#the moment seeps with awkwardness and silence | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arieslost · 2 months

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home to you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.

word count: 2,978

warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst

masterlist — join my tag list here!

this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)

Your sunburn is peeling.

Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.

“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.

“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”

“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You think he doesn’t feel the same way.

When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.

So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.

He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.

“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.

“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”

Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”

“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”

“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”

You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”

“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.

He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.

You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”

His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”

You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”

“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”

“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”

“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Osc.”

You hang up first.

“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.

You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.

Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.

Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.

Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.

“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.

“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.

Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??

“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Always here for you, mate.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I don’t care.”

That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”

He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.

She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.

“It’s about-”

“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.

“You do?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

“It never did.”

She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”

She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.

The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.

“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”

Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.

He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.

He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.

“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”

“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.

You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.

He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.

“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”

“Can we talk inside?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.

“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”

You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.

“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”

You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”

“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.

You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.

“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”

You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”

“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”

You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”

You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.

“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”

“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”

“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.

“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”

“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.

It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.

The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.

“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.

“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.

“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.

“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.

note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @niallerswolf @fangirl-dot-com @hood-jabi @vellicora @k-pevensie28 @cami26cami @arian-directioner @vildetry06 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld

#full fic #op81 week #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fluff

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mandalhoerian · 1 year

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moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.”

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this.

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap.

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go.

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance.

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place.

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded.

You accept him as such, love him all the same.

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much.

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest.

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list?

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his.

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all.

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.

You take pity on him.

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?”

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.”

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me.

You don’t.

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?”

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.”

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.”

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?”

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face.

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well.

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end.

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second.

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it.

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching.

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain.

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers.

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing.

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking.

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this.

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. “So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—”

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…”

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting?

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body.

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.”

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway.

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust.

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless.

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.”

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex.

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him.

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation.

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly.

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission.

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.”

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth.

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.”

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat.

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after.

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next.

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already.

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.”

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?”

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor.

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder.

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?”

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin.

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?”

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going.

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue.

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening?

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants.

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again.

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least.

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god.

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him.

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general.

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will.

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more.

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence.

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.”

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all.

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…”

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it.

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?”

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight.

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.”

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you.

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously.

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you.

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this.

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace.

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!”

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating.

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark.

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?”

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away.

And with that, you’re out like a light.

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it.

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming.

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life.

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy headcanons #leon s. kennedy headcanons #resident evil 4 #re4 remake

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pseudowho · 5 months

Text

Glory Glory: Kamo Choso

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always. Pure smut.

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Choso held an inherent dislike of being sent on missions with you; not because he disliked working with you-- in fact, quite the opposite-- but rather that he felt you shouldn't be sent on any missions, much preferring the image of you curled up safely at home, than dealing with ruthless, filthy monsters.

He seemed blushingly aloof to you, distant but oddly protective as you investigated a local elementary school; each time you moved to open the door to a new room, he darted ahead, gently urging you back, his palm facing outwards against the small of his back; each time you wandered too far away, you would hear light footsteps and feel the warm whoosh of air as he arrived beside you, dark eyes scanning the perimeter around you.

Choso barely wanted to part from you; first affectionate towards you because Yuuji saw you as family, but his affection then grew roots and sprouted independently. Choso did not recognise the species of flower his affection had bloomed into, but it was red, soft, and had him waking up in cold sweats at night, his cock confusingly hard and wet as pleasure roared through him just at the thought of you in his dreams.

Being out with you now, hunting something with killing intent, set his teeth on edge in a way he couldn't verbalise to you. You were patient, smitten with this strange man, full of fluttering thrills for his protectiveness of you.

As he tried to dart in front of you to open another door, you uttered a soft noise of reproach and grasped Choso's hand, his fingers dry and hot in yours. He felt prickles of joy rush up his neck at the feeling of your skin on his.

"Let me," you urged, and despite himself, Choso found himself unable to deny you anything, but did not relinquish your hand in his as you opened the door. Letting him go with twinkling eyes that made his heart fizz, you stepped into the room. He faced the blackboard, heart thumping against his ribs and trying to compose himself, as you headed towards the back of the classroom to investigate a small store cupboard.

Moments later, he heard a wooden crash and the dry rustle of a hundred tumbling books. Turning on a pivot, Choso shot to the cupboard, calling your name in heated panic.

"I"m okay, I'm okay!" you reassured him, your lower half bent forwards over a desk blocking the store cupboard, your upper body now trapped under a tangle of stacked chairs and old textbooks. You laughed, a sweet chime that rang through Choso's chest.

Your legs flicked behind you, unable to gain purchase as your toes grazed weakly against the floor. As you tried to shift your upper half, there was a metallic clatter as another chair tumbled down on top of you. Choso jumped, alarmed.

"Stop moving! You'll just...you--" Choso's words fizzled away, taking in the view of you, bent forwards, the curve of your hips and arse now exaggerated by the angle, your lower back arching beautifully. Your skirt skimmed the tops of your thighs, and Choso gulped, already half-hard as your legs kicked out, flicking your skirt up so it barely covered you.

"I...might need you to get me out, Choso." Silence on the receiving end, "...Choso?" You heard Choso clear his throat, awkward and mumbling quietly.

"Alright, I'll, uhm...I'll..." You felt him consider before his forearms gripped you round the hips, gently pulling you back to try to release you. As you felt your bottom hit his hips, you blushed rapidly, feeling his hardening cock against you, heat seeping into your belly and pussy at your own vulnerability, and the gentle obsession of Choso. Gulping, you spoke.

"I can...I can probably get myself ou--" A moan tumbled without permission from your mouth as Choso tugged you again, trying to release you in earnest, inadvertently ramming your arse against his clothed cock, now rock solid in his trousers. Choso shuddered, but called for you in alarm at your moan.

"Are you hurt?" he pressed.

"No, no-- not hurt, I-- I can feel your-- you--"

Choso blushed in alarm, your close contact finally clicking for him, and he released you, stepping back, babbling apologies as you hurried out a flurry of reassurances.

"I just-- you feel so..." Choso trailed off, embarrassed but bewitched, lost in thought as he tested a hand lightly on your lower back.

"Choso, are you...have you ever...are you a virgin?"

Choso prickled, embarrassed, "And if I am?"

"Well," you hummed, your bottom wiggling invitingly, "...do you want to be?"

Choso almost imploded like a dying star, a spurt of precum dripping down his thigh. He was silent, entranced, hanging onto your every word.

"You can...touch me. If you like." Choso flushed from his ears to his toes, his hand lightly tracing down from your lower back to your bottom, gently cupping its round fullness in the palm of his hand. Braver, he brought both hands to you, gripping you again, rolling the sides of your hips, revelling in the exotic curves of you. He was captivated as you hummed, warmly pressing yourself back to him.

"Can I...?" You felt him finger at the lace edges of your underwear, and you swallowed, giving him a quiet noise of approval. Choso's hands shook as he slipped your skirt up over your back, slowly lowering your underwear, tenderly untangling them from your ankles.

He was filled with a strange urge to bury his nose in them and drink in the smell of you but resisted, ridiculing himself internally, putting your underwear on the desk behind him as he gazed at the uncovered soft folds of your pussy, glistening and inviting.

Choso's fingers ghosted over the curve of your arse again and you trembled in anticipation as they grazed against your pussy, stopping to rub your arousal curiously between two fingers. Eager to know more, he dipped two fingers between your folds, revelling in the barely-there soft glide of his fingers in your wetness.

Choso was delighted as you squeaked and whimpered, his fingers rolling against a spot on your folds towards the front.

"...there?" He asked, applying a little more pressure now. You whimpered and shook in confirmation, mewling your pleasure as Choso began to stroke two eager fingers against your clit, a quick learner. His inexperience was oddly endearing as he explored your body, reading the cues of your pleasure, as you felt heat build in your belly.

Choso was eager but gentle in his work, and you felt your orgasm rock tenderly through you, Choso drinking down your cries in fascination as he watched you become wetter. His cock throbbed, desperate and twitching.

You pleaded with Choso now; "Inside, please--" you urged, insistent and squirming, feeling all at once vulnerable but safe, and Choso traced your folds before dipping a finger inside you, letting out a shuddering moan, as he found his way. With boundless enthusiasm, Choso freed his aching cock, squeezing it for relief as he rubbed it between your folds, lubricating himself with your wetness. Your thighs clenched, and he held your hips in place with one hand.

Silent, and urging his hips forwards, Choso felt electricity crackle through him as he sunk his cock deeply into the hot, tight plush of your pussy, slowing to feel every little curve and ridge of you as his cock nudged against your cervix, curving to your shape. Choso let out an unashamed whimper, and you pressed your arse back to him, seeing stars with the sudden fullness.

Choso bucked his hips against you, sloppy, inexperienced, his pleasure building uncontrollably. Your sighs and moans were music to his ears, and he gripped your hips, barely pulling out as he rutted into you hard, your pleasure burning hot as he pressed against your spongy sensitive core.

Choso couldn't control himself as he wracked with cries and whimpers, his toes curling as he came, having never felt pleasure like it, head back and whispering your name like a mantra. He sloped through a haze of pleasure before coming up for air, gasping as his vision returned.

"I'm so sorry I-- I didn't last--" You giggled, and he felt a rush of love and appreciation for you, mesmerised as he watched his seed trickle slowly down your folds.

"That was perfect," you reassured him, to his blushes, "just get me out of here. We'll finish up and go home, and see what else you can learn this quickly."

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heyjwi · 9 months

Text

bestfriends? | pjs

synopsis: you’ve never seen jisung in a romantic way before.. maybe getting butterflies at his gestures but nothing more. however today was different.

_________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

dom!jisung x fem!reader

warnings : smut, classroom sex, a few praises, jisungs a little flirt, lots of eye contact, friends to lovers

anon req!

being known as your classes best duo was something you and jisung always lived up too. making everyone laugh at your joint dumbness and practically being joint by the hip, never leaving one another’s side.

when your teacher announced that your class would be doing a project, you and jisung immediately paired up with one another, knowing well that you’d be laughing during your presentation.

you’re currently sitting together in an empty classroom, students were allowed to stay back after school to write out their plans. jisung sat in front of you, his eyes staring through his bangs. you looked up at him, giving a small smile however he just kept staring. the room was dead silent, only slightly filled with distant chattering from other rooms.

you’ve never actually sat in silence when jisung was around so the atmosphere was unfamiliar. his tie was loose, his black hair ruffled due to him repeatedly brushing his hair backwards. he looked different today..

the awkward silence was cut off by jisung abruptly standing up for his chair and lifting you up off yours. his hands gripping tightly against your face, at first he hesitated, but then leaned in to press a hard kiss against your mouth. it lasted a few seconds before he pulled away, looking into your eyes as your hands held his against your cheeks.

no words were spoken, the distant chattering faded out as all of your attention was on the boy in front of you. “do it.. again please..”, you whispered, feeling jisungs lips brush against yours as he smiled, kissing you once more. his shy demeanour was long gone, feeling his hands move from your face to your waist, lifting you up onto the desk behind you, lips still attached.

your hands moved to grip his hair, pushing your lips deeper against eachother. due to the lack of air, you were forced to pull away, catching your lost breath. his eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted as he chased your lips. you stopped him, placing your hand on his shoulder. jisungs eyes opened, he examined how puffed up your lips were from his attack on them.

he shyly cleared his throat, noticing the position you two were in. you, sitting on the desk with your legs spread and him, standing in between them with one hand on your resting behind your ear and the other on your waist.

you felt rather warm, not knowing where to look after that intense moment with your bestfriend. neither one of you had the courage to speak, the warmness that filled the room became unbearable. you decided to just continue what jisung started, slowly unbuttoning your blouse. he just watched as you undressed in front of him, a tent gradually growing in his pants.

after you finished, you pulled off your shirt completely, feeling a cool air hit your bare skin. jisung grinned before pulling you closer to place gentle kisses along your exposed collarbones. the kisses were like little tickles on your body, before they turned into biting and rough sucking.

you let out soft moans, wrapping your arms around his neck. feeling him licking the bite marks that he placed before pulling away. he knelt down in front of you, placing his hands under your skirt to pull off your panties and standing up again. jisung kissed you once more, his hands lingering in between your legs to touch your exposed core.

“jisung, are you ah.. not gonna speak?”, you asked, letting out a breathless moan in between your sentence. his eyebrows were furrowed as he focused on touching you, he looked up into your eyes and smiled.

“words can’t explain how much i want you right now”

he mumbled, his fingers slowly seeping into you. your lips parted to let out a sequence of soft moans, you couldn’t help but get flustered at his words. jisungs fingers were moving in and out of you, a squelching sound following along. his fingers sped up causing you to let out a loud gasp, he quickly used his free hand to cover your mouth and whispered, “do you want people to hear us?”

you shook your head, moaning into his hand, feeling something drip out of you. jisung took his fingers out of you, revealing his soaked hand. he had a smirk on his face before he looked you in the eyes, bringing his hand to his mouth. licking your fluids off while holding eye contact with you.

you felt weak, unable to remove your eyes from the explicit scene in front of you. when he finished, he simply smiled at you, removing his pants to reveal his hard cock that sprung out almost immediately. he pushed up your skirt and picked you up, placing you flat on the desk in front of you, he positioned himself in between your legs before speaking.

“do i have your permission?”, he asked with a innocent grin plastered on his face. you nodded slowly, closing your eyes to await what was to come.

as soon as he pushed into you, his hand covered your mouth to avoid people hearing your moans. his other hand, gripping onto your hips to keep you in place. you whimpered and tightened your eyes shut, keeping your voice low, jisung couldn’t help but let out a low groan as his hips rocked into you.

