking his broad back once with her hand before releasing herself from the tight embrace. She puts her hands to his cheeks to study his face. "I didn't know you were back home."

Charles tilts his head, his mouth forming a thin line. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know," he replies meekly, taking her hands from his cheeks so that he can press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I can see that." She pulls her hands from his and then turns to face you. When she looks at you, you stiffen. All of a sudden, you feel as if you're naked in Charles' clothes, she's looking at you so piercingly. "I'm sorry I haven't introduced myself properly yet. I'm not usually as rude as my son." Charles rolls his eyes as her smile is affectionate and gentle. Then she wraps you in a hug that is careful, but firm nonetheless. It's a good hug. "I am Pascale. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." After you've also introduced yourself, you return her smile.

"Now that you two have met," Charles interrupts your conversation. "How do we come to be honored with your company, Maman?"

As if it was her own home, her own four walls, Pascale leaves the hallway and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs a cup and makes herself an espresso at the coffee machine. Like two lost puppies, the two of you follow the beautiful woman. "I was called in tears last night." When the loud buzzing of the machine stops, she takes a sip of her coffee before placing it on the countertop. "Can someone explain that to me?" With her eyes glued to her son like an annoying price sticker on a new plate, you're off the hook.

"I didn't think she'd call you."

She?

"And I didn't think you'd just kick her out of the apartment without giving her some warning," Pascale replies sharply, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval of Charles' behavior. "She called me in the middle of the night, upset with you and crying bitterly because you kicked her out of the apartment with a simple text message."

Something flashes in your mind. When you followed Charles back to the bedroom last night, he was typing away on his cell phone. And when you told him that he'd be crazy if you went with him to the apartment where his ex still lives, he assured you that she wouldn't be there.

You didn't expect him to just throw Annika out of the apartment so that you would have a safe place where Raphael couldn't harm you.

"Maman." Charles raises his hands placatingly. "It wasn't like that."

"So you didn't send her a text message telling her to pack her things and leave within thirty minutes?" When Charles doesn't reply, but simply stares at his mother open-mouthed, she runs her fingers through her hair in bewilderment. "I didn't bring you up like that. Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Maman -"

"No 'Maman'." Judging by the look on her face, she would like to hit him over the head with the magazine again. "Do you know what the consequences could be?"

"Maman -"

"She could go public with it!"

"Maman -"

"And - and damage your reputation! She could -"

"Maman!" Charles almost shouts at his mother to break out of her mental spiral. She looks angrily at her son, who takes a small step towards her. He lowers his hands. "Annika cheated on me."

As if all the air had escaped her body, Pascale plops down on the chair where you were eating pancakes just a few minutes ago. She puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath before looking at her son again. She tries to blink away the tears in her eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you, mon chéri?"

Without answering, Charles closes the distance to his mother and holds her tightly in his arms. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and closes his eyes. "It's all right, Maman. Please don't worry, okay?" He squeezes his mother a little tighter as her arms wrap around his middle. "It's all right. I'm all right. I'm in good hands here."

Pascale's gaze flickers to you and a small smile crosses her beautiful face. You recognize Charles in it. "You'll take good care of him, won't you?"

You feel the blood rush to your face. Suddenly it feels wrong to be witnessing this loving conversation between mother and son. "Of course." With everything I have.

"Very well, chéri," Pascale finally says, gently pushing her son away. "Your brother is coming to visit tomorrow. As you haven't seen each other for a while, I'd like you to come to dinner. He would definitely be happy to see you." She looks at you again. "You too, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Charles looks at you and shakes his head, barely noticing, so you don't turn down her invitation. "All right, maman. We'll be there." He nudges her lightly with his elbow. "As long as there's pasta e pollo."

Pascale rolls her eyes. "You're incorrigible, Charles." She smiles at him anyway. "Your new girlfriend gets to decide. After all, she's the new addition to our family and I want to make a good impression."

"Maman, she's -" Charles tries to explain himself, but his mother merely raises her hand to silence him. When Charles and your eyes meet, you feel warm. And when he pushes his lower lip forward, he looks so cute that you can't help but agree with him.

"Pasta e pollo sounds great."

Pascale gets up from her chair. "Very good. Then I'll get everything ready for tomorrow." She strides past you towards the front door and you follow her again. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll let you know the exact time, mon chéri." She kisses Charles' right and then left cheek before repeating it with you. "Tomorrow we'll have enough time to talk about all this. And to get to know each other better."

"I can hardly wait," you answer her honestly.

"That's very nice. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening. Bonne journée," she wishes you before disappearing from the apartment just as quickly as she came in. As the door closes behind her, you both exhale deeply.

"I'm so sorry." Charles turns to face you.

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Sorry for what exactly? Your mother suddenly showing up here?"

He runs his hand through his hair and leans back against the closed door. "That you're now forced to spend the evening with my family. And that I didn't make it clear that we're just friends."

You run your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "It's okay, there's plenty of time for that." Then you smile. "Your mom seems nice. I have no problem spending time with her."

He laughs briefly and then leans his head against the white wood. "It's not my mom that worries me. It's my brothers. They can be really - you know - brothers sometimes."

You walk towards him and lower your arms. "Why? Are they that bad?"

He grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers. His eyes search yours. "I think it's better if you make up your own mind about them."

"So they're that bad?" you joke, allowing him to pull you closer so that you're standing between his legs. "If they're anything like you, I think I'll get on well with them."

His free hand rests on your hip. Despite the layers of fabric, you can feel the warmth of his skin. "Then you'll hate Arthur." His fingers press gently into your flesh before something behind you catches his attention and he releases you - too quickly for your liking. As you turn around, the piano catches your eye and the roses standing on it.

"What's the plan for today?" you ask him, trying to draw his attention back to you. You release his hand from your hip, but only to pull him into the kitchen so he doesn't have to look at those stupid roses anymore. "Do you have to do anything? Gym? Or do you have any appointments?"

Charles sits down in his chair and fishes his cell phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "I don't think so," he answers and takes a look at his online calendar before placing his cell phone on the counter in front of him. "I don't have any appointments or commitments to meet until after Christmas. Until then, I'm all yours." His smile is sweet as sugar and your heart skips a beat.

You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt, pull him across the worktop and kiss him until you can't breathe. Touch him until the countertop is used for something other than cooking, but this morning you convinced yourself that this friendship is the right and, above all, the only way this can work. And that you wouldn't do anything to sabotage this friendship.

"How about we use this time wisely then, huh?" You reach for Pascale's coffee cup and rinse it.

"Do you have an idea?" He raises an eyebrow and has to stifle a smile when he sees your grin. "Of course you have one. Otherwise you wouldn't have asked like that. Fire away."

"So," you start and put the cup back in its place in the cupboard. "We've finally spoken and we've agreed to stay in this apartment together."

"As friends," the Monegasque confirms the thought you just had, even if you don't understand why he has to say it out loud.

Your eyes dart towards the hallway, knowing that the white piano with the red roses is just a few meters away. "What do you say we go out today and buy some new things for the apartment?" you suggest. "Then I could get things for my room and maybe something else to make it feel a bit more like home."

"You mean to make it feel like it's your apartment too?" Charles leans back in his chair a little and runs his hand through his hair.

"Only if that's okay with you. After all, it's your apartment and I could understand if you wanted to leave everything as it is at the moment and -" you babble nervously without thinking about what you're saying. You look at him worriedly and try to read his face to see if you might have crossed a line.

"That's actually a good idea," Charles finally replies, smiling at you. "But are you ready for it?"

"For what?" you ask, confused, leaning against the countertop, which - unfortunately - is only used for cooking.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "For being seen outside. With me." He looks at you like a kicked puppy that's been abandoned on the street in the middle of the night.

"I told you I have no problem with that," you assure him and walk around the kitchen counter to sit next to him. You reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. "We're friends, Charles. We know we're friends. And I don't care what anyone else thinks they know about us." You tilt your head a little to one side. "Our friendship is real - and that's why we're going right out there to buy some new stuff for the apartment."

His smile almost makes your heart stop. "For our apartment," he corrects you, his green eyes twinkling.

"Our apartment," you repeat softly.

"Okay." He lowers his gaze to your hands, and the way his fingers wrap around yours makes it feel like they're perfect for each other. The two of you spending time together shouldn't make you this happy. "But we'll only go on one condition."

"What's that?"

"We're not going alone. We're taking Pierre and Kika with us so that it doesn't look like we're shopping for furniture for our apartment as a couple in love." The fact that he doesn't want to go out alone with you feels like a punch in the gut. When he notices the hurt look on your face, he squeezes your fingers gently twice. "It's just to protect you, Y/N."

The fact that he doesn't trust you to do this hits you harder than it should. How many times do you have to tell him you're ready? That the opinions of others don't matter to you as long as you have Charles by your side? Does he really think you're that weak?

"I don't need to be protected," you reply sharply and take your hand away from him.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he tries to reassure you, but the fact that he's talking down your feelings doesn't make things any better.

"Maybe not," you say annoyed and get up from your chair. "But there will come a point when we're on our own. And then everyone's going to be talking shit about us, I get it. And I get that it's going to be bad." You don't care that you're acting like a defiant child. The fact that Charles doesn't want to be seen alone with you hurts more than you would ever admit. "So why not today?"

The young man in front of you looks away from you with a crestfallen expression before also rising from his chair. When he reaches for your hand again, you allow it. "I want you to be able to turn away from me if it gets too much for you. I want you to have the chance to live a normal life if you do decide against me." His other hand rests against your cheek and you snuggle up to him as if it were a reflex. "I don't want you to regret meeting me."

The fact that he thinks you could ever regret befriending him stabs straight through your heart. He wants to protect you from something you both have no control over, and although you'd like to stroll through Monaco holding hands with him, you can understand him.

He is trying to protect both you and himself. And you can understand that all too well.

"All right," you give in and smile gently at him. "Then ask them if they're free and up for it today. It could be fun."

Charles lets go of you and the warmth that had been flowing through your body immediately disappears. While he talks to Pierre on the phone, you go back to your room to get changed and think about what would look good in your room.

Different curtains wouldn't go amiss, and some candles and a small mirror would look good on the white chest of drawers opposite the bed. You might also find some new bedding that -

"Y/N?" Charles' voice echoes through the apartment. You find him in the doorway of the master bedroom, where he glances over his shoulder in your direction. "Pierre and Kika are about to head out, then we'll leave together."

"Okay," you reply, glancing past him into the room. There are a few things lying around that are definitely not his, and the decor doesn't suit him very well either. "So this is your room?"

"Uh-huh." He wrinkles his mouth a little.

"What's wrong with it? Apart from the obvious, of course."

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everything. I don't see anything in it that I wouldn't change."

You'd be only too happy to set the whole room on fire if it would certainly help him. Just like the roses that have burned themselves into your memory. You nudge him with your elbow. "Then we've got a lot planned for today." You look at each other and when he reaches for your hand, you have to smile. "You don't have to go through this alone, Charles. We can do this as long as we're together."

His gaze flickers briefly from your eyes to your lips. "Together," he says softly in return, leaning down a little towards you so that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. His warm breath caresses your face as his free hand finds its place on his hip again to pull you against him. You feel his hard body against yours, his heartbeat under your fingertips as you place your hand on his chest. You feel his warmth as his nose bumps against yours, his hip against your stomach as he presses you against him. You feel his -

"Are you ready?" Pierre's voice comes out of nowhere as he and Kika walk through the front door. Thank God the bedroom is further back so they can't see you.

Instead of letting you go, Charles presses you tighter against him so that you can feel him everywhere. "I think we need a new door lock," he breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. "Then no more uninvited guests can come in when we're together."

When he finally breaks away from you, you have to take a deep breath. Although you've decided that you don't feel anything for him apart from friendship, he triggers something in you that no one before him has ever managed to do.

You desire him. From the top of your head to the soles of your feet, you crave him, his touch, his skin on yours. And his words echo in your thoughts, making you dizzy.

Together. Together. Together.

You rub your face once and look after Charles, who briefly disappears in the direction of the living room, the opposite direction from your friends.

What you can't see, however, is him shoving his hand into his pants to control his raging boner, which is pressing almost painfully against the seams of his boxers. How is he supposed to put up with that when you live together?

Together. Together. Together.

