#Enjoy the soup in the mean time! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strang3lov3 · 1 month ago

Text

Scrub Daddy

QZ Joel visits you for a bath and a little extra (4.7k)

Tags - smut, dom!joel, mean!joel if you squint and I mean really squint because he does in fact fuck you with a certain kindness in his heart. dirty talking you through it. Ah, fuck it. Who am I kidding. pervy!joel too. dubcon, coercion, unprotected PIV, hand job, nyasty QZ joel eats it from the back, ass play and a tasteful amount of ass eating, nipple play, come shot, sex work, takes place in a brothel, JOEL SOUP (bathing that old man), Joel Miller hog reveal (it’s gargantuan, ludicrously capacious if you will), Joel Miller enjoys the finer things in life ie. pussy, Joel Miller tummy. Joel Miller's broad shoulders come with their own warning. Fic help - @beefrobeefcal @noxturnalnymph @endlessthxxghts Thank you all for your brains and eyeballs! A/N - MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE BUUUUT this is for my sweetheart @merz-8 who so generously streams herself playing TLOU and red dead for me 🩷 this fic is inspired by the many times she bathes Arthur. Mercy I love you!!!!!

Joel turns the tap on his shower and with his eyebrows raised, waits quietly to hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall. Nothing. “God bless it,” he mutters. The water’s been shut off for the past month or so in his apartment complex. He pays extra to have it but alas, nothing fucking works in the QZ. Everything’s broken down, falling apart, or will fall apart - it’s just a matter of time.

Joel’s got limited options. He could visit the showers downtown, get hosed down like a dog with cold water that feels like knives in his skin, although the showers don’t open until 5AM tomorrow morning. He could wait it out, though he’s pretty fucking rank; he needs a shower yesterday. He could also rinse off at the sink with a damp rag.

He thinks to himself, hands on his hips and biting his cheeks, weighing his options. Damp rag it is. Joel opens his linen closet and takes his ratty, stringy old rag with him to the kitchen. He wets it with the water from the five gallon jug allotted for drinking, then reaches for the FEDRA issued bar soap that’s meant to be used for everything - hand washing, dishes, laundry, et cetera, et cetera. Joel takes off his shirt and then lathers the bar soap in the rag, the clean and flowery smell permeating the air. He loves this scent - he doesn’t always get this specific one when he picks up his hygiene supplies once a month. God, when did he smell this last? Feels like deja vu. It’s so familiar, it couldn't have been too long ago…

Then the memory hits him: the whorehouse over at the old hotel. That’s where he smelled this soap last. It’s in the men’s rooms but more pertinent to Joel at this moment, it’s the soap used in the bathing rooms - different from the men’s rooms. Joel scoffs and puts the soap and rag on the kitchen counter. Yeah, he smirks to himself, that’s where he’ll catch a bath tonight. He puts his denim shirt back on, stuffs some clean clothes into his leather backpack and heads off into the night for the hotel.

Joel’s strategic in how he gets there. Curfew’s at six, and it’s eight right now. FEDRA’s not too kind to those out after hours. He moves stealthily through alleyways, avoiding the harsh, white light of the soldier’s flashlights shining from above. Once at the old hotel, Joel knocks in a particular pattern on the side door. On the other side, a man peers through the peephole and verifies Joel’s identity, then opens the door just enough for Joel to slide on through, his belly rubbing against the edge of the doorframe.

It’s dingy on the inside, dark and lit sparingly only by some candles. Joel makes his way to the front room where a different man sits at a table. Joel reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ration cards, flipping through the notes with a practiced flick of his thumb. “M’in need of a shower,” he says, laying the cards down on the table. He scans the room, recognizes a few familiar faces.

The man covers the notes with his hand and slides them toward himself, then counts the cards through and nods. “Fourth floor, third door on the right.”

Wordlessly, Joel heads up the staircase, knees cracking on about every other step. God, he’s getting old. Once at the fourth floor, Joel heads for that third door on the right and pushes it open with one hand, unbuttoning his denim shirt with ease using the other.

This room is different from the others at this brothel. It has no bed, no carpeting, no soft surfaces of any kind that would be typical for activities performed in a place such as this. This room has just one large bath tub in the middle with a small table next to it, and in the corner is a small lamp, covering the room with a low golden glow. Once-green peeling paint covers the walls instead of torn floral wallpaper and cracks cover every tile on the floor below. Joel peels his clothes off and wraps a faded pink towel around his waist, his tummy bulging over the edge. He waits patiently next to the tub for a knock at the door.

Your hands are wobbling in the dressing room. There’s really not much to dress yourself with, no makeup or anything like that. One of the girls suggested melting a colored pencil with some hot water or a lighter and then using that to paint your lips and cheeks, but she wouldn’t share her own with you. In the mirror, you fix your hair and straighten your borrowed dress, breathing deeply to try and calm your nerves. It’s your first night working here at the brothel, and you’re really not sure what to expect.

Your boss, Jim, knocks on the dressing room door as a courtesy, but doesn’t wait to make sure everyone is decent. He just waltzes right in and announces to you all that there’s a client in room three waiting for bath assistance.

“Do you know who it is?” one of the girls asks Jim.

“Yeah,” Jim answers. “Joel Miller. Who’s taking him?”

The girl who gave you the tip on the colored pencils turns to her friends and whispers, then turns back to you. “You should take him,” she tells you. “You’ll love Joel, he’s nice. Very gentle with his girls. A real lover.”

Her smile feels disingenuous, and it doesn’t help that her friends are laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” she lies. “And here–” She pulls out her lighter and a bubblegum pink colored pencil that’s stained black from repeated burning, and lights the end of the pencil on fire so that it melts a bit. She drips it onto her fingertips, then harshly smudges it onto your lips, biting down on a facetious smile. “Yeah. Joel will love you.”