“relax a little”, he choked out feeling you clenching around him. you let out a muffled moan and relaxed your muscles for a moment, letting him go deeper. you couldn’t help but tighten up around him again, jisung let out a loud groan and lifted your hips up slightly to thrust into you faster.

you cried out softly, gripping onto whatever you could find to steady yourself. tears start to well up in your eyes as you struggled to cope with the intense pleasure. he continued to pound away inside you, slowing down as he noticed a tear fall from your eyes.

“am i hurting you? fuck i’m so sorry”, he said about to pull out until you shook your head, grabbing onto his neck to hug him close. “keep going ji..” you moaned out, feeling his cock thrusting into you again.

he moaned into your neck, started to speed up again as his stomach churned. his hand slipped off your face as you moaned loudly. at this point, neither of you cared if someone heard just wanting to focus on one another. you cried out in pleasure, feeling a warmness enter inside you, jisung groaned loudly, hips slowing down as soon as he felt you release around him with a long moan.

he pulled out of you, helping you sit up. his face slightly worried. “wanna come over to my place for the night?” jisungs voice had a concerned feeling to it, he hurriedly helped you out your skirt back on as you nodded. he kissed your cheek before packing away your forgotten work and held your hand, guiding you out of the classroom.

before leaving, he held your cheek and looked into your eyes, “are we like.. a thing now?”, he said anticipating your reply. your response was a quick kiss and a smile, leaving jisung, a blushing mess.

while walking through the corridors, you looked through the small windows, watching as some people napped and others, genuinely focusing on their work.

that made you wonder if anyone had seen what happened between you and jisung.

#nct dream x reader #jisung hard hours #nct dream reactions #nct dream smut #park jisung smut #jisung nct #jisung x reader #minors dni #park jisung #nct smut #jisung hard thoughts #park jisung hard hours #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #jisung oneshot

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losttinwritings · 4 months

Text

can i be yours?

[Hazel Callahan x Fem!Reader] [1083 words]

SUMMARY: Who knew all it'd take was getting drunk for you to confess your feelings for her.

WARNINGS: idk, tbh? None?

A-N: I've had the sudden urge to write something for Hazel Callahan, and so here you go.

[masterlist]

“Can I be yours?” You asked, words slurring as you slid onto the couch beside Hazel Callahan. You were too drunk off of the alcohol being served, that you weren’t fully processing anything you were saying right now.

“I don’t know, but I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

Hazel turned to you, and she could feel her heart beating quicker than usual because of the closeness between the two of you.

Reaching over and grabbing the red solo cup from your hands. The liquid that was still in there, sloshing about, as she pulled it out of your reach

As much as she wanted those words you’d spoken before to be true, she knew that by morning, you’d be too hungover to even remember them.

“Nuh, uh.” You shook your head, leaning forwards to grab at your unfinished drink now. Allowing Hazel to get a strong whiff of the perfume you wore. Fruity? Whatever it was, it was one of her favourite scents. “I’ve only had like…”

Hazel pulled the cup further away from you as you tried to remember how much you’ve drunk.

She knew that if you drank anymore you’d be regretting it when you woke up tomorrow. So, she tried to soften the effects of tomorrow’s hangover by stopping you.

You groaned and leaned back against the couch. Your eyes, drooping, closed the slightest bit as you fought the tiredness that was now taking over you. The same tiredness, which was coming as a result of all the alcohol you’d drank that night.

You could feel an awkward silence overcoming you both for the next few moments.

Although, it was over as soon as it had begun, when you finally spoke up again. The silence, that is.

“You know, it’s funny how much I like you caring for me. Like, I love you, but I know you’d never see me as more than a friend.”

Hazel froze. Her hand, which was holding the red cup, soon dropped it. Her mind is trying to wrap itself around the thought of you liking her. No, liking her back. Something she always thought could never be real.

There’s no way. No way. This is a dream. She felt the bitter words, entering her thoughts now. Were you serious? Were you just saying this because you were drunk? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out and risk it all being her imagining things.

But then again, what was that saying again…? Something about drunken words being sober thoughts. Maybe you were being serious, and you really did mean all those words.

“I-I think, I should take you home…now.” She hesitated, after finding herself coming back to reality from her once-rapid-going thoughts.

Waking up, groaning, you felt your eyes adjusting to the lights above you. Your left hand reaches up to your forehead in an attempt to rub away at the pounding headache that wouldn’t stop.

You groan some more and sit up against the decorative pillows that still adorn your bed. Feet kicking against the covers to remove them from your body.

How much did you drink? You weren’t sure, but you could feel the regret seeping into your features at how like shit you felt right now.

Unaware, to the door to your bedroom suddenly opening from the outside. And a figure stepped into the room, with a tray that held iced water, a small plate of fruit and a box of ibuprofen, atop it. “Are you okay? Sorry, stupid question, you look like shit.”

You spun your gaze to face who had just spoken, and you felt the familiar butterflies erupt in your stomach as you recognised it to be Hazel. Hazel Callahan, your long-time crush, stood there.

“I feel like shit…did you bring me home?” You asked, squinting slightly as you watched her step closer to where you sat.

Hazel nodded in response to your question and set down the tray upon your bed. As you shifted your weight, you didn’t knock it off accidentally.

You could feel your stomach growl carefully, as you realised you hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Since before you left for that party, you’d both been invited too.

Which now that you thought about it, you couldn’t really remember much about what happened there. Did you say anything stupid? Act stupid? Or did you…no you shook your head.

Deciding to voice the first question aloud to Hazel, you waited patiently for a response. Curiosity gnawed at you from the inside.

Hazel, on the other hand, panicked. Shifting her weight, from foot to foot. Attempting to come up with something. She hoped that you didn’t sense her panic at all.

What should she say? Does she bring up how you practically confessed your feelings to her? And as she looked into your curious gaze, staring almost-eagerly back at her. She caved.

Her words spilled from her lips as she recounted what you’d said to her. Then she watched.

She watched as you sat there, eyes widening at every little bit, and for a moment, she swore she saw a little bit of panic flicker in your features.

“I know, you didn’t mean it. It’s okay. We can go back to being friends now, or at least try to.” She rambled, diverting her gaze from where you sat atop your covers.

Her ears completely missed the call of her name, which exited from your lips.

“Can I be yours?” You tried, hoping she’d turn back to you.

Huh? She did, in fact, turn back to you, confused expression on her features.

“What did you just say?” She asked slowly, in an attempt to see if she had heard right. Did she really hear that? Or was she just imagining things?

“I said, can I be yours?” You tried once more. Silently praying, Hazel would figure out that you were, in fact, serious. That you were not joking, not even the slightest bit.

Hazel looked up, attempting to find anything in your features that signified that you were kidding. That you were not actually serious and that you were playing with her. But when she couldn’t find anything as such, she sighed in relief.

Her words exited from her lips after she hesitated for a moment. “Yes. Yes, you can be mine…If I can also be yours?”

And you nodded, smiles coming onto both of your faces. A wide smile, knowing that you both returned each other’s feelings.

#fluff #fanfiction #imagines #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #bottoms x reader

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sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Nostalgia Max!Brett Hand x afab/fem!reader

note: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, pet names, afab anatomy but no talk of tits in an effort to stick close to gender neutral, dominant brett hand, breeding kink, daddy kink, mommy kink, unprotected sex (wrap that rascal), slight exhibitionism, slight public sex, domestication, housewife kink, cum play, no pronouns but use of gendered pet names like mommy & others like sweet thing, baby, sweetheart, and babydoll.

You got separated from the group once Brett lost control, everything getting immersed in a hazy, green blast. Nothing worked when trying to calm him down, deescalate the situation and keep everyone safe. It blew up in y’all’s faces, literally. Waking up against rubble and debris, not seeing where you landed or where you are, you’re nervous.

There’s no modern tech on you and you’ve got no way to reach Reagan or Andre, get in touch with Gigi or Glenn or Myc. You’re absolutely alone until they find you. Or Brett finds you.

The two of you had been dating for a while, and you’re endlessly in love with him. Tirelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Brett’s a sweetheart and nothing but doting and kind to you, and he’s in therapy. How lucky are you?

Not as much now that he’s not himself and currently lethal, leveling several structures and sending you and your coworkers flying in different directions and under the influence of heavy chemtrails and 80’s nostalgia.

Your footsteps are tentative, wary of the unsteady rubble you walk upon and try to breathe through your shirt, pulled over your nose and squint through the dust in the air. There’s not much light, it’s dark out and nighttime. The cold seeps in more and that fear of being alone and vulnerable at night starts to sink in and soak your bones.

No weapons on your person, rendered useless and defenseless without any of your gear or comrades, it’s safe to say you’re terrified beyond all belief. Walking softly, slowly turning over chunks of masonry and debris to walk better and find a way out of the barely standing structure you find yourself in.

Moments pass and you try to think of other things like what you’ll do when you get home, if that show released it’s second part yet so you can stream it soon, and attempt pathetically to calm yourself. It’s not working.

You hear footsteps and you freeze, your body pressed to a wall and trying your best to hide in the looming shadows encompassing the formerly standing building. Pinpricks crawl up your neck and stand at the nape of your neck and across your arms. Your heartbeat has never seemed louder.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you want to see me?”

it’s Brett, and you don’t see him but you hear him, can’t decipher where he is in relation to you from his voice, anywhere a possibility you don’t want to explore. Crawling up in a ball and shutting your eyes would be better, shutting the world out and forcing yourself to wake up from such a terrible dream.

But the sight of candy apple green eyes tears that hope from your lungs when you shudder, never expecting yourself to be afraid of him. The fear isn’t even about Brett, it’s about the limitless possibilities and outcomes of what could happen. He’s drenched so heavily in chemtrails it must be like standing too long near Chernobyl.

Feels so wrong.

“Why aren’t you talking to me? Did I hurt you?” He sounds like the Brett you love, and you’re worried he knows that, using that to get to you. He hasn’t spotted you yet, walking around and you press yourself into the brick behind you, wishing you could just disappear, dissolve into nothingness so it would all go away.

You don’t mean to, but your ankle nearly buckles isn’t the awkward position you are standing in. The sound is tinny in the darkness and silence of the rubble and his reaction is instant, eyes on you under a second.

“There you are!” Brett’s words would be endearing in any other circumstance, and he approaches. His hair isn’t as floaty anymore, but it still shifts unnaturally, like seaweed in an ocean current midair around his head in an unearthly halo. Eyes are bright green but less painfully neon and now more of a muted acid hue. You miss his eyes. “Was worried about you, baby, you sure you’re okay?” He dotes, nearly mirroring your brett as he cups your cheek.

When did he get closer?

“You seem fine, just shook up. Poor thing.” Brett coos, smiling down at you childishly in his usual manner but everything seems so unsettling, like his persona got dunked into a murky pool of liquid from a backalley at 3am. Unnatural and unsafe.

“Hey, c’mon sweet thing, talk to me.” He prods, raising your face up with his hand on your cheek and you oblige, looking up at him with fretful eyes that he frowns at. Your hands clench and fidget at your sides, entirely too overwhelmed but still needing to do something.

And it’s him in there. It’s still Brett. Just doused in chemtrails, no big deal.

“Hi Brett.”

He laughs, a giggling little sound that is usually very fitting but now a bit surreal in his current state. It remind you of glow sticks the way he shines out. You don’t like it.

“Hey there yourself,” he chimes, taking his hand in yours and squeezing, before he nearly lets it fall, his expression falling with it, “out with it, what’s wrong? You’re not smiling.”

“I don’t smile all the time.” Comes your immediate response and he clicks his tongue, brows furrowing and you regret not filtering your thoughts from words. “You don’t, but you smile around me. Tell me why.”

“Brett-“

He backs you up against the brick, looming a bit overhead and a part of it gets your bones staticky, indecisive in whether or not you wanted to kiss him or kick him.

“Use your words well and tell me why, or I’ll make another use for mouth.”

You gape, body choosing for you on the kiss him option and let him come closer, him murmuring between your lips as he closes in and cages you against his form and the shadowy enclave of the brick. “Good choice.”

Brett is all around you, a hand at the nape of your neck soothing and smoothing down the pinpricks while the other is at your side, kissing at you impatiently until he bites, humming in a pleased note when your mouth opens up and he ventures in, playing with your tongue as his hand ventures beneath your shirt, untucking it.

“Going to continue to be good for me?” He asks in your ear after breaking for a breath, marking up your throat and the underside of your jaw in bites as you squirm, the former unease in your belly turning fuzzy and warm, turning the danger into something attractive than daunting.

You nod and he squeezes tight at your hip, a warning and you answer aloud, “yes sir,” him rewarding you with a softer touch and undoing your pants as he takes them off. “Sir?” Brett laughs, shaking his head and his hair floats still, hovering like your waning rationale.

“You can do better than that. You know what to call me.”

Brett’s hand snakes between your legs and ghosts over your underwear, him practically beaming when he feels the pooling slick soaking through. “Yes Daddy.”

His eyelids flutter a fraction and ministrations falter, coming back and his eyes burn brighter and his grin in sardonic, a bit twisted. That reminder of don’t trust, don’t tell.

“Ohh that’s a new one, we’re keeping that, right baby?” He asks, plunging a digit into your cunt and holding a leg up around his hip, your chest covered and safe from the cold but waist and below is another story, trying to feed off the unnatural warmth he emanates now. “Mhmm.”

“There’s my sweet thing, smiling, all you needed was some lovin’ huh?” He asks, more to himself and aloud than anything as he preps you with his fingers, hearing the squelch and growing tired of having to angle his wrist a certain way. He tears the underwear apart.

“Just needed someone to play with your pussy and turn your brain off, right?” Brett prompts a moan from you as he breaches a second finger in and his thumb rolls over your clit, warmth flooding everywhere and your eyes flutter open to see him staring you down behind lidded eyes, glowing green deeper now that reminds you of that light at the end of Daisy’s dock in that Fitzgerald novel.