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vivwritesfics · 4 months

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(Oh My God) They Were Roommates

Chapter One - I Hate You

Is me starting another series before my dissertation a really bad idea? Yes, yes it is (but i had the idea and I need to get it written down asap)

Lando Norris and Y/N L/N were teammates. Tension had been between from the minute they started driving together and, when it only got worse, McLaren CEO Zac Brown decides there's only one solution: Have them live together.

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"Get out of my apartment!"

In the doorway of a little two bedroom apartment in Woking was Y/N L/N. She had a bad on her back and at least three suitcases behind her. And in front of her was Lando Norris, her teammate, biggest rival and mortal enemy.

Lando stared at her, dumbfounded. "Your apartment?" He repeated, expression still shocked. "No, Zac said this one is for me."

"Then why did he give me a key for apartment 241?"

They held up the exact same set of keys on the exact same keyring. Lando let out a sigh through his nose as he pocketed his version of the key. "Somebody clearly has royally fucked up," he said and sat on the couch.

"I'm gonna call him," said Y/N as she put the key back into her pocket. She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and dialled the number of her boss.

Zac Brown had been hers and Lando's boss for the last year and few months. He'd been dealing with hers and Lando's shit from day one, ever sine they revealing the McLaren car for that year. They'd almost gotten onto a fight on the stage in front of everybody.

Zac picked up the phone in just a few rings. "How're you liking the new place?" He asked in way of hello.

"It's great, Zac. Except it comes with an annoying little prick," Y/N spat.

There was a second where Zac didn't say anything. He saw this coming, had tried to mitigate it as best he could by telling Lando he'd be getting a roommate. Of course, he didn't say who that roommate would be: that would have just been asking for trouble.

But, then again, all of this was asking for trouble. Zac had been waiting for a call from at least one of them since he got into the office (he'd hoped it would have been Lando; over the past year he'd proven himself to be easier to deal with than Y/N, who didn't back down. No matter what).

"Get yourself unpacked, I'll deal with you tomorrow," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Zac put the phone down. He didn't say goodbye to his drivers, unless it was on race days. With nowhere left to go, Y/N dragged her things into the apartment. "Where's the second bedroom?" She grumbled as she looked down at Lando.

Without looking away from the television, Lando pointed behind him. But that wasn't helpful, since there was the kitchen just behind them and then two doors. "Furthest one," he said and Y/N dragged her bags through the rest of the apartment, heading to the furthest away bedroom.

The bedroom was sizeable, with a double bed and wardrobe already inside. But, other than that, there wasn't a lot. Y/N unpacked nothing but bedding and clothes for the next day. There was no way she was staying here, not living with Lando Norris.

***

Carpooling made so much sense when going to the same place as somebody, unless you hated that person. Zac watched from his office as two cars pulled up outside of the McLaren Technology centre.

The drivers got out of the car almost in sync. They both wore sunglasses as they strode towards the doors, Y/N's glare not visible behind her sunglasses as she followed Lando inside.

Things were clearly tense between them as they walked through the office. The drivers said nothing to each other, but their expressions said enough.

Where Lando took an elevator up to Zac's office, Y/N took the stairs. She ran up them, the two of them arriving at the same time (one of them out of breath and the other smirking at her).

She took the lead as they strode into the office. "Zac," Y/N began, but the CEO held his hand.

He wasn't like other bosses, he was a cool boss. But he was still there boss and, when he held up his hand, the two knew to shut up. "Sit down," he said, leaning back in his own chair.

Y/N and Lando sat in the seats on the other side of the desk. Her leg bounced as she waited for Zac to speak and Lando had his hands shoved into his pockets. Neither of them could ever agree on anything, except the fact that they're not leaving the room until they're not living together.

Zac laced his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You're both brilliant drivers," he began, "but you're both liabilities. You've both cost us millions because you keep trying to kill each other on the track. And your behaviour towards each other off track is bringing bad press to all of us at McLaren," he finished.

"We don't want to lose either of you as drivers, so we've come up with the brilliant plan to force you to get along."

Y/N's eyebrows were furrowed as she stared at her boss. "And if we refuse?" She asked him, placing one leg on top of the other.

"Then, we'll have to let one of both of you go. But the choice is yours."

But the choice wasn't really theirs. No matter what, they couldn't lose their seats, so they were just going to have to stick it out, suffer through it. Fuck.

The tension between the two wasn't just random. It had been brewing since their karting days. Even then they ran each other off the tracks and fought between races. Of course, back then it wasn't as big a deal.

There were way too many videos of when they were kids and they'd pushed each other off the track, gotten out of their karts and gotten into a physical fight. If they weren't so clearly talented, it would have affected their careers.

For the first few months of their Formula One careers in McLaren, the team thought they had made a mistake. If they weren't consistently in the points, Zac would have gotten rid of the both of them. But, truth be told, they were too good to let go.

So, he dangled this threat in front of them. Learn to get along or one of you is sacked. He'd thought about this hard, realised that this was the perfect threat. Y/N and Lando were so competitive that the thought of one of them losing their seat while the other thrived would have torn them apart.

"Fine," said Y/N. She stood up so quickly that the chair she was sat on, fell backwards. She quickly picked it up and rushed out of the office.

Lando said a goodbye to Zac and walked out of the office, rushing after her. He ran into the elevator just before the doors slid shut and stood beside her. They didn't look at each other, stared straight at the doors as the elevator took them down. "Sup, new roommate," he said with a smirk.

The elevator stopped moving and the doors slid open. "I hate you," Y/N said and walked out of the McLaren technology centre.

She drove her way back to the apartment in Woking in complete silence. Her grip on the steering wheel was so tight that it left imprints on her skin, on her palms and her finger tip.

How she didn't get pulled over for speeding, she'd never know. But the speed limit was the least of her concern as she made her way back to what was her new home.

But it would never be her home, not while Lando was living there.

***

Reluctantly, she unpacked her things. Hung her clothes up in her wardrobe and placed her underwear in the drawers. Y/N placed pictures of her family, pictures of her old F2 car, of her pets, of her car from the previous year up around her room. She pulled her lamp from her back and placed it on the bedside table, along with her phone, its charger, and her toiletries.

Lando had arrived home just minutes after her, but she'd already locked herself in her room. The only way they'd be able to get through this was by avoiding each other.

When her things were unpacked, Y/N sat on the bed and grabbed a book. A biography, all about the life of Enzo Ferrari. The one thing her room was missing was her sim racing rig, something her father was meant to bring up that day, but Y/N had told him to wait until she had somewhere new to live (which, we all know didn't happen. She was stuck in this apartment with Lando, whether she liked it or not).

Pressing her ear to the door, Y/N listened as Lando walked around. She waited until he walked past her room and into his own, shutting the door behind him. Only then did she walk out of her room to get herself something to eat and drink.

She could do this. All she had to do was avoid him.

Easy.

Taglist (OPEN): @biancathecool

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader smut #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader

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dark-tides-in-faerun · 5 months

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Boiling Point (1/2)

Astarion x You!

Your party stumble across a hot spring in the wilds and agree to take turns bathing. It turns out, Astarion isn’t very good at taking turns but is more than happy to share…

🌶️mature🌶️ (fair warning that this chapter is just a little steamy but the next one will be very nsfw!)

You lay on your back in the recently discovered hot spring, eyes closed, basking in the delicious warmth. If this wasn't heaven, you weren't sure what was. The moon lights up the little clearing you’re in, giving everything that it touches a lovely, silvery sheen, and you close your eyes and relax into it, feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Well, hello.”

You almost jump out of your skin.

“Astarion.” You gasp, spluttering up a lungful of water as you quickly sink lower beneath the surface, arms crossing against your chest in a bid to protect your modesty as you twist toward him. The water’s cloudy enough that he wouldn’t be able to see anything, but that knowledge does very little to make you feel less exposed. “What in the nine hells is wrong with you?”

“Nothing that a little dip couldn’t fix.” He quips, lounging against a rock, his face the picture of innocence and your eyes narrow as you notice he’s clutching a crimson towel in one pale hand.

“It’s not your turn.” You warn, narrow eyes meeting his as his carefully blank face looks back at you. You’d all agreed on a schedule for hot spring use and given that he’d already talked you into letting him steal all of your allocated time, it definitely wasn’t his turn.

“Oh, I know that.” He replies, the picture of unaffected grace as he looks at his nails and then back at you. “I just think it’s a little selfish of you to be… indulging yourself with so little regard for other people’s feelings.”

“Is it?” You say, slowly, and his lips quirk up in response. “Or is it a ‘little selfish’ to interrupt someone during the only time they’ve had to themselves in days. Especially when that person in question has already given up every other opportunity to bathe in the hot spring for you.”

“Yes, yes, that was very generous of you darling, but try to look at it from my perspective. You generate your own heat, but what about me? Do you know what it feels like to spend night after night in this frozen and miserable, knowing that there’s something warm and wet that I could sink myself into just meters away?”

His voice is innocent, but as his eyes drop to where your skin disappears beneath the water, the smile he gives you is anything but. It's obvious he’s trying to use your physical response to him to manipulate you, because he's always trying to do that and you flush, desire flooding to your core just as he intends it. But you're not just flushing because of the obscene way he's looking at you. It's because that smile has reminded you of how he looked when he returned from the springs last night. All pink skin and delighted exuberance. He��d been light, playful, exhilarated... Happy. And you knew enough about his past to know that happiness wasn’t something he’d known much of in his long life.

“Why can't you just go and bother someone else for a change.” You grumble, but the delighted shine in his eyes shows you that he knows he's getting his way and you scowl at him. “Gods give me strength. Turn around.”

“Why?” he asks, mouth blooming into a full smile and you can’t help the extra little flip your stomach gives at the sight of it.

“Because I’m naked and I’m not getting out with you staring at me. Turn around.”

“Darling, I’m hurt. Are you really suggesting we can’t share? There’s more than enough room for two.” He pouts, eyes shining as he stares down at you, sparkling with mischief and butterflies flutter to life in your stomach at the suggestion. You know he’s only trying to get a rise out of you but damn it, if it isn’t working. "Besides, I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

You choke back a strangled laugh because it really wasn’t him you were worried about. The butterflies have gone into overdrive just from the suggestion, and you can feel the heat staining your cheeks a darker pink than the warmth of the hot spring. You stare up at him, eyes a little too wide, and he gives you a self-satisfied smile. You can see in his gaze that he expects you to balk. Expects you to surrender the hot spring and slink away with your pink cheeks and pounding heart.

Well fuck him.

You force a sweet smile, feeling a thrum of satisfaction at the slight widening of his eyes as instead of moving toward him you wade to the far edge and turn around. For a long moment there’s nothing and you wonder if he’s even still there.

“Well? Are you getting in or not?” You demand, proud that your voice is only a little shaky, and he lets out a laugh. You swallow, focusing on trying to keep your heart rate level as you hear the sound of rustling fabric and then the water ripples around you as he slips in behind you.

“You can look now, darling, I assure you I’m quite decent.”

You turn around and immediately regret not getting out when you had the chance.

There is nothing decent about the way he looks right now.

The moonlight floods the broad expanse of his naked chest, staining it an ethereal, shining white, and he looks like he was carved from marble. The steam from the water has already tightened the hair at the nape of his neck into little curls. He’s stark and beautiful in the silver moonlight, but it’s not even that, that’s most striking.

It’s his expression.

His eyes are closed, head resting against the grassy bank behind him and the little smile that plays at the edges of his lips is a million miles away from his usual shit-eating grin. It’s small and soft and decidedly content and you swallow. It’s the full force of the little smile you’d seen at camp. It’s true happiness, you realize and it makes your heart pound and ache in equal measure to acknowledge that you’ve never seen that particular smile before.

He shifts, lifting his arms from the water and resting them against the rocky edge of the pool, blinking up at you and that little smile dissolves into something darker. Water streams from his skin, running between the dips and crevices of his muscular biceps and you shrink into yourself a little, sinking into the water until just your chin hovers above it. There’s nothing you can do about your heart now, it’s pounding against your ribs like it wants to escape from your chest and his crimson eyes are fixed on you as you try your best to keep yourself in check.

“Happy now?” you ask, and though your voice is a little breathy you feel like the fact that you’ve even gotten the words out is a feat of heroic proportions.