She doesn’t let you check your appearance in the mirror before ushering you to the bathing room, her hands on your lower back as she pushes you to the door. She slaps your ass, then heads back to the dressing room with the other girls, barely concealing a giggle in her wake.

You inhale and exhale deeply, then knock on the door. The man - Joel - opens it for you and guides you inside, then locks the door behind you. Clad in nothing but a towel, he crosses his arms as he looks you up and down with a slow scan of his eyes, which makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. His brow is pinched together, he’s biting his inner cheek. His expression turns from studious to curious.

The first thing you notice is how handsome he is, you can’t even help yourself. His crossed arms strain his big, thick biceps. He has a full head of curly, graying hair, and a full set of teeth. Tall. He’s towering over you with a hulking form. His top lip sports a big, thick mustache, and his face is covered in a perfectly patchy beard. Sharp. He’s got a sharp nose, sharp jaw, and a sharp look in his inky dark brown eyes. You don’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t him.

“Name’s Joel,” he says. “Your turn.”

You tell him your name, and Joel reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. “S’that your real name?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Fuck. “N-no,” you lie.

Joel chuckles. “So you’re the new girl, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Joel laughs again.

You squeeze past him to get to the tub, then twist the knobs of the bathtub, twisting them quicker when the water doesn’t come out. Joel watches you struggle for a minute, then comes up behind you and puts his strong hand on your lower back, fingers pressing against your ass. “Y’got it all wrong. Do it like this,” he instructs quietly, pulling up on the knobs, causing the water to come pouring out of the spout. He twists the handles himself, holding his hand under the running water to test the temperature. “See?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Learn somethin’ new everyday, don’tcha?”

Joel rounds the tub, then pulls out the tucked in end of the towel on his waist. You quickly turn your head in the opposite direction, garnering another chuckle from him. Every time he laughs at you, you feel worse. “No point in lookin’ away,” he tells you. “You’re gonna see it whether you wanna or not. Jus’ the nature of these things.”

Joel hands you his towel, then steps into the long tub. From here, you get a good look at his naked form. He’s muscled beneath his softness, no doubt stronger than an ox. He’s broad, with vast shoulders and a relatively slim waist in comparison. His member is substantially sized, even soft, as it is now. His balls are even bigger, heavier.

The bathwater moves as Joel’s weight sinks in, rocking back and forth in the tub. He sits down and stretches his legs out, the water running over his feet. You keep your distance as you fold Joel’s towel while waiting for the tub to fill the rest of the way, familiarizing yourself with the toiletries nearby. Washrag, shampoo, bar soap, plastic cup, a tub of petroleum jelly, a glass, and a bottle of whiskey. When the tub is filled, you shut off the water.

Joel pours himself a large bit of the whiskey into the glass, “Quiet one, ain’tcha?” Joel says to you, then downs his drink. He pours another, then sips it.

You shrug, unsure of how to respond to the man. You’re not really sure if you’re supposed to talk and if so, what you should say. You move to the end of the bathtub where Joel rests his head, then reach for the cup and fill it with Joel’s bathwater, then wet his graying curls. Little ringlets still form around his neck.

Shampoo comes next, so you take the small bottle from the table. With wet hands you twist the cap, but it doesn’t come off. Joel waits patiently as you dry your hands on your dress and try again.

“What’s goin’ on back there?”

“The uh, the shampoo,” you say. “I can’t get the cap off.”

Joel reaches behind himself, “I’ll give ya a hand,” he says, and you put the bottle into his palm. He unscrews it with ease, then hands it back to you as he tells you that you seem nervous. “Wait a second,” he says, “C’mere,” and taps the edge of the tub with his right hand.

“There?”

“Yeah, sit down.”

Bottle in hand, you sit at the edge of the tub. “Closer.” Joel tugs you by the arm. “Ain’t gonna bite ya.”

You pour a bit of shampoo into your palm, then Joel takes the bottle and sets it on the little table. You reach forward and scrub the soap into his hair, quickly working it into a lather. Joel watches your face closely, how you avoid looking him in the eye. He dips his hand into his bathwater then reaches for your face, his steaming hand on your jaw as he uses his wet thumb to wipe away the colored pencil that was hastily rubbed on your lips. You’re stunned, and Joel watches you with dark and hungry eyes, a little bloodshot too. “Pretty one, aren’t you? A girl like you shouldn’t be workin’ here.”

You ignore him and continue washing his hair, tangling your fingers in the sudsy, thick curls. Joel holds your chin tighter and forces you to look him in the eyes. “You’re not givin’ me the silent treatment, honey, s’posed to talk to your clients. Make a man feel human. Answer me.” You’re intimidated immediately. If he is who the girls call nice, then…

“Wasn’t my first choice of a job,” you admit quietly.

“How’d you end up here?”

“I needed money,” you whisper. “And the other girls said they wanted someone on bath duty. But that I wouldn’t have to-”

Joel laughs loudly, cutting you off. “Oh, bless your fuckin’ heart. No, you’ll have to put out,” he says. “Job ain’t just washin’ dirty old men, sweetheart, that’s what a nursing home’s for. Those girls were fuckin’ with you. Sorry.” Joel gestures for you to continue.

Your blood goes cold. You feel sick, even more nervous than before. Looking through the water, you see that Joel’s already hard for you as well.

“Go on. Speak.”

You swallow thickly. “They also said you’re nice. Gentle.”

Joel nods, then sips on his drink. “That’s some wishful fuckin’ thinkin’. Not me, darlin’. Think they’re hazin’ you. But-” Joel sets his drink back down, “-I’ll behave myself, be a gentleman for ya. Scout’s honor.”

