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thetorturerwrites · 2 years ago

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Entrapped

Summary: "You cannot trap this man. You come with more baggage than a Coach outlet store." You paused, exasperated as was often the case with Lottie. "You can’t keep doing this to people. To us."

"I’m sure I don’t know what you mean." She shooed you away with an airy wave of her too-thin hand. "Now, go. Flip will be here any minute."

“Colorado it is, I guess…” you muttered as Lottie shut the door in your face. “Fucking hell…”

C/N: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT; rape/non-con; extremely dubious consent; age difference; Flip is a bad bad man; seriously: beware

A/N: You should not read this, but if you do, remember where you are and what we do here.

December 26

"Mom, you can’t do this."

The hotel dinette was dim, lit only by the handful of candles Lottie strategically placed atop the counters and the micro-sized table. There were two place settings, two tapered candles, two Dollar-store napkins folded into perfect hearts. Two, two, two because that was the goal. Lottie did not invite you to tonight’s festivities, and you watched with sad eyes as she flitted about, fussing with making this dingy hotel room 'romantic.'

There wasn't much in the way of belongings to show that people stayed here. Between the two of you, your things consisted only of three suitcases, your backpack, and a laptop case housing your six-year-old machine with a fan so loud it sounded like snoring. It was almost comical, but Lottie ridiculously ensured she made the bed and closed the bathroom door to hide away the evidence of, you know, existing as a human. She also ensured there was nothing to be seen of you or your shared past.

Lottie was 15 when you were born, a baby with a baby. She didn't like to be called mom because, with you 20, she was barely 35. 'That makes us more like sisters, anyway,' she often said. Having a child so young meant she never learned how to make adult decisions, and you both had been running from the consequences of her childish decisions for years now.

"Lottie!"

She’d ignored you the first time because you called her mom. Playing her game, you raised your voice and smacked the table until she looked at you, exasperation and anxiety at war in her eyes.

"You cannot trap this man. You come with more baggage than a Coach outlet store." You paused, exasperated as was often the case with Lottie. "You can’t keep doing this to people. To us."

To me.

She sniffed, pretending to be offended. Pausing in front of the black glass oven door, she touched up her lipstick before straightening her back, arrogant and far too assured of her plan.

"I’m sure I don’t know what you mean." She shooed you away with an airy wave of her too-thin hand. "Now, go. Flip will be here any minute."

Flip Zimmerman. Ten years Lottie's senior, extraordinarily handsome, and, God knows how, enamored with the creature your mother pretended to be.

At the door, you stopped again, turning to implore her with a last look that she not do what she was planning, but she only gave you her brightest fake smile. A heavy sigh weighed your shoulders down because there was no talking her out of it.

“Colorado it is, I guess…” you muttered as Lottie shut the door in your face. “Fucking hell…”

December 28

He said yes.

There was no earthly reason for him to say yes. You and your mom had no money, no future. Nothing but a black-and-blue history and a chemo-trail of heartbreak stretching back as far as you could remember.

But he did, and you believed the only reason he did is because Lottie lied about everything. She lied about the number of husbands she’d had. Lied about why - and HOW - you ended up here in Colorado. Lied about her health. About fucking all of it. And no matter how much you wanted your mom to be alright, you simply couldn’t let the man fucking marry her under false pretenses, which is why you stood outside the building fidgeting, fighting yourself over whether you should go in and talk to him.

Honesty won out over fidelity, and you trudged inside. At the counter, you felt the first prick of tears because this was the sort of betrayal for which Lottie may never forgive you.

"Detective Zimmerman, please."

Your voice was deflated, hollow to match your spirit. You were about to sign away any chance your mother had to make a fresh start here in Colorado. You sunk down onto the rickety bench to wait, picking at your cuticles anxiously and kicking at the linoleum with your scruffy combat boots. Each moment you waited felt interminably long, and you grew more and more nauseated with each tick of the too-loud clock. Your brain screamed that you should run, leave here and let everything happen the way Lottie wanted, but your limbs were leaden. All but soldered to the damn floor.

“Hey, kid.”

So lost in your thoughts, his smooth voice made you jump. You swiveled your head to meet his gaze and hugged yourself, feeling smaller already. You expected this to end badly, but just how badly you didn't know yet.

Flip stood to one side, holding open the small gate that pretended to keep people out here from going in there. He cocked his head slightly, showing that you should follow him through. You stood on wobbly legs and expelled a dubious breath. There was no turning back now. He led you through the maze of desks and into one of the interrogation rooms, pausing at the threshold to unplug the video camera affixed to the ceiling corner.

“For privacy,” he offered with an amiable smile before sliding onto the corner of the steel desk. “What’s up?”

A thousand words jumbled around inside your head. You struggled to pick one way to start even though you knew you stood there staring at the man your mother tricked into an engagement as though you were the perpetrator instead of she.

Was it hot in here? Your hands retreated into the over-sized sleeves of your hoodie as though hiding as much of yourself as possible would smooth things over.

“Youcantmarrymymomsheliedtoyouimsosorry…”

It all came out in one breath, words smashed together nonsensically. Wincing, you closed your eyes and leaned away from Flip, your body physically ready for him to explode. You knew from experience that angry men did bad things. You expected shouting, cursing, maybe some shoot the messenger. You weren’t expecting him to chuckle.

He fucking chuckled.

Round-eyed, you gasped as he stood, gaze trailing up, up, up. Flip Zimmerman wasn’t small. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome in a way that made your insides tumble. If you were honest with yourself, jealousy colored some of your reluctance at letting Lottie trap him, though you'd die before admitting it. He was spectacular and beautiful, and he smoldered in that perfect way that would make a rational person forget their morals. He was whip smart, saw too much, and seemed to understand everything without hardly any effort at all.

And on top of all of it, he was a fucking cop. The same goddamn sort you’d spent years avoiding. And now, Lottie wanted to hitch her wagon - and yours - to one? No, thank you.

He wasn’t just dangerously good looking. He was dangerous, period.

"I know," he said.

When he inched closer, you thought he would reach out to touch your shoulder, to offer some sort of comfort. Instead, he kept moving forward at you, crowding you backwards until you bumped into the wall.

"What?!" Shock crept over your face, furrowing your brow in confusion. You blinked rapidly to make your brain work better.

“Let's see if you're as stupid as she is, hm?"

The moment his voice dropped into deadly, your stomach followed it off the cliff and fell to your ankles. You didn’t realize you shook your head nonono until his gigantic hand snatched your chin to a halt.

“I don't understand,” you whispered, tongue thick and lips dry. “I knew she was planning to ask you, and I tried to stop her. I wanted you to kn–”

The hand gripping your chin slid up over your mouth, forcing your head against the concrete with a thump. Suddenly, you weren’t baring your soul to a caring individual. No, the reality was an angry bear trapped you, and there was no escape. His knee slid between yours, pinning you in place and sending your heart rate skyrocketing.

"If I already know about Lottie, and I agreed to marry her anyway, it suggests that I want something. Doesn't it?"

You whimpered against his hand because none of this was right. Lottie thought she'd tricked him into being her salvation, but the truth was Flip understood the game all along. Twisting in his grip, you struggled to swing your head out from under his hand. You wanted to say you’d leave. You’d drag Lottie out of this town by the hair if it came to it.

"S'this how you always dress?"

Flip tilted his head to further take in your attire. You wished you'd worn anything in your suitcase other than this. Well-worn black combat boots, bare legs, black denim shorts, and a threadbare navy blue hoodie with peeling white letters made you feel too young, too much like a delinquent looking for a handout. His thick index finger trailed up the outside of your thigh, from knee to shorts hem, and he smirked as the muscles in your leg tensed.

“I’ll marry Lottie. I’ll take care of her, make sure she gets all the treatment she needs. I’ll even handle that pesky mafia ex-husband. I’ll handle all of it. Isn’t that what you want?”

Using his hand on your mouth as a control, he forced you to nod. Your eyes watered over, making him blurry. Your guts twisted, sending acid shrapnel into your throat and making you heave beneath Flip's sweaty palm. You knew what he was going to say. It was obvious by the way he pinned you to the wall with his hips, trapping you with his broad body.

“You know what I want, don't you?”

He paused for dramatic effect, and you hated him for it. He dangled everything you wanted in front of you like a goddamn golden carrot, and you felt like the biggest fool in all of Colorado for believing he was a good man about to be duped. Your face must have telegraphed it because he brushed his thumb across your cheekbone.

"Hm. Not as dumb as you look."

He ate up the last bit of space between your face and his until you felt his coffee breath on the bridge of your nose.

"Anywhere, anytime, every time I want."

He punctuated the words by squeezing your mouth so hard a sharp cry erupted only to be properly muzzled by his oppressive mitt. Dread morphed into outright terror. No part of you believed Flip felt anything toward you besides lust and greed. You doubted he even liked you. Fuck, you’d settle for some sort of obsession, but this wasn't so simple as obsession. Flip wanted to own you. It was sadistic dominance through and through. Whore yourself out for him and maybe Lottie would live a little longer.

What choice did you have?

January 1

Flip married Lottie at the sparse courthouse downtown at three o'clock on New Year's Day. While the Justice of the Peace said a few words about how lucky they were to find love so swiftly, he placed a plain gold band on Lottie’s finger. Then, paperwork. You acted as the goddamn witness, signing right there next to his and hers in recognition of both this sham marriage and your own very real entrapment. All while you felt his glittering hazel eyes on you.

Saying yes to him wasn't a choice. It was a foregone conclusion, and he'd known it from the minute you walked into the station house. He held all the cards from the first day. Resentment had roiled in your belly as you pieced it together in that grungy interrogation room, but you agreed. He was unlikely to be kind to you. Men with power liked to wield it, and he had all the power here. Every time he spoke to you, it flexed like a muscle.

After the ‘wedding,’ Flip treated you and Lottie to dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, followed by ice cream and a walk through downtown. He even held her hand, pausing from time to time to brush his knuckles along her jawline. He played the part of a considerate, doting partner so well it made you angry - angry because Lottie had just won the fucking lottery.

At your expense.

Lottie's plan worked, though not the way she intended, and all she had to do now was live out her golden years on the porch while this handsome, compassionate husband doted on her but harassed you in the same house. Wallowing in your misery in the middle of dinner, you chewed on the ugly fat that, regardless of what you knew about Flip, she would do exactly that. You snorted aloud, drawing their attention - fucking hell, your parents. Flip’s mouth pursed into displeasure. His thick brow cocked over a decidedly displeased gaze.

“Shit. Sorry.” You frowned, more at the situation than yourself.

"Y’ok, Puddin'?"

Of course, she used that goddamn name. In front of him. In public. The nickname you hated since you were a kid and asked her a million times to stop using. Lottie was svelte, though less so these days, but you were soft. It was something she never made peace with - that you were her child and looked nothing like her, that your body type wasn't one she could be proud of. Biting back an argument you'd never win, you told yourself it was not that she was a terrible parent; rather, she simply wasn’t a particularly good one.

You had no ready answer, though.

I’m ok, but I’m scared that your new husband is going to fuck me into pieces. Yeah, Lottie, I’m peachy-keen; I’m a little anxious because I don’t know when my hooking contract begins. Is it tonight? Tomorrow? Maybe you could get your fella to give me the details on that, m’kay?

Instead, you swallowed down bile and chased it with ice water.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Sorry.”

Following the lovers’ stroll, Flip drove you and Lottie back to the hotel to collect your things, even pitching in to carry the suitcases back to his Bronco as though he were the knight in shining armor and not the goddamn villain.

At his place, Flip pointed you to your room at the end of the hall, next door to a puny, pea green bathroom. Hoping to be inconspicuous, you checked the doorknob for a lock, but you had less than no luck because though there was a lock, Flip caught you testing it and shook his head imperceptibly. A warning. Chattering obliviously, Lottie confirmed they would share the master bedroom on the second floor. Eyes trailing to the stairs, you realized you never asked Lottie if she’d slept with Flip, and now, you never wanted to know.

Ever.

Mashing your lips together, you stood stone silent in the hallway. Maybe if they kept talking, this nightmare wouldn’t truly begin. But your body, tight from nerves, was exhausted, and you yawned loud enough to crack your jaw. For the second time tonight, all eyes were on you. It was an incredibly uncomfortable place to be. Tutting about how sleepy you must be after such a big day, Lottie rushed over and folded you into a weak embrace. She never was one for hugs, but this was part of the package she had to keep selling.

"Everything is fine." She murmured it as quietly as she could before turning and letting Flip lead her towards the stairs. She was three up before you realized Flip wasn’t following her.

“Go on up,” he said with a warmth you wouldn’t assume him capable. “I’ll be right there. Gotta show the kid where the car's parked.”

Too soon, she was gone, and he was right there, heating the cooler air with nothing more than his proximity. The further he leaned in, the further you leaned away until your back pressed against the wall, too similar to your last meeting for comfort. Front to front, there wasn't enough room in this microscopic hallway for you to not touch him. Panic took over, and your eyes scanned the same two feet of ceiling and floor again and again, looking for an escape.

“The car is in the garage next to mine. Be at the station at noon tomorrow.”

He pushed keys into your hand, but you weren’t paying attention - not even a bit. The stress of the last few days, the agitation from the way his broad shoulders kept you penned, crept into your bones, making room for a fatigue unlike any you’d known. And you'd known your fair share of dead ass tired. Your glassy eyes drifted, missing the way his hand shot out lightning fast. Cutting through your delirium, thick fingers tightened around your neck. Adrenaline surged as he lifted you onto the tips of your toes. The keys clattered to the ground when you wrapped both hands around his wrist in an absurd effort to stop him from choking you out.

“You are fucking stupid, aren't you?” It wasn't only his tone that changed. Now, he talked to you like you were a simpleton, which you might truly be. “Tomorrow, you’ll drive the car to the station for lunch, yes? Lunch is at noon. That’s what time human beings eat lunch. Yes? You will be there at noon. Say it.”