“Very.” He replies closing his eyes, and you can’t help but smile at that. He looks more content than you’ve ever seen him and that thought triggers a reaction in you that’s so strong that you suddenly realize that you can’t stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be ogled like this, when he’s just trying to relax. From the little snippets he’s given you from his past he’s had enough of that to last several lifetimes.

You clear your throat and he opens his eyes again, one eyebrow raised questioningly you swallow, gesturing at him to swap places with you. He sits up at that, a surprised smile on his lips and you shake your head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea about your intentions.

“I’m going to leave you to it.” You say, your words only catching a little in your throat as he cocks his head to the side, looking at you thoughtfully.

“Leave me to what, exactly?” He asks, voice low and teasing, and heat rises beneath your cheeks as steam curls up in silvery tendrils around his chest.

“This. Warming up.” You manage, trying not to look at him as you edge your way around the to the other side of the spring, nearer to the grassy knoll, but you really need him to move out of the way if you want to make a graceful exit. “I’ll see you back at camp.”

“I can think of better ways to warm up.” He says, voice a little too innocent, and your gaze flicks to him before you can stop yourself. His eyes are fixed on you and the look in them is dark and predatory and you falter, heart in your throat. You’ve seen that look before, and you swallow as his gaze slips to your neck, the hunger in it apparent.

“I-I-“ you start, but your words die in your throat. The way he’s looking at you has melted your insides into a puddle of lust and your really, really need to get yourself under control. You take a breath. Blood. He means blood. You try to distract your pounding heart by thinking through the implications of what he’s asking. You’re no cleric, but surely bloodletting in hot water wasn’t the best of ideas... “Is it safe?”

He frowns at that, cocking his head to the side as if trying to work out your meaning and you swallow and touch your neck.

“Is it safe to feed in the water?” You say, again. He freezes for a second, and then some unreadable expression passes over his face before he quickly looks away. If you didn’t know him better, you’d have said it was disappointment.

“Of course.” He says, seemingly to himself, and when he looks up the expression has been swallowed up by his usual confidence. “Don’t worry, my sweet. I’ll take very good care of you.”

He holds out his hand and you bite your lip, hesitating for a moment. It’s not that you don’t trust him. If he says it’s safe you believe him, but you’re just suddenly very aware of your lack of clothes. You shift uncertainly, edging a tiny bit closer to him and a slow smile spread over his lips.

“I think you’ll find you need to be a little closer than that.” He says in a voice that spreads beneath your skin like treacle, and for the second time in one night you regret not leaving when you had the chance.

You shiver despite the heat as you place your hand in his and he wraps his pale fingers around yours, tugging you gently towards him. For one panicked second you think he's going to pull you onto his lap, but he stops when you're a few inches apart. You put your free hand on the grassy bank to steady yourself as he lifts your hand to his mouth, rotating it so that the soft skin of your wrist presses gently against his lips. He's fed from you before but, other than the very first time when he almost lost himself, he’s been almost clinical in his approach. Careful to only touch as much as he needs to.

This is not that.

You watch, dumbstruck, as his pink tongue slips out from between his lips to swipe a cool stripe across the overheated plane of your wrist. Your breath catches, a small hitch at the back of your throat, but he catches it and drowning crimson orbs flick up to meet your startled gaze. He does it again, staring at you darkly from beneath his eyelashes and licks another tortuously slow line across your aching skin.

You try not to, but you can't help but gasp, hand gripping tightly into the grass, and his pupils dilate with bloodlust as his fingers tighten against your skin. Gods.

“A-Astarion.” Your voice is breathy and tight, barely audible and you feel almost drunk from just this small amount of contact. He closes his eyes at the sound, a pained expression passing over his face as a shudder runs through his body, and then, before you can say anything else, his fangs sink into your wrist.

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oceantornadoo · 5 months

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ghost comes home

the 141 needs a place to sleep for the night and your house happens to be here. (simon introduces his secret wife to the task force, and it gets steamy after)

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ghost trudged up the hill, already regretting his decision. the 141 needed a place to lay low for the night, and of course they happened to be a mile from your remote summer home. he had a feeling you’d be there too, and here he was bringing four killing machines to your door in the middle of your summer vacation.

they had stopped before the door, and soap was itching with curiosity. it was a cozy lake house, two stories tall and perfect for a small family. there was a car in the driveway and the front porch lights were on, but he didn’t have any clue as to what, or who, awaited them inside. even though ghost had his mask on, soap could still sense how reluctant he looked. “don’t ask questions. come here.” ghost led them around the house to a small shed, wood on the outside but surprisingly modern on the inside. he opened up a military standard weapons storage unit and pointed at it. “every single gun, knife, grenade, weapon. in here.” price had started removing his weaponry but gaz and soap did a double take. “l.t. you’re saying go completely weaponless? what if-“ “if you can’t defend yourself with your bare hands that’s your problem, not mine. if you want to sleep outside, go ahead.” ghost said definitively. gaz and soap complied, and soon the group looked a lot closer to four guys on a camping trip than a ruthless task force. they went to the front of the house again, and ghost pulled out a key. “don’t make noise, don’t touch anything, don’t sit. the lights are going to be off. shoes off at the door.” the anxiety was getting to soap, he had no clue where they were but with how protective ghost seemed, he had a feeling he was going to know a lot more about his l.t. soon.

ghost opened the door, instantly greeted with the after smell of those lavender candles you always lit. it was dark except for the lowlights he had installed last june so that you could see when you came downstairs at midnight for a snack. he saw your books on the breakfast table and your slippers in the living room, the comforting feeling of home covering him like a warm blanket. he took his shoes off and walked quietly to the stairs, knowing every squeak and how to avoid them. a door upstairs opened and he swore underneath his breath, not wanting to wake you until the morning, but of course you’d seen his location and wanted to say hello.

it was midnight, and you had just finished a particularly smutty chapter in your romance book when you got the notification that the door had been opened. you checked simon’s location and of course it was him. you flung of the covers and opened your door, greeted with a silent house except for the sounds of fabric moving. you looked down the stairs and there he was, skull mask shining in the moonlight. you rushed down the stairs and jumped into his arms, reveling in the feeling of home. “hi si.” you said breathlessly, legs tightening around his waist. “hi, dove. did i wake you?” you pulled up his mask for a long kiss, heart beating finally finally. “no, i was reading.” “aye, one of those dirty romance books, hm?” you giggled as he knew you so well. “maybe so. you’ll just have to come upstairs and…” you trailed off, having looked over his shoulder into the living room where three giant men stood awkwardly. you climbed out of his arms (simon huffed), intrigued by the situation at hand. “you brought company?” you turned on the lights to reveal the three strangers.

soap blinked and couldn’t believe his eyes. there was his l.t., a 6’4 killer on the battlefield, with his mask half up his chin, hand around your waist, and love in his eyes. and of course, there was you. you didn’t seem nervous to have three intimidating men in your living room, if anything you looked excited. you seemed molded to ghost, your movement reflecting each other for maximum physical contact at all times. quickly, you pulled down ghost’s mask so the team didn’t have the chance to glimpse his face. you moved forward with a small smile, head cocking as you analyzed the men in front of you. “dove, this is-“ “the 141. i’ve heard a lot about you. didn’t expect to meet you all in my pajamas.”

“you’re much better looking than us anyways.” soap replied, diffusing the tension. he didn’t miss how ghost’s hand tightened on your waist and his eyes narrowed. this was going to be fun.

“well it’s lovely to meet you all, though i’m not sure why it’s right now. i’m -“ “mrs. riley.” ghost cut in. “you will address her as such.” you smacked his chest playfully as he looked down at you, eyes switching from cold protectiveness to endearment. “nonsense. you can call me by my name.” you said, extending your hand to price. “you must be captain price. and you’re wearing your hat!” the greetings continued in a similar fashion as you remarked upon everyone’s unique physical indicators, known from simon’s constant stories about the group. after realizing the military was in fact in your living room, a slight tension curled up your spine. simon noticed immediately, of course, and turned you both around, giving you a sense of relief. “guns in the house?” you whispered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. that was the one requirement you had. “never, love. they’re in the shed.” you relaxed instantly. “okay, they can stay. are you staying?” your thumb laid over his hand, tracing the veins you had memorized thousands of times before. “you’ve got me for one night. transport comes at noon tomorrow. you sure you’re okay with this? we can camp outside. just happened to be near the house and needed a place to sleep.” “of course i’m okay with it, si. i trust you. and now i have you for one night.” you ended with a smirk, knowing your husband would not get a lick of sleep tonight. “we have two guest bedrooms, so you’ll have to share.” you announced, turning back to the group. “i’ll go ready the rooms.” simon whispered into your ear, squeezing your waist once before going upstairs. he didn’t want to leave you alone but he trusted his men, and didn’t want you to work more than you had to. he never did.

“well,” you plopped down in your favorite chair, the men still standing awkwardly. “sit down. we’ve got about five minutes to answer your questions before my husband whisks me away for the night.” soap sat down eagerly, bouncing with energy as he readied all his questions. gaz took in the scene before him, and only had one burning question. “captain, why aren’t you surprised?” price turned to him with a small smile, taking his hat off out of respect. you answered for him. “john and i have talked before, just never in person. there’s a lot of paperwork to do when you want to marry a ghost who’s in a secret task force.” you played with your ring finger unconsciously, and though your ring was off as you had been preparing for sleep, they could all see the tan outline on your fingers. “i’ve known about mrs. riley here for a while, but her existence is the only thing ghost told me.” price added in. he was big on respect, but even he was excited to meet ghost’s secret wife. the one who has extended secret protection whenever he was deployed, the one whose ring he wore next to his dog tags.

“i think you want to rapid fire interrogate.” you said with a smile, turning to soap. “let’s do it”.

“where’d you meet?”

“manchester.”

“how?”

“i spilled my drink on him in a cafe. might have been on purpose to get him to talk to me.”

“you’re the perfect lass for him. how long have you been together?”

“four together, two married.”

they all exhaled a breath at that. for four years, ghost had been carrying a secret. with his past, or as much as he told them, they knew why, but it was still a blow.

“he loves you guys. he wanted to tell you all, we’d been planning it. just not like this. he kind of hoped someone would notice the ring on his dog tags and bring it up, but i had a feeling you all were a bit scared of him.” you could sense the tension and wanted to show simon’s thinking process to them as much as you could without spilling his secrets. with his past, he had been so worried about you being in danger. it was one of your agreements that he’d tell them in his time, and never before.

“what do you do?”

“i’m an author, hence the books.”

there were books everywhere. the shelves, the tables, the floor. in fact, with the lights on, soap now noticed a small ball of fur cuddled with a book under the coffee table.

“did ghost build this place?”

“basically. it was a fixer-upper. he gave it to me for our honeymoon and he’s been working on it ever since. it’s my getaway when i want to write.” soap spotted ghost coming down the stairs, and wanted to make the last question less personal, just in case.

“how do you deal with the bad jokes?” you opened your mouth to reply, but simon’s hand rested on your shoulder and you closed it. “enough. your rooms are ready.” simon said in a gruff voice, wanting to be alone with his wife already. you knew what that tone meant, and you rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. you guided the men to their rooms, gaz and soap splitting one, making sure they had everything they needed. then finally, finally, you went into your room with simon and locked the door.