It kinda’ is a welcome home light. And you go to it.

Your hand threads through his hair and smashes his lips to yours as he groans darkly into your open mouth, excited and eager hands shift your legs around his then busy themselves with his belt buckle, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing which he more than notices. Whimpering as he tugs at your lip, he peers down at you while he lets his belt open.

“Easy f’me babydoll, daddy’s going to take care of you.”

It sounds so good in this voice, all gravelly this time ‘round and the difference sells the experience, and the way he’s shifted, using the weight he carries and taking up space rather than weaving his way through it.

“Need you daddy.” You whine, feeling his thumb over your clit rolling circles that get you throbbing, squirming between him and the brick wall behind you.

“Patience, baby, I’ve got you.” Brett drawls, nudging your nose with his as he frees his dick from the confines of his briefs and Levi’s, bobbing in the space between your legs and looking so damn good you could’ve eaten it.

Another time.

“This pretty cunt gonna’ take it all you think?” He muses into the column of your throat before angling his head against you so he can see between the two of you, one hand holding your thigh up and parting it wide while the other fists his already drooling dick in his palm, pearlescent droplets of precum pooling at the tip. “Gonna’ be good for me?”

You nod, smiling blearily in a dopey grin and run your hands over the back of his letterman jacket, and into his hair while the other slides down to lift underneath his shirt, wanting to feel him whenever you could.

He breaches your walls in a single movement and you whimper, head landing back against the brick and hear him grunt, deep from his chest as he bottoms out in you. Brett’s head hangs for a moment before he looks back to you, eyes staring from beneath his full lashes and still having that unnatural green.

“Just knew this little pussy would take it.” He mutters and snaps his hips back, hands moving to cup your ass and bring you closer so he can thrust back and forth in a punishing, cervix-bruising pace. God, you’d feel him for days.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud but he hears it nonetheless, grinning against your temple while he fucks you like a ragdoll, “that’s right, gonna shape this cute little cunt until it’s molded around my cock, gonna’ be my little toy, right? Let me play with you?”

Moaning behind kiss swollen and puffy lips, you affirm his statement and thrust your hips back into his, sending a reverberating groan through his throat out that turns into a dark chuckle, his pace slowing a fraction only to move forth harsher, the sound of skin and your debauched moans painfully loud within the silence of the destroyed structure.

“Gonna’ keep us here, you and I,” Brett begins to ramble, punctuating his words with snaps of his hips that get you seeing stars, “gonna’ breed this little cunt and get a family from you, stay here happy for the rest of our lives.”

“You going to let me give you a child, sweet thing?”

“Mhmm.” You whine, clutching at him and grinding down on his dick, a pathetic mess of yourself with slick smeared between your thighs, “Gonna’ make you a daddy.” Brett groans aloud and rewards you with a hand moving from under your thigh to your clit once more, pressing in those rolling ministrations that get you clenching awfully hard.

“Wanna’ cum Brett — I need it.” You’re rambling at this point, incoherent and cockdrunk as he plunges in and out of you, nothing but sex on the brain and none of the ramifications. It would be your problem another day, another moment, but for right now it was everything.

“Need what baby? Gotta’ speak, got that pretty voice of yours — make it useful.”

“Want your cum, wanna’ stay here with you and let you knock me up over ‘n over,” you’re spitting out words as fast as they form because you’ve barely got the headspace for anything else but cumming on his dick, “get pregnant and have your baby, make you a daddy — please lemme’ make you a family.”

He whines in the back of his throat as he bites at your neck, your words hitting deep somewhere in him and loses his even pace in lieu of fucking you frantically, practically jumping your form with how desperate he is to flood your cunt. Brett’s hand still rolls it’s thumb over your pulsing, sensitive clit.

“God yes, make a little mommy out of you, see you get all swollen and round with leaking tits to feed our kids — fuck,” he’s speaking to you in equal to the wind, voicing aloud not just his plans but his dreams, wishes to have a life with you, “cum f’me baby, gush around this cock then I’ll give you what you want.”

you mewl, squirming and bucking while chasing that high that already has begun to sprawl like white-hot lightning in your bones, curling and pooling within your belly, feeling Brett slide in and out while he punches the breath from you while prodding at your cervix.

“Gonna’- I’m going to, fuck fuckk.” Brett snaps his hips in whip-fast motions once, twice, and you’re gone. Everything whites over and fades into blank noise, like getting submerged in bath water as you shake and shudder, taking him in as he fucks you through it, suspended only by his hold.

“Fuck, you look so p-pretty,” he stutters just like his pace, falling frantic in how he chases his orgasm after yours, Brett crumbling as he finally cums and floods your cunt, slick smeared between the both of you all over your thighs and lower abdomens, white ropes and rivulets accompanying your arousal. Brett snarls out your name in a broken groan against your collar, voice deep.

He bucks his hips and mutters nonsense into your ear, milking every last drop into your silken cunt and more, “cant wait to see you all knocked up, gonna’ make you a mommy. Swear.” You’re barely conscious enough to process his words, but you do, whimpering and squirming against him in pleased, soft tones as you still have your eyes shut tight, toes curled and feeling absolutely cloudy and airy — breathless.

Brett eventually finishes emptying himself inside of you, sticking close and keeping you on his cock as you come down from your highs and blink blearily back into reality. Shifting, causing you both to groan, you reach out and smooth his hair back and get him to look at you, green glow now gone and fucked out of him as he stares up at you back to himself.

“Hi Brett.” You murmur once again, this time feeling much better about him and his safety. His arms coil around your waist as he burrows into your neck, doting kisses across your skin and soothing the burn and bite of his marks.

“Hey honey.” Brett murmurs, sleepy and lethargic now and you smooth a hand through his hair, scratching idly and getting him groaning happily against you as your other hand rubs across his back and the rough fabric of his jacket he still had on.

“Ready to get out of here?” He nods against you in response and helps you stand, soft moans and sighs passing as he slips out and you feel cum slip forth from your overfilled cunt onto your thighs. Hurriedly getting redressed, sans your tattered panties, you stand before one another and he tries to apologize but you shake your head, cupping his cheek and saying you enjoyed it.

“Hey Brett?” You ask later on, walking hand in hand back with the group on the way to Cognito Inc after regrouping. “Yeah?”

You grin, beaming at him, squeezing his hand.

“Wanna’ do that again sometime?”

He opens and closes his mouth, giggling for a second before turning back to looking at you, squeezing your hand back while his other thumbs the velvet box in his jacket pocket.

“Absolutely.”

#inside job #my inside job #personal inside job #Brett hand #brett #inside job brett hand #inside job brett #brett hand x reader #brett x reader #brett hand x afab reader #x afab reader #x fem reader #brett hand x fem reader #brett x fem reader

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nayziiz · 2 months

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No Way | LN4

Summary: Lando Norris, an F1 driver for McLaren Racing, faces persistent attention on his single status. In an attempt to appease fans and quell rumours, his management suggests a fake relationship with a popular Portuguese model. However, Lando's PR manager, Natalie, disagrees, believing fans would see through the ploy. As an alternative, Lando's management notices the genuine bond between him and Natalie and proposes they feign a relationship for authenticity. Initially hesitant, they agree, given their existing friendship and professional connection. The fake relationship takes an unexpected turn as Lando and Natalie grapple with burgeoning real feelings, attempting unsuccessfully to conceal their growing emotions.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Original Character (Natalie)

Warnings: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse; SA; fluff

Masterlist

CHAPTER 5 (long chapter)

As Lando places his helmet on the table in front of Natalie and Max, the atmosphere around the breakfast table takes a shift. The intricate design and details of the helmet become the focal point, drawing the attention of both Natalie and Max.

They lean in, studying the helmet with a shared appreciation for the craftsmanship and personal touches that adorn it. The design, a reflection of Lando's personality and style, serves as a visual representation of his journey in the racing world.

Natalie, with her background in the racing industry, and Max, as a fellow driver, find a common ground in dissecting the nuances of the helmet's design. The breakfast table, once a casual meeting place, becomes a forum for their shared passion and understanding of the racing world.

“It’s the year of the rabbit, and it was also the year of the rabbit when I was born, so it just kind of made sense to do the lucky rabbit type design.” Lando explains. “What’d you think?”

“It’s sick.” Max agrees as he turns the helmet to get a better look.

“Nattie?” Lando asks when he sees her stay quiet.

“It’s cool, I like it.” She finally answers when she gets a turn to hold the helmet.

Natalie's internal struggle weighs heavily on her as she navigates her interactions with Lando. Since Suzuka, her demeanour has shifted, evident in the blunt text responses and the subtle avoidance when they arrived in Shanghai. This breakfast moment marks the first time Lando has seen her for an extended period without her disappearing.

Max's words linger in her mind, casting a shadow over her interactions with Lando. The reminder of their cuddles on the night of his first victory adds a layer of complexity to the dynamic. Natalie, consciously trying not to attach real feelings to their "fake romance," recognizes the potential for complications if she were to develop genuine emotions for Lando.

With Max excusing himself from the room due to a phone call, Lando and Natalie find themselves alone for the first time in two weeks. The lingering tension and unspoken emotions from Suzuka now simmer beneath the surface, and the air becomes charged with the weight of their unexplored dynamic.

The absence of Max, the temporary break from external influences, creates a space for a more genuine interaction between Lando and Natalie. Lando, sensing the shift in dynamics, looks at Natalie, his gaze holding a mix of curiosity and a desire for connection beyond the confines of their professional roles. Natalie, grappling with her internal conflict, meets his eyes, acknowledging the unspoken complexities that have been building between them.

“You don’t seem to be very impressed.” Lando comments as he takes the helmet from her and places it back in its bag.

“I said I like it, didn’t I?” Natalie abruptly responds, surprising both herself and Lando with her brash retort. The unexpected edge in her tone hangs in the air, leaving a moment of awkward silence between them. “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

The fatigue, both physical and emotional, seeping through her words suggests that there might be more to her abrupt response than meets the eye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go out tonight.” Lando suggests, expressing concern about the girls' night Natalie had planned with some of the drivers' girlfriends.

“I promised Lily I’d go otherwise she’ll never get used to the other girls.” Natalie responds, citing her commitment to attend the gathering. The sense of responsibility and loyalty to Lily adds a layer of complexity to Natalie's decision.

As Natalie reaffirms her commitment to attend the girls' night for Lily's sake, Lando studies her movements with a growing frown. The weariness in Natalie's demeanour, a departure from her usual preppy self, does not go unnoticed by Lando. The concern in his expression deepens, and he realises that her tiredness and the recent change in her behaviour might be taking a toll.

“We won’t stay out late, though.” Natalie assures Lando, recognizing his concern as she sees him watching her.

“I can always come pick you girls up.” Lando suggests, offering a solution to ensure their safety and well-being.

“Don’t be silly.” Natalie brushes off his suggestion, perhaps trying to maintain a sense of independence or not wanting to inconvenience him.

The exchange reflects the nuances of their dynamic—the genuine care and concern that Lando has for Natalie versus her desire to handle things on her own terms.

- LATER THAT NIGHT -

Natalie's surroundings in the loud and pulsating club become overwhelming, the music pounding in her head, and the flashing lights causing her discomfort. Feeling disoriented, she stumbles into a bathroom stall and locks the door behind her, seeking solace and escape from the overwhelming atmosphere.

The sensory overload triggers unsettling memories, and she recalls the sensation of someone dancing against her, hands roaming. The thought makes her nauseous, and she kneels over the toilet, vomiting at the memory. The cold, sticky bathroom floor adds to the unpleasant experience.

After wiping her mouth with a piece of toilet paper, she groans and tries to gather herself. In an attempt to find a semblance of comfort, she digs around in her purse and retrieves her phone. She dials Lando's number, pressing the phone to her ear, seeking a lifeline in the midst of the chaotic environment.

The ringing on the other end echoes in the bathroom stall, and as Natalie waits for Lando to answer, the gravity of the moment hangs in the air—an urgent plea for connection and support in a situation that has left her feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable.

“Nattie?” Lando almost instantly answers, offering a welcome relief to her distress.

“Lando, I need your help.” She mumbles, her voice breaking as the tears from vomiting run down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, the urgency evident in his tone, leaping off his bed and pulling on his sneakers.

“I don’t know where Lily is. I’ve looked everywhere.” She tells him, the worry apparent in her voice.tells him.

“Where are you now?” He asks, trying to assess the situation.

“I’m in a bathroom stall. I don’t feel very well, Lando.” She admits, her voice choked as she refrains from vomiting again.

“I’m on my way. Just stay in the bathroom, okay?” He assures her, his concern translating into a sense of urgency. The gravity of the situation becomes palpable as Lando rushes to her aid, promising the support she desperately needs in that vulnerable moment.

As Natalie sits on the closed toilet seat, her head resting against the wall, fifteen minutes later, she hears someone enter the bathroom. The ambient noise of the club and the muffled conversations from outside the stall make it difficult to identify the person.

In her vulnerable state, uncertainty lingers. The anticipation of who might be entering the bathroom adds a layer of tension to the already overwhelming situation. Natalie, still reeling from the effects of the club environment, awaits a moment of clarity, hoping for the arrival of the person she's been desperately waiting for – Lando.

“Nattie?” Lando’s voice echoes.

“Lando.” She answers, her voice a mix of relief and vulnerability, as she stands up and unlocks the stall door. The door swings open, revealing Lando on the other side. Without hesitation, she instantly falls into his arms.

In the comforting embrace of Lando, Natalie finds a refuge from the chaotic atmosphere of the club. The overwhelming environment fades away as she leans into his support, finding solace in the presence of someone she trusts. The moment becomes a sanctuary, a haven within the confines of the bathroom, as Lando provides the reassurance and care she desperately needs and seeks.