His fingers eased slightly, allowing you an unsteady breath before wheezing out the words he wanted.

“Lunch. Noon.”

Finally, sweet Jesus, finally, he let you go. You fell back into the room, hitting your ass on the floor and rubbing at your affronted neck. He kicked the car keys at you before pulling the door closed. Dazed and drained, you sat right there, right where you fell, until you heard his footsteps retreat. He stomp, stomp, stomped upstairs in his loud boots and closed the door to the master bedroom.

God, if you had to hear them fucking, you didn’t know what you’d do. Throw yourself off a bridge tomorrow, perhaps.

January 2

The last time you looked at the clock, it was 3:47 a.m.

Despite your weariness, nerves kept you awake far into the night. The effects of Flip’s manhandling didn’t wear off until close to midnight, and after that, you sat vigil, staring at the door and expecting him to burst through it. You listened for movement upstairs, footsteps in the hall. You watched the doorknob in your room, the one you locked even though he might murder you for it, until you couldn’t see it clearly anymore. As long as he didn't test the knob, you told yourself it would be fine. He'd be gone to work before they could reasonably expect you to face the day, but rationalizing it and believing it were two very different things.

No, it wasn’t so much that you fell asleep; your body simply shut down on its own. You didn’t decide to rest. Your brain said watch; your body said sleep. You didn’t even dream.

You woke to the crashing sound of a kicked in door. You shouted and tried to leap from the bed, but your assailant was too quick, too nimble for such a goddamn giant. Flip grabbed you by the neck and threw you onto the bed. His giant hands dug bruises into your arm and leg as he flipped you onto your stomach. A knee in the center of your back kept you in place as he ripped your flimsy tank top and panties away as though they were tissue paper. You flailed, trying to find some kind of balance to get your head out of the cotton blanket so you could breathe.

When you finally managed a gulp of air, it was only because he switched from pinning you down to crowding behind you. He caged your legs in place with his jean-clad knees on either side of your thighs. Shoving a pillow beneath your pelvis, he planted his palm between your shoulder blades to hold you in place again. You didn’t scream until you heard the buckle of his belt come loose.

"Flip! No, no! I'm sorry! Lottie! Help!"

Within 30 seconds, two things happened that would change your life forever. The first was that the meaty paw on your back moved upwards, palm curving along your scalp, fingers threading into the hair. He used that new leverage to press your face further down into the mattress, cutting off both your screams and your air supply. The second was that Flip’s cock, hard and unforgiving, forced its way into your body, gouging and stabbing at you with no regard for your readiness.

You howled as the tender flesh gave way to his violence. No part of your body was a match to his sheer size. Hysteria took over. You yelled yourself hoarse. Spasms rocked your lungs. You couldn't tell the difference between a lurching cough and a breath anymore until your body nearly inhaled the fabric you lay upon.

“Tried to be nice to you.” He grunted, shoving more of his iron dick into your tightness, having to work to make room for himself there. “Was gonna ease you into it a little at a time.” Your screams and sobs seemed to excite him further because his hum broke through your fugue and launched you into thrashing again. “But you’re too fucking stupid to do things the right way; so, here we are.”

At last, his pelvis pushed flush against your ass. His fingers dug into your hip so roughly you could feel his nails gouging dirty trenches. They, and the already blooming bruises, would be the first of many marks you’d wear for Flip, no doubt. You gave up flailing backwards at him and clawed at the bed as though you could get away through it, a wounded and frightened animal under the thumb of a malicious predator.

Your only saving grace was oxygen deprivation. You started to not notice how he withdrew nearly completely only to slam his way back home, through a wetness that was certainly blood. You started to not notice the way he slapped your jiggling ass hard enough to raise a print in seconds. You were gone to the encroaching blackness, light-headed enough to think that maybe you actually were the stupidest person on the planet. More so than even Lottie.

Unconsciousness wasn’t a respite he allowed you for long, however. You snapped back into yourself, still caught beneath the monster, still stuffed to the very brim by his missile cock, still practically scalped by the ruthless grip he had of your hair. He controlled whether you got to breathe by which way he turned that handle. The only difference was that he now hovered over you. His free palm lay above your head, bracing himself on the mattress - the mattress that shook from the force of his thrusts as he fucked into you relentlessly.

“Rules.”

His hips rammed forward, punching what scant oxygen you got right back out of your chest. When you tried to look up at him, to plead for your life or some other such nonsense, your eyes crossed, making you dizzy. You squeezed them shut tight, matching the way you pressed your lips together to keep from screaming some more.

"When I say come, you come. And you are never late. Say you understand."

His words were smooth - like he wasn’t currently sawing your cunt in two. Your throat felt as though you’d swallowed the whole Sahara desert, but you forced it to work, raspy and broken.

"I un-der-stand."

He hummed again, and for a good, long moment, his pace kicked up into a frenzy. Your pussy had finally caught up to his invasion, lengthening fully to allow him all the way in, and he took full advantage. You bounced off the bed only to be plowed back down into it.

"Never lock this door again."

Sweat dampened your skin from crown to toes, the muscles overworked and the chemicals overtaxed from horror and assault. You could hear your blood rushing through your veins, your brain pounding in time to your pulse. Could a person go into shock slowly? Your fingertips and toes tingled, and your jaws ached from how valiantly you tried to keep your shit together.

"Flip," you croaked, unable to stop yourself from crying again. "Please." It was idiotic to tell him he was hurting you. Hurting you was the point, but survival instincts are strong, and your mouth carried right on blabbering. "Too much. Please stop."

You didn’t think it was possible for his cock to get larger or more adept at plundering your wounded pussy for everything it had, but somehow, it was. He growled at your begging, licking up a bead of sweat from your temple. Pedal to the floor, his piston hips never slowed. His cock never wavered.

“This is your life now.” His malevolent words tickled the shell of your ear. “If you don't want to be raped every day, I suggest you learn the rules. Am I understood, Puddin'?" He drew the last word out, and you knew Lottie told him you hated it.

You crumbled. There was nothing for it. He put words to what this was, and it crushed you. Assault. Rape. Punishment.

You’d either behave for him, give him what he wanted, or this would be the consequence. This and the fact he’d leave Lottie to her own devices. Ignoring your latest round of sobs and hiccups, Flip released his hold of your hair to slither that arm beneath you. Rigid fingers wrapped around your throat, constricting your air in a much more intimate fashion. He tilted your head to the left, baring the column of your throat for him to lick a fat stripe up, enjoying the way it trembled as you broke down.

“That’s it.” He huffed in your ear, hips losing their rhythm and becoming erratic. “Keep crying for me."

A car door slammed out in front of the house, and you froze. Both your salvation and your humiliation lie right on the other side of the front door. Your fingers curled into fists, and you unconsciously wiggled beneath your tormentor. Flip wasn't phased in the least. The only sign he gave that he cared Lottie was right out there was that he switched from ramming himself into you roughshod to pushing in as far as he could and rocking against your ass. Deep, deep inside you, the head of his cock brushed against your bruised cervix, eliciting an unwelcome shiver. Keys jangled in the lock, and you were certain Lottie would walk in on her brand-new husband sunk to the hilt inside of his brand-new step-daughter.

At the last conceivable second, Flip mashed his mouth against your bare shoulder, teeth finding purchase in the skin, and groaned with satisfaction as his weaponized cock emptied into your battered cunt.

By the time Lottie’s voice floated through the house - Helloooo? Anybody home? - Flip was off you, clothes righted. He darted out of your room, pulling the door shut behind him with a near silent click. You listened as he called out that he was in the living room before you pulled the pillow he’d nearly suffocated you with over your head to muffle their conversation.

You curled into a ball, willing sleep to come take you again. You deserved it after all that, didn’t you? Your fingers searched for the clock, setting an alarm so that maybe tomorrow would be better than today.

Before you passed out, you spied a scrap of paper on the nightstand where you'd left Flip's keys last night. The words made you want to vomit, cementing the fact that you were well and truly up shit creek no matter what you did.

Took the car to do some shopping. Will be back by the time Flip's home. (Hopefully. Ha!) -Lottie

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #dead dove do not eat #entrapped #maybe not so friendly neighborhood torturer

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edgarrallannhoe · 4 months ago

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5.08.024

Ok, i’m noticing no one is looking at my tumblr lol, so i’ll keep writing whatever and turn this into my online diary ( i have a real one that is the most gorgeous diary you’ll see, i swear, if someone is interested in seeing it i’ll post it! ) so i can write the most unhinged shit on it.

Today i woke up humming “joyride” by Kesha, best summer song tbh, and now I’m listening to it on repeat since then ( i alternate between Joyride and Guess, i’m feeling cunty today ). I discovered that i like my face more with only blush and a little bit of nose contoure, and some dark pink lipstick. i think eye liner and mascara drags my face down in some way, idk, and also makes me look older.

i ghosted a guy i knew for 4 years circa. He always treated me kinda bad, but i really cared about him and i always made sure to be kind, gentle, understanding and loving towards him, i now wonder why i was like that but whatever. He is almost ten years older than me, and he used this weird technique to keep me around that consisted in him telling me how special, smart, unique and cool i was, we made fun of others together and we used to gossip and laugh all the time, i obviously had him on a pedestal, and he knew it, and made me believe we were on it together. Idk if i was ever even in love with him, i just really liked him, and i found him interesting.

When he met a girl, he used to make fun of her with me, telling me how dumb the girl was or how crazy she was - i have to admit, these girls were really crazy, but he was as messy as them tbh, so idk why he felt so much normal compared to them -, but then he would take them out to eat and restaurants, or bring them to some fancy hotel, or send a taxi to pick them up.

The fact is, in all these years it was me going to his house - very far away from mine, like 1hour using public transports-, i would always pick up food, i used to just offer him like lunches or dinner cause i knew his economic situation wasn’t the best. I always slept at his house, that was a fricking mess; i would never enter the kitchen, and the bathroom was the stereotype of men’s bathrooms: one shampoo 18 in 1 in the shower, a practically finished toothpaste without the cap and a toothbrush that probably wasn’t changed in forever. The toilet with the toilet seat broken and the flush button broken as well, so you had to fill up a bucket in the sink and then throw the water in the toilet. A true learning experience. And yes, i’m embarrassed that this was the man i liked, please, don’t make me feel worse than i already feel.

One day, he was back in Rome ( he left rome to go live first in Berlin, then Milan ), he was sleeping in a abandoned occupied building that was taken up by a political group; the atmosphere and way of living in these building are pretty brutal, they are not the most clean, you sleep on mats on the floors, during the winter is pretty cold and so on. While we were texting he tells me something like: “Mary- a girl we both know that flirts w him since a lot- asked me to meet!! I don’t know what to do, i’ll try to find some money for a good hotel so we can spend the night together, i can’t make her come here and sleep here..”

The next day, he texts me, I asked how the night with Mary went, he says they didn’t meet, i say something like “aw that’s a bum! i’m sorry” and then he is like “hey what about you coming here tonight - at the Strike- so we can stay together here and sleep together??”. I stopped answering. Why i don’t deserve a nice hotel room? why i don’t deserve a dinner at a restaurant? why i doN’t deserve all these things that other girls can have?

We didn’t speak for a while, then he came back to Rome another time. Me and him had sex like maybe more than ten times, i really didn’t like having sex with him a lot.. he is pretty egoistical, has a very small penis that doesn’t know how to use, sweats a lot and it’s just not good. Luckily he also finishes in like eight minutes, so i didn’t had to endure this whole things for too long. While these were my thoughts on him, he always told me that i was the best sex he ever had, and that many times he thought of me while having sex with other women. One day, when he came back to rome another time, i invited him sleeping at my house for one night cause he had nowhere to go; we share a passion in common that is horror movies, so i was pretty happy to spend the night with him cuddling and watching movies. We had dinner-paid by me obv lol- and then we went to bed and put on one of those trash horror movies that i love.

that night, i didn’t really wanted to have sex, i was a little melancholic, i wanted to cuddle, hug, hold hands and give some kisses. After like twenty minutes that i was with my head on his chest, and was caressing his hand, he started to put his hand under my shorts, then under my undies; i then said: “hey bb, sorry but tonight or rn in general i really don’t want to have sex, i would like to hug and watch the movie.” idk, maybe it wasn’t the right way to put it? idk but he went ballistic. He got up and started shouting: WHAT THE FUCK I CAME HERE FOR? so why am i here? are you kidding me? are you fucking kidding me???” i was speechless, but took courage and said:” I thought u we’re here because we are friends and we like spending time with each other” “Go fuck yourself Emma, what the fuck is this? You are fucking with me, i will not be here for this.” “ok, go away then, i don’t want you here”.

He started dressing up and packing up his things, then said ��you are mean, i don’t recognize you.” “go away, i don’t want you here, if you just want someone you can fuck whatever it will not be me, fuck you” “i don’t recognize you” “GO FUCKING AWAY BYEEEEE”. He went away. God had my side that night, cause as soon as he went away a crazy storm fell down on Rome; lightings, thunders. The amount of rain falling of that night was absolutely insane. The funny thing is that J had absolutely nowhere to go, cause he had to sleep at my house, and he didn’t live here anymore, so after thirty minutes he started blowing up my phone while i was staring smiling at my phone at the thought of him out there. Then the messages started: “sorry yadda yadda please let me came back yadda”, again, smiling at my phone. Then i turned off the notifications and kept watching the movie.

The story didn’t finish here, but i’m tired of talking about this douchebag rn. Kisses🤍✨

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halfseoulco · 2 years ago

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SUGA | Agust D World Tour in Los Angeles: An experience

Published Thursday, May 11th, 2023 — Sitting in my Uber on the way back home to the OC from LA earlier this morning, I could feel the tears well up in the corners of my eyes. I was thinking about Yoongi’s Road to D-DAY documentary, which I had recently watched just this past weekend. Having seen everything he had gone through in order to reach the point where he was able to confidently release D-DAY and go on this epic solo world tour without his six other band mates made last night’s events one-of-a-kind and absolutely unforgettable; and this attempt to put into words what took place is just that—an attempt—because as many words as I use on a daily basis, there are few ways to describe the kind of life-changing, soul-shaping experience that I had at the Kia Forum in Inglewood on May 10th, 2023.