He says it so earnestly that you feel inclined to believe him. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he says. “I’ll break ya in real nice,” he adds under his breath. His little comment - or rather, what feels like a threat, has you flinching. “Relax, relax.” Joel holds his hand to your waist, keeping you close to him. “You’re fine. I treat all my girls nice. I told you I wouldn’t bite. You’re fine,” he repeats. Joel reaches for the plastic cup and fills it with his bathwater, then gives it to you to rinse his hair with. He closes his eyes, groaning softly. You’ll hear those same groans escaping his lips later when he fucks you, eats you alive.

You admire his profile, that sharp slope of his aquiline nose, pouty lips and dark eyelashes. Water cascades down his thick neck and the broad planes of his freckled chest, landing into the pool of suds. After rinsing his hair, Joel takes the rag and the bar of soap and wets both, then hands them to you. You lather the soap on the rag, then Joel takes the soap back. You scoot closer to him and begin washing his neck and the muscles surrounding, scrubbing the rag into his skin.

“Feel tense, don’t I?”

You’re not sure how to answer. “I guess, yeah,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you’ll fix that. Get me right.”

Joel leans forward and tilts his head down, sighing as you scrub his broad shoulders, leaving little tracks of soap suds on his body. “Lil’ harder, sweetheart,” he groans. “Put some muscle into it.”

You rub harder into his skin with the rag, massaging those tight muscles in his back and shoulders before lifting his heavy bicep to scrub his arm. Joel lifts his free arm and reaches for you, then tugs the front of your dress down, exposing your cleavage. “S’posed to show me a little skin, darlin’,” he murmurs, his hand lingering on your breast as he rubs his thumb left and right over your skin. “Gotta earn them tips somehow, right?” It makes your face heat up and your heart beat harder, faster. His fingers feel like electricity on your skin as he dips his hand lower, catching your nipple with his fingertips. He rubs the bud until it’s pebbled, then twists it between two fingers, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Joel smiles at that.

Flustered by both his words and his actions, you pull his hand out of your dress, and Joel wears a crooked smirk. He outstretches that arm for you to wash, and you scrub his limb with the rag, speeding through the activity out of uneasiness and nerves. You drop his arms and quickly pat your hands off on your towel, then get up to leave.

“Nuh-uh.” Joel grabs your arm and pulls you back down so that you’re sitting on the ledge of the bathtub again, the water splashing a bit when you land. “You ain’t finished yet. Legs need washin’, don’t they?”

“Umm…”

“Think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ important too,” Joel mutters under his breath. He props his leg up next to you, and you can see his heavy balls and his thick cock standing at full mast beneath the water. With the rag, you scrub up to his knee.

“Higher.”

About halfway past his knee.

“I said, higher.”

You scrub his upper thigh beneath the water’s surface now, washing right where his leg meets his hip. Impatient, Joel pulls the rag from your hand and holds your wrist, then guides your hand to that space between his thighs, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. “Right here,” he instructs you. “I’d reckon a man’s member certainly needs washin’ too, don’t it? ‘Less you like it dirty. Some of us do.”

You quickly stroke Joel’s shaft, just a quick slide of your hand up and down. Joel holds your hand under the water, “Keep goin’,” he mutters. You move your hand and down again, though your back aches from the angle and you have a difficult time reaching him. Joel notices your struggle. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I can’t like- you’re too far-”

“Mm. I getcha,” Joel says, nodding in understanding. “Stand up for a minute.”

You stand up off of the ledge of the bathtub and Joel shifts in the tub, the water sloshing with his movements. He puts both of his dripping hands on your waist and then turns you where he wants you, then begins bunching up the fabric of your dress. “You do the rest,” he tells you. You pull the dress off of your body, feeling insecure under Joel’s watchful gaze as you fold the garment. “Panties too.”

You shimmy your panties down your legs and tuck them beneath your folded dress, which amuses Joel. So modest, so bashful. Those qualities of yours won’t last long here in the brothel.

After setting the clothes down near Joel’s belongings, you make your way back to him. He’s holding out his large, masculine hand for you to take. “C’mon in, there’s plenty ‘a room for us both. Watch your step,” he warns, using his strength to guide you into the tub. “Attagirl.”

You lower yourself into the bath, the hot water making your skin tingle. “Yeah, the water feels nice, don’t it?”

“It feels good,” you agree. You’ve always loved a hot bath, a rare luxury in the world you live in.

“Now, where were we?”

Joel pulls you through the water so that you’re straddling his thick thighs, the head of his cock nudges against your pussy which sends a flutter through your stomach. You wrap one arm around Joel’s shoulders to stabilize yourself, your other hand staying below the water’s surface as you once again find his cock. This isn’t so terrible.

You pump Joel’s cock, memorizing every vein on his shaft with the palm of your hand. He tilts his head back in pleasure, brows knit together as he sighs deeply.

“Am I doing okay?”

“Doin’ just fine, hon’,” Joel mumbles. “All the way up, all the way down. Jus’ like that.”

On the next pass, starting from the thick tip of Joel’s dick, you squeeze him on your way down, down, until you reach his balls. You give them the kindest of squeezes, earning a moan from Joel. “S’perfect. Fuckin’ A,” he hisses.

And all the way up again. You increase in speed, though to avoid splashing, you don’t work him too quickly. You can feel him pulsing under your touch, a sensation that has your core throbbing. He’s breathing heavier, surely getting close now. You squeeze him harder and incorporate a twist of your wrist into your movements, coaxing his release along.

Just as you find your groove, Joel stops you. “Yeah, nice try, kid. I ain’t payin’ for a fuckin’ handjob. Could do that shit myself for free.”

Joel spins you in the direction opposite of himself, then nudges you forward. He puts the items sitting on the wooden end table on the cracked floral tile below, then pushes the table over to your end of the bath, the wood creaking and groaning.