“It’s OK, you’re fine. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” Lando assures her, his words a soothing balm in the midst of her distress.

“Lily.” Natalie breathes, a momentary worry for her friend surfacing.

“She’s fine. Oscar’s with her.” Lando explains, offering reassurance about Lily's well-being. The information helps alleviate a layer of concern from Natalie's shoulders. “Were you drinking anything?”

“I literally had a soda.” She responds, clarifying that her condition isn't a result of alcohol consumption.

“Come, let’s get out of here.” Lando tells her, offering his assistance.

Lando helps her out of the bathroom, guiding her through the club towards the exit. The chaotic environment of the club begins to fade as they step outside, the cool night air providing a stark contrast to the disorienting atmosphere they leave behind.

Lando lays Natalie down on his bed, the dim light of the room casting a subdued glow. Her skirt rides up her thighs, a subtle detail that goes unnoticed in the urgency of the moment. The priority is her well-being, and he positions her comfortably on the bed.

“Someone was touching me.” Natalie mumbles, her voice carrying the weight of the distressing memory, the unwanted contact leaving an unsettling mark on the night.

“Do you remember who?” Lando asks, his concern evident in his voice, as he pours her a glass of water. Natalie shakes her head in response, the memory too blurred or perhaps too traumatic to recall with clarity.

Lando takes the glass from Natalie, placing it gently on the bedside table. The soft glow of the room accentuates the concern etched on his face as he turns his attention back to her. With a gentle touch, he starts undoing her shoes, his movements deliberate and careful. Natalie watches him closely, her eyes hardly blinking, the vulnerability of the situation reflected in her gaze.

As he finishes with her shoes, Lando places them on the floor, a silent acknowledgment of the need for comfort in that moment. Natalie, feeling a mix of emotions, sits up on the bed. The room holds a quiet intimacy, a space where unspoken connections unfold beyond the scripted dynamics of their "fake dating" arrangement.

In a gesture of trust, she reaches for Lando's hands, her fingers intertwining with his. Without uttering a word, she guides his hands to her thighs, a silent plea for reassurance and understanding. Lando, sensing the unspoken vulnerability, meets her gaze, his touch becoming a source of comfort and support.

“He kept touching me here.” She explains, guiding Lando's hands to the area on her thighs where the unwanted contact occurred. “And, when I asked him to stop, he just kept his hands there.”

Lando's expression shifts from concern to shock, the weight of the revelation hitting him. The room becomes charged with a mix of emotions, and he feels a surge of protective anger for Natalie. Yet, he remains composed, recognizing the importance of being a source of support for her in this vulnerable moment.

Natalie, her eyes peering up at Lando, holds his hands firmly on her thighs as if seeking solace and reassurance. Her hands then travel up his arms, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort she finds in his touch. Natalie wraps her arms tightly around Lando, seeking solace and strength in the warmth of the embrace.

“You came for me.” She breathes, her voice filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

“I’ll always come when you call.” Lando assures her, his commitment evident in his words. He quickly removes his hands from her thighs, respecting her boundaries, and wraps them around her in a comforting embrace. “I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

Natalie pulls away from Lando, her hands cupping his face as she frowns deeply, her gaze fixed on his eyes. The room seems to hold its breath, the intensity of the moment palpable as unspoken emotions pass between them.

“I want to kiss you.” Natalie whispers, her admission hanging in the air.

“Then kiss me.” Lando whispers back, his response laced with a quiet intensity.

“I vomited, Lando, I don’t think that’s very hot.” She states, suddenly sober enough to be more aware of herself and her body.

“You’re hot no matter what.” He continues to whisper, his words carrying a genuine warmth and reassurance.

As Natalie feels her heart pounding, a mixture of uncertainty and desire, she grapples with the need to kiss Lando. Seeking reassurance or perhaps a shield against the unexpected sparks, she contemplates the excuse of being drugged. With a flutter of anticipation, her eyes shift between his ocean blue eyes, searching for answers.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, she presses her lips to his in a moment that transcends the boundaries of their scripted relationship. Pulling him closer by his shirt, he lays on top of her. However, the sparks she hoped to avoid are unmistakably present, and the flutters in both of their stomachs reveal a connection that defies the logic of their staged dynamic.

Lando, feeling a mixture of flustered emotions and shyness, breaks the kiss and gets up. The charged atmosphere between them lingers in the room, their connection palpable even in the aftermath of the intimate moment. The unspoken tension and the sudden shift in dynamics leave a subtle air of vulnerability in the space they once shared. Lando, still flustered and recognizing the complex nature of the moment, gently communicates his reservations.

“I can't do this when you're not fully sound of mind.” Lando explains gently, a note of concern in his voice, as he covers her with a blanket.

“I'm sorry.”Natalie apologises, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, her deepest desires laid bare in that moment.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Lando quickly assures her. “It's not that I don't want to, I just respect you too much to do anything you might regret or not even remember in the morning.”

Lando scoots in beside her under the blanket, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“I need to change.” Natalie grunts, attempting to change the subject. “I can still smell the club on me.”

“I've got some spare clothes for you.” Lando informs her, a considerate gesture that reflects his caring nature.

He hastily gets up and retrieves a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from his suitcase, laying them down on the bed next to her as she sits up to meet his gaze.

“You can shower in the morning.” He adds, offering practical advice in the midst of the unfolding situation.

He looks around the room trying to figure out where to turn so she can change out of her clothes. He moves towards the window, but her reflection still persists. As Natalie struggles with the knots on her top, she calls for his help.

“Lando.” She calls out. “I need help getting out of this top. Heaven knows why I wore something with so many knots. Please, Lan.”

Lando's knees buckle slightly at her pleas. He whips around and moves to sit behind her on the bed, gently undoing the many knots that keep her shirt on her body. In a fleeting moment, Lando presses a tender kiss on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that tonight.” He whispers as the shirt cascades down her upper body.

Her hand reaches back, pulling Lando against her leaving his face nestled in her neck. It's not long before he presses more tender kisses against the skin of her neck, each touch eliciting a response from her as her body relaxes under his tender caresses.

“You're making it difficult to stop kissing you.” He tells her as his lips leave her skin, his saliva leaving a string connected to his lips and her neck.

“We don't have to do anything. Just kiss me, Lan.” She pleads, her desire for intimacy and connection evident in her words.

Once again, Lando's body responds to her pleas. He grabs his shirt, covering her exposed chest, and deftly pulls her into his lap, his movements both gentle and purposeful. As he unzips her skirt, she lifts herself slightly, allowing him to pull it down. His attention is momentarily diverted to the lacy black panties covering her, a detail that doesn't escape his notice. His breathing quickens as he redirects his focus to pulling the sweatpants onto her hips. His warm and reassuring touch grazes over her skin, creating a connection that transcends the physicality of the moment.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions and desires, Natalie finds herself grappling with the paradox of desperately needing Lando's touch after the distressing events at the club. Once she's fully clothed again, Lando's hands rest on her hips, and his lips quickly find their way back to her neck. She grabs his hands, intertwining her fingers with his in a silent gesture of connection.

“You make me feel safe.” She admits, her vulnerability laid bare as she rests her back against his chest. “I don't think I've ever felt this safe before.”

The confession sends a rush through Lando's heart, his feelings for her becoming more evident.

“I'll make sure no one ever touches you like that again.” Lando promises with a determination in his voice that reflects a newfound sense of protectiveness.

“You can't promise that.” She warns him, a note of realism in her words.

“I know, but I can't let that happen ever again. Not to you. Not while I'm alive.” He asserts, his commitment to her safety unwavering. Again, Natalie reaches back, gently grasping his curly hair.

“I don't deserve you. Or your protection. Never mind your affection.” She quickly tells him, guilt settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Nattie, you need to get some sleep.” Lando gently changes the subject, his concern for her well-being taking precedence. The room, filled with unspoken emotions and shared vulnerability, becomes a haven for their evolving connection, navigating the intricate balance between protection, affection, and the complexities of genuine intimacy.

- THE NEXT MORNING -

Natalie wakes to the disconcerting emptiness of the bed, the lingering warmth replaced by a noticeable chill. The room, once a cocoon of shared emotions and intimacy, now feels oddly vacant. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts, realizing that Lando is no longer beside her. The echoes of the previous night's events resurface, and a sense of solitude settles in.

With a sigh, Natalie rises from the bed and glances around the room, as if hoping to find some sign of Lando's presence. However, the reality of the empty and cold bed becomes undeniable. Determined to move forward, she gathers her belongings and makes her way back to her own hotel room.

The familiar routine of showering and changing into her uniform serves as a grounding process, a way to wash away the remnants of the night and prepare for the day ahead. Despite the emotional undercurrents, Natalie remains focused on her responsibilities and professional duties.

“She was drugged and assaulted, Dad, I have to find out who did that.” Lando explains earnestly to his father over the phone. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily in his voice, a determined resolve to seek justice evident in his words. “Even if she can’t remember anything, I won’t forget hearing the panic in her voice or seeing it in her eyes when I found her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that scared.”

“I’ll see what I can find out, but it’s not going to be cheap, son.” His dad offers a pragmatic response, acknowledging the challenging path ahead.

“I’ll pay whatever I need to. I just want to make sure this never happens to her again.” Lando asserts, his commitment to Natalie's well-being unwavering. The sincerity in his voice echoes his determination to protect her and bring those responsible to justice.

As he concludes the conversation with his father, the elevator doors open to reveal Natalie walking out, dressed in her McLaren uniform. The juxtaposition of her professional attire against the backdrop of the distressing events from the night before adds a layer of complexity to the moment. Lando, his gaze fixed on her, stands as a silent sentinel, ready to support her through the challenges that lie ahead.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Lando greets her with genuine warmth as he pulls her into a hug, the cares of the world momentarily forgotten. The embrace, a testament to their connection, carries a sense of reassurance that transcends the public setting of the hotel lobby.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” She asks as she peers up at him.

“You looked like you needed all the rest you could get.” He tells her. “How are you feeling?”

“Still not very good.” She informs him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she peers up at him. “I’m sorry I overstepped some boundaries last night.”

“Stop apologising. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Lando quickly assures her, pulling her closer to him. “Come, let’s go before we’re late.”

Lando takes the lead, guiding Natalie out of the hotel lobby and towards the waiting car. Gallantly, he opens the car door for her, a small gesture that speaks volumes about his consideration and attentiveness. With a helping hand, he ensures she's comfortably settled into the car before jogging around to the driver's side.

As he slips into the driver's seat, the subtle tension in the air doesn't escape him. Natalie shifts in her seat, unintentionally exposing more of her skin beneath the black skirt. The effect is not lost on Lando, and he can't help but feel a surge of desire tempered by the reminder that their connection, despite its genuine nature, is confined to the boundaries of a "fake relationship."

He glances at her, the internal conflict reflected in his eyes. The developing feelings he harbours for Natalie are undeniable, yet the constraints of their fabricated dynamic weigh heavily on him. The paradox of their situation—where emotions feel authentically real despite the artificial framework—creates a complex interplay between desire and restraint.

Lando clenches the steering wheel, grounding himself in the reality of the moment. Despite the unspoken connection and shared sentiments, he acknowledges the need for caution. The reminder that they're still navigating the intricacies of their "fake relationship" underscores the complexity of their evolving feelings and the delicate balance they must maintain, even as the car pulls away from the hotel, carrying them towards the day's responsibilities.

In the quiet confines of the car, Natalie wrestles with a heavy burden of guilt and shame, the weight of her actions from the night before pressing down on her conscience. The self-awareness of having overstepped boundaries looms over her, casting a shadow on the carefully crafted arrangement she shares with Lando. This internal struggle exacerbates the emotional turmoil that had unfolded in the wake of the distressing events.

She grapples with the realisation that her intentional actions, fueled by a surge of emotions and desire, stand in stark contrast to the carefully delineated boundaries of their "fake relationship." The self-imposed rules that were meant to prevent precisely this kind of emotional entanglement now feel flimsy and inadequate. Natalie understands that her actions were not influenced by the trauma of being drugged and assaulted; instead, they were deliberate choices made in the heat of the moment, even when they felt extreme.

As the car moves through the city, Natalie's gaze is fixed on the passing scenery, but her mind is entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. She grapples with the fear of jeopardising what they have, knowing that her intentional breach of boundaries threatens the fragile balance they've maintained.

Lando glances over at Natalie, who appears lost in her thoughts, a visible tension etched on her face. Sensing her inner turmoil, he offers a soft reassurance, the hum of his voice a comforting melody in the quiet confines of the car.

“You can relax, Nattie.” Lando suggests gently, his words carrying an undertone of understanding and empathy.

“It feels so silly being this embarrassed by everything I said. And, everything I did.” Natalie whispers as she turns to look at him.

“It's not silly at all.” He says, his voice carrying a warmth that seeks to alleviate her embarrassment. “We all have moments where emotions take over, especially in situations like last night. You don't need to feel ashamed. And, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t uncomfortable with anything you said or did. I was a willing participant.”

Sensing Natalie's blush and the lingering unease, Lando responds with a comforting touch. He places a hand on her exposed knee, the soft squeeze conveying a sense of reassurance and understanding. The tactile gesture seeks to bridge any emotional distance that might still exist, offering a silent affirmation of his earlier words.

The air in the car takes on a charged energy as Natalie feels Lando's hand gradually travelling further up her thigh, coming to rest just in front of her skirt's hem. Her gaze drops to his hand, studying the subtle movements, and a sense of tension intertwines with the palpable smugness emanating from him.

She bites the inside of her cheek, a conscious effort to stifle the conflicting emotions stirring within her. The rational part of her mind insists that this is all part of the show, a performance for the public eye. Yet, beneath the surface, a more visceral desire simmers, whispering a longing that transcends their scripted roles.