I booked a room for two nights at a modest motel located about ten minutes away from the Forum. The day of the concert, I woke up just before 7:00 AM to log on for work. Because of the kind of job I have, even though I work from home and it is mostly flexible, I can’t really take time off during the first half of the month so I negotiated with my boss to let me start working early and take my lunch at the end of the day so that I could log off at 3:00 PM. I already knew that I wouldn’t be getting a very ideal spot in line—people had been camping overnight at the venue for the chance to get one of the first wristbands for VIP General Admission floor, even though the Forum had stated that they wouldn’t be handing them out until 9:00 AM the day of. I got there around 3:30 PM and ended up with #2798, part of the tail end of those lucky enough to get to witness Yoongi’s soundcheck. The venue staff tried their best to get us organized single file by numerical order and by 5:45 PM, I was heading down the stairs to the floor.

Although I’ve seen groups perform at the Forum before, I was honestly stunned by the sheer size of the stage, especially the length, which gave Yoongi plenty of space to move around while performing. Determined to not be caught behind too many tall people, I bypassed the center of the floor and tried to find a better spot on the right side of the stage. I still ended up behind tall people but by positioning myself in between them, I was able to see Yoongi, who was dressed casually for the experience. Staff didn’t warn us to put away our phones and everyone took photos and videos freely. He performed “해금 (Haegeum)”, “사람 Pt.2 (People Pt.2)″, and “SDL” before leaving the stage with a sultry “I’ll see you tonight”.

As people left to go to the bathroom or concessions, I made my way further around the edges of the crowd and found a spot against the gate going around the right side of the stage. Since this was my first time doing General Admission for a concert, I was a little wary because I had heard so many stories of how people were really rude and even violent because of their desire to be at the barricade—so I was both relieved and very grateful that everyone was really nice. We all sat or stood while we waited for the concert to start, since we had roughly two hours to kill, and no one tried to push their way up to the front or take other people’s spots. There was plenty of space to move freely without feeling packed in and staff went around passing out VIP lanyards to those who hadn’t gotten theirs yet. I ended up making conversation with two girls on either side of me who had also come to the show alone; and we bonded over being older ARMYs who enjoy a different kind of concert experience.

For those who have already attended earlier stops of the tour or who have their dates coming up, I don’t want to talk too much about the actual performances, but what I will say is that I went in and came out of the Forum a different person. The show felt incredibly intimate, even in such a big venue; his acoustic version of “Trivia 轉 : Seesaw” with him playing the guitar and his playing the piano for “Life Goes On” and “Snooze” really added an extra layer of closeness and comfortability between him and the audience; and he did his best to travel back and forth between the two sides of the stage so that he could look at as many people as possible. Oftentimes it felt like he was looking right at me, as if he could really, really see me and see how grateful and happy I was to be there. I hope he did—I hope he could feel how proud I am of him and how much I love him.

As fans of KPOP music, we all on some level feel a deep connection with our favorite artists; and because of the amount of communication that occurs between them and us, it’s easy to take these relationships and treasure them deeply. However, it’s not enough to say that Yoongi is my bias—that would be a really gross oversimplification. People who know me know that I wax poetic about him every chance I can get—because I have such profound respect and admiration for him as not only an artist but as a person. As a child, I didn’t have anyone, real or fictional, that I looked up to or thought of as a role model; and therefore no one who I really wanted to emulate in life. (This is probably because I was solely focused on school and extracurriculars and not very much on anything else but that’s beside the point.) It’s funny that life would take me to the age of twenty-three before I found someone who I would eventually start calling my hero—my biggest hero—and whom I would spend the following years trying my hardest to be like in order to live up to a legacy that sometimes seems too big for any one person to bear. Now, whenever I grow up, I want to grow up to be just like Min Yoongi—someone who started with nothing and suffered through things that no one should have to go through and became one of the biggest artists and influential figures in the world; someone who loves music and wants to make lasting, positive change; someone who defies conventions and stands up to hypocrisy, corruption, and injustice and uses their voice for others who have none. Most of all, I hope to be able to live up to the legacy of the Min family name, one that was already revered for its royal lineage but has since become golden because of everything that Yoongi is and does—and I hope to be even a fraction of the person that he is.

Even though I really hate close spaces and I prefer having a seat at concerts, I bought the VIP General Admission ticket because I would do a whole lot of crazy things that I don’t particularly enjoy for Yoongi; and it was also my birthday present to myself. I chose Day 1 of the LA stops because it happened the day after my 29th birthday and I couldn’t think of any better way to celebrate another year of life than to spend a night sharing the energy of the universe with the person who makes me want to be the best version of myself. Thank you for the most amazing experience of my life, Min Yoongi, and thank you for existing. You are the reason I’m still here and I will forever be in awe of who you are.

#GeniusLabThinks #BTS #BTS SUGA #Agust D #Min Yoongi #SUGA | Agust D World Tour #KPOP #Korean Music #Seeing Yoongi in this environment was a life-changing experience.

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trollprincess · 2 years ago

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Okay, NO. I cannot be expected to wait another four weeks to talk about Glass Onion. I CANNOT.

I’m angry about only one thing and that’s that it’s not still in the theater because my immediate goal after walking out was to walk right back in again and see it once again to catch all the stuff that went on that I missed. (Like Helen. Helen! I spent so much time at the end of the movie going, “Wow, she does such a great acting job being her sister!” Except it was *her* all along and … Jesus, seriously give that woman an Oscar nomination.)

I also thought SO MUCH about the whole “you see what he wanted you to see” part of the plot, because yes. YES. I wish more movies did this gaslighting outside of an abusive domestic situation, *and* acknowledged it as such.

I also hope that when Benoit said, “I’ve got a guy,” he meant Philip, and ten minutes later Philip was clearing stacks of books out of their bathroom grumbling about why they can’t go do this in his salon, *Blanc*, you always do this, I don’t know how we didn’t break up ages ago, now go check on dinner while I rummage through what supplies I’ve got on hand.

Okay, but that last sequence … look, I called it sexy for a reason. That shit was so *satisfying*. I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t help that Miles felt VERY Elon on multiple fronts, which made it even better. But Helen getting to destroy it ALL - not just physically by smashing and burning and doing everything some of us wish we could do to a billionaire’s home, but by doing it in such a way that his whole damn empire is about to *fall the fuck apart*.

I kept thinking about Marta in the first movie and Helen in this one, how they both go up against the rich and privileged, although they wouldn’t have done so if a murder didn’t spur them on. They’re both exceptionally brave. Marta’s bravery may be more understated in comparison (God knows she doesn’t blow the house up), but they’re both the real heroes in movie where the urge is to go, “Well, Benoit is the hero, of course.” Even he would go, “No, I do this all the time. But HER! She’s a marvel.” God, I could watch a hundred movies where Benoit Blanc does his detective work while a woman stands up to privileged bullshit and wins over and over. I hope we get so many more Benoit Blanc movies. He’s SO good, but the movies also give him the BEST characters to work with or against.

Ugh, I just want to rewatch ALL of Janelle Monae’s scenes from the start. She had a scarf around her head in that scene with the box at the beginning and of COURSE she did, she’s wearing a robe, she probably just got up, but of COURSE she did, because she’s *Helen*, and she’s got a different haircut. And what I love is that yes, she smashed that box with the hammer because she was good and pissed and good for her, but also she’s the sort of character where if she actually sat down and tried to figure it out, you *know* she could. She’s sharp, she’s a teacher, she’s quick on her feet. But goddamn it, that box NEEDED smashing, and I feel like I could watch two straight hours of Janelle Monae breaking stuff and that would be my porn.

But I love Benoit Blanc so goddamn much, too. I’m not a James Bond fan so I haven’t watch Daniel Craig’s run (that’s on the character, not him), but I’ve adored him in other stuff. Like, he’s so much fun in Logan Lucky, a movie that doesn’t nearly get enough play for being VERY good and for featuring Southern characters without making them the butt of the joke. Oh, but Benoit.

Also, kudos to writing in the pandemic as a plot point in a way that didn’t make me want to whack the screenwriter on the head with a newspaper. Like, Kate Hudson wearing that jeweled chain mask was both so in character and SO infuriating because *people actually did that shit*, a fact I will NEVER get over.

#glass onion #spoilers

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missnxthingg · 8 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.1K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing, crashing and some comforting 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - I'm so sorry for no updates the past week, everything was a mess in my life to the point that I didn't even comment the race in here. Anyway, here's a big ass chapter to make up to you!

series masterlist | main masterlist | main blog | taglist

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐌

One more loud banging on the bathroom door and Y/N could already feel her good mood slowly drifting away with every knock. She hasn’t been there for longer than ten minutes; yet Lando was behaving like she had been in there for a lifetime.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m almost finished!”, she shouted, getting back to her skincare routine.

“We’re going to be late!”, he responded from the outside. How dramatic. There was still an hour and a half until they were supposed to be at the grid. They already had their breakfast and Lando was always quick at the shower. But everything was a reason to start a fight between them.

So when she opened the door, Lando was fuming. Y/N pretended that everything was normal and went to get her outfit picked for today, ignoring the stare he had over her. “I can’t believe they didn’t book us two rooms”, he complained.

“Well, darling”, she called sarcastically. “We are supposed to be a couple. And couples don’t sleep in separate rooms”.

Lando ignored it and slammed the door behind him. And just like she expected, he took ten minutes to get ready. Meanwhile, she did a quick makeup and was now finishing a few steps while he dressed up. He wore the usual: McLaren bright orange shirt, black trousers, a cap from his merch collection and all the fancy accessories he loves wearing.

In contrast to his casual clothes for a race weekend, she picked a mini white dress, that definitely was a little more dressed up for the occasion. Totally contrary to his sporty style, but not overdressed for the event. Just enough to make him stop their banter and look her up and down with a smirk on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that”, she groaned, going back to the mirror to put on some lip gloss.

“Like what?”, he giggled, cheeks flushed by getting caught.

“Like I’m a piece of meat”, Y/N turned back to him, but Lando decided to ignore her words.

“You know I hate the taste of this lip gloss”, he commented, taking the tube away from her hands. “I’m going to buy you those minty ones. This one is just rubbish”.

“You’re not required to kiss me at all, Lando. I actually prefer no contact whatsoever with your filthy lips”, she smiled cynically before pulling the lip gloss from his hands. “Are you ready to go or not? You’ve been complaining all morning, but you’re taking forever”.

“Come on, let’s go”.

Today would be the first time Y/N stepped into the paddock as Lando Norris’ girlfriend. They have been out and about for a month now, soft launching on Instagram and popping out in different places all around the world. But today, walking into the race weekend together, would be a way to make it all official.

The response so far has been positive. Lando managed to finish P3 in a race after they popped up together for the first time, and a lot of people connected that with him settling down. Also, people seemed to enjoy them as a couple, considering Y/N is a super sweet celebrity that everyone adored. Them being together only made her popularity rise up so quickly. It was a win for both of them.

This weekend on the media pen, Lando showed up confident for the Miami Grand Prix. He was hopeful to do well at qualifying and have a great race Sunday, just like the previous GP. Then later that night, he was spotted out with Y/N for dinner, finishing their date at a bar, where they made out for hours and were photographed and commented on by everyone on social media. Lando Norris was in love, and it was making a good mark on his career, they all said.

But even with the good response for their relationship, Y/N was nervous about stepping into the paddock for the first time. She knew how many girlfriends of the drivers suffered from backlash from the public, and she feared she might have to go through the same thing. Also, knowing it was all a lie made her very nervous as well. In a few months, there would be a lot of gossip about her life and the reason why they broke up. Was it too late to back off this agreement?

“You okay?”, Lando asked, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts while she glanced out the window. She was being super quiet on their drive to the paddock, enough to make him question the reason. “You haven’t insulted me in ten minutes. Also, you look like you might puke anytime soon”.

“I’m nervous”, she admitted as she picked on her nails to keep herself distracted. “I mean, now I’m not sure this arrangement was a good idea for us. When it’s time for us to break up, there’s going to be so much speculation about our lives”.

“Welcome to the fame game”, he laughed sarcastically and showed no sympathy for her feelings. Lando was still pissed about this agreement, especially now that they were spending most of their time together.

The past month hasn’t been the easiest for them to pretend to be a couple. Every outing they had together was accompanied by a huge fight when nobody was looking. It sickened them both to have to pretend to be in love with someone they hated. As she kissed Lando, Y/N was constantly reminded of all the bad things he ever said to her. And on the other way round, Lando felt stupid for having to lie just for the sake of his career. Did he really need a girlfriend to prove he's any good?

Out in plain sight, Lando was a gentleman. He climbed out of the car and then opened the door for her. Y/N took the hand extended to her and laced her fingers with his. Both of their hands were clammy out of nervousness. Today, Norris had two things to worry about: getting a good position on qualifying and what people might think about his new girlfriend. Hopefully, they won't react badly like last time.

“Ready to be the new Mrs Norris?”, he asked sarcastically, as he pulled her under his arm so they would walk together.

“Don't even joke about that”, YIN was about to roll her eyes, but had to force a smile when she saw a few fans standing in front of them.

“Smile, first lady of motorsport”, he whispered in her ear.

"You're not that good to have me considered as first lady", she hissed back, but keep the looks for everyone around them.

Lando let go of her to say hello to some fans. He took pictures with them; signed photos, shirts and caps; and had a nice chat with all of them. Meanwhile, Y/N did the same with the people who recognized her, which was a fair amount. He was the rockstar of the moment, but she shined just as bright as he did.

“Lando, is that your new girlfriend?”, a fan asked while he was focused on perfectly drawing his signature on her cap. He cracked a big smile and nodded.