He lifts you up and leans you over the edge of the bathtub, having you rest on the table, the cool air on your wet skin causing goosebumps to erupt. From here, you can see all the cracks in the wood, the swelling from the water damage. “Spread them legs, sweetheart. Make room.”

The water splashes behind you as Joel moves into position and you brace yourself for the inevitable pain of Joel’s cock splitting you open.

Only, it doesn’t come. You feel Joel’s thumb sliding through your folds before he spreads you wide, exposing your asshole and your pussy to himself, a picture perfect view.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he whispers. “A fuckin’ shame it’ll get ruined.”

Joel presses a kiss to your asshole, then kisses his way down to your warm center, before finally dipping his tongue into your warm entrance. He groans at your taste, how sweet on his tongue you are with his face between your cheeks. He kisses his way up, up again, then spits on your tight hole. He circles the muscle with his tongue, tracing round and round before forcing his tongue inside. It’s fucking filthy, what he’s doing to you. All salacious and obscene. But you love it, god do you fucking love it.

“Yeah, old Joel ain’t so bad, is he?” Joel murmurs tauntingly into your flesh. He kisses his way down again, all sloppy and messy. He loves the sweet little sigh of relief you breathe out when he reaches your clit, the area you need him most. He moves his lips slowly against you, loving how you grow slicker and slicker. How your soft cunt feels against his face. Joel breathes you in deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal. No chance in hell he’s washing his face after this. Your musk will live in his facial hair for days, acting as somewhat of a comfort to him. Or perhaps a trophy.

With his tongue pointed, Joel traces along your folds before plunging into your slick hole once more. He could spend forever between your thighs, that soft, sweet, most private of places. The momentary reprieve could last eternally, if he were so lucky.

Joel savors all of you. Your hot, wet cunt, how your hips twist and turn as you chase your own pleasure. When he sucks your clit, he can feel your thighs twitch around his skull. Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect. He has half a mind to take you back to his apartment when he’s done with you, keep you all to himself. Leave you lying naked in his bed, be his little slice of heaven in such a cruel, fucked up world.

Joel circles your clit with his tongue, finding that perfect pleasure that has you moaning his name. Steadily, steadily, he keeps you like this until you’re coming for him, gushing all over his face as he fucks you through your release with his tongue.

You’re left breathing heavily on the table, trying to collect yourself. Joel leans over you and wears a cocky grin. “What’d I tell you, huh?” he asks. “Told you I take good care of pussy. Shoot, look at ya, all fucked out.”

You can’t help but smile at him. Joel moves behind you once more, spreading your legs wide and slotting himself between them.

“But,” he says, “Fair’s fair. My turn now, sweet girl.”

Joel tugs on his cock, as it’s softened a bit without any stimulation. God, he’s getting old. Once at full mast again, Joel drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, all slick and slippery with your wetness. “Ready?” he says, notching himself inside you. It’s already a painful stretch.

“Mhm,” you hum, uncertainty lacing your tone.

With one hand guiding his cock inside, Joel has the other on your hip. He squeezes you comfortingly as he inches his way inside. He can see that you’re squeezing your eyes shut, wincing in pain. “Oh, I know, I know, I know,” he coos. “S’a tight fit, I know. Take a deep breath, breathe through it. You got it,” he says. “You are a professional after all, hm?” Joel teases.

You inhale and exhale deeply, your walls stretching and aching as Joel’s thick cock pushes deeper and deeper inside you.

“Halfway there,” he tells you. “S’easier f’ya let me rip the bandaid off.” He’s not asking your opinion, it’s a warning of what’s to come. A courtesy, perhaps.

Joel pushes inside you all the way, the slide inside your body has him groaning and throwing his head back. The intrusion of his cock is so sharp it shatters you and scrambles every thought inside your head and you feel impossibly full, every other sensation disappearing as your mind focuses only on what you feel between your legs.

Joel pulls out of you slowly, then pushes back in. He repeats the motion until your expression has softened, until you’re not biting your lips and your brows relax into a natural position. “There she is,” Joel praises you. “What a good girl. Knew you had it in ya. Good fuckin’ girl.”

He builds a steady pace, quickening it to his liking in time. His thrusts are fluid, deep, and intentional; he fucks you perfectly, with consideration for both you and himself. This, this was not what you were expecting. You feel both of his strong hands squeezing your middle, and Joel watches how your flesh bulges between his fingers.

“Joel,” you whimper. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, feels good. Goddamn, you feel good.”

The water sloshes as Joel slams his hips into yours, not that he gives a shit. He fucks you harder, faster, building that pleasure deep in his gut. Joel leans over you and finds your clit with his hand, pulling back the hood before rubbing tight little circles into the sensitive part. “Gimme another,” he breathes. “One for the road. M’gonna miss this pussy.”

Joel pounds into you, the tip of his cock hitting that special place inside you that feels so good, a primal sort of pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it, let him guide your orgasm along with his measured thrusts and skilled fingers. It’s only a little longer of him drawing in and out of you, and then you’re coming all over again. It’s a hot and intense, all-consuming sort of pleasure. A sensation you’ve never known before now, before Joel. Fucking nothing compares.

“Oh, fuck. Christ almighty,” Joel groans, feeling your cunt squeeze around his shaft in non-rhythm. He looks down at where his body meets yours, the creamy rings of arousal you’ve painted onto his cock. Joel quickens his pace even further, hips stuttering as he frenetically pounds into you. You groan at the loss of him pulling out of you, but your displeasure is swiftly soothed by the feeling of his hot spend painting your backside. Rope after rope of his come, all warm and sticky.

It’s quiet, save for the splashing of water. Joel searches for the rag and the soap from before and lathers both, then scrubs his come off of your skin, which tickles you. “See?” he says. “What’d I tell ya. M’a gentleman. Somethin’ like it, at least.”