Deep down, Natalie finds herself yearning for a connection that surpasses the confines of their "fake relationship." The forbidden fantasy of straddling him in the McLaren and feeling his hands exploring every contour of her body ignites a subtle heat within her.

It's almost as if Lando senses the undercurrents of her thoughts, his hand daringly creeping slightly higher, fingers slipping just beneath the edge of her skirt. The atmosphere in the car becomes charged with a subtle electricity as Natalie and Lando tiptoe on the edge of desire and restraint.

“Don’t crash the car, Norris.” Natalie whispers, a teasing edge in her voice, as Lando's pinky grazes a sweet spot on her inner thigh.

“Tell me to stop.” Matching her tone, Lando responds in a low whisper.

“Lando.” She moans softly as if the whole world could hear her at that moment. “You have to stop.”

As they navigate through the track's parking lot, Lando withdraws his hand, subtly acknowledging Natalie's unspoken request for a pause in their earlier interaction. The transition is seamless as he assists her out of the car, their movements synchronised in the midst of the flashing cameras capturing their every step.

Entering the building together, Lando takes her hand once more, a silent reassurance that transcends the performative nature of their public appearances. The connection between them persists as they move through the passages, reaching an elevator where they wait side by side.

A mischievous smirk graces Natalie's face as she presses her crotch against Lando's knuckles in the crowded elevator. The subtle exchange of desire unfolds amid the bustling surroundings. Lando, glancing down at her, licks his lips, fully aware of the charged atmosphere between them.

- LATER THAT DAY -

The atmosphere in Lando's driver's room is filled with the echoes of the commentary from the garage as Natalie diligently works on her tablet. The room exudes a sense of focused anticipation, resonating with the energy of the Formula 1 world. Lando, returning after a session that showcased his skill on the track, enters the room, his body radiating heat and sweat from the demanding laps.

Spotting Natalie sitting on the massage table, engrossed in her work, he can't help but appreciate the contrast between her focused professionalism and the intensity of the racing environment. Closing the door behind him, Lando begins to strip off his race suit, the sound of the zipper punctuating the room.

The juxtaposition between Lando's physical exertion on the track and Natalie's composed demeanour creates a dynamic scene, embodying the different facets of the Formula 1 world—from the adrenaline-fueled races to the behind-the-scenes moments of preparation. As Lando sheds the remnants of the intense session, the room becomes a canvas where the lines between performance and reality blur, setting the stage for the intricate dance they navigate within the fast-paced world of Grand Prix racing.

“Excuse me, you could ask me to leave while you change.” Natalie mumbles as she avoids making eye contact, or any contact with his tanned body, as he takes off his race suit and puts on a new, fresher one.

“But, you’re my girlfriend.” He complains and makes his way between her legs. He removes the tablet from her hands and rests her hands on his shoulders. “Seriously, are you OK?”

“I’m feeling better.” She assures him, hesitantly looking into his eyes. “And, before I dare forget. Thank you again for coming to my aid last night.”

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

Taglist: @noneofyourfbusinessworld @scopeiguess @tbsloneely

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #lando norris smut #mclaren #mclaren f1 #lando norris x oc

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arcielee · 29 days

Text

lost in a haze

Summary: Alastor isn't sure what to make of Lucifer. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor Word Count: 2.3k+ Warnings: m/m, masturbation, blowjob, handjob, fingering, spit as lube to start, unprotected bathroom sex, Lucifer is a fucking top let's be fr Author's Note: Banner artwork credit! Thank you my darling @fallingintoyourlilaceyes for reading this over for me 💜 and thank you to Hozier for your EP that always provides me fic titles. This is my first every attempt at a m/m fic. This idea has been rattling in my brain since I watched the show. I hope you enjoy!

Alastor was panting in the steam-filled bathroom. His one hand was pressed flat to the marble that only the King of Hell would surely have tiled from floor to ceiling, while his other pumped the length of his cock, swollen and aching. But it was a fruitless chase to mollify what had settled into the pit of his stomach, nesting behind the stitches that now lined across his abdomen and gnawing at his organs.

And it all started several days earlier when he first woke up in an unrecognizable room. There had been a knock at the door and Lucifer walked in. He did not have that narrowed expression sneered across, but seemed more bright, more apathetic as he looked Alastor over.

It was this look that began an unease that started to mull beneath.

Lucifer was holding a tray and watched as the Imp that trailed behind him placed a pillow across Alastor’s lap. “Your breakfast,” he almost chirped, placing it on top of the pillow to balance. “I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so I just went with a classic Eggs Benedict with some potatoes and sausage patties.”

It felt surreal. The warmth seeping into his lap was pleasant, the savory smells of the meal prepared caused his hunger to rumble with a ferocity that throbbed his sutures. Alastor tipped his chin down to see how they ran diagonal from his chest to his hip. “What happened?”

He could remember his staggered steps back into the broken radio tower, his wheezing to try and regain his breath, and his fumbling attempts for supplies to try and staunch his bleeding. And then nothing, but this was where Lucifer began. He detailed how he followed the trail of blood, how it was slick on the floors. He continued how he found Alastor closer to a second death than life, and ended with the heroic return home so he could tend to him.

Alastor could only stare and a silence settled over as he processed these words. He thought back to the animosity that burned from the devil with their first meet up in the hotel lobby. It now seemed somewhat comical in comparison to the almost sheepish display he was showing now.

It prickled his nerves, the unease now coursing through his veins.

“There was some concern at first, since it was an injury from an angelic weapon and all, but you seem to be healing up nicely,” Lucifer added with an almost shy smile.

There was the low gurgle of his stomach that punctuated his quiet.

Lucifer blinked. “I’ll, uh, just leave you to eat then.” He shifted and something twisted across his face; he didn’t say anything and just left Alastor alone.

The unease remained, a slow curdle of emotions that braised beneath and rattled his bones. As the days passed, it pulled at him, aimless but wanting. This persistent bedevilment carried with his steps, flaring hotly with every awkward interaction he shared with Lucifer.

The devil, however, seemed unaffected.

Alastor truly began to study him, noticing how Lucifer tailored to his lithe figure that was always complementing his trimmed waist. His proximity was a prickly heat, amplified whenever Lucifer caught him staring. Alastor struggled to digest those moments whenever Lucifer would look him over with the slow draw of his eyes, his lips hinting but never committing to a smile.

And he would just go, leaving Alastor with his presence that lingered behind, thickening the air around him.

Now he stood beneath the water for so long it almost felt cool against his heated skin. Alastor let out a wet sigh that echoed off the walls before shutting off the water, pressing his brow to the marble. There was another hefty exhale as the unwelcomed weight settled back into his core.

He understood that his only escape would be to return back to the hotel, to leave this accursed place and its smirking-fucking-owner.

Alastor stepped from the shower,trying to ignore the heavy sway between his slender thighs. He dried off before tucking the towel high around his waist, positioning his flushed cock upright and against his stomach.

There was a knock and water droplets fell as his ears flattened back.

“Come in,” he said without a second thought to his current indecency.

It was fucking Lucifer–as he should come to expect by now. He wore his idea of casual wear, dark slacks and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. There was a few buttons undone that hinted to his smooth, pale planes of his chest beneath, and his blond hair was tousled back.

Alastor gripped his towel, twisting his shame away and facing the mirror. His palm reached to wipe away the steam and saw that Lucifer was watching him.

But if he noticed anything, he gave no indication. Instead he said that breakfast was ready.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Alastor could feel his blood, hot and thick, coursing through him and rising to the surface. His eyes narrowed on Lucifer in the fogged reflection. “I am almost done here.”

The silence they often shared returned thick, mixing in the steamy air that surrounded them. Lucifer frowned, stepping fully into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Alastor’s ears perked, his careful watch of the scrutinous gaze as the devil looked him over. He hoped the remaining pink from his shower masked how his blood was now simmering beneath his skin.

“I said I’ll be done in a moment,” his tone clipped, his hostility clutched as tight as the towel wrapped around his slender waist like a summoned guard against Lucifer.

He was unfazed, allowing another pregnant pause before he finally spoke. “Thank you.”

Alastor blinked. “I didn’t say anything–”

“Oh, I know,” he cut through, stepping closer, his scrutinous gaze peering over his shoulder into the mirror, “I was helping you find the actual words that you should be saying.”

Alastor frowned, his eyes narrowing onto the reflection. “May I remind you that I never asked you to rescue me.”

“You would not have been able to,” he retorted, his tone hot, “you were barely responsive when I fucking found you.”

Alastor turned to face him, but whatever rebuttal he had caught in his throat. He realized that Lucifer was close, and he noticed the tensity of how his eyes bore through him. The steam that had yet dissipated enriched the rosiness of his alabaster cheeks and his eyes shone bold.

It felt as if the bathroom were deflating around him, the walls pressing in.

“How about whenever you finally do something I consider worthwhile,” Alastor rasped, his pride forcing the words from him, “I will then make sure to say thank you.”

He was testing to see if the demon that thrummed beneath his tailored fits would surface, would erupt to tear open his healing wound. But instead his signature smirk curled onto his lips and he stepped closer, his hand pressing to feel Alastor.

His touch bolted the length of Alastor’s spine and he hunched over, choking on a gasp from the abrasive hand. Lucifer moved even closer, relishing the throbbing against his palm through the damp fabric. His brow arched. “Then allow me to do something worthwhile.”

Alastor felt outside of his body as he watched his towel puddle around his feet. The edge of the countertop was cold and dug into his backside as he fell back to balance the weight of Lucifer’s hands pressing onto his thighs. His tension churning was aboiled as the devil sank to his knees, the unfurled trepidation as Lucifer’s jaw unhinged to swallow him.

The salacious pace set by Lucifer’s forked tongue tasting him pulled every thought from his mind. He let out a gasp when Lucifer pulled back to lick his palm, wrapping it around the base and stroking in tandem with his mouth. The devil sucked to savor, but with a determination that pulled a low groan from the back of Alastor’s throat; he gasped again from the vibration of Lucifer in response.

He could not catch his breath, the fellatio pulling him upwards to an unknown peak and bolting past, a teasing teetering on a ledge of pleasure that was coiling tight at the base of his spine. The lewd sounds filled the small space and Alastor was close, so painfully close.

His cock was throbbing and then it stopped. Alastor opened his eyes, dazed, dilated, a desperate search only to see the smug satisfaction that now played on Lucifer’s face.

Lucifer pulled himself upright, his lips swollen and glossy from his spit, and his hands moved to Alastor’s narrow waist, lifting him enough to sit on top of the counter. He pushed apart his thighs, spitting on his palm again before his hand returned to a languid pace up and down Alastor’s flushed cock.

Alastor swore his teeth would crack with his suppressed groan, his head falling back against the mirror with a dull thud. He did not see how Lucifer licked his fingers, but felt his hand drop lower, searching. Alastor shuddered from the tentative touch, the slow circle drawn that sparked a new pleasure that licked up his spine.

Lucifer was coy. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck you,” but the venom he tried for only stammered from his lips.

Lucifer hummed with a sly smile and hooded eyes. He moved until he was pressed against Alastor’s bare chest, tilting his head to bite the slope of his neck. “Maybe later,” he murmured against his skin, and Alastor could not stop the strangled mewl when a finger curled within him. “But you first.”

The pleasure bolted back down his spine, causing his cock to jerk. Lucifer watched him, his eyes darkening and his smile stretching across his sharp jaw. “I figured you would like this,” he purred. “Are you ready to thank me yet?”

The sound Alastor made was his choking attempt to pull the words from the back of his throat, but he could not think, not with how the blood roared in his ears, not with how his heart was reverberating against his bruised bones.

Lucifer hummed again. “Not quite?” He grinned, pressing another finger into his puckered hole.

Alastor moaned louder, writhing from the touch. Lucifer quickened the pace of his hands, and he felt the delicious pressure bursting from the pit of his stomach, bright with colors and pulsing hotly onto his own stomach.

Alastor felt boneless, almost folding when Lucifer pulled away. He only returned to his body with the sound of the sink, of drawers being rummaged through. He saw the devil’s slacks unbuttoned, the glossy sheen that covered the ridges and veins of his cock, thick and heavy. He knitted his slender waist back between his thighs and Alastor canted his hips, moving closer to the edge.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Lucifer teased him, his lubed fingers touching, lining himself.

He stayed quiet, his jaw tightening as he focused on the blunt prod. Even with the foreplay it was still a tight fit, but Lucifer was artful with gentle thrusts that filled him, sinking into him. His skin prickled with a cold sweat, a shuddered rasp pulled once Lucifer sheathed completely within him.

Lucifer paused once his hips were flushed intimately against the cradle of his hips. He watched a moment before his head tipped up to drag his tongue along the curve of Alastor’s neck, his teeth nipping at his pulse. It was the small sounds that spilled that summoned the demon, a bruising hold on his hips and powerful thrusts that sent hot bolts to the ends of his nerves.

Alastor felt lifeless. His mouth fell open with muted cries as Lucifer pounded mercilessly into him.

��Let me hear you,” Lucifer pulled him upright, his claws dragging down his back, marking him.

Alastor reached and his fingertips bit into his sharp jaw, bringing his lips to touch his own. The kiss was desperate and Lucifer bit him; Alastor groaned from the taste of iron, and again when Lucifer dropped to bite into his chest.

It stirred something deep, something primal within him.

“Give me one more,” Lucifer rasped against his mouth. It was not a request and Alastor felt his cock jerk. “Touch yourself.”

There was another bite where his pulse was pushing against his skin and Alastor arched against him, his heart bruising to the surface. Lucifer’s mouth trailed upwards with heated, wet kisses, and Alastor moved his hand between them, pushing him backwards so his hand could wrap around his hardening cock.

Lucifer smirked, returning to the powerful thrusts that filled, coaxing another thundery groan from Alastor, his hand falling in a rhythm around his cock. It built fast and Alastor swelled, breathless and brimming, the faraway command brought his second release and it stricken his bones, the euphoric coil bursting.