“Yes. She's pretty, isn't she?”, he looked back at her, and for some reason, she felt her cheeks heating up. Maybe it was the nervousness. Lando Norris would NEVER have the power to make her flustered.

"She is! My boyfriend and I love her show", the fan commented. “You make such a cute couple”.

“Thank you. Would you like a photo with Y/N? I promise she only bites when required”, he smirked, earning a smack on his arm.

“Lando, shut up!”, Y/N called out as she approached them, ready to talk to the fan.

And so they carried on with their parade around the paddock. All smiles and all the photographers and filmmakers attention. It wouldn't be a surprise if their “relationship” is featured on next year's season of Drive to Survive. Hopefully by then, their relationship will just be a story to tell.

By the time they arrived at the McLaren motorhome, Lando let go of her hand to say hello to everyone. As much as she despised him, Y/N was impressed with his politeness with his team. He knew everyone by name and made sure to say hello to every single person he crossed. Also, to keep up with the looks, he introduced his "girlfriend" to everyone. The team seemed happy that he had found someone to take care of him. It hurt Y/N a little to be lying to all of them, because everyone seemed so nice. Even the people who knew it was all an act treated her nicely.

“Are you enjoying being a WAG?”, her PR agent asked, trying hard not to laugh at the face Y/N was making.

“I think I might puke”, she admitted, making her agent not resist cracking a laugh.

“You know, he's not as bad as you think he is. You might have started on the wrong foot, but Lando is a nice guy”.

“Well, that's the problem with him. He's nice to everyone but me”.

The rest of the day was one of the best acts of Y/N's life. Lando dragged her up and down the paddock, showing everything she needed to see. She had been to races before, but was never shown around by someone who actually understands everything. So if she thought it would be a boring day, she was fairly wrong. Also, being able to keep up with the good looks and not fight was the nicest part of the whole experience.

Was that how it feels to date Lando Norris? Getting to know the awesome world of motorsports, laughing at his dumb jokes, having kisses pressed to her cheeks, collarbone, tip of the nose and lips now and then. Feeling like an absolute princess, as she had the best time meeting new people. It was too good to be true. Dating him would never be that nice. In the end, that was all an act, and Y/N knew that very well.

Eventually, he retreated to get prepared for the free practice before qualifying. Y/N took that as some time to get something to eat and drink. With that, she ran into Oscar's girlfriend, Lily. They have met once at an event, but Y/N wasn't involved with Lando yet. And as nice as she has always been, she approached for a proper chat as the boys had fun with their cars.

“I have to say, I never would've thought you and Lan would end up together”, Lily said. “But I get it. Lando has that glimmer in his eyes every time he looks at you”.

“Does he?”, Y/N sounded more ironic than she wanted. Was Lily lying to her face just like that?

“Well, of course! His eyes scream how much he admires you”.

Soon the conversation changed to a different subject, and you got to enjoy watching free practice while talking about life, sipping on champagne and bonding. By the end of the session, they had exchanged numbers and were now friends. Y/N felt terrible as she lied to her. Lily was too sweet for the truth.

When practice ended, Lando climbed out of the car and went straight to Y/N, stealing a big kiss from her. Confused by the action, she only came to her senses when she noticed the camera behind him. All for them.

“Enjoyed the view, baby?”, Lando asked, hand still secure on her waist.

“Yes, it was very nice”, she admitted, the nickname sickening on her throat. “Lily kept me company”.

“Papaya queens cheering for the papaya kings”, he joked, pulling her for a brief kiss before going to talk to his team post session.

Y/N knew it was all an act, but she was enjoying being around that Lando. The easygoing, always smiley and nice to everyone Lando Norris; not the absolute drunk dickhead she met a year ago. Also, not fighting with him is always a win. Even being alone with him in the driver's room didn't feel insufferable.

Lando was lying in his tiny bed with his eyes closed, trying to rest until qualifying. Y/N was keeping up with a few tweets about her presence in the paddock, feeling relieved with the good amount of nice comments on social media. The scariest part of this fake relationship was finally over.

“They like us together”, she broke the silence, making Lando open his eyes. “I guess there will be no hate for us”.

“Thank God! At least we won't have to deal with negativity this weekend”.

YIN didn't recognize that Lando. He had never treated her as an ordinary person. No snarky comment or insults. It was just him being an ordinary person. Maybe the good mood helped a lot. After all, later that day, he qualified P2 and would be starting on the front now on Sunday. Everything was working in his favour, and the way he was treating Y/N was a consequence of that.

When the next day arrived, they repeated every action from Saturday on the paddock; walking hand in hand, talking to fans and smiling for the cameras. Y/N also had an even better time by seeing some familiar faces that Sunday. Being in the Miami Grand Prix made everything easier, since a lot of Hollywood celebrities came to see the US race.

Lando's good mood carried on with him throughout the day. Anyone could just see his passion for the sport in his eyes. Sometimes, Y/N thinks that the way he acts with her on the paddock is a reflection of his love for his job. So him being in a good mood and treating her right brought mixed feelings to her chest. It was almost scary how comfortable it was to be around him this weekend, or how her heart softened every time she saw him just doing his job.

“I was thinking that maybe we could put on a show before you go in the car”, Lando suggested as he got ready for the race in his room. “Like a good luck kiss and a hug, maybe”.

“Yeah, that would be cool. The internet would love it”.

“And I also never had anyone do that for me, So I think it would be nice to know how it feels like”, he shrugged with a smug smile on his face.

God, she wanted to punch herself in the face because of all the mixed feelings on her chest. “So you never had someone giving you a good luck kiss before a race?”

“Never”, he admitted.

“I'll be honoured to be your first, Norris”.

And that's exactly what she did. When the time came, Y/N helped Lando close his suit and held his face between her hands. They didn't even look around for cameras, making sure it was all registered for their stunt. She just pressed her lips to his in a sweet kiss and smiled when he pulled away.

“Good luck, Lando”, she wished him, earning a beautiful and genuine smile from him. It was quite literally the first time Lando truly smiled at her.

“Thank you, Y/N”, he kissed her again before pulling her from a hug.

For a second, both of them forgot about their little agreement. Lando pulled her for a hug because he felt like he needed that power up before jumping into the car. Then, if the hug wasn't so confusing, he slipped a headphone into her ears and showed her a spot from where she could watch the race. She didn't know if it was for the stunt, but Lando pressed another kiss to her forehead and went into the car. Little did she know he did that out of impulse, not because they should pretend to be in love.

Lando only noticed the camera once he was in the cockpit. Y/N was left shaken by his actions in the back, with her mind anywhere else but at the McLaren garage. She was only pulled back from her thoughts when Lily sat next to her and put a hand on her knee, offering her some company for the race.

And what a race that was. Both Lando and Oscar were flying on the track, with an excellent pace and a chance for a double podium for the team. Norris had his P2 secured through almost all the laps, until the weather changed, and a sudden rain made him lose control of his car. His McLaren spun around, hit the wall and was immediately retired, keeping him from finishing the race.

It wasn't a bad, concerning crash; but it was definitely frustrating. After a quick stop at the medical centre, Lando came straight back to the McLaren motorhome, where he locked himself in his room. "I don't want anyone here, please", he mumbled to Zak Brown before closing the door. If it was frustrating for the team, it was even more frustrating for the driver. A really great weekend down the drain, all because of some rain.

"He won't talk to anyone", Zak said. “I knocked and tried thrice”.

All the eyes at the garage turned to Y/N, his ‘girlfriend’, who didn't think twice before speaking. “I'll talk to him”, she said, promptly getting off her seat.

She didn't knock before entering the room. Lando was sitting on his couch, hugging his legs, face hidden behind his arms. He wasn't a loud crier, but she could definitely see him sobbing. When he noticed a presence in the room, he looked up to tell them off, knowing it was probably Zak. He was taken aback when he saw Y/N by the door.

Her heart crushed at the sight. The tears streaming down his face, the lifeless eyes, the semblance of someone who has been defeated. That wasn't the happy and full of life F1 driver she had the opportunity to meet that weekend. What Y/N felt at the sight of Lando was too strong.

“Please, Y/N, now's not the time for a stunt”, he started, but she cut him off.

“Are you okay?”, she dared to ask, making Lando surprised with the question. And for some reason, he decided to be honest with her.

"No", he whipped a few tears from his face and snorted.

“I'm so sorry about the crash“, she dared to approach Lando and sit next to him on the couch. “You didn't deserve how it ended. You were doing so good”.

“Well, it doesn't matter now. It's clear that I'm a shitty driver, who's been having a shitty year because I can't properly do my job”.

The truth is that, deep down, what frustrated him the most was that he was finally proving everyone wrong. Proving he could get results and that he's a driver who belongs to stand on top of podiums. He didn't need anything else than results to prove that. And when he was finally getting there, the rain washed it down.

"Don't say that, Lando", she scolded him. “I know I'm not exactly friends and that I'm probably the last person you want to see now, but you're such an amazing driver. I got to see it all with my own eyes this weekend”.

“Liar”, he mumbled, face going back to its hidden place between his legs. “It hurts. It hurts that I can't win a race. It hurts that the team doesn't trust my reputation and is asking me to lie. Everything fucking hurts”.

Probably, Y/N is the last person he should be talking about this subject. But weirdly, it was too comfortable to blurt it all out with her. She understood him, and for some reason, even after all the hatred they felt for each other, she wanted to comfort him.

“I'm not lying, Lando. I know you don't trust my words, but I'm telling you the truth”, she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. And before she could continue with the speech, Lando wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. Surprised with the action, Y/N rolled her fingers through his curls and let him cry as much as he wanted.

Frozen and taken aback by their position, she remained quiet as he continued sobbing on her shoulder. Maybe it was all he needed; a shoulder to cry on and some steam to let go off. What she wasn't expecting was what he said next.

“Talk to me, Y/N”, he asked, his voice bargained on his throat.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked.

“Anything. Just… talk to me. Get me distracted”.

Lando wouldn't admit it ever, but her voice was calming him down from everything he went through. Her smell was keeping him grounded, and her touch was slowing down the heart on his chest. At that moment, he didn't care about the reason why she was making him feel that way. He just wanted to feel better.

“It was so nice to see you working today”, she admitted, making Lando’s heart skip a beat. “You can just see it in your eyes how much you love this sport, and how much you work to make sure you accomplish your dreams. Makes me feel really close to you, because I want the same things”.

Y/N was speaking from the heart. Without giving much thought into her words, she simply said what was on her heart. And it worked, because Lando had stopped crying. She could feel his fingers squeezing tightly around her waist, making her continue her speech.

“You did so good this weekend. P2 in qualifying and P2 through the entire race. Tell me about an impressive performance”, Lando looked up, now with a small smile on his face.

“I was really good, wasn't I?”, his thumbs were still drawing circles on her waist.

“You were! I was very impressed. The rain was just a big unfortunate”, She admitted. “So don’t let this unfortunate event, that wasn’t even your fault, make you feel sad about today. You don’t deserve this after such an amazing drive”.

“You’re right”, he leaned back and cleaned off the tears that were falling down. “But shit, this is so hard. I feel like an idiot. I could’ve finished that perfectly”.

“I know it’s frustrating, but you can look at it on the bright side”, Y/N sat next to him and rested one hand on his knee. “You're well, and alive. And you proved that, with a good car, you can do spectacular things”.

“You think so?”, his eyes were gleaming, like he adored her, and she smiled at him as she nodded.

“You’re a great driver, Lando. Don’t let those tiny bad things get to you”, Y/N rubbed her thumbs on his cheeks and whipped the few stubborn tears that still dared to fall. He smiled weakly before resting his head on her chest again.

It was strange to be close to each other like that. And it was even stranger how comfortable they felt with each other. But they let it be, because it was finally nice to be in each other’s presence.

“Come on, let's go back to the hotel”, she tapped his shoulder twice, making him get off her. Lando accepted the offer, too tired to talk to the media or his team, and took that as a getaway.

Y/N talked to Zak and he understood that Lando needed some rest, scheduling the debrief with Lando for the next day, when they would take a plane together back to the UK. Now free to go back to the hotel, Lando took Y/N's hand and they quickly sneaked out the paddock with the help of security.

They went back to their hotel room quietly, too scared that a single word would ruin the nice interaction they just had. Y/N had Lando into the shower the second they arrived and promptly ordered them burgers for dinner.

“You're a lifesaver”, he opened a tired smile and found a spot next to her in bed.

“This will make you feel better”, she patted his knee and got comfortable on her spot.

They ate in silence, as the sound of TV filled the room. But it wasn't uncomfortable. For the first time ever, they didn't want to jump on each other's throat. And somehow, just being in each other's presence made their hearts feel lighter.

The comedy show went on through the night, even when they found their spot in bed. Lando ignored the second bed in their room and found himself getting cosy next to Y/N. He didn't know what had got into him - maybe the crash left him needy - but he pulled her close and caged her between his arms and legs. He fell asleep tangled with her, thinking that the way his heart was racing on his chest was a problem for tomorrow's Lando.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstuff @bishhhitsaurion @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins@riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny @lqvesoph @itscrzy @fangirlvibez @poppyflower-22 @livelovesports @logischeroktopusus @happy-jj @saturnbloom77 @cmleitora @formulaal @secretgal66 @taisferrari-blog @ellen3101 @sunsshinesunny @eclipsedcherry @tems13 @readingbringsjoy @naanibubbletimmispeach @kenzeyeballs @alilcloudy @architect-2015 @tillyt04 @eringaitskill @honeyhatty12 @dreamercrowd @demig0d0fapollo @mxmtewnz @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @beyond-the-ashes @ijustgomessitupx @floraav @laiba26mindflay3r @books0fever @marialovesf1

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

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scoops404 · 9 months ago

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Last thing for tonight because I have to go beta Smitten's GNF onlyfans fic so we can all read it:

I made a quick list of things I'll need to research a bit more just to make sure I'm not totally scientifically wrong (very possible). This looks like I'll just need a quick google:

NICU stays How early can a baby be born and be okay How long would they have to stay What long term health problems would they have Would they need a paternity test for Dream to be on the birth certificate or is george’s word enough? Gut says it’s enough

For medical stuff like this, i'll likely ask a few fandom friends. My mom is also someone who works with babies (and often with premies) so I'll ask her too. Won't be the weirdest question I've ask her for writing purposes. Use your resources! People love helping and they love feeling like they're part of something, so don't be afraid to ask people quesitons.