Joel steps out of the tub and dries his hair, turning it into a fluffy mess. He pats his body down next, and in your blissful, fucked-out state, you get a perfect view of his plump ass before he dresses himself. He combs his hair back with his fingers, then reaches into his pocket for some ration cards.

“Let’s see here,” he murmurs, licking his thumb before flicking through the notes. He pulls out a generous amount, then slaps the cards down on the end table where you rest your head. “Think we’re square. You come and find me if I’m short, though, yeah?”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely lucid.

Joel pushes some hair out of your face and bends down to kiss your cheek. “Until next time,” he says. “Keep outta trouble.”

IF YOU ENJOYED PLEAE TELL ME SO! I love talking to you guys, and I love how you make this blog feel like a community. Reblogs, comments, ASKS!!! Are all so appreciated. Mwah. Have a safe week, everyone 🩷

Extra kitty pics cuz I love ya.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #tlou smut #tlou hbo

2K notes · View notes

itsmarsss · 11 months ago

Text

cool. [Rodrick Heffley x fem!Reader] (Diary of a Wimpy Kid)

(from the vault)

You start working as a babysitter for the Heffleys, but a certain someone seems to be bugging his parents to go out more often. Why?

Words: 6,164

Warnings: like one slight sexual/porn innuendo

[. . .]

"What do you mean someone to watch me?” Greg yelled, exhasperated.

Rodrick laughed out loud at the whole situation. “Wait is little Greg here getting a babysitter?”

“Yes, and she starts tomorrow night," their mom replied, matter-of-factly.

“Mom, I’m in seventh grade! I don’t need a babysitter!”

“We’d believe it if the last time we left the two of you alone you hadn’t directly disobeyed the only thing we told you not to do and thrown a party while we were gone," their dad explained.

“Wait. Mom. So I don’t have to watch him? Like ever again?”

“No but you should be ashamed of the reason why-”

“Hell yeah!”

“Rodrick-” He was already up the stairs on the way to his room. She sighed.

“Mom you can’t do this to me. Do you know how bad it'll be if the guys in my grade find out you got me a babysitter?”

“They’re not gonna find out, sweetie.” She patted his head.

“And it’s not negotiable.”

“What your dad said.”

"Dad!”

“I’m sorry, kid! But if it makes you feel better, since Rodrick will be here and we’re getting a babysitter because we can’t leave the two of you alone, she’s teeechnically his babysitter too, right?”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I tried," he shrugged.

“Where are you two even going tomorrow?”

“We’re having dinner! " Susan exclaimed, excited to talk about it. "Alone, finally, because-”

“Wait couldn't she technically be Manny’s babysitter then?”

“Thank you for caring so much about what I had to say, son.” She sighed once again. “She’s not Manny’s babysitter because Manny’s gonna stay with your grandma.”

Greg huffed and made a point to be extremely loud when stumping upstairs to his room, immediately getting cornered by Rodrick.

“So… a babysitter, huh? And I thought your seventh grade couldn’t get any worse.”

“D´you think it’ll be that bad?”

“Dude they probably got you an old lady who smells like a museum whos gonna make you eat soup at like five PM and sleep at seven.”

Greg widened his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows, worried at the thought of what his brother was making him imagine. “You think?”

“Yup. And I’m not even talking about the total humiliation it's gonna be if someone your age finds out.”

“Crap.”

“Good luck with that.” Rodrick was obviously enjoying the mere thought of the torture that was going to follow.

. . .

“A babysitter?” Rowley asked, rather loudly. Greg quickly put his hand over his best friend's mouth.

“Dude! Can you be quiet?”

“Hmmph!” Rowley tried to protest.

Greg released his hand from over his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Why do I need to be quiet?”

“Because I don’t want anybody to know!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing, Rowley!”

Rowley just shrugged. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed. A babysitter sounds fun! Maybe she’ll read you bedtime stories! And play board games with you!”

Greg just looked at him incredulously. “Just don’t say anything about this to anyone., okay?"

Rowley suddenly started to look really nervous. “You know I can’t lie…”

“It’s not lying! It’s just not mentioning it! No one’s gonna ask about it.”

“Okay. Fine.” He didn't seem that sure about it, but Greg knew he'd try his best.

. . .

You took in a sharp breath before knocking on the front door. It took no time for it to be sprung open, and you were greeted by a smiling Mrs. Heffley. You retributed the smile.

“Hi Mrs. Heffley!”

“Hey, sweetie! How are you?” She asked as she ushered you into the house, startling you when she closed the door behind you as you walked in.

“I’m alright! How about you guys? Your dress looks so pretty!”

“Oh my God, thank you! You know it’s been ages since I’ve worn a pretty dress to go out, you can’t trust three kids with a pretty dress, they're always gonna ruin it.”

“Oh God that must be hell,” you laughed along with her. “Where are you guys headed tonight?”

“Looking forward to having dinner in peace,” she laughed again. “Manny!” she yelled suddenly, startling you yet again.

A little boy walked in in his diapers, holding his pants up with both hands.

“Manny can you just please put on your pants?” Mr. Heffley followed the kid around, frustratedly asking him for what you assumed must have been at leat a fourth time to put his pants on, judging by the tone in his voice and the sigh that accompanied it.

“No!”

“Manny!” Ms. Heffley yelled yet again. The kid did what he was supposed to.

“Um I didn’t- is Manny gonna be staying with me tonight?”

“No! No,” she laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re taking him to my mother’s house.”

“Oh, right. Okay.” You tried to let out how relieved you were. Little kids were a whole other level of difficult, specially at Manny's age.

“Darling are you ready?” Susan asked her husband.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Greg!” she yelled again.