For a second time Alastor could feel the slow return back into his skin, blinking to focus on Lucifer and his salacious grin. The mess made began to spill from him and Alastor burned, pressing his hands to the firm chest peeking beneath the white shirt, pushing until Lucifer slipped from him.

His heady gaze remained. “Fuck breakfast,” Lucifer said, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt. “I think I’m going to take a shower.” He seemed roguish, his satisfaction obnoxious. “Care to join me?”

Alastor was still splayed on the counter, life drained and filthy. For a moment he thought to leave, but his movement caused the spend to spill.

So instead he said yes.

“Yes what?”

The devil returned to his teasing tone, but this time it pulled something prurient from Alastor, something he now knew he would no longer try to control. “Yes,” and a moment passed before he decided to play along, “and thank you.”

It was quiet, but it was enough. Lucifer beamed, peeling away his layers and moving back towards the shower. He paused to look over his shoulder, watching with hooded eyes as Alastor pulled himself to follow.

Alastor stared back at him, a sharp grin spreading across his jaw. “After all, it’s my turn now.”

arcie's masterlist

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #radioapple #appleradio #the radio demon #deerduck #m/m

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sonder-paradise · 5 months

Text

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢

◊ characters. mitsuya takashi, gn!reader

◊ wc. 0.9k

➺ 𝘪𝘮·𝘱𝘶𝘭·𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘫. 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝘔𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘺𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you chirp, swinging open the door to your apartment. Mitsuya follows after you, soaking in the familiar ‘new apartment’ smell that fumigates throughout the living room.

“It’s looking a little empty,” he says. A light smile pastes itself on his lips and you return it with your own.

“Yeah, I haven’t really gotten around to unpacking,” you say. Your voice coming out muffled as you bury your head in a nearby cabinet to search for the infamous detergent and vinegar you spoke of earlier.

There’s a variety of different sized boxes around the apartment. A couple plants are piled on top of them and just a few random items litter the surrounding countertops. Mitsuya notes a calendar notebook sitting beside a half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese. Maps and a single unopened letter are nestled right beside them.

“How long ago did you say you moved in?”

You spit out a laugh, your eyebrows wrinkling guiltily as you place the detergent and vinegar on your kitchen counter.

“It’s been a couple weeks.”

“And you’re still not unpacked?” Mitsuya chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. You wave him off, holding up the dress. “Do you want this fixed or not?”

“Kidding!”

You give him an amused look. He finds himself in the middle of wanting to pursue the conversation even more or just shutting up and listening.

He opts for the latter when you move to mix the detergent and vinegar together. You heave the large container over a small cup and the two of them watch the clear liquid seep on top of the white vinegar. Mitsuya cringes for a moment. The smell it elicits is sour, yet distinctly fresh.

A silence meanders into the dwindling conversation. It’s slightly awkward. It reminds Mitsuya of a fat cat lying across his chest. It’s slightly uncomfortable, maybe a little too warm, but he doesn’t dare move for fear of it leaving. Your eyes catch his once more and he’s glancing away to assess your apartment one more time.

“So, why’d you move out here?” he says.

“I wanted to become an artist.”

“Why this city? I’m sure you can become an artist in any city you live in.”

You pause your scrubbing. You’re using a small cloth to apply the odd white vinegar and detergent mixture onto the coffee stain. For a brief moment, your expression wanders to the maps on the countertop.

“My dad was born in this city. He said he always found inspiration where the lights hit glass. Whatever the hell that means,” You scoffed, placing the cloth to the side and looking over the coffee stain. It was covered by your homemade mixture now and you eyed it to make sure every last fiber was coated in it.

“I take it your father was a painter too?”

“No, he was a truck driver. He liked to write poetry for my mom in his free time. He’d send it by mail whenever he got the chance.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s silly.”

Mitsuya’s eyes wander back to yours. He questions the look in your eyes as you say that short phrase. There’s a bittersweetness to it like you want to say more, explain more but there was nothing else left to do except complete this little odd job he had given you.

“Anyways, let’s rinse this pretty thing off and it should be brand new.”

You head toward your sink, glancing back at Mitsuya briefly. Your hand settles on the sink handle. “Hot or cold?”

“Cold, please.”

You twists the handle and water comes flowing out of the faucet. It seeps into the cloth and as if by magic, Mitsuya can see the coffee seep out of the white fabric alongside the foamy soap from the detergent.

“So, how’d you get into designing?”

Mitsuya shrugs, “My mom wasn’t around a lot. She was always working. So I had to learn to sew in order to fix my sisters’ clothing. Sometimes they’d want dolls or little accessories so I’d just make ‘em too.”

Your fingers slowly massage the last of the stain out of the fabric. You don’t look up from your work, but it’s clear you’re soaking in the information slowly.

“That’s kinda cute.”

“It’s silly.”

Mitsuya suddenly understands what that bittersweetness from your expression earlier was. He melts in his tongue and he’s tempted to say more, to explain more. But he doesn’t.

You look over the fabric once more. Your eyes narrow before handing it back to Mitsuya with a grin. “That should do it.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m your neighbor. That’s all,” you laugh, “Speaking of which, let’s exchange numbers. I could use a friend in this city.”

Mitsuya watches as you dig into the back pocket of your jeans and retrieve your phone. It opens on cue and the screensaver shows an image of a rather picturesque family. Carnival lights in the background and a young child smiling from ear to ear sitting snugly in between your parents. Mitsuya’s tempted to ask, but he reserves his question for another time.

“Sure thing. I owe you one anyway.” He slides the phone out of your hand and inputs his number into your contacts. It’s odd to see his own name sitting in your phone.

He’s not sure what exchanged after that. The next thing he knows is he’s standing outside your door with the slightly damp fabric in his hands. It still smells faintly like that homemade mixture of yours but it’s somewhat comfortable.

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧…

#[✒️] writing #[🎧] impulse: the series #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev x you #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya x you #mitsuya fluff

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lustfulfuchsia · 2 months

Note

i love your work could you make more of the Rolan being bottom lol but do remember to drink water and taking breaks<3

[A/n:I hope you don't mind boy cunt. Thank you for requesting]

Summary:Rolan kept looking at you throughout the night, and when you finally walked up to him, you realized why.

Type:Scenario:Smut:FTM!Rolan X Tiefling!M!Reader

Version: Bg3

!⚠️DNI MINORS AND FEMALE READERS⚠️!

You and your team had killed the goblins and saved the Grove. You didn't expect much out of it. But a party? That was unexpected but welcomed. Throughout the night, you caught Rolans eyes quite offen, having ditched your shirt a bit ago due to the heat. You had just assumed he was looking because you saved him. No other reason. But when his siblings started giggling and mocking Rolan, that's when you became suspicious. You started to hold his gaze longer, holding eye contact until he looked away, which didn't take long. Yet you didn't so anything.

Astarion was giving you an annoyed look, rising his eyebrow when you finally walked over to him.

"What's wrong this time, Astarion" You crossed your arms, your muscles flexing from the sudden movement.

And it caught someone's eye. Astarion gasped dramatically, waving his hand infront of him as he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, you know... you and Rolan are making so much sexaul tension!" Astarion shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

After a moment of looking off he looked back at you, cutting you off before you had a chance to speak.

"Its quite sad really, watching you give Rolan the sexist look you can just for you to walk away, he's probably feeling frustrated. I know I would be" Astarion looked at you with a slightly disappointed look.

"What? No, that's not what's happening here. He's just... no, he's only staring because we saved him, he's probably staring at everyone else to," From next to you, Lae'zel tsked.

Looking over, Lae'zel was now standing next to you and Astarion, looking more disappointed than Astarion... which wasn't unusual.

"That, tie-fling has been eyeing you this whole time, you've been toying with him" Lae'zel looked between you and Astarion before looking over at Rolan. "Look, he's been staring so hard I'm surprised you haven't noticed."

Looking behind you at Rolan, not believing a word, they said you saw him staring at you again. And once again, you held his stare. He shifted, trying to hold your gaze but couldn't. He ended up looking away and glaring at his siblings as they started giggling.

"I'd suggest you make a move, this party is boring anyways" Astarion said, taking another sip of his drink.

Lae'zel agreed, turning to you. You were still staring at Rolan, trying to understand when suddenly Lae'zel gave you a small shove.

"Stop standing there, go get what's rightfully yours" You glared Lae'zel, not sure if that was the right way to put it before walking over to Rolan.

He tensed up as soon as you started walking towards him, trying to look as if he wasn't just staring again. As soon we you got close it hit you, the strong smell of arousal. Coming straight from Rolan. You could smell how wet he was, it was probably seeping through his underwear by now. With a deep breath you looked at his face, staring at his now heavily flushed face.

"Rolan," Rolan gulped, giving you an awkward smile.

His smell was so strong that it seemed to increase the more you stood here. Your mouth watered slightly at the smell, your eyes trailing down to his crotch before back up to his face. After a moment, you couldn't handle it anymore, walking closer to Rolan, you lightly grabbed his waist, pulling him closer so you could whisper to him. Your tail wrapped around his leg before the tip of your tail pressed against his cunt, luckily it was hidden from sight due to his robes.

"You know, I could help you out, all you gotta do is ask" You felt Rolan tremble, trying to grind down on your tail, only to get stopped by your hand gripping his hip.

After a moment of silence, Rolan leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.

"Please..." Rolan muttered against your shoulder, gripping your clothes.

With a smirk, you gently tugged at him, pulling your tail away so you could lead him away from the party. Somewhere more private. When you two get far enough away from the camp, you quickly grab his waist, pulling him into a kiss before pushing him against a tree. You groaned into the kiss, grinding your crotch against his own. Rolan moaned into the kiss, his hands wrapping around your neck. You felt Rolan tremble against you, his knees bucking forward as you pressed harder against him. You pulled away, panting against his mouth before stepping back to strip down. Rolan quickly followed, stripping himself as fast as possible. As soon as his last robe was off you were on him, pinning him to the ground as you started kissing down his body.

"Fuck- You smell delicious" You growled against his stomach, causing a shiver to go down his spine

Your mouth found its way to his cunt, pupils growing wide as soon as you saw on wet he was. Looking over at his pile of clothes you used your tail to find his underwear, dropping it onto your hand you started looking at the crotch area, your face filled with amusement.

"Were you aroused all night? I bet every tiefling smelled you," Rolan huffed, spreading his legs wider and moving to lean on his forearms.

"More of a reason for you to hurry up!" Rolan arched his hips up, trying to make himself look more appealing.

You chuckled, tossing his underwear back over to his pile of clothes and getting back to his cunt. You were skilled, too skilled at this. Your mouth worked wonders on him, eating him out like a straved man. Rolan thought you were trying to eat him at some point, with the way your teeth raked over his skin. You sucked harshly on his clit, making him moan and fall back on his back. Rolans hands quickly found your horns, pulling you closer. You groaned against him, causing another loud moan to come from him. It didn't take much longer with your eager mouth on him to make him cum. You leaned back licking your lips clean before hooking your thumb into your pants, tugging them down as you kissed him. Rolan gasped softly as he felt your cock press against his cunt, his pupils dilating as he pulled away from the kiss to look. He moaned softly in response, spreading his legs wider for you to slot yourself between. A soft chuckle came from you, a smirk on your face from his eagerness.

"How long have you been wanting this?" Your voice cut through his thoughts, making him look away from your cock.

"Long enough," Rolan pulled you down for another kiss, it was sloppy and eager this time.

You could feel his pussy rutting up against you, as if he was trying to put you him himself. You shifted your hips, slowly pushing your cock into him. He moaned loudly into your mouth, hands shaking as he gripped your shoulders. You stopped, surprised by his sudden breathlessness.

"Rolan? Is this your first time?" He only nodded, keeping his eyes close as you pushed into him some more. "Well, I guess I'll have to take my time"

Rolan lightly laughed at your teasing tone, knowing you were distracting him as you pushed him. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised by the sight. You were gripping the grass, eyes focused on his chest as and sweat forming on your neck. Heavy pants and your lip between your teeth, it showed how much you were holding back, and to rolan, it was weirdly hot. He stared up at you, teasingly clenching down to see your reaction. Rolan snickered as you inhaled deeply, watching you playfully glare at him. Rolan was instantly cut off with a grind from you, shoving your cock all the way in. He let out a moan, closing his eyes as he gripped your shoulders. You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him and wrap your arms around his torso. That's when you started to move. You started slow, slowly thrusting in and out of him. He let's out soft moans before an annoyed grunt escaped him.

"I'm not made of glass, you know..." Rolan huffed, wrapping his legs around your waist to pull you back in.

You smirked, picking up your pace. Rolan let his eyes close, biting his lip as you went faster and harder. Soon enough, you were going almost too fast for him, his back hitting the ground as loud moans escaped him no matter how hard he tried to hide them. You were getting lost in him, eyes shutting as you loud out loud grunts. Your cock felt amazing, the ridges and heat coming from it was driving Rolan inside, and so was his own heat.

A low growl left your lips, leaning down to roughly kiss him as you slammed your hips into him harder. He was letting out wails and moans a little. His voice was getting raspy and horse, and his silent begs for you to not stop going straight to your dick.

His cunt started fluttering around you, his claws digging into your skin as arched his back to met your thrusts.

"I-I'm close! S-So close!" Rolan yelled out, his voice echoing off the trees to make a beautiful harmony.

You nodded, keeping your pace as you reached down to rub his clit to match your pace. He didn't last long like this, cumming all over your cock with a scream. You came not long after, shooting hot cum into him before slowly pulling out. Rolan panted, letting himself fall limp onto the ground.

You flopped onto him with a smirk, playfully crushing him under you. He let out a mellow as he gripped your shoulders.