And now, I've written a bit more, so I'll include that. This is much sloppier and definitely subject to change, but here you go. TW for medical stuff (but not explicit)

~ ~ ~

The stomach ache never gets better. George spends the next hour lying flat on his bed with the lights off, wondering if he’s going to die.

Like, not to be dramatic or anything, but his stomach hurts so bad. The cramping is getting worse, not better, and he’s half tempted to text Dream to bring him a hot water bottle or something. He’s not even sure if they have what he needs, but something hot that he can press against his stomach.

It takes ten minutes to muster up enough energy to try to walk back to the bathroom to attempt to pass this huge shit.

On the toilet, he lets his TikTok run without his eyes really taking anything in. He just needs sounds, movement, anything to keep his mind occupied and off of this pain, but it’s not working.

A Mr. Beast ad for Feastables comes up—and George feels like someone’s stabbing him in the stomach. His last thought before he falls forward is that he’s going to blame Mr. Beast entirely for whatever it is that kills him.

He wakes up briefly, in flashes: there’s Sapnap shaking him, a timbre in his voice that George has never heard before, shoes George doesn’t recognize belonging to a man and a woman in uniforms that he also doesn’t recognize, questions he can’t answer, a whole party of people in his bathroom and his ass is cold.

It’s so cliche. It’s so unbelievably cliche, but George wakes to a beeping machine. His eyelids are too heavy to open at first, like some strong force is pressing down on them, fighting back. And George has never really been a fighter, so he lets them win.

He goes back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s instantaneous.

Before he even opens his eyes he knows the world has shifted. He can’t put his finger on it, but he knows he’s in an After.

He’s been in many Afters in his life: After he met Dream, After they blew up, After he got the visa, After he fucked Dream…. He knows an After when he’s in it.

This is definitely an After.

When he takes stock of himself, he can feel something weighing on his hand. Curious, he slyly opens his eyes just enough to see, but so that they’d look closed if anyone was looking at him.

It’s a different hand.

He knows that hand. Those rings. Those veins. The finger lengths.

That’s Dream’s hand.

Something’s wrong. The feeling crawls higher and higher up his neck until it’s lodged in his throat and he can barely breathe.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dream says, voice soft. His eyes are watery in a way that alarms George even more. Something is wrong! His body and mind are screaming it.

“What—” his voice breaks when he tries to speak. Dream sits up straighter, his shoulders relaxing. “You never call me sweet heart.” Not unless something terrible has happened. Not since the visa got denied. That’s the one and only time Dream sincerely and genuinely called him sweetheart and then they both cried for hours together. “What happened?”

Wasn’t Dream in LA? How did he—

“What are you doing here?” George asks when Dream pushes a button to call the nurse. He doesn’t want to talk to a nurse, though. He wants to talk to Dream.

More tomorrow!!!

Feel free to ask questions, I mean it! Teacher Scoops is on duty (I am no a teacher, for the record)

Writing a Scoops Fic

With Scoops. Featuring: Scoops.

This will get long, so it's under the cut. And it will contain spoilers for the fic, which kinda seem obvious, but alas.

Lol okay, when an initial idea hits me, I usually send it out into the universe to see if it's a good idea (sometimes in private DMs and sometimes I'll tweet it). This idea struck me yesterday when I was watching my niece and nephew and my dad off-handedly mentioned the show "I didn't know I was pregnant" (i'm staying with my parents while my apartment is being renovated and I'm slowly dying)

Here's the idea:

I tweeted this idea out to my private twitter at 5:22pm yesterday and then all my friends slowly exploded. The more I think about it, the more i think Mario anon might have done something similar (they've covered pretty much all the mpreg tropes but are usually sfw and established relationship). So, to make this idea my own, it'll be nsfw (hi, hello, it's me. And that's like the super fun part about writing this idea) and not established relationship - friends with benefits immediately makes this situation even more complicated. I'm in.

There's no time or energy to write last night so I stewed on the idea and when I got to work this morning I made myself focus on my novel writing (that should be the priority but im currently stuck). And wrote some then. But for on my lunch break, I thought, why not? Let's see what comes out. I talked with my friends at work for like thirty minutes and then wrote 828 words. I'm going to share all of those words with you at the end. This is very vulnerable for me because I'm purposefully not going to clean them up or edit, just show you what I've raw dogged. ((to be fair, though, i think the opening line is like banging))

Then, on my drive home, I thought about it more and more and most of the plot materialized in my head. As of now, I can picture two scenes really clearly, and that's enough to build a long fic or even a long one shot out of. (I also did this with There's Hope Out the Window)

The first scene is the one you're about to read. The second scene is George waking up in the hospital with Dream next to him, calmly explaining he had to have emergency surgery, and their baby is too little and might not make it. Lots of Drama. The idea of one of those fireplace blowy things that looks like an accordion came to me and George feeling like someone used one of those and blew love into him until he was sick with it -- that's how much he immediately loves his baby. It's a boy. He has to stay in NICU for weeks and the drama will unfold from there.

#writing a fic with scoops

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years ago

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The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Eleven

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Eleven Summary: Lori asks Marshall for some assistance.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.6k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Eleven Warnings: masturbation (female), drug use, angst, fluff

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

Sorry its a little late, its Thursday for me, but I think its still Wednesday for most of you!

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors. (Probably a lot in this chapter, I apologise)

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Ten Part Twelve

Lori

I sat on the ground next to Mike’s bike, watching the oil leak slowly into the drip pan and I felt safe for the first time since seeing Jake that morning. I could still feel Mike’s kiss on my lips and his soft, hesitant caress of my cheek.

We sat for another few minutes, until Mike cleared his throat, “Got to change the filter.”

I hummed and felt his lips on the top of my head. A heady rush of warmth coiled its way through my body and I bit my lip. Shit, it was easy with Mike, so comfortable, I felt like I’ve known him for years.

I moved out of his way, leaning against a bench to watch him work. I’m not going to lie and say that it wasn’t also so I could get a better look at him. That boy was damn easy on the eyes as well as cute and mischievous. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, nor the tantalising slither of the tattoo that peaked above the neckline of his shirt.

I was still perving on Mike when Marshall came in to take me to my room. He led me across the yard to the main building, insisting on carrying my bag and helmet for me. The clubhouse itself was much larger than you’d think it needed to be for just five guys. It was at least as big as my brothers, but much more understated. The halls could have been corridors in a simple office building, they were so bland and non-descript. The common room was clean and homey though which made me both happy and sadly nostalgic.

Marshall stopped at a door that looked no different to the six or seven doors that lined the hallway. He opened the door and silently gestured for me to go in.

The room was large but basic and furnished the same way a motel would be with a queen bed, a small dining table with two chairs, a tv on the wall and a sofa with a coffee table. Marshall pointed out a small bathroom, and closet, although I had next to no clothes to wear, and I pointed that out.

“Give Walker a list in the morning and he will see that you get what you need,” Marshall said.

“I can’t choose the stuff myself?”

Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow he sighed, “I can ask him if he will let you use a computer to order things yourself.”

“I’m not going to be able to leave the Clubhouse at all, am I?”

“No sweetheart,” Walter said, his tone indicating that while there was no room for argument, he was empathetic to my situation.

While I wasn’t entirely happy, I couldn’t exactly argue with the logic of staying hidden, especially after seeing Jake.

“Well, in the meantime, do you have a laundry room I can use?” I asked.

Marshall nodded and I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hall, past a large kitchen and pantry to a room with two large machines and dryers.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Marshall said leaning his shoulder into the door frame.

I nodded but he didn’t go, instead cocked his head as he stared at me and continued speaking.

“Sy’s room is to the left of yours and my room is opposite his door. If you need anything during the night, you can come to me.”

I looked into his eyes and saw the desire in them that he was trying to hide beneath his gruff exterior. The vast dark blue of his iris seemed to draw me in so deep and I found it hard to concentrate. I turned away, before I got lost. Jesus, Sy’s barely gone, Mike just kissed me and now Marshall…

I forced my attention to my bag and opened it. I gasped in shock at the faded black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt on top of the clothes. I checked the bag quickly, thinking I must have gotten Sy’s by mistake. I dug through the clothes and was confused when the rest of the bag was full of my stuff.

A sob threatened to hurtle up my throat, but I suppressed it as I ran my fingers over the soft cotton shirt. Had Sy left it for me? Had he given me the shirt I had worn in bed with him last night? When had he done that? Why had he done that? It was such a simple gesture, and yet, it meant more to me than I ever thought it would.

Marshall was in front of me, taking hold of the bag as I pulled the shirt out.

“Don’t let Noah fool you,” Marshall said softly. “He can be a sentimental bastard when he wants to be.”

“Noah?” I asked.

Marshall chuckled. “Syverson. His name is Noah.”

Noah. Noah Syverson. A good name. I liked it. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Marshall grinned. It made me smile back, he so rarely smiles.

“What’s your name?” I asked, gripping the shirt tight to my chest.

“Walter.”

My jaw went a little slack. It wasn’t a name I would have associated with him, thinking it would be something cooler, like Evan or Ryan. Marshall’s mouth was tight, as if unsure what I would think of his name, almost like he expected me to hate it.

“Walter Marshall,” I said, letting myself get used to the name. Walter took a small step closer, and I asked, “You ever go by Wally or…?”

Walter scowled, and I laughed but the sob I was suppressing fell out as well. I tried to hold it back, sucking in deep gulps of air but I couldn’t stop. He had me in his arms, rubbing big circles on my back as I burrowed my face into his chest. I felt ridiculous, crying again, this time over a freaking t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered into Walter’s shirt. “I don’t know why I keep crying.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“I don’t want to cry about it.”

I tried to shake off, to ignore all the reasons I had to cry. I wanted to be hard, to be strong, to be my mother’s daughter and handle this life and all the bullshit that went with it. But I wasn’t. I can’t handle it. I just want to go home and be with normal people again. The problem was I don’t know any; even Jake isn’t who I thought he was.

Everything just felt like it was too much, too heavy, too much of a burden. I wanted to be free, even for a few moments, I needed to breathe. Walter lifted my chin to look at him. His look was almost pitiful.

“It’s late,” Walter said. “Leave this for tomorrow and get a good night’s rest, okay?”

As if his words were a trigger, I felt a weariness crash over me. I had one pair of clean underwear left and Sy’s t-shirt, I supposed the washing could wait until the morning. I nodded.

“Good girl.” Walter lowered my head and his lips pressed softly against my forehead. He slung my bag over his shoulder and with an arm wrapped around my waist he guided me back to my room.

I leaned my head on Walter’s shoulder, his warmth was comforting. His fingers were light, but every so often he would tug me tighter as we walked. He must have shortened his stride, because each step he took was as small as mine, and I wondered if he was impatient with my short, tired gait.

When we got to my room, he didn’t let me go, he dropped my bag on the bed and brought his other arm around me.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Walter asked.

I shook my head.

“Remember where my room is?”

“Across the hall, opposite Sy’s.”

He hummed and stepped away. “Make sure you come get me if you need anything, anything at all, okay sweetheart?”

I nodded and he closed my door. I looked around my bare room, it was so impersonal, worse than a hotel room; at least in a hotel they have art on the walls, something to look at. Even the bedspread was an uninteresting beige.

I stripped off and showered, the water once again became my personal masseuse, warming my aching bones and muscles. I put on Sy’s shirt and my last clean pair of panties and slid into bed. I felt cold, and lonely, and although dead tired, my mind was a whirl. I replayed in my head over and over the events that led me to this night. My parents murder, my brothers drug use, being at the clubhouse again, and Jake. I wracked my brain, trying to understand how he could possibly fit into the mess.

Though I yawned, I just wasn’t able to shut my thoughts off. My hand slid between my legs, and I tried to hold onto thoughts of Sy. Memories of his body pressed against mine, of his lips on my skin, the hardness of his muscles, the softness of his touch. My breathing grew hard as my fingers started to slide over me, my sticky arousal coming fast. I thought of Sy’s words, his filthy mutterings and as I climbed closer to my peak, I remembered another voice low in my ear.

Good girl, Walter’s voice echoed in my head. I couldn’t stop the thought of both of their hands on me, each man kissing, exploring, seeking and giving me pleasure. Then there were more hands, Mike’s eager tongue on my neck, Geralt’s long silvery locks tickling my thighs and Walker’s cruel lips wrapped around my nipple. My orgasm hit me hard, crashing over me with the force of a tsunami, and I covered my mouth to muffle my shout.

Like it sometimes does, as the warmth of my climax left me, I felt shame. What kind of person is attracted to five men? What kind of person wants to be taken by five men at once? It’s not normal. Sure, group sex was a thing, a lot of people fantasise about that, but that’s not what this was. I wanted them all, I wanted each of them both alone and together. They were all so different, but I found myself attracted to them equally.

Sleep was even more elusive now. I kept thinking about the things Sy had said to me about the Brothers; that they all cared about me like he did, and he knew I felt the same way about them. Why was he telling me that? What did it mean? Why was he giving me tacit approval to be with them? What kind of man wanted to share me with other men? And not just in a random threesome, but with the men he was closest to. Did I mean nothing to him? I didn’t believe that. Especially not after he left me his shirt, like he wanted me to remember him while he wasn’t there.

After maybe another hour of trying to sleep, I was starting to get desperate. I thought about the joint I had in my bedside table at home, and I cursed myself for not picking it up and slipping it into my bag. I hadn’t because I didn’t know how these guys felt about drugs. Sy, for all his tattoos and rough exterior, didn’t strike me as a pothead. I was 99% sure Mike would indulge, at least occasionally, but I couldn’t go to his room. Not after that kiss. I thought maybe Walter and Geralt might be my best options. August looked like he’d never touched a drug in his life, probably didn’t even drink very often, he seemed to like being in control too much.