“hi again.” you said shyly as he gathered you into his arms. “you good? overwhelmed?” he asked, knowing he had intruded on your solitude without warning. “i should be asking you that. are you okay?” you guided him to your bed, sitting him down on the edge. he sighed, and you slowly pulled off his mask, giving him time to stop you. with his face finally revealed, you pulled him in for a deep kiss, moaning at the taste of your husband. “i’ve missed you.” simon finally said, avoiding your last question. “me too.” you kissed his forehead, his hairline, trailing down to his cheeks and chin. reverent. it had been two months, not the longest you’ve gone without him, but still you never got used to the time alone. his hand twitched as he showed the number three with his fingers. a while ago, you had a long conversation about showing your emotions. when either of you were too overwhelmed, you used your hands to show it. one meant needing alone time, two meant panic attack, and three meant being together and moving to a different subject. you gave him a small smile, running your hands through his hair, shorter now that he was deployed. “let me make you feel good.” you whispered, and he nodded, putting his trust in you easily.

you unclipped his gear, slowly, surely. slipping off his vest, guiding his arms. you slid off his gloves one by one. simon loved how you treated him delicately, so different from his life in the military. there were no threats, no enemies to think about, just you and him in this quiet room. he’d soundproofed it last year after the incident with your parents, so there were no worries about disturbing his teammates. with his gear off, you took off his shirt, bringing it over his head and throwing it into the corner. his scars were fully visible, and you kissed each one with pleasure. “let” kiss “me” kiss “make” kiss “you” kiss “feel” kiss “good” kiss. he was slowly coming back to his body, the overwhelmed feeling disappearing with your love and affection. “yeah, love? gonna make me come?” he grinned, pushing the hair out of your face as you lowered yourself to his crotch.

he helped you take off his jeans, leaving him only in his boxers while you were still fully clothed, the contrast making him hard. you breathed over his hardness, a contrast to the cool ac. he gathered your hair in one fist, giving him a full view of you hungrily looking at his cock. “take it out.” he ordered, and you complied, untucking him from his boxers. “i’m glad you introduced me to everyone today. you did so well.” you said, your words warming his heart. he liked praise, sometimes, and you were trying to make this as good as possible, not knowing when you’d see him next. “had to make sure they knew my wife who sucks my cock so well.” he replied. “you gonna actually suck it, or you just gonna kneel there, looking so pretty on your knees?” you chuckled at his words. slowly, you licked him from base to tip, satisfied with the groan he gave you in return. “spit” you said, offering him your hand. he complied, and you brought it down back to his cock, working your hand up and down. you started with kitten licks, feeling him jerk in your hands at every touch. wetness pooled in your pajama shorts, and you shifted, letting the seam of the fabric work at your aching clit. “stop teasing or i-” he stopped with a moan as you put his entire length in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. you hummed and his cock twitched. you worked your mouth up and down, using your hand when you couldn’t go all the way. seeing him undone was turning you on as you shifted on your knees, letting your shorts work your clit. you swirled your tongue around his tip and went back down, your other hand gripping his balls with a short squeeze.

he bucked into you, and you knew he was close as he started fucking your face. he reached the back of your mouth and tears streamed down your face, but you didn’t make him stop. your hand left his balls and went down to your clit, pushing your palm against it to find the friction you were chasing. “does getting your face fucked turn you on, dove? my little wife?” you whimpered and he moaned, pulling you closer to his cock. “gonna come on your face, open up.” he withdrew, sticky strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. you put your hand back on it and stroked, ropes of cum landing on your face and neck. your tongue darted out to taste him and he groaned, laying down fully on the bed. “that was so good, lovie. you did so well, come ‘ere.” you climbed on top of him, thighs messy with your own wetness. “need you inside me, si. need to come.” you stripped off your shirt and shorts, tits bouncing in his face. he took your nipple in his mouth and you groaned, hands pushing against the headboard to keep yourself upright. simon’s hands came to your hips, sitting you down with his half-hard cock against your ass. “give me a second.” he said in a raspy voice. “okay, old man.” you replied cheekily. he slapped your ass and you giggled. laughter turned to moans as his hand slid down, putting two fingers inside you. “look at you, so greedy for my cock. have you been fucking yourself with the toys i got you?” his other hand tweaked your nipple, a bit of pain in a rush of pleasure. “i have, thinking of you. been missing your cock.” his thumb circled your clit just the way you liked it as his other hand went up from your nipple, choking you. “show me.” he withdrew his fingers and you whimpered as he licked them. you shifted backwards, impaling yourself on him. “si, its too much.” you had forgotten how big he was, and you felt so full, stuffed with his cock. “you can take it, wife.” you both sat there for a minute, letting your leaking cunt adjust to his cock. his hands massaged your nipples, getting you wetter and wetter. “wait, i have a surprise for you.” you leaned over to your bedside table, still full of simon, and pulled out a small box. simon sat up a bit and opened it, smirking as he took in the contents. he withdrew the gold clamps, setting the box aside. his hand grasped your left tit as he sucked it slightly, then withdrew. he opened the clamp and closed it around your hard nipple, an electric shock of pain running through your system. “you like wearing jewelry for me, hm? looking pretty, all stuffed with my cock while the boys are sound asleep next door. wonder if they’re thinking about you, wife.” you gasped, images of being shared with simon’s teammates running through your mind. you had had threesomes with simon before, but never with that many participants. while you were distracted, he closed the clamp around your other nipple. he tugged on the chain connecting them, bringing your mind back to him. “they wouldn’t fuck you like this, though. won’t get you dripping after they fuck your face.” his hips started moving upwards now that you were adjusted to his length, hands resting on your hips. with the feeling of the clamps, his dirty talk, and your stimulated clit, you were right on the edge. “si, i’m gonna come. please let me come.” his hand moved from your hip to your clit. “come for me, dove.” you shattered with a moan, glad for the soundproofed walls. your thighs trembled as you sat back down on his cock, and simon could feel you weakening.

he flipped you both over, staying inside you, and started fucking into you with abandon. his hand slipped under your head to protect it from hitting the headboard as he got rougher and rougher. your tits bounced, the clamps holding steady with every thrust. your hands came around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “my husband.” you groaned, never tiring of calling him that. your hands scratched his shoulders, urging him into you more and more. he changed the angle so he grinded against your pubic bone, and you could feel your second orgasm coming. “si, come with me. i want you inside.” he moaned into your shoulder, keeping the pace. “right there, love, im right there.” he panted, needing just a bit more. “fill me up, si. i’ll be making breakfast for the boys and they’ll see your cum running down my thighs. i’m yours.” you both came to that image as he pumped into you, making you leak with his cum. “fuck.” he collasped into you, holding off his weight as to not squish you. cock still inside, he removed the clamps, licking each nipple after. “did you think of me when you bought these?” he said, growling. “i got so horny i had to get off in the public bathroom right after. thinking of you the whole time.” you replied. “gonna make you wear these all the time now so your cunt is always ready for me.” he slipped out and you both sighed.

he left and came back with a warm washcloth, cleaning you both up. you yawned, so tired from the night’s events, glad to have your husband home. simon turned off the lights and tucked you both in, ready to sleep with his love in his arms. “i’m home, dove.” he whispered, kissing your forehead and tangling his feet with yours.

“i’m home.”

#simon riley x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley wife #tornadothoughts

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eternalxvenus · 2 months

Text

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 3 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain.

wc: 1.4k

notes: part three out in less than 24hrs?!? who would've thought

previous chapters: part 1 | part 2

Topper: hey we need to talk, it's about Rafe.

Your heartbeat started to pick up, but you weren't sure why. Topper didn't say it was anything bad, but you knew realistically he wouldn't be texting you unless it was.

You: hey Top, what's going on?

Topper: are you busy? can I swing by?

You: i'm on the mainland right now, can you tell me over text? i'm worried

Topper: yeah... so I don't know if you know but Rafe went to Kelce's party a couple days ago.

You: yeah I know

The sinking feeling in your chest lifts a little. You figured Topper was going to tell you Rafe had been doing coke since he knew Rafe was supposed to quit.

Topper: while he was there he started doing lines off the table. then a little later he started making out with Sofia. i'm not sure how far it went

You stared at the message for what felt like forever. Then a video pops up in the chat, so you click play.

There are some random people doing lines, but then in the back corner, you can see Rafe and his ex-girlfriend Sofia practically trying to eat each other's faces. You couldn't seem to find the energy to be sad about it. You felt almost indifferent but shocked at the same time.

You: thanks for letting me know Top

Topper: of course and just know you don't deserve that.

You click out of your messages and before you can think twice, your phone is ringing, waiting for your call to be picked up.

"Hello?" Rafe's voice came in through the speakers. He sounded tired but not like he had been asleep.

"Rafe. I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth."

"Okay... what is it?"

There was silence as you took a deep breath. Your voice was smooth and calm as you asked, "Did you cheat on me?"

You heard shuffling on the other end of the line. "What?"

"Did you cheat on me, Rafe?"

"No, I didn't cheat on you. What is going on?" He sounded baffled by your question.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Rafe! I saw the video," You tried to keep your voice low since your parents were probably asleep.

"Baby what are you talking about I'm not lying! I didn't cheat on you. You know what, I'm coming to the mainland. I'll be over there soon."

He ended the call before you could tell him not to bother. The last thing you wanted to see was his stupid face, knowing his lips were all over Sofia's, and God knows what else they did.

At the beginning of your relationship you were really insecure because of his history with Sofia but Rafe always assured you that he wasn’t interested in her anymore. You laid in bed staring at the ceiling while the video played over and over in your head. All you could wonder was what made your relationship with Rafe go left so quickly. You felt like crying and punching Rafe all at once. He made you feel so much at one time it could be so overwhelming.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Your phone chimed a while later with a text from Rafe saying 'I'm here. Please let me in so we can talk.’

With a sigh you begrudgingly made your way downstairs and to the front door. When you opened it Rafe was standing there with a tired yet worried look on his face.

"Can I please-"

You put a finger up to your lips. "Shh. You'll wake up my parents." You let him inside and signaled him to follow you into your room. Before you can close the door fully, Rafe starts asking questions. "Why do you think I cheated on you? What video are you talking about?"

"Rafe, I saw a video of you sucking face with Sofia at Kelce's party. Did you fuck her too? Is that why you didn't text me all day?"

Rafe was looking at you like you'd grown two heads. "I am so fucking lost right now. I don't even think I saw Sofia at the party!"

You pull up the video and show it to Rafe. He watches it a few times before sitting on your bed with a sigh, dragging his hands over his face. You watch him with your arms crossed, waiting to see what he'll say. Rafe then pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling something up.

"Look, this is a picture taken the day of the party." He shows you a random photo that was taken of him and Kelce, also displaying the date on it.

"So what?"

Rafe grabs your phone going back to the video and zooming in on the spot where he is seen kissing Sofia. "My outfit isn't the same in the video. It's an old video from when we were together."

Looking at both the phones you realize that he's right. "Oh... well why would Topper send me this if it's old?" You question out loud

"Wait a minute, Topper sent you this?"

"Yeah he texted me earlier saying we needed to talk but I told him I was on the mainland." You show Rafe the texts from Topper and he's seething.

"I could kill that son of bitch!" He shouted, and you had to cover his mouth, reminding him your parents were asleep. You sat on the bed looking at him, now you were the one who was confused so you decided to flat-out ask him what was going on.

"When you weren't talking to me I had told Kelce and Topper what was going on and he was the one who convinced me you didn't wanna be with me anymore. You were ignoring my calls and everything so he said I should just forget about you and not make things worse." Suddenly Rafe was on his knees with his hands on your hips.

"Baby listen, I know that I can be a major fuck up sometimes and that I don't have the best way of dealing with stress and everything but I would never cheat on you. I'm sorry about y'know, the coke and your birthday and everything else that I've ever done wrong, but I hope you realize that I love you so fucking much. You mean the world to me, and I don't wanna lose you." You stared at him with wide eyes as tears started to fall down his cheeks and brought up your hand to gently wipe them away. "So if you still want space, I'll give it to you. But I know I'm ready to change and make everything up to you."

You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips. You definitely weren't expecting him to pour everything out like that. "I love you too, and I don't want you to think I'm ever judging you or being a hardass. I just worry about you. If something ever happened to you..." you sighed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I promise not to make you worry." Rafe stood up and kissed you hard while cradling your face. He tried to leave to give you space, but you insisted he'd stay and said you'd head back to the OBX tomorrow. Rafe wanted to talk to Topper in person, which you didn't see going well, but you'd worry about it tomorrow.

You gave him plenty of blankets and pillows since he didn't want to take up so much space in your twin bed and chose to sleep on the floor. Once you'd gotten under your blankets, sleep whisked you away.

Rafe, on the other hand, could barely get his mind to calm down. He was fucking enraged with Topper for trying to pull some bullshit like that. Rafe should've known he was a snake. He noticed the way Topper's eyes would linger on you or how his hugs went on for a little too long. But Rafe didn't think Topper was stupid enough to try and break you two up.

Now that he had finally cleared everything up with you, he wasn't worried. Rafe was going to take care of Topper as soon as he got back to OBX. He'll make sure to get the point across that nobody fucks with his girl and his relationship.

part 4

likes, comments, and blogs are greatly appreciated!

taglist: @readingsmuts @1aarii1 @bingbongbum @stargirlsturniololover @babygirl229 @poisonedsultana @rafescamshoe @devils-blackrose @spiderflunk @quicksilversg1rl

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 6 months

Note

Hello! How do you think König (or any of the guys really) would react to you calling them "my sweet lil guy"?