"Really? Get off!" His laughed mingled with yours, hugging you close to him as you two rolled onto your sides.

[A/N:I am so sorry this took so long, I've had no energy to write so hopefully I'll get back into it soon. I hope you enjoyed]

#bg3 #bg3 x male reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate tav #bg3 rolan #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #rolan #bg3 smut

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d3adbr3inc3lls · 7 days

Text

Tom!Peter Parker x Reader | Headcannons + Oneshot

A/N: I don't know how to write confession scenes, (I'm a hopeless romantic if you remove the 'romantic' part because I've had no experiences with romance) but I tried my best.

Peter is a hopeless romantic.

He'd always steal glances at you whenever you were in class, turning away when his spidey senses told him that you noticed him.

He had a whole list of date ideas if the moment ever came.

Peter knew that it may not happen, but he still liked to update the list whenever he saw a cool place where he could take you.

If he wasn't going to use it, he could always give some of the places to Ned if he needed them, but he mostly kept them to himself.

Especially any places little people knew about.

10/10 thinks of scenarios that would most likely never happen (not unless one of you actually make the first move)

When he does confesses, he has everything planned out.

Sitting down next to him, he lifts his hand to the sun, checking how many fingers fit under the it to give him a rough estimate of something.

“5 more minutes until the sun sets,” He breathed out.

How he knew this was beyond you.

Perhaps he learnt it whilst being in extension something?

Yeah that’s definitely it.

He flicks his gaze at you. He had come here early to make sure the two of you didn’t miss the sunset.

This had to be perfect.

The silence between the two of you was comfortable as you gazed at the waters, the warm oranges of the sun being reflected below.

Hearing Peter sigh, he shifted closer, not enough to invade your personal space, but still closer.

It wasn’t long before the sky was painted with vibrant pinks and oranges,

"There's been something-"

Peter pauses, closing his eyes he lets out a soft exhale, trying to pull himself together before opening them, his chocolate ones meeting your vibrant ones.

"I've wanted to tell you something."

You couldn't help but stare at him, the warm tones of the sunset kissing his face, making him look like an angel sent from above.

With the amount of lives he's saved, he might aswell be one.

He holds your gaze, taking something out of his pocket, only glancing away as it almost slips from his hand.

You freeze as you watch him quickly snatch the object, not giving you any time to process what it is. You've always known his reaction speed was quick and sometimes you swore that he wasn't human.

"I- It's-"

He stammers a bit, his awkward personality seeping back in as he looks at the sunset, only sneaking a glance when you follow his gaze towards the blazing star.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same, but-"

Another deep breath escaped his lips. His chocolate doe eyes meeting your gaze as he fidgets with the object in his hand.

Taking your hand in his, he turns it so the palm is facing up and places the object in his hands into yours.

Closing your hand, his eyes flicker to the object, which you could feel is packaged in something,

"I like you- I've liked you for a while now, and- are you free this Saturday,? We could go to that one Cafe you always talk about-"

#I suck at writing confession scenes.#Would've written a kiss scene at the end #but ya boi hasn't experienced romance and is scared to get things wrong.#tom!peter parker x reader #Tom!Peter Parker x Male Reader #Tom!Peter Parker x GN!Reader #my work #Peter Parker x Reader #Spider-man x reader #Spider man x reader #Spiderman x reader #x Reader #x male reader #x GN!Reader #no mentions of y/n

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bubblegumvolcano · 8 months

Text

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 (ʳᵉᵐᵘˢ ˡᵘᵖⁱⁿ ˣ ʳᵃᵛᵉⁿᶜˡᵃʷ! ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ)

ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; nothing i think, and this can be read as any house tbh!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1,973

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭; here !

꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶

You and Remus hated each other. You both knew that, everyone else knew it, and you were okay with that. It was old news that had been around since the beginning of time.

No one was shocked anymore when they’d hear the two snap at each other in class. It was a common occurrence.

The only times it did get annoying was when you two would fight in the middle of social gatherings. Especially due to the fact that you guys shared the exact same friend group.

You’d be sitting in the Gryffindor common room with all your friends, and as soon as Remus joined, it’d either get silent or extremely loud.

Certain people (Sirius) called it sexual tension, but you and Remus found it ridiculous. And when you told Sirius that, he'd give you a look. A knowing look. But you would never let the mere idea of liking Remus like that seep into your head. It was wrong. You never stopped once to think about it.

If you had, you probably would’ve noticed sooner.

You would’ve noticed how you wait for him to join class so you can immediately bicker and have him bicker back.

You would’ve noticed how you stare at him in “hate” when he answers something correctly.

You would’ve noticed how sad you get when he gives up on trying to compete with you.

Neither you or Remus saw the potential until the detention.

One single detention completely turned your mindset on Remus.

It was a cold afternoon when you and Remus found yourselves in detention together.

Neither of you usually get detention. But the cause for this one? Disrupting the class' learning. McGonagall had enough of it, especially since it had been going on the whole school year.

However, neither of you knew you'd be there together until the moment you walked in. There were no groans, but instead an awkward moment of eye contact.

Professor McGonagall had tasked the two of you with sorting out her homework for her to grade, and immediately left.

As you both hesitantly began the boring task, the silence between you was thick with tension. Bickering seemed almost wrong in this setting. The room was silent except for the sound of papers rustling against each other.

Halfway, though, all sound from Remus' side of the room paused.

"You know, this fighting isn't really getting anywhere, is it?" he said, but not turning your way.

You paused for a moment, studying him silently from the corner of your eye. There was a tone in his voice that you had never heard from him.

The walls you built up against him were slowly falling, and you found yourself speaking honestly.

"I guess not. But I don't even know if we can stop."

Remus smiled at you, his features softening.

"Well, we're both smart. Instead of trying to outdo each other, maybe we can start working together sometimes." He avoided eye contact as he made the suggestion, but you looked at him with surprised eyes.

The idea was completely out of the blue, but it intrigued you a little. To work with someone you had been at odds with for so long was an alien concept.

As you continued sorting papers, you and Remus shared thoughts about the subjects you both loved. It was refreshing to talk with him about something you both had knowledge in.

As the detention progressed, you learned more about Remus beyond the surface. You discovered his deep love for reading (you knew he liked reading, but not this much) and his strong loyalty to his friends. You'd never expect to see Remus this open, but it was surprisingly endearing.

When detention was over, the two of you had managed to make a lot of progress with the papers. As you walked back to your own common rooms silently, you both realized that there was some understanding now. Something shifted, and you weren't sure if you could really label what you had for him as hatred anymore.

Over the next few weeks, you found yourself seeking Remus out more often. You'd argue and tease, but it lost the harshness it once held. Your friends noticed the change in demeanors immediately. They could hang out with you two now without as many awkward arguments and silences.

Lily even teased, saying she'd be waiting for the wedding invites. You always rolled your eyes, though. There was no way you'd ever see Remus like that. Besides, you were just getting used to not disliking him.

But Lily really started taking note of every little thing after one interaction you had with Remus after class.

Remus caught up with you and Lily outside of the classroom, a shy smile playing on his lips. "See you tomorrow?' he asked, and as you nodded with a smile, you couldn't ignore the face Lily was making.

"What now?" You groaned once he walked away.

"You guys are in love! It's so cute."

You scoffed at Lily's comment, but you didn't even know how you felt about Remus. Yet, at least.

"That's ridiculous, Lily."

But as summer came along, you slowly started to notice how Remus seemed to go out of his way to spend time with you, even outside of classes and group gatherings. It made you feel a certain way, but you almost didn't even want to admit it to yourself.

One evening, you were sitting by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room waiting for Lily to return from the bathroom, when Remus approached you with a book in his hand.

"I thought you might like this one," he said, holding it out to you.

Sirius and James were at a corner table, silently watching Remus.

You took the book and looked at the cover, realizing that it was a topic you had mentioned during one of your conversations.

"Thank you, Remus. That's so thoughtful of you," you replied, genuinely surprised by the gesture.

Remus flashed you a soft smile, "Well, I noticed how much you were talking about it, and I thought it might be a good read," he said, a slight hint of bashfulness in his voice that you didn't miss.

Lily finally returned from the bathroom and immediately noticed the sweet moment between the two of you. She went over to James first before interrupting.

"They're so cute, don't you think?"

"That could be us."

And with that, Lily walked back to you in silence.

"This is so sweet! Is this the same guy you used to snap at every chance you got?" Lily looked at you playfully, watching your face heat up.

Remus blushed slightly, looking down at you shyly, "I can put it behind me."

You smiled, poking Remus in the side. "Oh, how mature."

As the conversation continued, Sirius and James walked themselves over to where you all were and sat down. The conversation quickly shifted to their next prank.

As you sat there, you noticed Remus stealing glances at you from the corner of your eye, making a smile form on your lips.

Over the following weeks, you and Remus spent more time together, but alone this time. You'd be seeking out quiet spots around the castle to talk and share random thoughts. Remus would bring you books he thought you might like, and you'd bring him chocolate and words.

Another afternoon, you were in the same spot as last time in front of the fire, but this time with Remus. He looked at you with a hint of nervousness in his eyes that you didn't really notice.

"I, um, I wanted to ask you something," he stammered, breaking the silence.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow playfully, "Go on."

He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands before finally looking up at you. "Would you, um, like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Just, you know, as friends."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling your heartbeat speed up. "I'd love to, Remus."

His face lit up with relief, and a shy grin spread across his lips. "Great. It's a date then."

You playfully nudged him, "Oh but it's a friendly outing, right?"

His blush returned, "Right, a friendly outing."

As the weekend approached, you found yourself looking forward to spending even more time with Remus. You had only hung out with him around the castle, but now you were hanging out alone alone. This somehow felt more intimate than watching the fireplace silently with him.

When day arrived, the two of you walked side by side around Hogsmeade, laughing and talking like you had been friends forever.

You shared a milkshake, (which you were overthinking about a little) talking about what you'd like to do after school's done. It felt like you'd come completely full circle.

You looked up at him softly, "This is nice, Remus."

He smiled shyly at your comment, "It is."

Your eyes were pierced onto his, trying to get him to look up at you. When he did, you smiled softly so it wasn't so serious.

He smiled back, but soon after that, you noticed something. His face was starting to come closer, and his eyes began to flutter shut.

Your heart dropped, and you turned away.

"We should get fries for this!" You fake smiled, but you could only concentrate on the clearly hurt look on Remus' face as he pulled away.

"Y-yeah, I'll go order those."

He gets up, his brows furrowed as he orders.

You wince to yourself at the table. You put your face in your hands, cringing at the whole interaction. It wasn't even that you didn't want to kiss him, you just seemed to malfunction for a moment.

As Remus returned with the fries, you tried to shake off the painful moment. You knew that you were the one who had backed away, and it wasn't fair to leave him hanging like that.

Remus kept smiling and talking like nothing happened, and it made your chest ache slightly.

"Remus, about earlier..." you started, trying to find the right words.

He looked at you, his smile still gentle, but wavering. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that," you replied, fumbling with your words. "It's just that I... I got scared, and I don't know why. I feel the connection. Don't think I wanna ignore it."

You noticed Remus was looking down at his hands.

"You don't have to lie to me, Y/N. It's okay, seriously."

"I'm not lying," you said earnestly, reaching out to touch his hand gently.

"I like you, a lot. There was literally no reason for me to turn away. If I didn't feel that way, I don't think I'd even be sitting here anymore."

Remus finally genuinely laughed, and you felt your body relax.

There was a small moment of silence. This time, it was comfortable.

You finally spoke up, "Maybe we could try that again. Minus the me turning away part." You gave him a soft, hopeful smile.

Remus' eyes sparkled subtly. "I'd be up for that."

You leaned in closer to Remus carefully. "How about we try again right now?" you suggested shyly.

Remus raised an eyebrow, a playful but bashful smile tugging at his lips. He leaned in slowly as he spoke back, "Are you sure?"

You chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through you as you nodded. "Yeah, I am," you replied, and finally closed the small distance between you and him.

Your lips met in a gentle, slightly hesitant kiss. It was sweet, and just intensely soft. Neither of you were experienced, but as far as you could tell, it was perfect.

When you finally pulled away, you were bot left with hot faces.

"So we've been fighting for nothing."

"Basically."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #marauders era #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin imagine #hp #hogwarts #ravenclaw

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 10 months

Note

Love your Bale Batman shop girl series! Was wondering how shop girl would feel if Catwoman or some other kick-ass woman came on the scene?

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Sure thing! I did go with a different kickass woman, since Catwoman does show up in the Nolan trilogy

Warnings: Light angst; fluff added for tasty goodness

You don’t really worry about the tabloids anymore. At least, not in the way that you used to. Michelle still sends you the odd article, but it’s usually accompanied by several 😂 emojis (the most notable is the one that suggested that you, Bruce, and Liz are in a throuple, and Grant is your collective beard). Whatever the press says about Bruce becomes white noise.

But…What the press says about Batman still tends to seep through.

You can’t help but notice the Gotham Gazette where it’s spread open on Rose’s desk. She’s turned away from it, reading through the approval form that you’ve brought over to her. You can’t help but reach out, turning the newspaper toward yourself and eyeing the grainy image of Batman. Your brow furrows as you draw the newspaper up to get a better look, scanning it more closely. He’s tied up in what look like vines, and nose-to-nose with a stunning, smiling, partially-masked woman.

“You haven’t seen that yet?” Rose asks, glancing up from the document. “It’s been all over the papers for weeks.”

“Has it?” You ask dazedly. You’ve managed to miss it. You haven’t been following mentions Batman as closely on social media since you started your new job—you just haven’t had time.

“Mhm.” Rose folds her arm on her desk and leans in, peering at the picture. “Apparently it’s a real love-hate-cat-and-mouse kinda thing. Hot, right?” She waggles her brows. “I’d love to see what’s under that suit.”