I tossed and turned a little longer before I got out of bed and went to Walter’s room, and I knocked on his door. This was a bad idea. He’s probably asleep. I had no phone, no watch, no real way of knowing what the time was.

I couldn’t hear anything from inside. He was probably asleep. I turned to walk away when the door finally opened. Walter was in a pair of low hanging grey sweats, leaving very little to the imagination.

My eyes moved over his body taking in the small gages in his ears, the three red roses on his neck, the colourful Japanese style koi fish on his hairy, veiny forearms that went into a full sleeve ending in a half circle at his shoulders in the traditional style. His broad chest with well-defined pecs and the unmistakable bulge of his heavy cock hidden beneath his grey sweats. His body was a little softer than Sy, his belly was flat but had none of the definition of Sy’s. He looked like he had the perfect body to snuggle with, like he would be so warm.

My cheeks burned, my body hummed with nervous tension, and I could barely breathe as my eyes met his. Walter’s eyes were red rimmed and darkened on the delicate skin below. I immediately felt bad that I had interrupted his sleep.

This was a really bad idea.

“Sweetheart? You okay?” Walter asked.

“I uh…”

Walters' lips pulled into a tight line. “Come in,” he said a little impatiently.

I regretted this so much.

I walked into his room and looked around. His room was almost as bare as mine. There were barely any personal items anywhere except for a bookshelf and a record player. A few records were scattered on a desk, Oasis, Franz Ferdinand, The Beatles, David Bowie. I guess you could take the man out of Britain, but you couldn’t take the British out of the man.

“Can’t sleep?” Walter asked, letting out a tired groan as he laid on his bed. I shook my head. “It’s a common problem around here.”

“What do you do?” I asked.

“Listen to ambient sounds or music, sometimes that helps. Other times, I read.”

I looked at his bookshelf. It was almost a carbon copy of my own. Crime novels by Michael Connelly, James Patterson, P.D. James, and others filled his shelf.

“You can take one if you like.”

I chuckled. “Unfortunately, I’ve read most of these.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“I do, now that I’m not studying anymore.” My eyes were caught by a small photo of a much younger looking Walter sans beard in a police uniform. Jesus, he almost looked like Mike; just as handsome, but none of the mischievous glint in his eye that Mike had. It seems Walter had always been a serious guy. I picked it up. “You were a cop?”

Walter raised both his eyebrows, smirked, and tilted his head in what could look like agreement.

“A detective. Up north.”

I was floored. “How does one go from a cop to a Biker?”

“A long story, for another night,” Walter said with a hint of a smile.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You do that,” Walter chuckled, then he yawned.

I should go. I should ask him for what I want and leave. Let the poor guy get some sleep. I opened my mouth to speak, but my eyes went back to the cop photo and it made me pause. What if he still had some prejudices against drugs from those days? I glanced back at Walter, he definitely didn’t look like any cop I’ve ever seen.

“Was there something you wanted?” Walter prompted.

Get this over with.

“Do you have any pot?” I asked in a rush. Walter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, it’s not like coke or anything.”

“It’s not that. I didn’t realise you smoked.”

“I don’t,” I said. “Not really… I just want to sleep, and I can’t.”

Marshall considered me for a long time. His eyes slowly moved down my body and I was suddenly aware of how I was dressed. Sy’s shirt was big on me, but still barely covered my ass, and I wondered if he could see my panties. I bit my lip and resisted the overwhelming urge to pull on the hem of the shirt down.

Sighing, he stood up. “Wait here,” he said.

I nodded. As soon as he left, I pulled the shirt down only to realise it then made my nipples very noticeable. I felt like such a tease. What the fuck was Marshall thinking of me right now, coming into his room in the middle of the night, barely dressed and asking for drugs? I was no better than the stupid women who threw themselves at my brother.

I thought about leaving, but that would make me look like a dumbass as well. So, I waited nervously for Marshall to come back, staring at the walls and hating myself. He came back in a few minutes with a spliff in his hand.

“Mike,” he said by way of explanation.

Marshall got back on the bed, sat cross legged with his back against the headboard. He pulled out a lighter and an ashtray from his bedside and jerked his head, motioning for me to sit with him.

“I was just going to take it back to my room,” I said.

“I thought we could share it,” Marshall said, putting the joint between his lips.

He patted the bed next to him and with a sigh of resignation, I climbed onto the bed next to him, mirroring his position.

He lit the joint and took a deep breath before passing it to me and he released his held breath slowly. I took a hit, letting the smoke fill my lungs until they almost burned, and held it in for a few moments, passing the rollie back to Marshall before slowly letting it out.

After a few back and forth’s I started to feel my muscles relax and although my mind felt sluggish, the negative thoughts melted away.

“Good?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just what I needed.”

Marshall chuckled.

“You laughing at me?”

“No sweetheart. Never,” he was grinning, but it was probably from the pot more than anything about me.

My head felt heavy, and I leaned it on Marshall’s shoulder.

“Hang on,” he said, passing me the ashtray.

Marshall got off the bed and walked around to his record player. He flicked through his vinyl’s with purpose until he found the one he was looking for. When the music started, I smiled and soon the unmistakable voice of Thom Yorke filled the room. He turned the lights off, leaving just the soft light of his bedside lamp. He got back on the bed and laid on his back, his head on the pillows.

Taking the ashtray out of my hands he motioned for me to join him. Feeling tired, I followed his lead sliding down the bed until my head was level with his. He laid the ashtray on his chest and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I put my head on his shoulder and passed him what remained of the spliff.

“Good.”

“I like your music,” I said.

“You like this old stuff?” he asked after taking a hit. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he believed me, raising his eyebrow and smirking.

“I like most stuff. New, old, rock, metal, indie. As long as it’s good.”

“Country?”

“Does Johnny Cash count?” I laughed.

“Yeah, of course he does.”

“Then yes.”

Marshall took another hit, inspected the roach and frowning he stubbed it out and put the ashtray on his bedside. I rolled on my side to look at Marshall better, laying my hand on the middle of his chest and lifting my leg onto him. He gave me a strange look but didn’t say anything.

It seemed as though the pot had done its job. My eyelids were heavy, and I didn’t feel so nervous or wrong for being here with Marshall. It felt natural, easy, and comforting. He kept looking at me, and I stared back, taking in his features.

God, he was attractive, his features stern, even when he smiled, and that unruly mop on the top of his head… I’d bet it was really soft.

“Can I touch your hair?” I asked.

Yeah the pot definitely worked. Inhibitions, gone.

“Can I touch yours?”

I grinned and reached up, letting my hand sink into his curls. He closed his eyes and I felt his hand stroke the top of my head.

“That’s nice,” I said softly.

Marshall hummed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

He cracked an eye and looked at me. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he rolled over and put a hand to my cheek. His eyes were heavy, pupils slightly dilated and a little redder than before. He seemed so tired.

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

He reached down and pulled the covers up over us and turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He left the music going, I’m not sure if it was to help us sleep or if he couldn’t be bothered to get up. I didn’t mind either way, Radiohead was an easy band to sleep to.

I closed my eyes and Marshall pressed the pad of his thumb between my brows and made slow circular movements. My eyes widened as I felt the touch of the man I could sense but couldn't see. My breathing became steady, I felt like liquid as the sensation of his gentle touch further eased my already quiet mind and after a time, I drifted to sleep.

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gingersnappedsposts · 3 years ago

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A/N: Ok. This is the first piece of writing I'm sharing on here. It's also my first Timothee imagine so sorry if it's trash. I just had this idea in my head and couldn't sleep until i wrote it. Anyways let me know what you think

Trouble Sleeping

It’s nine o’clock when you finish your skincare. Applying your moisturizer and turning off the bathroom light as you head into the bedroom. Timothee is already undressed and in bed, reading over a new script.

“Did she go down alright?” you ask, crawling into your side of the bed.

“She had some trouble. I don’t think she was ready for bed yet.”

Your four year old had taken a long nap this afternoon and you worried she would have trouble falling asleep tonight.

“Well thank you for putting her to bed. Momma needed some alone time” you sighed as you cuddled into his shoulder, grabbing your latest book from the nightstand. He kissed your forehead as you both carried on with your own tasks.

Not even ten minutes later, you heard your door creak open accompanied by sniffles and tiny footsteps.

“M-Mommy” she cried.

“Aw babydoll. What’s wrong?” You pulled her into your lap, wiping away the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.

“I can’t sleep” she sobbed.

“Oh darling. You had a long day, huh?” she simply nodded as you cooed.

“You know baby. I bet if you ask daddy really nicely, he’ll read us a story.” Her face lit up like a christmas tree as your husband gave you the side eye.

She crawled across to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She used her best puppy dog eyes, “Daddy, can you pretty pretty please read me and mommy a story?” She begged. He looked at her with pure love and adoration.

“You know I can’t resist that face. Do you wanna come help me pick one out, mon amour?” Her head bobbed vigorously as he carefully lifted her into the air, her body wrapped around him in a koala bear hug.

You giggled as he left the room and went back to your book.

She came running back into your room with “Where The Wild Things Are” clutched in her tiny hands.

“My favorite” you smiled down at her.

Timothee crawled back into bed and the little one laid her head in your lap as you gently stroked her hair.

“You ready?” he asked and we both nodded, smiling at him as he began to read.

By the end of the book, her sweet giggles turned into little snores as she drifted to sleep.

“She is just like her daddy.” you smiled, your heart full as your two babies snuggled up to you.

“Nuh uh!” he argued, but then smiled as he knew you were right. “Should we let her sleep with us, or should I put her back in her bed?”

“Put her back in her bead. Momma doesn’t like to share her teddy bear.” You winked at him. He laughed and placed a kiss on your lips before gently picking up his daughter and carefully carrying her back into her room.

He returned quietly and made his way to hover over you in the bed. “She may be just like me, but she gets those puppy dog eyes from you, my dear.”

“I can’t even argue with that. We sure did make a beautiful baby girl.”

He looked up at you with admiration and leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. You leaned into it, wanting to stay in this happiness forever.

“Let’s make another one.” he said as he came up from the kiss.

You sat up straight, not believing the words that came out of his mouth.

“What?” you said, in pure shock. You have talked about having more kids. Both of you wanting your daughter to have siblings and wanting to grow your family. But you hadn’t thought about that in awhile.

“Let’s make another baby. I want nothing more than to have more little you’s and little me’s running around. I love our little family more than anything and want to make it bigger.”

“You want to make another baby right now?”

He moved down to kiss your neck and you felt the heat between your legs begin to expand as you pictured all the things he could do to you..

“Right here and right now” he said as he moved down your body, kissing between your breasts and down to your navel.

“Ok” you said, beaming down at your husband as he made his way between your legs, leaving teasing kisses on the insides of your thighs. You ran your hand into his hair and exhaled. This is heaven.

#timothee x reader #timothee x you #thimothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet smut

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sugawaraxo · 4 years ago

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COCKWARMING THE PRETTY SETTERS

warnings: definitely smut

characters: tooru oikawa, tobio kageyama, kenma kozume, koshi sugawara

a/n: i’m taking request btw :) my inbox is open. also, this is kinda long so grab your popcorn haha

oikawa

- oikawa is obsessed with you whether he wants to admit it or not

- which is wild because no one would’ve expected him to ever be more obsessed with anyone other than himself

- but here you are

- and he LOVES being around you

- just being in your presence makes him all giddy and smiley

- though he does try to compose himself whenever you guys are around his teammates but usually fails

- he’s not obsessed in a weird or creepy way, but just enough for you to know that he’s all about you and only you

- and you love it

- and of course oikawa’s obsession with you rings no surprise that he’s obsessed with being inside you

- as long as he’s close to his pretty y/n, he’s happy

the two of you had just finished a long and strenuous two rounds of sex and were more than ready for bed. but when oikawa got out of bed to get towels for the two of you to clean up with, you felt extremely empty. you were exhausted, that’s for sure. but a big part of you just wanted him filling you up again, even if nothing else happened. you pout, knowing that your attentive boyfriend would notice when he came back, which he did.

“hm, what’s wrong pretty girl?” he asks softly as he starts to gently clean his mess off of your stomach with a warm towel.

“i want you inside of me again.” you say in an almost whisper, a little embarrassed by the words that just left your mouth and he laughs lightly.

“you’re so cute.” he says as he tucks a piece of hair away from your face and gives you a kiss. “but i’m so tired.” he finishes, then plops down on the bed beside you, big spooning you.

“no, we don’t have to have sex again, i’m exhausted too. i just want you inside me.” you say shyly. you feel his dick twitch behind you and can’t help but smile a little, knowing you’re about to get what you want.

“oh, like cockwarming?” oikawa asks and you nod in response. “hm, ok. yeah, we can do that.” he smiles before kissing your forehead. he was already big spooning you so he was in the perfect position to just slip it in. he pulls down his shorts just enough so that his member could spring free, then pulls the panties that you were wearing under one of his shirts down just enough for him to have access to what he needed. he teases your folds with his tip a little bit, causing you to tense up. then he slowly pushes himself inside you, it not being too difficult with you still being wet from earlier. the two of you moan in unison, both sensitive from your previous interactions. once he’s fully in, he stays there and wraps his arm around your waist as he plants a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“does that feel good? is that ok?” he asks before pressing more soft kisses on your shoulder and your neck.

“it’s perfect.” you coo and he pulls you a little closer with the arm he had slung over your waist.

“goodnight princess.”

“goodnight oikawa.”