“What?” The boy yelled back from his room upstairs.

“Y/n’s here! Come say hi!”

“Who’s y/n?”

“Your babysitter!”

He came downstairs. Very slowly. “Mom I already-” He stopped. “You’re not an old lady!"

“Gregory! We don't say that to people! What is that about?"

“I’m sorry! I meant- Rodrick told me my babysitter was gonna be an old lady who smelled like a museum."

"Of course he did," Mr. Heffley said, under his breath.

You pretended to smell yourself. “I think I might smell more like an art gallery maybe,” you joked.

“I’m so sorry about this."

“It’s fine, Mrs. Heffley! Don’t worry about it. Now you two go have some fun, alright? Come on."

“Yeah! Okay. Right. There’s money on the table, you can order whatever you want for dinner the kids will eat whatever. Just grab the money before Rodrick comes downstairs or he's gonna pocket it. If you need anything you can call, okay? Really, anything.”

“Don’t worry about it! I promise I’ll call if anything happens! But I think we’re just gonna stay and eat some food and watch some movies, right Greg?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Please be nice, Greg. Oh and if Rodrick bothers you tell him I said he’ll be grounded if I hear he's not letting you work alright?"

“Sure thing! Thank you. Now go!” You joked, pretending to send them off.

. . .

You and Greg had both sat down on the couch in the living room.

“So. You’re not an old lady.”

“Nope.”

“Are you in high school?”

“Yes I am.”

“What grade are you in?"

“I’m a senior!”

“Oh. Rodrick’s a senior too.”

“Cool! I don’t think I’ve seen him around though.”

“Lucky.”

“Why’s that?”

“He makes my life hell!”

“Well don’t you make his life hell at least a tiny little bit?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

“That’s just your job.”

“Trust me no girls like him.”

“Whatever, Heffley. So what do you wanna do?”

“Can we play video games?”

“Depends on what you have.”

“Apocalypse of The Damned?”

“I have never heard of that in my entire life.”

“You’re gonna like it I swear!”

“Alright. But you have to bring me the money your mom left on the table, I’m gonna order us some pizza.”

“Deal!” He ran out to the kitchen, getting back with the money in no time.

. . .

“Hey I was thinking. Can my friend sleep over?” Greg asked, obviously having been preparing himself to do so for the past few minutes, while furiously hitting buttons on his controller as you scrolled through your phone, having gotten tired of playing at that point.

“Um. Is your friend gonna give me any trouble?”

“No! You can- you can trust us.”

“Is he annoying?”

He seemed to take his time to think of an answer. “A little. But he’s pretty cool.”

“Fine, I’ll ask your mom.”

You clicked on Mrs. Heffley’s contact name.

hi mrs heffley

how's the date going? im sorry to interrupt

You didn't even have the time to finish writing the next text before she was calling you. You picked it up.

“Is everything okay?” Susan asked, clearly worried.

“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine, you don't have to worry! I’m so sorry to interrupt your date, Greg wanted a friend to stay over and I just wanted to see if that’s okay with you.”

“Is it Rowley?”

“Sorry?”

“The friend, is it Rowley?”

“Is it Rowley?” You asked Greg, leaning away from the phone, to which he just nodded his head yes. “Yeah, Rowley.”

“Okay, of course he can! And don’t worry, I’ll pay you extra for it.”

“Oh, that’s really nice, thank you. Now you should go back to your date, I'm so sorry to bother.”

“No worries! Are you sure everything’s fine?”

“Yes! We ordered pizza and we’re playing video games right now. Everything under control.”

“And Rodrick?”

“Uh, I haven’t really seen him honestly. He definitely hasn’t left his room though.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Bye!” You hung up.

“So?”

“Yeah, call your friend. Ask him if he has any board games we can play!”

Greg did as you said, and, in about half an hour, a little boy with a yellow shirt with a dog on it stood at the door.

“Are you Greg’s babysitter?’

“Uh yeah, I am.”

“Cool!" He looked at Greg behind you. "You told me she was old!”

“Rowley!”

“What? You did!”

You laughed at the interaction and let them do their thing, only asking them to stay by the living room so you could keep an eye on them. You sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone again as you knew the pizza should be about to get there.

The doorbell rang in no time. You stood up to pay for it, grabbing the large-size pizza and tipping the delivery guy, who didn’t look very friendly at all. You brought it in. “Hey Greg can you go call your brother?”

“Yeah!”

He ran up the stairs, and you set the box down on the dining table, Rowley sitting down. Greg came back.

“He told me to bring it to him.”

“Why?"

"He just doesn't wanna come downstairs."

"You don't have to do it.”

“What? He’s gonna beat me up for it!”

“Not with me here. I got you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Chill out.”

. . .

“Hey you little asshole? I told you to bring my pizza!” A voice exclaimed from the second floor, and Greg muffled a quiet ‘shit’.

“Hey don’t say that!” You scolded Greg for swearing as a reflex.

“Hey? Are you not listening?” Rodrick was clearly close to the kitchen now. He walked through the door. “I said get me so-” he stopped dead on his tracks when he saw you.

“Who’s this?” He asked the boys.

“That’s Y/N,” Rowley said, through gulps.

"And I'm right here you know? You could just ask me who I am."

“Well who are you? And what are you doing… here?” He leaned over the wall, in a poor attempt to look cool. You had to fight yourself tas not to laugh uncontrollably at the sight.

“Well I seem to be your babysitter for the night.”

“What?”

“Did you also expect an old lady? You know, that's a really common and really hurtful babysitter stereotype, you really should think about the things you say now.”

“Wha- huh- yeah- I’ll just-” He let out a weird laugh, and walked up to the table, grabbing himself a slice of pizza and stuffing it into his mouth, seemingly to shut himself up.