Thanks for this request!!🩷🩵🩷🩵 I just did this for multiple characters, as I thought this would be funny to see them! They’re short and sweet!

141 + Königs Reactions to Reader Calling Them "My Sweet Lil Guy."

Warnings: slight swearing, fluff, slight sexual references

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

“Bloody hell.” Simon groaned, his hands moving to grasp at his back. “Damn thing hurts.”

"Awe, my sweet lil guy got a backache?" You teased, moving to rub Simon's back gently.

Simon turned, slowly, toward you a look of mock horror on his face. "The hell you just call me?"

You bit your lip to prevent a giggle, watching the confusion on your boyfriend's face with amusement. "My... sweet lil guy?"

Simon stared at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but little isn’t one of them.”

“First for everything I suppose.” You shrugged your shoulders, struggling not to crack a smile under Simon’s intense stare.

“You’re a little brat, you know that?” Simon chuckled, kissing your temple.

“I’m the little brat, you’re the sweet lil guy.” You teased, scrunching your nose at him.”

“You’re pushing it, kid.”

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

“Everyone, I’d like for you to meet Johnny.” You smiled, introducing your boyfriend to your group of friends.

"Is this the "sweet lil guy" you've been telling us all about?" Your friend asked as she regarded Johnny with a smile.

Johnny blinked a few times before looking at you. "Your sweet lil guy?"

Your friend gave a hearty chuckle. "Yep, they call you thay all the time."

“Tha’ so?” Johnny quirked a brow at you, a devious smile making its way to his lips.

“Johnny no, pl-.” You started, but Johnny was quick to cut you off.

“That’s not what they were screaming in bed last night.”

Oh yeah, he won your friends over that night.

John Price-

“Cmon, sweetheart. It’s past midnight, surely you can put the book down and go to bed.” John groaned, it was well past his bedtime.

“Is my sweet lil guy tired?” You cooed, turning to face John in bed. “Promise I’m almost done.”

"Your sweet lil guy?" He looked at you, bemused by your nickname. “That really what comes to mind when you think of me?”

“Sure is.” You faked a yawn, flipping over to finish the chapter of the book you were reading.

John wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. “Yeah, you’re sure about that?”

Your cheeks burned crimson, the prominent bulge in your lovers boxers now pressing hard against your back. “Y-yes.”

“Give me about two minutes. Once my cocks inside that pretty little mouth of yours- you’ll be choking on those words.”

König-

“Maus, can you help me with these straps?” König asked, gesturing to the buckled straps of his vest. “I can’t reach them.”

“I’ve got you sweet lil guy.” You chuckled, making your way over to him. You began to fiddle with the straps before he stopped you, abruptly turning to face you.

Königs cheeks became beat red as he stuttered out his words. "W-what?"

“Sweet lil guy? I meant it as a term of endearment Kö.” You blinked a few times, watching as your boyfriend’s face became as red as a tomato.

König couldn’t explain why.. exactly the name had him feeling so flustered. He was ANYTHING but small, in any regard, but he…liked the thought. It made him feel you didn’t find his large stature menacing, and the thought was comforting to him.

“Can you.. call me that again?”

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

“Damnit!” Kyle exclaimed, running his hands over his head in frustration. “I was so fucking close! I had him!”

"Did my sweet lil guy lose?" You chided, watching your boyfriend throw his controller on the couch in frustration.

“Yeah. I fucking did. I’ve been trying to beat that game all.. wait what did you call me?” Kyle whipped his head around to you, and it took everything in you not to laugh.

“My sweet lil guy is throwing a tantrum.” You giggled, watching as the corners of his lips turned upward. “Does baby need a kiss to make it better.”

Kyle nodded, his bottom lip pouting slightly. “I do.”

You bit your lip in amusement, before wrapping your arms around your boyfriend pulling him close to you. “I’ve got you baby boy.”

Kyle wouldn’t ever admit it, to anyone, but he certainly wouldn’t complain if you wanted to call him that again.

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig imagine #konig mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #soap imagine #soap x reader #price imagine #price x reader #gaz imagine

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Three-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Heartbreak, ANGST AF, Dirty Talk, PIV, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation, Semi-Public Sex.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

Emily's voice echoed through the air of your dorm room, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in your drenched appearance. There you stood, next to your bed, trapped in the labyrinth of your thoughts, most likely looking like you had genuinely lost your ever-loving mind.

At last, you jerked your head up, locking eyes with her. "Apologies, Em...I'm just utterly drained. Honestly didn't even hear you come in."

"Why are you absolutely soaked?" Emily's tone switched to an almost amused drawl, one you could tell she was attempting to suppress. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed your waterlogged state. "Weren't you with Mattheo?"

Your cheeks flushed under her scrutiny, and you shifted uncomfortably before responding. "Yeah," you admitted, your tone slightly sheepish. "It's a bit of a story, really...Malfoy essentially dared me to jump in the lake, and, well, I couldn't resist the challenge."

Amusement twinkled in Emily's eyes as she settled onto her bed, her curiosity piqued. "Well, that's one way to make a splash," she quipped, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "So, spill the details. Is there some progress being made with those arsehats?"

You cleared your throat, a nervous smile playing on your lips. "I'm trying," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty. "It's a work in progress, but I think we're getting there, slowly but surely."

Emily nodded knowingly, her lips curving into a smirk. "Well, if anyone can handle a bunch of mischievous daredevils, it's you," she remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just be careful, yeah?"

"Of course," you replied, managing a meek smile despite the uneasy knot tightening in your chest. "Where were you tonight?”

Almost instantly, Emily's demeanor shifted, her gaze darting away, fixated on her fingers as she nervously twirled her chapstick. "I, uh...I was with Tom," she stammered, her voice trailing off uncertainly.

A sudden wave of realization crashed over you, leaving you feeling as if you were adrift in a stormy sea. Emily was with Tom?

You blinked, struggling to find the right words. "You-"

"I think I like him," she confessed, the words emerging strained, as if pulled through clenched teeth, her eyes avoiding yours. "I...I think I really like him..."

Her confession hung in the air, heavy with tension, sending shockwaves through your entire being. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat reverberating in the silence that followed. You stood there, motionless, breathless, your mind trying to grasp the reality of her revelation. What on earth was fucking happening?

Sensing your stunned reaction, Emily hurriedly left her bed, closing the distance between you two. Her eyes met yours, filled with regret and apology.

"I'm so incredibly sorry," she began, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. "I mean, on the night of the party, we connected, and we kissed, and I haven't been able to shake those feelings since...I know you and Tom have been seeing eachother for a while, and I've felt terrible about this whole situation...I'm the worst friend, and I can't believe I let it get to this point...I just...I understand if you hate me or never want to talk to me again-"

"Emily," you interjected, your voice breaking through the heavy silence, your shock slowly giving way to a strange sense of understanding. Despite the chaos in your own life, you couldn't muster any anger. In fact, her revelation felt like a bizarre twist of fate, a surreal kind of perfect. "Me and Tom...we were never anything...I've never had any genuine feelings for Tom, not like that anyway..." you confessed, your words hanging in the air. "It's okay, Em...it's seriously more than okay."

Her eyes, brimming with guilt, met yours. "No… it isn't," she murmured, her fingers absently pushing a strand of hair off her forehead. "I just...I feel like the world's worst friend...I've been keeping secrets and hiding things from you...and that's not like us...I genuinely bloody hate myself for this…”

Her words hit you like a sledgehammer, the weight of your own secrets crashing down on you. How could you judge her when you were harbouring your own tangled emotions for Mattheo? Guilt clawed at your insides, a bitter reminder of your own deception, making it impossible to feel anything but empathy for Emily's confession.

Gently, your touch on her arm was a soft plea for understanding. "Em, please be kind to yourself," you implored, your voice carrying the weight of your own inner turmoil. "I'm far from perfect, and I completely understand...you don't ever have to be scared to tell me anything, I'll always be on your side..."

The desire to confide in her about Mattheo tugged at your heartstrings, but a tempest of conflicting thoughts raged within you. You longed to unburden yourself, to share the intricacies of your emotions--yet, doubts clouded your mind.

You questioned the wisdom of revealing a truth that seemed destined for heartbreak; one that was destined to go no where, especially after Mattheo's own cautionary words. The fear of shattering the fragile semblance of normalcy you'd managed to maintain held you back, leaving you caught between the honesty you craved and the security of your well-guarded secret.

"You're the greatest friend...I don't deserve you," Emily released a long sigh, meeting your eyes softly. "Are you sure you're not upset? I swear I'll never fucking talk to him again if-"

"No! No, Emily...I'm not upset," you said, through chuckles. You were upset, but it had nothing to do with her. "I want you to be happy, Em...Dumbledore once told me that if someone makes you feel, let them..."

"Gods, that man could make a bloody brick wall tear up," she breathed, finally cracking a smile, as though you'd lifted a weight off her shoulders. "I have to say though...I just don't know how you didn't fall for him...I mean, his fucking eyes alone had me melting..."

You released a breath, unable to swallow your smirk. Yeah, his eyes were beautiful, but only because they served as a reminder of Mattheo's--whose deep brown pools were nothing other than completely fucking captivating.

"I know," you said, your voice distant, lost in your thoughts as you stared into the distance. "Tom is wonderful," you continued, your words almost a whisper, the syllables heavy with unspoken sentiments. "It's just that, my heart...it wasn't in it."

Emily's brows furrowed with realization, her eyes darting across your face as though she could read the unsaid words swirling within your irises. "Where is your heart, then?"

Emily's question hung in the air, patiently awaiting your response, but your thoughts were elsewhere, entirely consumed by Mattheo. His captivating eyes, that tousled brown hair, and his infuriatingly complicated demeanor dominated your mind. Despite his dangerous reputation, he had always been your sanctuary--from the way he protected you to the depths of pleasure he led you to, he ignited desires you were hesitant to acknowledge.

Since the day you met him, you had been drawn in, entangled in a web of emotions you couldn't escape. The fear of succumbing to your desires warred with the undeniable pull he had on your heart, leaving you submerged in a sea of uncertainty, unsure if there was a way out of the depths you had willingly plunged into.

Meeting Emily's eyes, you could only confess, "I don't know," your voice tinged with desperation, as if seeking an answer that seemed just out of reach. "I...I have no fucking idea anymore..."

Her face dropped, shock etching lines across her features as she took a few delicate steps back, studying your face intensely. The intensity of her scrutiny made you nervous, your heart pounding so loudly you could almost hear it. You knew she had just realized precisely what the fuck was going on with you lately. You knew she'd finally fucking cracked your code.

You looked away, unable to maintain eye contact, and in a hushed tone, she said, "oh, Gods no...you...he's-he's such an asshole..."

"Yes, he is..." tension gripped your entire being, your body vibrating with nausea as you struggled to find the words. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Emily's eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you whispered, "but there's still good in him..."

Emily's eyes widened in disbelief, her shock palpable as she struggled to comprehend your words. "You're going to destroy yourself trying to fix him," she said, her voice edged with desperation. A heavy pause filled the room before she continued, her voice quivering, "He's done terrible things, remember when he sent that poor third year into the infirmary-"

"We've all done terrible things, haven't we?" you shot back, finally looking up at her. The intensity in your gaze matched the fierce determination in your voice. "We're all just sinners judging sinners for sinning differently, but no one ever bloody stops to ask why..."

Your steps were slow, but deliberate, each one echoing with the resonance of your unwavering determination as you closed some of the distance between you and Emily. The intensity in your eyes burned brightly, reflecting the depth of your emotions.

You were acutely aware of how utterly insane you must sound, how irrational and illogical your words might appear to her. Yet, in the depths of your heart, you longed for her understanding, for her to grasp the complexities that lay beneath the surface. You yearned for her to realize that there was a profound depth to your emotions, a truth far more intricate than what met the eye.

"Yeah, maybe he's bad...maybe he's completely fucking terrible," you said, your voice carrying a potent mix of fervor and defiance. "But when he smiles…when I look into his stupid, big eyes...all I see is the good in him..."

A profound silence hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of your words. You gauged Emily's reaction, observing the flicker of disbelief and uncertainty that played across her features.