- you definitely have morning sex when you wake up

kageyama

- let’s be real here, he really doesn’t know what any kinks are

- he just learns what he likes and what he doesn’t like from you and waits for you to tell him if it’s a kink or not

- you end up having to tell him that basically anything sexual can be a kink after he keeps asking you “is that a kink?” every time you two do something new in bed

- you find his lack of knowledge on the subject adorable though, even though you constantly tease him about it

- he honestly just goes with the flow and follows your lead in terms of sexual things

- not that he’s the submissive one, you just know more about sex so sometimes you have to give him extra guidance

- he doesn’t mind it though, he wouldn’t wanna learn it from anyone else but you

- and you just so happened to teach him his new favorite kink

you two are making out on kageyama’s bed. it starts off innocent at first but slowly progresses into a messier and more heated kiss. you’re on top of him, tugging on his hair while he grips onto your hips. you begin slowly grinding against him causing him to moan softly into your mouth. his sounds were always so pretty and always instantly made your core pulse. you continue grinding on kageyama, giving both yourself and him pleasure. but it isn’t enough. in one swift motion he flips you over so now he’s the one on top. without detaching his lips from yours, he pulls his member out of his pants and lifts up the skirt you’re wearing then slowly pulls down your underwear, revealing your wet core.

“pretty.” he mumbles before licking a teasingly slow and soft stripe up your folds. you moan at the sensation and shut your eyes in pleasure. he continues to please you with his tongue before inserting two fingers into you. it hurts a bit more than usual but you shrug it off because the pleasure outweighs the pain. he continues with this for a few minutes more before he can’t take it anymore and positions himself at your entrance. he slowly begins pushing himself in, but as soon as he’s all the way in, you yelp in pain.

“ow ow ow! stop!” you groan, and kageyama does as told.

“what’s wrong? s-should i take it out?” he asks, concern laced in his voice.

“no no, keep it in just let me adjust to it.” you say. the day before, you and kageyama had some hardcore sex. you had unintentionally somewhat intentionally made him jealous so that he would punish you, and oh that he did. but your poor pussy was suffering the consequences.

“ok princess, i won’t move. just let me know when you’re ready.” he says softly and you smile at his sweetness. he starts kissing you again, this time more deep and passionate as opposed to the sloppy, heated kiss that got you here in the first place. you were slowly beginning to relax around your boyfriend while he was losing his mind trying not to bust inside of you. something about not moving but still being inside you, feeling you around him. the anticipation. it’s driving him crazy.

“oh no, i’m gonna cum.” he says shyly as he pulls away from the kiss and accidentally cums inside of you. he hides his face in the crook of your neck in embarrasment and you just giggle at him, as that isn’t the first time that’s happened.

“is, is that a kink? not doing anything, just being inside you? because i think i have that kink.” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“it is actually, it’s called cockwarming.” you say as you gently stroke his hair, trying to relax your still clearly embarrassed boyfriend.

“hm, well can we never do cockwarming again, that was embarrassing.” he sighs before finally removing his head from the crook of your neck and looking at you.

“i don’t think it was embarrassing baby, i thought it was cute. but if you don’t wanna do it again we don’t have to.” you reassure him and he blushes at your compliment.

“maybe we can do it again sometime then, but for now it’s time to get you cleaned up.” he says before picking you up over his shoulder and taking you to the bathroom.

kenma

- anyone who knows kenma knows that he is always preoccupied with video games

- whenever he’s playing, it’s fairly difficult to get his attention

- as his girlfriend, you’ve somewhat learned to accept this, even though you would like more attention from your boyfriend

- but you take what you can get, knowing that’s just how kenma is and you wouldn’t ever wanna change him

- but sometimes you get needy

- really needy

- and kenma isn’t always the best at reading that

- so you take it upon yourself to get the kind of attention you’re craving from your boyfriend

kenma doesn’t really get flustered too often. but when he does, oh anyone in a ten mile radius can tell. the first time you saw him really get flustered was when he gave you his hoodie while you were out on a date. it had gotten colder than you expected so he gave you his jacket to keep you warm, and as soon as you put it on, the boy went red. he couldn’t even form coherent sentences at first and you thought it was the most hilariously adorable thing ever. ever since that day, you’ve worn his clothes whenever you wanted his attention; hoodies, sweatshirts, t-shirts, you name it. today is one of those days. kenma has been gaming all day in some sort of tournament and you’re beginning to get frustrated because of how badly you’re craving his touch, so you pull out the big guns. you put on one of his favorite hoodies, one that you’ve never worn before, and head into his gaming room. he’s sitting is his gaming chair deep in concentration, shooting at someone and talking to who you assume is kuroo on his headset. he doesn’t even notice you at first until you come sit in his lap, your legs resting on either side of his as you lay your head on his shoulder.

“hi kitten.” he whispers away from his mic before placing a gentle kiss on your lips and you hum in response. you played with the hair at the nape of his neck for a little bit before your overwhelming feeling of neediness comes back. you lift your head from kenma’s shoulder, now somewhat blocking his view of his computer screen.

‘i want to feel you inside me’ you mouth to him. he hadn’t even realized what you were wearing until right then, and his cheeks blush bright red. he places a finger under your chin and uses it to pull you in for a kiss. “go for it.” he whispers to you as he pulls away, reverting his attention back to his game that he had forgotten about for a quick second. you easily slip his member out of the sweats he’s wearing and give it a few strokes to get him hard. you were wearing absolutely nothing under his hoodie in hopes that this would be the outcome, and when he notices that as he glances from you back to his computer screen every so often, he mumbles

“dirty little kitten, this is exactly what you wanted hm?”

“mhmm” you respond and he smiles.

you continue what you’re doing and position kenma’s tip at your hole before slowly sinking down on it. your breath hitches at the feeling of being filled up, while kenma clenches his eyes shut and bites his lip in order to hold back his moans. once he’s fully inside you, you lay your head on his shoulder again and just stay there.

“hm, that’s it? you just wanna cockwarm me?” kenma asks curiously.

“mhmm. just wanted to feel you inside me, that’s it.” you say sleepily, slowly drifting as you shut your eyes.

kenma can’t help but smile, “you’re adorable.” he says before planting a kiss on your cheek. you smile a small smile in return before dozing off on kenma’s shoulder, him still buried deep inside you.

every so often you would move around in your sleep and kenma would have to bite his lip to hold back a moan so the friends he was playing with wouldn’t hear, but it was worth the risk because he loves just being this close to you, and you do too.

sugawara

- suga’s high sex drive really surprised you when you two first started dating

- his kinkiness surprised you too

- you thought he would always be very gentle and vanilla

- but you were very mistaken

- not that you’re complaining though

- he’s always open to trying new things

- so when you bring up the topic of cockwarming, he’s intrigued

“is that something you wanna try bunny?” he asks after you finish explaining to him what exactly cockwarming is.

“we don’t have to if you don’t want to, i just think it’d be interesting to try.” you shrug

“i agree.” he says, before leaning over to start kissing your neck. that’s your weak spot, so you take this as suga saying he wants to try right now. the two of you are currently on the couch, in the middle of watching a romcom but clearly that romcom has been forgotten as suga continues to make little love bites on your neck. you lift his chin to kiss him because you know if you don’t stop him now, he’ll cover your whole body in hickies. the kiss is soft, but passionate and you can feel yourself quite literally melting into it. somehow you end up straddling suga, still lost in the kiss. you suddenly notice a pair of familiar fingers making their way down to your most sensitive area. he teases you, rubbing his fingers over your pajama shorts, knowing you’re getting needy because of the way you’re starting to softly moan into his mouth. he takes this as a sign of you wanting more and breaks away from the kiss so he can take off your shorts and your underwear, with a little bit of help from you. once your bottom half is completely naked, he grins and begins kissing you again. the sensation of your bare core against suga’s sweatpants was teasing you, so you began moving your hips to get some friction. suga moans a little at your sudden movements and you can feel him getting harder. he pushes you up off of him slightly so that he can pull his sweats down, them ending up just hanging around his ankles. now both of your bottom halves are naked, and you’re staring at each other in anticipation.

“sit on it bunny.” suga instructs and you follow his orders, sitting down on his length and feeling every inch against your walls. that feeling when he first inserts into you will never get old.

“mm, suga.” you moan. he instinctively thrusts after hearing your pretty noises, completely forgetting what you guys were supposed to be trying.

“no, don’t move.” you laugh at him and he blushes apologetically.

“sorry, i couldn’t help it. you’re just so pretty.” he apologizes and you melt.

“it’s ok suga, you’re adorable.” you smile. “i’m gonna turn around now, but keep you inside me and we’ll finish the movie just like this, yeah?” you say.

“yeah.” he nods in agreement. without pulling suga out of you, you turn so that you’re no longer straddling him but sitting in his lap with your back facing towards him, your face now facing the tv. you guys finish the rest of the movie exactly like this, you sitting on suga’s lap with his member deep inside of you and suga occasionally thrusting up into you just to get your reaction.

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missluckycharms · 3 years ago

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What about nobody knows their secretly dating, but they’re always flirting. So one day all of their Friends are at a club and y/n gets on the dance floor and starts twerking and Harry comes up behind her and starts grinding and tapping her ass and all there friends are whistling.

This Little Secret Of Ours.

A/N: hiii! I made this into a best friends brother! Harry blurb and I also changed a few things. I hope you don’t mind! Enjoyyy !!

**I will be getting around to all your requests in the next few days, please be patient !! Thank you !! **

Warnings: suggestive content, mature language, alcohol consumption, Harry is a cheeky lil shit.

It started when Y/N was nineteen and Harry was turning twenty one. It was never meant to happen, but what could she do? She was attracted to him, and he was to her.

They have a connection that you cannot look past no matter how hard it would be for them to be together, they needed to make it work.

And they did, they’ve hid it from everyone for nearly two years now. No one even suspects the pair is together, they never leave anyone have any suspicion on if they might be together. They even go as far as having some little fake argument just to keep up the “we hate one another” image in front of all of their friends — Y/N’s best friend being in that friend group, Harry’s sister.

The only way that this works between the two, is because Harry has his own flat, he bought it recently and Y/N as basically moved in, she’s rarely at her shared flat with her other best friend — always saying she was visiting family for days at a time, but she was really hiding out in Harry’s small one bedroom studio apartment together, cuddled up under blankets away from the world.

Every Friday their friend group has a tradition: they all meet up at the local night club and catch up on their lives, talk about their week, have some drinks and just have fun. As they’re older, their lives are getting more hectic and they have less time together, so this little meet up each week gives them the chance to feel like teens again.

Today is like every other Friday, Y/N is in Harry’s getting ready, the pair fighting over the one bathroom, Harry running in ahead of her for a shower as she “takes too long” and she “has to shave her bits and bobs!” And it “takes for ages!” Y/N always fires back with her usual response: “you’ve long hair too! You don’t see me complaining when you take ten years to apply your hair masks and then give two washes of it all!”

That small argument happened nearly an hour ago, Harry laughed back and slammed the bathroom door in her face as she stands in only his bath robe, her towels in hand along with a new packet of razors she picked up on her way over here. She rolls her eyes and huffs turning around to head back into his bedroom.

“Might want to give it twenty minutes m’love, I used up all the hot water” Harry says calmly, walking out of the steamy bathroom in only a towel slung around his waist and another towel drying the ends of his long curls. Y/N looks up from her phone, her eyes narrow as they only have three hours to get to the club.

“This is why I go first!” She yells out, flopping down onto the bed in annoyance at her boyfriend who’s laughing while running some curl cream through his wet locks, his eyes focused on himself in the mirror.

“Gives you twenty minutes to have some Harry time!” He says wiping the residue of curl cream into his towel, his smile wide as she looks at him from where she’s laying on his bed, her lips in a pout and her brows furrowed in anger.

“I had plenty of Harry time this week, you were like a kid! Barely got any time to even pee!” She yells as Harry just laughs at her angry self, loving how cute she looks when her lips pout and her eyes roll with her pretty eyelashes framing them. He adores her, all of her.

The twenty minutes is spent by Y/N being tickled by Harry as she yelled and laughed loudly while he teased her for being ticklish, her body squirming on the bed as he hovered above her with his fingers tickling her ribcage causing her to loose control of her whole body and melt into a puddle of flailing limbs and loud screeches. Harry eventually let up his tickling, allowing Y/N to finally shower and start to get ready. He’s currently sat on his bed, ready to go in his black and white silk button up, black skinny jeans and some black leather boots. Y/N is currently curling her hair and applying some makeup as she stands in her outfit: a simple black silk dress with black heels.

“Look so beautiful m’heart, love the sparkly straps on your shoes” he points out when she’s finally ready, Harry sliding his phone into his back pocket to get a closer look at his girl, his hands snaked around her waist as he pulls back to rake his eyes up and down her body carefully, his lip between his teeth as he observes her.

“Thank you H, you don’t look too bad yourself. New shirt?” She asks reaching up and tugging on the collar a little, only three buttons done up on the whole shirt leaving his tattooed chest to show through with his many necklaces — what was more eye catching was how sheer the fabric was, allowing his butterfly and other tattoos to be visible when light is shined onto him.

“Bought it last week, more sheer than I thought but hey, who doesn’t want a front row seat to the nipple show? Huh?” He asks shaking his chest at Y/N, her eyes rolling as she slaps his chest playfully as he pulls her in for a kiss.

“Can’t kiss you until we’re back here, which won’t be for like, God knows how many hours” He mumbles against her lips as they kiss one another passionately and slowly, their hands roaming one another’s bodies as they take in every detail of each other.

“You always take me into the bathroom for a quick fuck or a make out session, don’t act like you don’t do that” she fires back with a tug to his bottom lip with her own teeth, a groans escaping his chest at her action, his hands squeezing her ass a little as he pulls her more into him.

“Keep talking like that and we aren’t going anywhere baby” he says lowly, his tongue licking over her bottom lip as she smiles against his lips, her hands roaming his chest, then his stomach and then down to his crotch, giving him a tight squeeze when she feels how hard he’s getting, Harry lets out an involuntary moan at the feeling, his hips pushing into her palm as she licks over his bottom lip slowly as she goes.