“Well we’re gonna watch a movie after we’re done eating. You wanna join?”

“Oh he’s not gonna-” Greg started talking, but Rodrick quickly interrupted him, almost choking on his food as he did so.

“Yeah! Yeah! What are we uh- what are we watching?”

“Zathura.”

“What the fuck is Zathura?”

“Don’t swear in front of them!”

“Sorry.”

Greg looked at Rowley like Rodrick had just gone insane. Did he just apologize?

You laughed. “I’m kidding. You guys don’t mind, do you?”

They both slowly nodded their head no.

“Cool. As long as you don’t repeat it in front of your parents, alright? Don’t wanna get me in trouble.”

“We’re not five!"

“Well you do look like it,” Rodrick commented, and Greg stuck his tongue out at him.

. . .

“This movie doesn’t make any sense,” Rodrick commented, pointing at the screen.

“It’s not supposed to! It’s a kids movie about a magical board game,” you pointed out.

“Let me guess, did Rowley pick this one?”

“For your information, I did. You got a problem?”

“No.”

Rowley had, in fact, picked this one.

Greg and Rowley shared a look again. This was getting bizzarre.

The movie was over in about half an hour, and it was time for you to put Greg to sleep.

“But it’s so early!” The boy complained, and you laughed.

“I know, but you don’t have to sleep now, you just gotta go to bed! I can’t, like, force you to sleep.”

He let out an annoyed groan before agreeing and pulling Rowley with him by the wrist. “Fine.”

“I’ll be upstairs in a few!” You yelled out, and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes from dinner. It wasn’t really something Mrs. Heffley had explicitly asked you to do, but you had those extra minutes and wanted to get on her good side.

What you didn’t expect was to come in to find Rodrick still standing there, startling himself when you walked in.

“Uh hey!” His voice was high-pitched, clearly not expecting to see you there so soon.

“Hey.” You wordlessly walked to the sink, starting with the dishes. And then he offered to help you, which didn’t fit the image you had of him at all.

“What?”

“I said do you want some help? I can dry them.”

“Uh sure. Thanks.”

He just nodded, grabbing a cloth. “So did you put them to sleep yet?”

“Yeah they’re supposed to call me when they’re ready. Then I’m pretty much done.”

“Are you leaving like right after?” Was he… disappointed?

“Well not right after, your mom still has to pay me.”

“Right. She paying you extra for the dishes?”

“No,” you laughed, “just wanna score some points. This job’s good money, you know? But don’t tell her I said that.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You nodded, a little awkwardly. “So what’s the deal with the van?”

“What?”

“The huge white van parked right outside? I assume it’s not your mom’s.”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn’t you have picked a better color?”

“What?”

“You know something other than the classic creepy white van?”

He actually laughed. “I don’t think a creep would have ‘löded diper’ written on the door.”

“Maybe you’re just trying not to look too suspicious.”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Was he… flirting? Well, that was… an attempt.

“What, are you inviting me? You know, I was taught not to get into creepy white vans with strangers.”

“We’re not strangers!” He held his hand up for you to shake, which you did. “I’m Rodrick.”

“Y/N.”

“So. Ho'wd you end up babysitting Greg out of all people?”

“I mean, your dad posted something about it in the newspaper and my mom told me about it. Some extra money, you know?”

“And you’re sure it’s worth it? I mean he’s a big pain in the ass.”

“Aren’t all brothers?”

“I’m not.”

“Right. You’re like a dictator to him!”

“No I’m not!”

“He was scared you were gonna beat him up if he didn’t bring you pizza.”

“He’s dumb. I wasn’t gonna beat him up that badly.”

You laughed. “Well, we’re done. Thank you for the help. You can go now if you wanna.”

“You sound like a mom.”

“Oh my god! Stop trying to make me sound old! I'm some granny cinderella who turns into an old lady who smells like a museum when midnight strikes," you teased him, and he scrunched up his nose in embarrassment.

"Right. He told you about that.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. To be fair, I never had a babysitter, you know? I just thought they were all old and boring.”

“Do you think I’m old and boring?” You joked.

He snorted. “No, you’re pretty.” His eyes widened, realizing what he’d just said. Way to go. “Not in that- well not that you’re not pretty, you are, but you know what I mean. You’re uh- you’re pretty compared to what I- expected?"

It was stupid, but you could feel yourself blush a little. Why was it that you always fell for the most absolute idiots? “So I’m pretty… compared to an old woman.”

“I think you should let me start over.”

“But-”

“Y/N!” You heard Greg yell from upstairs, and you left the kitchen to go see him, going up the stairs and entering his room.

“Okay, we ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes!”

“Both of you?”

“Yup.”

“Okay I’ll believe you. But your mom told me you’re on thin ice.”

Greg rolled his eyes and both boys got on the bed.

“Okay, goodnight. If you don’t sleep right away don’t make too much noise.”

“Are you coming over tomorrow?”

“Why, did you actually like me?”

“Just a little.”

You smiled. “Well no. But I think I might next week.”

“Cool! ‘Night, Y/N!”

“‘Night!”. You closed the door behind you, and walked downstairs to wait for Mrs. and Mr. Heffley to return so you could go home.

You stopped on the hallway to send your mom a quick text saying you were fine and should be leaving in a few before making your way to the living room.

To your surprise, Rodrick hadn’t gotten back to his room. Instead, he was laying on the couch, his entire body draped over it as he scrolled through his phone. He sat right up when he saw you. “Hey Y/N.”

“Hey. You not have anything to do?”

“I’m offended. But no I don’t.”

You laugh, sitting down beside him. “Okay. Well your parents must be on their way, so. Don’t have much to do either.”

“You wanna watch something?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well a real movie.”

“Zathura’s a real movie! I like it!”

“You actually do?”