"I made a promise...to Dumbledore...to myself...to Mattheo," you continued, your voice unwavering, each syllable resonating with unshakable resolve. "A promise that I'd fucking stand by him...that I'd show him patience and compassion...who would I be if I gave up on that?"

"Yeah, but..." Emily's eyes widened, her throat tightening as she struggled to find words to counter your conviction. "He's...he's a monster..."

"He's broken," you retorted, your tone unyielding, the depth of your empathy for Mattheo underscoring your words. "I don't care what happens to me, Em...I am a woman of my word..."

Emily swallowed. "Your heart is far too pure...your heart is going to ruin your future..."

"So be it." You said, flatly, steeling your shoulders as you released a long breath. "I am coming for all the ghosts that have ever haunted him...I am coming for all the demons that twisted his dreams and turned him into the fucking nightmare that he is, and I am going to be theirs, instead."

Without waiting for Emily's response, you brushed past her, your heart racing with anxiety over the fact that you had essentially revealed the truth about your relationship with Mattheo. The weight of your confession hung heavy on your shoulders, but you needed to clear your head. Silently, you made your way out of the dormitory, the echo of your footsteps reverberating in the empty corridor.

The familiar path to the prefects' washroom felt like a lifeline, leading you to the one person who could provide the reassurance you craved. Just as you made your way into the hall, the door creaked open, and a familiar brunette exited, her sly grin sending a shiver down your spine as her eyes met yours. Recognition struck you like a lightning bolt--it was the girl from the library, the one who had been intimately close to Mattheo all those weeks ago. As she disappeared from your view, your stomach plummeted, anxiety tightening into a nauseating knot.

With your heart heavy and anxiety clawing at your throat, you mustered the strength to push open the door. Inside, you found Mattheo, leaning wearily against the sink. His eyes, usually filled with intensity, were dulled by fatigue. His head was bowed, and his shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of unseen struggles. He remained fully dressed, his appearance reflecting the weariness that mirrored your own inner turmoil.

"What was that?" you questioned, your voice trembling, and your chin quivering with vulnerability, your eyes pleading for an explanation that might soothe the turmoil within. "I thought we were okay?"

The sight of that girl leaving the washroom shattered the reassurance you had desperately sought. Doubts consumed you, racing through your mind like a storm. Had your recent fight driven that big of a wedge between you and Mattheo? Was he seeking solace in someone else's company because he was done with you? The questions multiplied, suffocating you with uncertainty. Your voice emerged as a cracked whisper, breaking the tense silence that hung between you both as Mattheo slowly met your eyes.

"Are we ever bloody okay, Raven?" His voice, laced with a tinge of exhaustion, fell flat, his eyes dark and cold as they bored into you. The endless depths of his gaze seemed impenetrable, hiding any flicker of emotion that might have offered solace. "I'm not even sure what you're going on about, truthfully,"

"The girl," your voice wavered, your vulnerability laid bare, "the same one from the library all that time ago...I just saw her leaving."

Mattheo grumbled irritably, the tension in the room palpable as he pushed off from the sink with a heavy sigh, his movements betraying his exasperation. He spun around, the muscles in his jaw clenched, his eyes stormy with frustration as he leaned back against the counter. His arms crossed over his chest defensively, his entire posture radiating a mix of annoyance and defiance.

"That girl is nothing to me, Raven," he declared, his voice low and gravelly, the words carrying a hint of irritation as he tried to emphasize his point. "Nothing at all."

You desperately wanted to believe him, to cling to his words like a lifeline, but doubt gnawed at your insides, poisoning your thoughts. After everything that had transpired between you, after your last fight, and the way he was acting now, you couldn't simply brush it aside.

"Nothing, huh?" Your voice grew firmer, laced with a mixture of hurt and skepticism. "So it's just a coincidence that you two were alone in here...and that she was grinning ear to ear when she left..."

Mattheo blinked, his surprise evident as he processed your words. This jealousy was uncharacteristic of you, a stark deviation from your usual composed self. His features contorted with a mixture of confusion and frustration, his eyes narrowing and jaw clenching in response to your accusation.

"Do you think I fucked her, Raven?" His words hung in the charged atmosphere, heavy with hurt and disbelief. Each syllable cut through the air, a searing venom that struck your heart like a dagger. "Do you actually fucking think that low of me?"

The raw pain in his eyes mirrored your own, a painful reflection of the trust that had been shattered between you, the wounds now gaping wide open, begging for resolution.

"You don't trust me..." Mattheo's expressions hardened further, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and hurt. The room seemed to shrink around you as he pushed off from the sink, his movements deliberate and forceful, closing the distance between you before you could react. "You don't fucking trust me, do you?"

You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling like a tightly wound spring, bracing for the emotional storm that was about to engulf you. Mattheo stopped abruptly, his instincts sensing your reaction, his intense gaze locking onto yours. Your breathing became shallow, your chest constricted, and time seemed to stretch into eternity as you stood there, suspended in the moment.

"I want to..." your voice wavered, a fragile whisper barely audible in the heavy silence, carrying the weight of your longing and doubt. "But...I just...can't, when there you are...directly in front of me, still so fucking far away..."

You took a moment to study his features, the turmoil in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the vulnerability that flickered beneath his anger. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, as though his heart was laid bare before you.

"A man with a shield for a heart, and a sword for a tongue," you continued, your voice a fragile thread weaving through the charged air. "How do I confide in that?"

Mattheo's eyes softened, just slightly, the storm within them giving way to a glimmer of sincerity. In that moment, he shed every ounce of hesitation, closing the space between you with an urgency that spoke volumes. His hands found your face, cupping it gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. The intensity in his touch, the tenderness in his gaze, told a story of its own.

"Raven...do you think I fucking care about anything other than you?" His voice, once sharp with frustration, now held a raw, earnest sincerity that cut through the lingering doubts and insecurities. "You're the only one I need...you're the only one that keeps me high..."

Your heart thundered in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears like a war drum, each beat reverberating with the intensity of his touch. His palms, warm against your cool skin, sent waves of heat through every inch of your body, cocooning you in a haze of desire and vulnerability. You blinked, your eyes unable to tear away from the depth of his stare.

"But?" you dared to whisper, your voice barely audible amidst the charged silence, the lump in your throat growing with each passing second. "I know you aren't finished, I see it in your expression..."

He stiffened, his hands slowly falling from your face, the loss of his touch leaving a void. His gaze, dark and intense, traced a path from your eyes down to your lips, the unspoken longing palpable between your bodies. The pain that hung in the air was almost tangible, the emotions that coursed through both of you reaching a fever pitch.

"When you close your eyes...when you think of this...of us, what do you see?" He whispered, his voice a mere breath, the words hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "Do you see a future, Raven?"

The question slammed into your lungs like a sledgehammer, stealing the very air from your chest. You had never truly considered what was going to happen at the end of the school year, but it was evident that he had, his eyes haunted by the uncertainty of the future.

You sucked in a lungful of breath, trapping it there, the oxygen feeling suffocating against the weight of his question. "I...I don't know..."

"Exactly," he murmured, his voice as soft as a breeze, but carrying the weight of an entire universe. "Something's telling me we're running out of time here, Raven...I always said I'd never deserve you, and I meant that..." he paused, averting his eyes only for a moment as he threaded an unsteady hand through his hair. "If we keep this going...something's bound to give...I can't let you throw away your future for me..."

You stalled, pain rushing through you. This whirlwind of emotions felt like a chaotic storm, each moment with him a battle between your hearts, oscillating from fiery arguments to heartbreaking distance. The constant push and pull had left you emotionally battered, but this time, the pain cut deeper than ever before.

"No...Mattheo...I..." your voice stammered, trembling with the intensity of your emotions. "I would much rather be nowhere with you, than somewhere without you..."

He stiffened, his entire being seeming to freeze in response to your words. "No, Raven, come on...don't fucking say that," he hissed, his voice laced with desperation. "You will not throw away your future for me...for whatever this is...you have to know that is fucking insane..."

"Mattheo, why?" you whispered, your voice breaking as you took a step closer, your heart aching with the weight of his decision. "Why are you doing this...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything I said...I didn't-"

"It's not about that," he cut you off, his tone soft yet resolute. "It's not about any of that. We both know this only ends in blood...why prolong it...I’d never be able to live with myself if I ruined everything you’ve worked so hard for…”

Your chest ached, a visceral pain that radiated through every fiber of your being, your eyes darting all over his face as though seeking solace in the contours of his skin, as if something tangible could save you from this nightmare. He was right. Of course, he was absolutely fucking right. There was nothing you could say to deny his words, the harsh reality of your situation hanging heavy between you.

"I know you're right Mattheo," gently, you brought a trembling hand up to his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you cupped the side of his head, your own head tilting slightly as you glimpsed his lips, whispering with a vulnerability that laid bare your soul. "But even if it's meant to fall apart...I still fucking want you..."

"I know," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours. "I fucking know..."

"I'm scared as bloody hell, Mattheo..." you continued, your fingers digging slightly into his skin, his hands seeking refuge on your hips as he pulled you closer against him. "I'm fucking terrified to want you, yet here I am anyway..."

"I'm scared too, Raven..." he confessed, his voice barely audible, pulling you impossibly closer, your bodies melding into one another. "Godric fucking forbid I ever admit it..."

His lips brushed against yours, soft and tender, a delicate touch that held the weight of a thousand unspoken words. In that moment, you knew, without a shadow of doubt, that you two were one and the fucking same. He was more yourself than you ever were. Whatever your souls were made of, his and yours were intertwined in an indescribable connection.

"Give me this before you go..." you whispered, your free hand gripping his shirt for dear life, your voice laced with desperation and longing. "Please..."

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, your eyes locked onto his, your conviction unwavering. "I'm sure."

In an instant, he pulled you back into him, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, the intensity mirroring the state of your crumbling relationship. His hands, strong and sure, quickly slithered up your sides, finding the buttons on your shirt.

Simultaneously, your trembling fingers mirrored his movements, undoing his shirt with a fervor that matched his own. The kiss deepened, your mouths melding together in a desperate attempt to drown out the world, seeking solace in each other's touch as you shed the barriers between you. The passion between your bodies consumed every ounce of your being, a wild, untamed force that pushed back against the chaos threatening to tear you apart.

As soon as the two of you were freed of your uniforms, Mattheo pulled back, his gaze intense, his eyes smouldering against your skin as he urged you to your knees in front of him. Without a word, you obeyed, staring up at him with a widened gaze, tracing the features of his face and chest that you admittedly loved so fucking much. Mattheo's eyes were doing the same, flickering over your curves, the swell of your breasts, the flare of your hips, until finally, they came to rest between your legs.

“You’re fucking beautiful…” he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back to bring your eyes to his, the pad of his rough thumb tracing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly before releasing it. “Don’t you think I’d chose some other bitch over you ever fucking again.”

Breath evaporated as he dropped down to his knees in front of you without warning, directing you to lay back, your head resting on a stack of clean towels.

The cool tile of the floor made your back arch and your body shudder as Mattheo loomed over you, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over your thighs as he hovered mere inches above your skin. Each touch was soft, almost reverent, as though he was worshipping every inch of your body. As he leant down to kiss you, his lips were tender yet demanding, his tongue sweeping over yours in a fierce, fiery embrace. You groaned into his mouth, your hands finding his hair and gripping tightly, until he broke the kiss and began to move lower.

His eyes travelled down your neck, reaching your chest where your breasts rose and fell with each exasperated, eager breath. His mouth descended upon one of them, suckling and teasing with skillful precision, making your head dizzy with burning need. It was as though he was worshipping at a sacred alter, paying homage to the very essence of your womanhood, his nails digging into your skin, chaining you to him with more restraint than any bloody shackles ever could.

His tongue traced spirals around your nipple, sending little shocks of electricity straight through to your core, and you mewled, back arching into him and grip tightening in his hair, silently begging for more. As expected, Mattheo delivered, lavishing attention on each peak in turn, flicking his tongue, sucking, and teasing until you were practically crying for release.

"Matty...please…" you whispered as his lips moved lower, tracing a path of heat toward your sex. "There's no time...someone could come in..."

"Eager girl..." Mattheo hummed, smirking against your skin. "Told you you'd love the way I fuck you."