“Which?”

“Either.”

You force a smile at the sight of Rose’s salacious grin, but you can’t help glancing back down at the article and skimming it. You commit the name to memory and make a mental note to look her up on your phone when you get back to your desk—

Poison Ivy.

It’s probably not much of a surprise that Bruce hasn’t mentioned her to you. For the most part—apart from the odd knowing glance, the bruises on his body, and the night he spilled into the penthouse half-dead—he keeps that side of himself to himself. Alfred doesn’t discuss it with you, either, and perhaps that’s why he seems so surprised when you slam your laptop shut as he comes into the kitchen that Saturday morning, hiding your googled articles of Poison Ivy and Batman.

Alfred’s brows raise, and you offer him a nervous, guilty smile as your face goes hot. You know that you weren’t fast enough—you’d been so honed in on reading that you hadn’t heard him until he was passing right behind you.

“...Is he awake yet?” You ask lightly, desperate to break the awkward silence.

“Only just.”

“‘Kay.”

“It seems you and Master Wayne are researching similar topics these days,” He comments, swanning around the kitchen counter and setting down the empty breakfast tray.

“Oh?”

“Mm. She's proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.”

You consider for a moment. You could let the conversation go, of course. You’re certain Alfred wouldn’t press it. But:

“Has he got any leads?”

“A few,” Alfred nods, bracing his hands on the counter, “Though I would recommend asking him about his ideas and methodology.”

You bristle before you sigh and slouch dejectedly, resting your chin on your hand.

“He doesn’t talk about that stuff with me, Alfred.”

“He doesn’t like for you to worry.”

“I worry whether he tells me or not. Not knowing just makes me worry more.”

“Then perhaps that’s something you ought to tell him.”

You glance up at him warily, and some of your nerves ease as he gives you a warm smile.

“Now,” He straightens, clapping his hands together and looking around the kitchen. “Despite the hour, Master Wayne is tucking into his breakfast. Shall I get something together for your lunch?”

You consider for a moment, eyes darting down the hall before you stand, shaking your head.

“Let’s put a pin in that. I think I’m just gonna…Go steal some of Bruce’s toast.”

Alfred smiles knowingly, giving you a wink before you turn fully from him and head down the hall.

The blackout curtains have been raised just enough to let a little bit of light into the room, but it’s still quite dim. You can see the empty smoothie glass on the bedside table, and the plate of toast that Bruce has put on the wide headboard behind him. Bruce looks preciously rumpled, scrubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. You can see a few light bruises on his bare chest and arms, but nothing too egregious. His eyes are still narrowed with sleep as he lowers his hands, and his hair looks as ruffled as a baby bird’s. He perks up as you come in, a sleepy smile pulling at his lips as you come closer.

“Hey, baby,” He murmurs, opening his arms as you climb into bed beside him.

“Sleep okay?” You ask, cuddling into his side.

“Fine. I thought you were seeing Michelle for brunch.”

“Got moved to drinks this evening. She had a work thing come up.”

Bruce hums in understanding, tucking you close and pressing a kiss to your head. You bite your lip, grappling with how to bring up the conversation.

“Late night?” You finally ask lightly. You're relieved when you don’t feel Bruce tense, or reel away. He just rubs his hand gently over your arm.

“Mhm.”

“Later than usual?”

“...About on par.”

“Mm.” You eye the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few moments before you hedge: “Hope you don't mind my asking–”

“It’s fine—”

“—You’ve just seemed a little tied up lately.” You give Bruce a sly, teasing smile, and it widens to a grin when you see him fighting back his own smile.

“Is that why you came in here?” He asks dryly.

“Of course not. I saw Alfred bringing you toast.” You straighten up, reaching over his shoulder, taking up a piece, and biting into it. Bruce chuckles, and you grin as he leans into you, nuzzling against your neck. You hum as you chew, your skin prickling at the feeling of his thickening stubble.

“How’s it going, anyway?” You ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You have any leads?”

Your stomach drops when you feel him go tense. He sighs softly, leaning away to get a better look at you. You reach back, setting the toast down and dusting crumbs from your fingers before you fold your hands in your lap, waiting patiently. After a few moments, you can’t help but wring your hands subtly as Bruce observes you, and then lowers his gaze to the sheets.

“I’m not sure I want to discuss that with you,” He finally admits. You swallow thickly, fighting to keep from shifting and fidgeting with nerves.

“Can I ask why not?”

Bruce pushes a sigh out through his nose, giving a small shake of his head.

“I can’t keep it out, huh,” He mutters.

“Well…You did for a while. Didn’t go so well,” You remind him lightly. Bruce nods, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck as he mutters, “I know.”

You tentatively reach out, resting your hand atop his. He turns his hand over, taking a gentle hold of yours.

“I’m not asking you to make me a suit and teach me to fight, Bruce. I just want you to let me in.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he reaches up, cupping your cheek and sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone.

“I think…That her name is Pamela Isley. She’s a botanist.”

“Why is she doing…what she’s doing?”

“That’s what I still need to find out.”

You nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you.”

He hums, grasping your jaw and drawing you in for another long, warm kiss.

“That’s never happening,” He adds as the kiss breaks. You frown, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“Making you a suit, teaching you to fight.”

You pout, cocking your head to the side.

“I ought to know how to at least throw a punch, right?”

“We’ll see about that. It’s a slippery slope,” Bruce chuckles, patting your cheek before nodding over his shoulder. “Eat your toast.”

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half #asks #replies #anon

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juceynightmare · 11 months

Text

dating 101 (18+) part 27 - cody rhodes x reader

my masterlist

dating 101 (18+) masterlist

pairing(s): cody rhodes x fem!reader, roman reigns x fem!reader, austin theory x fem!reader

warning(s): swearing, jealous!cody

genre(s): college!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

|| previous part || next part ||

she woke up with a groan. the sound of her alarm blaring from her phone becoming increasingly annoying with every millisecond that passed. she reached for her phone beside her head, opening her eyes to stop the alarm as she sat up in her bed. austin stirred from the bed on the floor, and she watched as he turned on to lay on his back before he continued to snore softly.

she pushed her blanket off of her, getting out of bed and carefully stepping over austin so she could make it over to her desk. y/n pulled out her toiletry bag, her keys, and made her way to her door. y/n pulled her door open slightly - just enough for her to slip out of the room without too much light seeping in.

with her head pounding, she made her way to the bathroom to find that cody was already in there.

“morning, cody.” she mumbled, taking up the space at the sink besides where cody was already standing.

cody looked over the girl, his gaze transfixed to where the girl’s crop top ended and left her midsection on display. his initials were beginning to scar over, and cody wanted nothing more than to reach out and trace his fingers over them. he felt pride in the fact that the girl didn’t hide the fact that he had branded her, especially knowing that the mystery man was most likely still in that room. “morning, y/n.” he greeted after he spit out his toothpaste, turning on the tap and washing off his toothbrush.

they stood in silence for a moment as cody washed out his mouth with his mouthwash and y/n began to brush her teeth. y/n stared at herself in the mirror as she thought back to the events of the night before.

it was a much needed reunion for her and austin. their night was full of giggles, bad singing and rapping, and them doordashing mcdonalds and eating to their hearts’ content before calling it a night. and although austin had told her to cool it on the deep talks, of course y/n still brought it up. and she could now happily say that she’s made up her mind and her heart.

“so, i uh happened to overhear your friend before he went in.” cody began, clearing his throat as he put away his stuff into his own bag. he caught y/n’s gaze in the mirror, noting that the girl had seemed lost in thought before he caught her attention again. “you were crying?” he asked as he walked over to her, already reaching into her bag for a hair tie.

cody felt a little awkward as he began to tie her hair up. although the girl had requested that he didn’t change the way he had treated her from before they started sleeping together, cody couldn’t help but overthink about what would be overstepping. it took everything in him to not wrap his arms around her waist and pull her back against him after he finished tying her hair, but cody forced himself to take a step back.

“uh, yeah.” y/n replied after spitting out her toothpaste and washing her toothbrush. “very stressful day yesterday. so i called austin and he drove up and we drank.” she continued, catching cody’s gaze. she watched as he reached for her mouthwash, pouring some into the cap before holding it out for her to take.

“you drank?” cody asked, and suddenly he could feel chills run down his spine. “with austin?” he continued.

cody figures this is what it felt like to be insecure. he remembers austin as being the man in the group chat who had told y/n that he would bend her over and put the plan b to use. he also remembers as austin being that man that y/n said had been trying to get in her pants since forever. clearly y/n and austin were close, with y/n being so upset that she needed a friend to be there with her and austin being the first to come to her mind because she didn’t want to reach out to him and ted.

he could feel the way his heart seemed to physically drop in his chest, and cody became hyperaware of how slow his heart began to beat. he hadn’t noticed that he was frowning, or that y/n had turned to face him until he felt her hands against his cheeks.

“jealousy is a good look on you, codes.” y/n mused softly in a teasing manner, exactly how she had once told him so long ago. she pressed her thumbs pressing against the corners of cody’s mouth as she pushed them upwards.

cody’s hands immediately found their place on her hips and he relaxed against her touch. that was one way to ease a man’s nerves, he thought to himself with a smile.

“just a little jealous.” cody admitted, watching as y/n chuckled and turned back around in his grasp to face the mirror again. she reached for her skincare as cody let his hands fall from her hips, stepping off to the side and leaning against the counter.

“to answer your questions: yes i drank and yes, specifically with austin. i needed a little pick me up and honestly, being reunited with him was something i didn’t know i needed so badly.” she sighed, a small smile on her face as she began her skincare routine.

cody hummed in acknowledgement. although her actions had made him feel a little better, cody could still feel as though he was about to break down and cry yet again. he wanted to be there for y/n in the way austin was, but cody understood why she couldn’t come to him or ted.

as he watched her go through her skincare routine, cody could only imagine what else happened in that room. he knew how y/n was when she was drunk - but the fact that she wasn’t throwing up the contents of her stomach right now were enough to reassure cody that she didn’t get completely shitfaced. cody also only knew the surface of y/n and austin’s relationship, he had no idea if she was as touchy with him as she was with him and ted.

that fact was enough for cody to want to leave just a few more marks of his name etched into her skin - for good measure, of course. then, another thought hit him. "did you two sleep in the same bed?" he asked.

jealousy made cody feel ugly. he hated the way he felt at the thought of y/n in bed with another man, and even now when he thinks about how she'd nap with ted, cody could feel himself getting angry. before cody could continue to wallow in his anger and sadness, y/n spoke up, "no. he brought an air mattress."

cody visibly relaxed and he let out a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding in.

in the next moment, austin walked into the bathroom, slightly stumbling on his own two feet. “morning.” he hummed in greeting, walking over and wrapping his arm around y/n’s waist as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head - careful of her skin.

cody tore his gaze away from them, swallowing back the envy that had balled up in his throat.

“morning austin.” she greeted with a smile, catching austin’s gaze in the reflection. “oh, this is cody by the way.” she introduced cody to austin. “cody, this is austin. my step-brother.”

it was then that cody’s gaze snapped back to where her and austin stood. y/n knew it was unnecessary to introduce austin as her step-brother, after all, their parents had yet to tie the knot. but when she saw the confidence and hope reignite in cody’s gaze, she knew that it was the right choice.

“disgusting.” austin groaned, unwrapping his arm from around her waist. “they’re not married yet, baby. please don’t remind me that we’re going to be related.” he huffed, walking past her. as he passed by cody, he gave the man a fistbump in greeting before walking into a stall.

“but didn’t you say that he’s been trying to get at -“ cody began, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“we missed the timing.” y/n answered quickly, her cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “our parents got together in middle school when we used to actually have crushes on each other. it sorta just faded into this dynamic where austin suggests we fuck like those step-siblings in porn.” she laughed.

the sound of the toilet flushing was followed by austin emerging from the stall. “all i’m saying is, if there’s a washing machine - you better hope you get there before me, cody.” he joked with a laugh as he walked up to a sink and began to wash his hands. however, even cody could tell that there was some truth under his words.

cody’s gaze flickered between the two of them as y/n went back to finishing her skincare routine. he suddenly felt a semi-wet hand tap his shoulder and cody turned his head to give austin his full attention. his eyes widened in shock as austin whispered in his ear, his gaze still fixed on the man even as he laughed and left the restroom to retreat back to y/n’s.

“what’d he say?” y/n asked after austin left the room, clearly having watched the exchange between the two men in the mirror.

cody could only turn back to face y/n with a wide smile, taking a step towards her and wrapping his arm around her waist. he rubbed his thumb over his initials on carved into her hip, hearing the way her breath hitched in her throat and she quickly met his gaze in the reflection.

“don’t worry your silly little head, sweetheart.” he mused, watching the way her blush on her cheeks had deepened.

she turned her head so she could look up at him instead, a wide smile on her face. she reached up to cup his face in her hand, feeling him press against her hand gently. she figures whatever austin told cody was enough for him to stop acting so cautious around her. she was thankful for that, after all, she was beginning to miss cody’s touch and the way he’d look at her with hopeful eyes instead if the sad ones that had adorned his face since the previous day.

“yeah?” she whispered, figuring that she didn’t need to say much else.

“yeah.” cody affirmed with a hum, feeling her thumb run across her cheekbone before she pulled her hand away from his face.

the original plan was to finally get her to realize that i’m the best guy there is for her. but with the way she talked about you last night and has been talking about you since she’s met you, i already know her heart’s made a decision. don’t make me regret giving her up to you.

|| next part ||

taglist: @iluvthebloodline , @marissaboo-2015 , @vebner37 , @jeyusos-girl , @madqueenpartna, @alyyaanna @banksreigns @crossrhodez @goldenfoxe @bonehead-playz, @vyxio, @codyswhitebelt, @legit9thlunaticwarrior, @queencherryberry, @totired4this

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