“Come on big boy, we have somewhere to be” she says pulling away, fixing her dress and wiping her lipgloss from Harry’s lips, her eyes looking at him innocently as if she didn’t just tease him and get him hard two seconds ago. He groans as she grabs her handbag, throwing a wink over her shoulder at him as she trots towards the front door of the apartment.

“You coming?”

“Unfortunately no” he says sighing, looking down at his erection in his tight skinny jeans, Y/N rolling her eyes at what he means.

“Harry, get out into the cab” she says tapping her foot against the floors, her phone buzzing with messages from the Uber driver that he’s outside and not waiting any longer than five minutes.

“Fine” he sighs, grabbing his house keys and sulking his way towards the cab, Y/N apologising for the delay and Harry just pouting like a toddler beside her as they head off to their night out with all their friends.

—

The night has gone smoothly, Harry and Y/N sitting at opposite ends of the table they’re all sharing in the booth, their eyes catching one another’s every few minutes but their slight eye fucking flies under the radar due to how dull it is in the club. Their friends are chatting, laughing and singing as they all sip their drinks and talk about nonsense, Y/N being dragged into conversation about how her job as a florist is going by her best friend Jada, while Harry is dragged into a conversation by their friend Chase about nonsense due to his drunken state — Chase loves to pre drink and now he’s drunk as fuck.

Harry is nodding and smiling along to Chase’s words, his fingers fiddling with his beer coaster in boredom, all he wants to do is have drunken chats with Y/N about nonsense like they usually do when they drink at Harry’s place, the pair having a bottle of wine each as they dish out random facts and stories from their childhoods and Harry’s one year long college experience — he dropped out because he couldn’t handle not being around Y/N, she was too far away from him and plus, his dorm mate was a nightmare.

He’s brought out of his small daydream of half listening to Chase while also mumbling along to the words of the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the packed nightclub, by his phone buzzing in his back pocket, he takes it out and keeps it under the table on his lap, looking down to see a notification from Y/N. He doesn’t look up as he opens it, his eyes widen at what the message says.

Y/N: mind if I shake my ass on the dance floor?

Harry: don’t you dare, your ass is mine and mine only. Don’t think about it baby love.

He looks up to see her looking at him, her lip between her teeth as she locks her phone, him mirroring their actions as they stop their small conversation. Her eyes are dark with lust, a tug pulling at the corners of her lips as she leans over to whisper into Jada’s ear. Harry watches her like a hawk, legs spread under the table, arms crossed over his chest and his head thrown back against the wall of the booth as he narrows his eyes at his girlfriend, her own challenging smile getting thrown back right at him.

Jada is the first to move, then Lola and then Y/N, leaving Harry at the other side being sandwiched between Chase and Niall, Niall is currently on the phone trying to speak to his landlord about a busted pipe in his house, but instead of going outside he insists to stay in here, he has a massive fear of missing out. That’s Niall for you. Harry watches Y/N like a hawk, his eyes never leaving her body as she holds onto both Jada and Lola’s hands, their smiles wide and they mouth along to the words of the song,

Her eyes are on him every now and then, her hips swaying as she dances with her friends, others around them dancing aswell as Harry doesn’t take his eyes off his girl on the floor, the lights flashing about and illuminating her every now and then as she moves to the beat of the song.

Harry’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets when he sees her bend over and begin to shake her hips, causing her ass to jiggle about as Lola and Jada spur her on, slapping her ass a little as she laughs loudly, looking over to Harry who’s now stalking his way to the dance floor, pushing past the crowd of people. Jada nearly slaps Harry when he picks Y/N up by her waist, flinging her over his shoulder as she laughs loudly, Harry shaking her head as barely anyone on the floor recognises what’s happening due to how dark it is, Jada and Lola following hot on Harry’s heels as he carries their best friend like a sack of potatoes back to the booth.

“What was that for?!” Jada yells slapping her brothers chest and bicep, her brows furrowed in anger as Harry now holds Y/N close to him his hands around her waist as they both look at Jada with small smiles.

“She was showing off what’s mine” Harry says with a smile, looking down at Y/N who scrunches up her nose with laughter, pecking his lips lightly as they both finally get to show love to another in public, in front of everyone.

“I knew it!” Niall yells nearly falling over the table, Chase whistling and clapping as he nearly passes out due to how much he’s moving right now.

“Only because I told you!” Lola fires at Niall who rolls his eyes looking at them all, Jada stood beside the pair not knowing what to say.

“We all had a feeling, we were just waiting for you both to say something; there’s only so many times we’ll believe your bra just some how ended up in Harry’s car” Jada says rolling her eyes with a smile, Y/N burying her face in Harrys chest in embarrassment over the story.

Jada hugs the two, immediately running up to order a round of shots in celebration of the new couple — well, not that new, but now they’re officially together in the eyes of everyone else. They couldn’t be happier and they couldn’t be more grateful that Jada didn’t lose her shit.

“Guess this little secret of ours is out, huh?” He whispers to her, her smile wide as she looks up at him with her arms slung around his neck holding him close.

“I guess so, boyfriend”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles fandom #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #asks open #anon ask #answered asks #ask box

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weirdos-am-i-right · 3 years ago

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Fuck Traveling// Pete Davidson x reader

Request from @annalayton19

Hi! I’m a new follower and I really like your stuff! Could I request a Pete Davidson x reader (angst to fluff) where Pete is on tour or filming away from home and the reader is left behind. After like 6 months of being apart Pete starts to get tired of the long distance and basically like done with it. And then he realizes his mistake and comes home to make it up to her! I’m sorry if that’s super long! Also if this imagine doesn’t interest you, then no sweat! Thank you so much in advance 💕

A/n: This took so much less time then I thought it would. Anyway, here you go, I really hope you like it!

Warning: angst, swearing, like one cigarettes

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

Six months. Six months was an extremely long time to be away from someone you loved.

Y/n sat on the couch, a small pout on her lips. She looked at Pete—her boyfriend of a year—and frowned. “I wish I could go with you.” Pete frowns too, and sits down next to her.

“I know. I wish you were coming with me too. But hey, it’s only a couple of months, all right? I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed her cheek.

“I just wish my contract would let me. You have no idea how annoying it is to not be able to do things because of freaking Marvel.” She groans, falling on her back with a slight ‘plop’.

“Well, because of freaking Marvel, you are one of the best actresses out there. And I know you’re going to kill it with filming. My tour isn’t even that cool. It’ll broke you to death.” He jokes, leaning back on the arm of the couch.

“Babe, you’re a comedian.”

“Oh right, I forgot.” He grabs her arm, and pulls her up into his chest. “I love you, okay?” He lifts her chin up, and kisses her. “So fucking much. We’ll face time everyday, I’ll call you every evening and wish you goodnight.”

“Okay.” She looked over a the clock, and sighed. “We have to go. Your flight is leaving soon.” He brushes hair behind her ear, bringing her eyes back to him.

“I love you. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I love you, too.”

********

The car ride to the airport was long, and quiet. Pete was driving, he had one hand on the steering wheel, and one hand on Y/n’s leg, rubbing small circles into the center of her thigh.

She knew she was going to miss him so much, but she also knew she was going to be extremely busy with filming, so it wouldn’t be as bad.

Once they were at the gate, they tearfully hugged, and she kissed him. “All right, now get out of here. We’re not doing that rom-com turn back at the last second goodbye.” She laughed at him, tears steaming down her face a bit. He wiped one with his thumb, and kissed her again. “Love you. Now go, so I get to watch you walk away.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She turns around, and starts walking back to her car. She knew he hated leaving her too, but he was a lot better at hiding emotions then she was, that was one of the only things she learned while dating him.

She got in her car, and put her head on her steering wheel.

She groans, and leans back. Starting her car, she pulled out of the airport, and drove home.

**********

The first few months were the worst. Y/n hated going to bed alone, the left side of the bed always cold.

She was filming almost every day, and seeing her co-workers and friends always cheered her up, after all she had been working with the same people for quite some time now, so she felt comfortable around them.

The fourth month was slowly becoming easier. She got use to coming home to no one there, and making dinner for herself. She still talked to Pete every day, texting him good morning, and Goodnight, and FaceTiming him a lot during the day.

Though she knew he loved her, she felt as though he was slightly pulling away. The FaceTime calls were short, and he never texted her back right away like he use to.

“And so, we we’re almost done with the shoot, so close I could practically taste the coffee in my trailer waiting for me, and then Kevin calls cut, and he makes us do the whole scene over again! I swear, I was about to strange that man. Ugh, I can’t wait til you come home. Only two more weeks, I can’t believe we made it.” Y/n rants, talking to Pete on the phone.

“Uh huh. Cool.” He wasn’t looking at her, instead his attention was somewhere else. Y/n frowns, tilting her head a bit.

“Pete…are, are you okay?” That seemed to catch his attention, and he finally looked at the screen.

“What? I’m fine.”

“Okay…you just seem so…different lately. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but you seem like you don’t have time for me anymore. Or if you do, you don’t like talking to me.” Pete scoffs.

“Of course I don’t have time for you right now. I’m in between shows, I’m driving to one as we speak. I mean, god forbid I get a minute to myself without my agents or you calling me.” Pete snapped.

“Wha-I’m just talking to you. If you didn’t want to, you could have said something.”

“That’s bullshit you would have thrown a fucking hissy fit or something.” He rolls his eyes.

“That’s not true. I understand when people are tired, believe me I would know.”

“Would you?”

“Yes!” She had tears stinging her eyes. “Of course I do, you’re forgetting what I do for a living. I work from 6 am to whenever we finish which most of the time is in the middle of the night. I have to re-do the same scene about ten times because RDJ won’t stop making jokes in the middle of the scene!”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot about your super-star actress life.”

“Why are you being so mean to me? I was only concerned about you.”

“Mean? What are you, five? I can’t-I can’t do this anymore.” She huffs, crossing her arms.

“What do you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

“Wh-”

“Because then fine. If you don’t want to be with me, I don’t have to take this shit. I’ll be with someone who, oh, I don’t know is actually here.”

“Oh that’s fucking rich, you know I can’t be there, don’t even do that.” She scoffs.

“I don’t care. You want to act like a petty bitch, I have no problem doing it right back.”

“No, I think you’re just a petty bitch.” She wipes her eye, and he laughs dryly. “Oh of course you’re crying.”

“Shut up. If you don’t want to be with me, fine. Go enjoy your show, Pete.” She hung up the phone, and turned off the ringer. She plugged it into her charger, and went into the bathroom, turning the shower on.

********

Pete rubbed his eyes, and took a drag of his cigarette. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at her, it wasn’t her fault he was cranky, and needed to take it out on someone.

“I’m a dick.” He mumbles to himself, and bangs his steering wheel.

His phone rang again, and for a good second his heart leaping out of his chest, thinking it was his girlfriend, calling him back. He checked the phone, seeing it was Colson. He answered the call.

“What’s up, man?” Pete asks.

“The shows starting soon. You almost here?” Colson questioned. Pete looked at his google maps, seeing he was supposed to be there in ten minutes.

“I’m a good ten minutes away. I’ll be there.”

“You sound weird. What the fuck did you take without me?” Colson asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“Uh…Y/n and I just broke up. I think.” The line was silent for a few seconds.

“Why the fuck would you do that, you idiot? Are you kidding me?” Colson scoffs. “Man, what the fuck?”

“Shut up, man. I can’t stand talking on the phone with her. I’m busy, she’s busy, she plays a superhero for fuck’s sake. I didn’t even expect it to last this long to be honest.”

“Man, you fucking dumbass. That girl was probably the only good thing you had going for you. Get her the fuck back.I thought you loved her.”

“I did-I do. I do love her. I’m just so stressed right now, and excuse me for not wanting to hear about fucking Kevin Feige being a shitty director.”

“Hey, fuck-shit, you ever think that maybe this is more hard on her? Acting is fucking hard, you should know that, especially for a company like Marvel.

“Man, who’s side are you on?” Pete turns into the parking lot, and grabs his phone.

“You think I’m on your side here? You’re forgetting that we were friends before I met you. I can not believe you just fucked up the best thing in your life. Fix it, man. You’re going home in a week, fucking fix it.” And with that, Colson hung up, and put his phone away.

He kicked a rock across the pavement, and cursed under his breathe.

********

The worst thing about breaking up with someone you live with, who so happens to be long-distance is that their stuff fills the apartment with an existential amount of regret.

Y/n laid on her couch, flipping through the channels of the TV. She had called off work for the next few days, not feeling up to put on a performance for anyone. She knew she would get shit for it later, but she didn’t care.

Her head perked up when there was a knock on the door. She sighed, and got up, going over to the door. She really didn’t feel like company at the moment, and was sure she was going to send away whoever it was.

When she opened the door, her breathe caught in her throat. Pete stood in the doorway, looming over her. He looked like shit. She could tell he hadn’t slept, and probably didn’t eat anything, but she knew he didn’t look much better.

“Why-why didn’t you use your key?” Y/n asks, opening the door a bit for him.

“I uh, didn’t want to barge in on you. You also probably weren’t expecting me.”

“I wasn’t. I thought you didn’t get back until next week.” She says. It took every ounce of her not to jump into his arms, and kiss his face until she was sure she kissed every part of it.

“I took off early. Can we talk? Please. I was a dick. I was such a dick. I’m sorry, I know we grew apart in the last few months, and I promised we wouldn’t but we did, and I’m so sorry for that, baby.” He grabs her hand, and she slightly pulls it back, but let’s him grab it. “Please, forgive me. I love you, so much, okay? So fucking much, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she looked away from him. “What you said really hurt.”

“I know. And I’ll spend every day trying to make it up to you.” She quickly wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his chest. He didn’t hesitate to hug her back, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Fuck traveling.”

“Fuck traveling.”

#pete davidson #pete davidson x reader #pete davidson fanfiction #machine gun kelly #mgk imagine #angst

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?

“You are absolutely unbelievable!”

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics.

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.”

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?”

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.

“Please.” She all but begs.

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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