Unable to suppress it, you smirked at his normal arrogance as he pulled back slowly, your eyes following his every move as he freed himself; letting loose that delicious, familiar groan from deep in his throat as he pumped his shaft a few times, his gaze darting over your body, desperate and writhing beneath him--each meticulous movement he made causing an insatiable tingle within your core.

"Mhm," you murmured, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as your hands grazed over his strong biceps, feeling the muscle tense and contract beneath your touch. "That's what I love...the way you fuck me..."

Mattheo blinked, meeting your eyes, a wicked smile creeping across his lips as he processed what you'd just said. The underlying message in your words went unspoken despite their intentions hanging heavy in the air, and without a word, he slid his free hand down between your legs, shifting your panties to the side before he gently teased and swirled over your clit, making you moan out his name without even realizing it.

"My filthy little girl..." the anticipation was almost unbearable, you were fucking dripping for him and he'd hardly even touched you. "Always so fucking eager for me…”

Inching forward, he aligned himself with your core, leaning down over you, a strong arm taking purchase beside your head, caging you beneath him. As he pushed inside you, the stretch was unlike anything you'd ever fucking felt--the lack of foreplay resulting in a sensation unlike anything else, a perfect blend of agony and ecstasy, as if he was stretching you open and shaping you just for him.

You whimpered softly, doing your best to muffle your noises as Mattheo pushed deeper and deeper, pausing for a moment once he'd fully seated himself inside your heat, giving you a second to adjust to his thick, throbbing length--his eyes never once left yours, his gaze drilling into you as he assessed your reactions, only breaking the eye contact to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

"So fucking tight...fuck-you feel so fucking good..." Mattheo growled lowly, his voice thick with lust--your walls clenching and relaxing around him simultaneously. "Such a good girl, Raven...feel yourself adjust for me, baby."

His voice had a hypnotic effect on you, calming your racing heart and making you focus solely on the feelings coursing through your body. The pain was gone, a mere figment of your imagination as you revelled in the closeness of your bodies, his hot skin on yours, breathing eachother in, your mind reeling with the thoughts of this being the last time--something you'd both said many times before.

But for some reason, this time felt different. This time felt real.

"Fuck me, Matty..." you whispered, nails digging into his back as if trying to anchor yourself to this moment, to him. "Fuck me like you're going to lose me."

"Fuck...am I, Raven?" Mattheo groaned in response, meeting your eyes with an intensity that took your breath away, slowly beginning to increase his pace to your desires. "Am I going to fucking lose you?"

Mattheo's thrusts became harder and more aggressive as his movements grew more frenzied, his mind getting lost in the haze of lust swirling between you. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room, matching the sound of his heavy breathing, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through the air.

"N-no, Matty..." you choked, feeling the pleasure building within you like a storm waiting to break. It was almost too much, and you found tears on the verge of exploding from your fucking eyes. "You couldn't...even if you tried..."

"Fuck...I know..." he hissed, the words forced through gritted teeth as he met your eyes, your nails certainly splitting the skin on his back, shredding it raw. "I always know exactly how you feel when I'm deep inside you like this...those eyes don't fucking lie..."

You gasped, the words unable to form as Mattheo pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, hitting that deep place inside your body that made you cry out in toe-curling pleasure. His face was twisted into an intense frown, growling in concentration as he fucked you harder, faster, hitting places you didn't know possible.

"You love this cock, don't you?" Mattheo growled, knowing full well the answer. "You're so fucking wet for me."

"Oh...yes, I do-" you squealed, burying your reddened face back into the crook of his shoulder, pleasure ricocheting through every ounce of your body as his fingers slid down your stomach, quickly teasing over your clit. "Fuck-Matty...oh..."

"You want to cum for me, pretty girl?" he growled, nibbling at your earlobe as he shifted his position, drilling deeper into you. "Let me feel you..."

"I-I want..." the words wouldn't form. Nothing would articulate inside your brain. Yes, you wanted release, but that's not what you were trying to say here. You wanted him, you wanted this, you wanted all of it, never to end. But as he swirled your clit with rough, aggressive strokes, your brain was mush, succumbing to nothing but his touch. "I-I want you...in...I-"

"I'm in you, Raven..." a grunt when he slammed into you--his voice tight, strained, almost pained, lips pressed against your temple. "I'm so fucking deep in you..."

Another shift, and he was striking your cervix with every thrust--and the pain was enough to pop the balloon in your chest. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the pending heartache and insecurity finally breaking through the dam of emotions you had kept bottled up for months. The weight of it all was too much, overwhelming you in a tidal wave of despair. Mattheo's movements remained unyielding, his pace unfaltering, but he was swift to kiss away your tears, his own breath hitched in anticipation of the climax that was about to consume both of you.

"Oh-fuck...Matty..." only a few more thrusts, and you were there, teetering right on the edge of coming undone. “Oh…”

He growled. “Cum for me angel…fuck-“

"Yes-yes, fuck..." you keened, dragged through your climax without question, euphoria tearing through you as your walls pulsed and milked his cock.

He groaned, gripping you tighter as he poured himself into you, hips bucking until the only sensation left was sweaty, heaving, post-orgasmic rapture. And despite that, you held each other, unwilling to move, unwilling to let the other person leave the safety of the embrace.

It was a long moment--long after your breathing had returned to normal, long after you'd both dripped sweat onto each other's skin--before he moved, rolling off of you, gaze roaming your figure. You wiped your damp cheeks with the back of your hand, not daring to make eye contact with him as the two of you slowly began to redress, an awkward silence filling the air.

After both of you had regained modesty, Mattheo’s eyes locked onto yours, his unspoken emotions echoing in the intensity of his gaze. Without uttering a single word, he pulled you into him, his arms enveloping your body, holding you with a grip that felt as if he never wanted to let go, suffocating your lungs in the best way possible. As his hand moved to cup the back of your head, his fingers intertwining into your hair, you felt his throat bobbing against your temple as he swallowed, his vulnerability laid bare in the gentle caress of his touch.

“That girl,” his voice was a low murmur, as though he feared shattering the fragile moment, “she asked me to the masquerade this weekend…I said no.”

You chewed your cheek, your fingers clinging onto his shirt with force, your voice trembling as you responded, “You should go...it might be good to redirect the attention off of us…your friends seem suspicious.”

“Oh, they are…” he chuckled, his hand absentmindedly petting your hair, his touch comforting and reassuring. “But I told Nott to ask you, and only Nott, so if any of the others approach you about it, let me know.”

Your cheeks burned at the revelation, his laughter vibrating through your body, your heart skipping a beat in response. “You told Nott to ask me to the masquerade? Why?”

“He’s the only one I trust not to be a fucking pig,” he replied, his tone flat and honest. “Pretty sure Zabini or Malfoy would try to get you under them before the night even started.”

You huffed, a smirk playing on your lips as you pressed against his chest. Taking a moment to revel in his scent, his cologne, his body heat.

“Is this really it for us, Mattheo?” you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of desperation. “I mean…am I just supposed to be your friend, now? Your mentor? Your tutor?”

“Maybe we just take a break, hm?” he suggested, his voice dropping, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. “Maybe just until the suspicion dies off…until we both have had some time to cool down.”

“I…okay,” you said, your eyelids fluttering as he released you, the weight of the situation sinking in. “I can work with that.”

The acceptance in your voice was laden with bittersweet resignation, a temporary reprieve in the face of an uncertain future.

————————

Chapter 24->

2K notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot.

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street.

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all.

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart.

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding.

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is -

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you.

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again.

But you can’t.

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers.

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance.

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him?

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence.

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time.

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain.

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #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 imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader

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fangirl-dot-com · 25 days

Text

🌑Track 3 - Big Reputations

guys, I was so proud of this chapter and then the instagram post. I always try to make them look cohesive and that the pictures were taken all together - and I think I was able to do that really well this time!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Oscar huffed while looking at the notification from the WhatsApp. Apparently two new numbers had been added in the past hour. However, no one has said anything. He opened the app and began to type, before he pressed the delete button.

What was he supposed to say?

Liam and Theo had been added weeks ago. The atmosphere of the group chat was a bit lighter with the two new additions. Despite what he had said in an interview a couple of months ago, the group chat did have a random meme or quirky text thrown around from time to time. The two new drivers had made themselves known immediately. Yet, these two “drivers” had yet to say anything.

Oscar’s eyebrows scrunched at the two unknowns invading the safe space. His apartment was quite empty. Lily wasn’t able to join him for the last few days of break. He was technically supposed to be packing to head to Bahrain in the morning, but he couldn’t find the want or energy to actually start.

He would have called Lando, but the Briton was already busy with Quadrant things. He thought about texting Logan, but immediately shut the idea down. The American had probably gotten a new number, since Oscar’s messages weren’t even delivered. And the sight of Logan’s Instagram being deactivated also meant that he didn’t want to be found in the first place.

Oscar’s heart clenched weirdly at the thought. How had they gone from being best friends to not even talking anymore.

To Oscar, it hurt. The Aussie was trying to justify his own acts against the American. If Logan had been just a bit more extroverted, or had done a better job at driving, or had actually tried to reach out, then maybe Oscar wouldn’t have distanced himself.

But then again, he had multiple unanswered texts and missed calls from Logan that he ignored.

Another notification had him glancing back down at his phone.

This time, George had taken the initiative to welcome to two, still unknown, rookies. The “hi, welcome to the grid” text was a standard for everyone who joined. His fingers itched to also welcome them, but he stopped himself and looked closer at the two contacts.

Racer #2 and Racer #95.

Oscar sighed at the sight of the familiar number. He guessed that someone had been wanting to take that number since Logan was no longer racing.

However, he just wondered who they were and why they didn’t use their real names. The answer came from the #95.

“What?” Oscar whispered to himself as he read over the text. Lamborghini didn’t want them using their names until they showed up at testing. How ridiculous it was in Oscar’s mind. He watched as Liam tried to make conversation with #95, asking if their number was a nod to the famous Cars movie.

Liam didn’t get a reply.

The Aussie had a bad gut feeling. Maybe this was all a joke. They could try to be civil, and maybe freaking answer? Oscar did not like the vibes he was getting from the two.

He didn’t even know if they were both males.

He had heard rumors that Lamborghini was looking at a possible female candidate. But that what they were supposed to be: just rumors. He cleared the app and opened the messages icon on his iPhone. George’s contact is what he pressed and immediately opened a call.

His phone rang for a moment before the Briton picked up.

“Hello mate,” George’s voice sounded from the phone.

“Hi George. I just wanted to ask about the two new numbers.”

“Ah the new drivers for Lamborghini?”

Oscar nodded before he realized that George was not on Facetime. “Yes.”

George sighed. “From what I got, they’re legit drivers. However, I got an email directly from Michael saying that Tonino wanted his drivers’ identities to not be compromised before testing.”

“Ah, well, I just didn’t want to say anything to them before I knew they were legitimate. It’s kind of weird.”

“I understand. It’s weird to see that someone else is going to use Logan’s old number.”

Oscar could hear, what was it, a touch of sadness in George’s voice? Why would he be sad?

“I meant that it’s weird that they don’t want their names to be known. I mean, it’s just a number George, I’m not upset about that.”

The Mercedes driver made noise.

“But it’s Logan’s number.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Well, if Logan wanted to keep it, he should have been a better driver.”

The line went silent, and Oscar really thought that George might have hung up. A quick glance to the screen told him otherwise.

“You don’t truly believe that, do you? Logan tried to hard.”

Oscar bit out, “Well, it wasn’t enough. He should have done better, been better. Maybe then I could still stand him. Thanks for your help George.”

With that, the Aussie hung up before George could even answer. He was furious. If Logan truly wanted to stay in F1, he should have done better and that was that. No need to be butthurt over someone who wasn’t going to be in his life anymore.

On the other side of London, George was still looking at his phone screen after Oscar hung up. But, the Briton was staring at the Driver #2’s WhatsApp number. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to memorize the digits.

“What are you staring at?” Lewis sounded as he sat on George’s couch.

Oh, George kind of forgot that he was there.

The tall Briton didn’t answer as he opened his own messaging app and went directly to Logan’s new contact. The last message had been read but went unanswered. And that was almost a month ago.

But, as he stared at the info tab and the number he had down for Logan and then at the number for Driver #2, the digits matched up.

George’s eyes widened before he looked up at Lewis and smirked.

“How do you feel about the two new drivers?”

Lewis shrugged. “A bit stand-off-ish. But I understand, they were only added today.”

The brunet took a seat across from his older teammate and faux sighed.

“I’m just worried that the rookies are going to not be included. Ya know, like what happened with Logan.”

Lewis put a hand on George’s shoulder.

The man looked at him with big brown eyes. “It wasn’t your fault George. Williams had this planned for a long time. There was nothing you could do.”

George stood up immediately and threw his hands.

“But I could have been a better friend. He was struggling Lewis and no one did anything. Oscar was too busy making eye-babies with Lando to notice that his friend was falling. Alex was being an asshole. And no one else took the time to even get to know him, and now he’s gone.”

On the inside, George was congratulating himself on the performance that he was putting on. Of course he knew that driver #2 was Logan. And, he was guessing that driver #95 was possible that best friend that Logan spoke so highly of, the female ex-driver or Arrow.

Lewis stayed seated. “I know you’re upset George, but it won’t change anything in the past. All we can focus on is the future. I know for one that I will do my best to get to know the rookies so we don’t have another issue like last year. I know you’re not focusing on the chat but it looks like Max and Charles have been able to get a few answers out of them.”

George looked back down at his phone to see multiple notifications from WhatsApp. It looks like Lewis was telling the truth.

Multiple messages had been exchanged between the two rivals and the unknown numbers, well, unknown to everyone but him. George smirked.

“Looks like the rivals can get along.”

Lewis snorted. “I guess they also want to try to be a bit more welcoming. We can all learn from our mistakes last season.”

The shorter Briton looked down, slightly getting emotional. Lewis knew first-hand how detrimental Formula 1 was to childhood best friends. His own heart still hurt to see Nico on the weekends that he was there. He felt guilty that he let Brocedes happen once again with Logan and Oscar.

For a short time, George had been irate with Lewis about the switch to Ferrari. But now, seeing what happened with Logan last season, George didn’t want to miss precious moments with his friend.

George never responded to what Lewis said. He only sat down again, across from the couch, and sent a simple text to Logan.

Back in Milan, you and Logan were cackling over messing with the other drivers. You could tell that no one knew what to do with the secrecy of identities. But now that you were in a banter with Charles over ice cream flavors and Logan was having a deep conversation about air pollution with Max, the group chat seemed a little less daunting.

A ping from Logan’s phone had the two of you looking at it. Logan hadn’t expected a text from George after leaving him on read months ago. But now, the new messaged seemed to stare back at them.

All the message said was “Glad to see you back. Let me know when you get to Bahrain for testing.”

Logan winced as he forgot he had the same number for both iMessages and WhatsApp. You could definitely tell that he was spiraling. You placed a hand on his arm.

“Hey, Michael isn’t going to be upset. He knows that you and George are friends.”

A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

“I’m just so scared of messing up again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Logan, you didn’t mess up the first time. It wasn’t your fault.”

Your body leaned back, expecting Logan to retaliate. Except, the American only smiled at you, taking in your words.

“You’re right.”

You pushed his shoulder. “Like always.”

Instagram was pulled up on your phone. You refreshed the page to show that Lamborghini had posted something about the two of you. Your fingers quickly scrolled through the comments while you smirked at all the fan theories.

You pipped up as Logan sipped on a smoothie.

“Looks like everyone is talking about us.”

The man across from you smirked back. “But they don’t even know it’s us. I kind of like it. No one knows and can’t say anything. They just know that something big is happening. Also, George wants to meet up when we get to Bahrain.”

“You texted him back?” You never looked up from your phone, now scrolling through twitter.

“Yeah. George was actually the only one that was nice to me on a regular basis. I miss him.”

“Sounds like fun. I’m glad you had George last season. Are we going to play paddle?”

The typing sounds came from Logan’s phone as he texted George. A ping signaled that he answered.

“Yeah. Looks like Lewis, Max, and Charles might join.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like peculiar bunch?”

Logan shrugged. “I mean, Lewis is going to be Charles’s teammate next year. And then anywhere Charles goes, Max isn’t too behind.”

“Makes sense. Kind of like us?”

Logan sent you a lopsided smile. “Like us, except we aren’t childhood rivals.”

“Of course. Only because we never karted together.”

A sigh left Logan’s lips. He always wished you could have karted with him, but you were off in the Italian divisions while Logan stuck in the British divisions. However, the summers the two of you spent together in Florida would always trump the times apart.

Logan got lost in thought before he spoke again.

“Do you even know how to play paddle?”

A snort left your lips. “Of course. Maybe I’ll bring the one you sent me with your face on it.”

Red flushed Logan’s face. “Please don’t.”

“What would you do about it Mr. Sargeant?”

Logan just picks up one of the decorative pillows from the couch and chucks it at your head. You do not have time to react and it ends up hitting you square in the face. Your mouth lets out a squawk before you pick the pillow back up. You rise from the plush chair and stalk toward Logan, who has put his hands up to deter you.

“Please have mercy! I didn’t mean it.”

You stopped for a bit, giving Logan some false hope and enough time for him to put his hands down before you swing the pillow, hitting the side of his head. Logan splutters before reaching out and pulling you down on top of him.

The two of you tussle for a bit before Marissa walks into the room. She chuckles as she watched the two of you roll on the floor, both tugging on the pillow.

“I don’t even want to ask.”

The sound of her voice makes the two of you freeze. Your heads slowly turn toward her, before the two of you scramble to get up. You mock dust yourself off as Logan awkwardly chuckles.

Marissa cocks an eyebrow. “If the two of you are done, it’s time for the suit and helmet promo pictures along with some circuit testing.”

You and Logan have giant grins on your face as the two of you follow her out. Logan elbows you before walking quickly to Marissa’s side. You gawk at him before shaking your head.

Logan was going to be the death of you. But you’d let him.

At the test track, you were smiling behind your helmet as you watched Logan go lap after lap. The helmet was just a standard black one with multiple different sponsor logos on it, as well as the Lambo one being the biggest. You and Logan had worn them while walking into the circuit, just in case there were any cameras or paparazzi around. The last thing you wanted was to be outed before testing.

You watched as Logan finally pulled in, the car looking fast.

Logan’s hands automatically went to take his helmet off as a force of habit, but he quickly put them down. Like you, he also didn’t want to outed.

Marissa beckoned the two of you over.

“All right, that looks good for Logan. Y/n you’ll run 15 laps and then you’re done for today. I’ve already talked to Michael and he’s fine with the two of you playing paddle. He’s rented out a building for the day, just in case, but he wants the two of you to have fun. The flight you need to catch is early at 5 am. Please be on time.”

As you and Logan were running to the gate the next morning, you should have headed Marissa’s warnings a bit more. The two of you were huffing and puffing by the time you got to the lounge, with only 15 minutes to spare. Many older, fancy-looking people gave you weird looks. You tried to smile at them, but it came out as more as a grimace.

You were able to catch a few hours of sleep while Logan went over some more data. He was always the one to go over things like that, trying to find the sweet spot of the car. Logan had done the same at Williams, but it rarely made a difference. He had just found the perfect balance of the car in Austin last year, and then they made him switch with Alex. And then he didn’t even get his car back. The rebuilt chassis was terrible.

Logan smiled to himself as he felt the familiar weight of your head on his shoulder. He barely turned and kissed the top of your head. A blush ran through his face as you leaned more into him, trying to snuggle closer.

Benny was watching with a small smile as he saw Logan place his head on top of yours. The older man had sworn that he wouldn’t be returning. But the moment Michael had reached out with an offer than he couldn’t refuse, he accepted it without hesitation. He would do anything for Logan. His wife was also very understanding and was thankful for the compensation that Lamborghini was going to provide for her family. Logan was like their eldest son, and they couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him down again.

You were still pretty tired on the way to the hotel, but were now buzzing with energy as Logan drove you to the paddle courts. He was driving one of the company’s Lamborghini Urus since your Aventador and his Huracan hadn’t been able to be shipped in time. They were done and ready to be driven when they shipped them to Jeddah.

Logan had given you the DJ privileges for this ride, but he claimed it on the way back. You were going through his phone, letting George know that the two of you would be the first to arrive. He texted back that him, Lewis, Max, and Charles would all arrive together. You thumbed up the text, after telling him to give him Logan’s last name at the counter so that they could be let in.

George was smirking in the Mercedes that Lewis was currently driving. Charles and Max were banned to the back seat (yet they claimed they wanted to be back there because they couldn’t afford to be caught riding in a Mercedes).

Once they parked, he turned his body to face the group.

“Now, I’m going to give the front a last name so that we can get in, but do not overreact, ok?”

The lanky-Briton didn’t wait for an answer before he got out of the car. He could feel the presence of the three drivers and held the door open. The lady at the front stared at them weirdly. George watched as she opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her.

“We’re a part of the group that’s playing today.”

“Name please?”

The lady typed something on her computer.

George smiled. “Sargeant.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw heads whip toward him, but he decided to ignore the shocked looks as well.

Typing resumed as he tapped the desk, a bit impatient to see his friend after a while. A grin grew on her face as she finally looked up at him.

“Court 3. Extra paddles are in the small boxes if you don’t have any. Enjoy your time.”

George took the initiative and led the group around the corner. Lewis tugged on his sleeve, but he didn’t stop, not when he heard the familiar laugh.

The door squeaked as he opened it, letting the figure in the room notice the arrival of the group of four. George’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Logan.

To him, the American had filled out a lot. He often looked too skinny during race weekends, especially after Benny left. The Briton wanted to ask him about his nutrition but had always been nervous to. He was also more tan that he had been. His hair looked fluffy and there were no more purple eyebags under his eyes. Overall, he just looked so much better than end of the 2023 season Logan. Where had the sick child gone and who was this man in front of George? The brunet thought for a moment that he had been played, until Logan started walking toward him.

“Mate, are you going to ogle or are you going to say something?” Logan asked as he stepped toward George, arm stretched out.

He clasped George’s hand and pulled him into a hug. Once the bro-moment was done, George still kept looking at Logan.

“You look good mate.”

Logan’s head leaned back as he laughed.

“Thanks.”

It was then he noticed that the other three drivers had yet to move from the door. Their eyes were still wide and looking at the duo. Logan smirked as he saw you sneak up behind them.

“Hi guys!” you semi-yelled, making them jump. Your giggle sounded in the big court. That was the icebreaker that they needed as they finally walked into the room. You immediately stood next to Logan as he introduced you.

You rolled your eyes and elbowed Logan. “I know their names. We had good conversations about how chocolate is the best ice cream flavor. Isn’t that right Charles?”

Charles had a pout on his lips. “I said no such thing. I believe we agreed that vanilla was the best non?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

Max raised his hand. “You are both wrong. The best flavor is clearly mint chocolate chip.”

You all just deadpanned at him.

“It’s true.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Logan, you don’t have an opinion when your favorite is literally the Superman flavor.”

“Shut up Y/n.”

“Are we going to play paddle now?”

“Yes Lewis, we’ll play paddle.”

It was quiet for a moment until you yelled, “I call Charles as a teammate.”

Logan and Max whipped toward you.

“That’s just unfair.”

“I’m leading, he pushed me, I pushed him back, and after, he pushed me off the track. It’s just unfair.”

Logan followed your lead. “Charles, what happened with Max?”

“Nothing just an inchident on the race.”

“That’s it. Lewis is my teammate.”

“Back off Leclerc. You have him for next year, he’s mine.”

“What if I wanted Lewis?”

“Max, you win every race. You can lose at paddle.”

“Ok, but I still get Charles right?”

georgerussell63 has posted

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, venus2, and phoenix95

georgerussell63 going into the season strong 💪 (max lost)

liked by phoenix&venus, y/n.nation, venus2, and 3,204,184 others

russellgeorge oh we are so back (I'm delusional)

mercganggang WRITE IT DOWN WRITE IT DOWN

lambof1 hold on - GEORGE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE??

lamborghini_duo we've been known 🙃

phoenix95 glad to see verstappen on his knees - I'm taking his emotional support rival tho

maxverstappen1 uh, exCUSE me 🤨 get your own emotional support rival

venus2 do I mean nothing to you?

charles_leclerc you don't like vanilla so I refuse

maxverstappen1 Charlie I like vanilla

lewishamilton this is so pitiful to watch 🤦🏾

russell63 George really said "I'm getting the band back together"

sargeantgirlie ok - I think I have everything figured out

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