“Yes!”

“Whatever. Well an adult movie I mean.”

“Uh, an adult movie?”

“No! Not that kind!” He was blushing furiously and you found it hilarious.

“Yeah whatever. What do you have?”

You ended up settling on a Marvel movie, but you barely had the time to start it before the doorbell rang, and you had to go get the door.

“Hey Y/N! I’m sorry we took so long, we had to go get Manny.”

“That’s fine! Rodrick and I were just about to watch a movie!”

“Rodrick came downstairs?” Mr. Heffley sounded genuinely surprised.

“Well you can finish it if you want!”

“Oh, no, I really should get going. We can finish it another time.”

“Oh well. Okay.” She put Manny down and grabbed her wallet, handing you your money. “Here, with the extra from Rowley. Hope they didn’t cause too much trouble.”

“Oh they were so cool! I was surprised.”

“Oh that’s great to hear! If they haven’t traumatized you too much we’d love to have you sit them again.”

“Oh definitely! Just give me a call.”

“Thank you, Y/N. Are you driving home?”

“Oh, no, I’m actually walking. I thought we’d be done a little earlier.”

“Oh that’s not good, we can take you-”

“I can take her!” Rodrick yelled, almost falling off of the couch in his eagerness. He stood up, walking toward you. His dad looked like he was short-circuiting.

“Are you sure?” His mom asked.

“Yeah! Come on, let’s go.” He walked quickly past the front door and into the white van.

“Sure. Bye Mrs. Heffley!”

“Bye sweetie! Tell me if he bothers you too much!”

You walked towards the van, getting in on the passenger’s seat. He turned the engine on in silence. There was an awkward atmosphere surrounding you, and you didn’t know why.

You cleared your throat. “So uh. Thanks for driving me.”

“Yeah it’s chill. Where do I turn?”

“Oh let me just- give me your phone.”

“What?”

“So I can put the address on the GPS?”

“Oh. Sure.” He handed it to you after unlocking it, and you did as you said.

“Turn left in 200 feet,” the disembodied voice said, and he did.

“You don’t have to uh- do these things for me. You know, drive me home, help me with the dishes. It’s nice, but I’m not gonna tell on you if you don’t.”

“I know. I uh. I want to.”

“You wanna do the dishes?”

“I wanna help you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Fine.”

You got home pretty quickly, as you didn’t live a long way from the Heffley residence, and got out of the car.

“Thank you for driving me! Goodnight.”

“Yeah!” Rodrick yelled back, and waited for you to get in to drive off. There was a smile on your lips you couldn’t shake off, and you felt stupid for it. Was the weird wannabe rock band kid really having an effect on you?

. . .

On wednesday, you got a call from Ms. Heffley again. And then on friday, and saturday, and sunday. This could not be normal, right? But it was money, so you obviously wouldn’t refuse it. So you pulled up to the Heffley residence for the fifth time on sunday, knocking on the door as usual.

Greg opened it this time, greeting you with a confused expression. “You’re here again?”

“Miss me, kid?”

“Are they going out again?”

“Apparently.”

“Mom, Y/N’s here!”

“Oh hey sweetie! Thank you for coming!”

“No problem! Where are you off to today?”

“Well we’re going bowling. Rodrick found us these pamphlets at the mall and wouldn’t stop bugging us about trying it out, so we decided to give it a go.”

“Oh he did?” That was strange.

“And you seem to have things so under control! I can’t believe we’ve been going out so much!”

“Well I’m happy to hear it. When will you be back?”

“I’d say eleven if that’s not too late for you?”

“Oh definitely not! As long as Rodrick can drive me.”

“Oh that won’t be a problem. You ready, darling?” She asked her husband, who walked by holding Manny in one arm and a huge bag in the other.

“Yeah.”

"Everything there?” Susan asked him, referring to the bag. She turned back to you. “Manny’s staying over at my mom’s for the first time today. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah!" You exclaimed, not really getting all the excitement about it. You supposed you would if you were his mom. Right now you were just happy you didn’t have to watch over him too. Little kids were always more difficult.

“Okay bye everyone!”

Greg and Rodrick were right behind you the moment you closed the door.

“Can we make pasta?’ Greg asked, and damn, the little dude must have had some sugar because he looked like he’d downed like three energy drinks at once.

“Well yeah. I make a killer pasta. Is Rowley coming today?”

“Yeah!”

“Cool.”

“Do you want help with the food?” Rodrick finally spoke up, and Greg looked at him like he was speaking Greek.

“Sure.”

“Are you okay?’ Greg couldn’t contain himself from asking him.

“What do you mean, assface?”

“Did you just offer to help with the food?”

“Yeah?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh shut it, dickhead.” You didn’t miss the nervous glance he gave you, clearly signaling something about you to Greg. And then Greg seemed to figure something out, his eyes going wide.

“Oh! Is that why you-” Rodrick looked alarmed, putting his hand against Greg’s mouth to keep him from talking, but he managed to get himself free. “Is that why you’ve been trying to get mom and dad to go out all week?”

“Hah. Don’t know what he’s talking about, pssht.” Rodrick laughed nervously.

“Uh sure. Well I’m already hungry so I’m thinking early dinner and then we can make dessert?”

“Yes!” Greg yelled.

“Okay but if we’re making the food you gotta set the table. Deal?”

Greg groaned in annoyance, but agreed. “Fine.” He went on his way, and you and Rodrick made your own way to the kitchen.

“So,” you started, as you grabbed the pasta from the cabinet. “You’ve been trying to get your parents to go out all week.”

He looked everywhere but at you. “Uh, I don’t know what the kid’s on about.”

“Well, shame. Cause I was gonna thank you.”

“For what?”

“Well the more times a week I work the more money I get right?”

“Oh right. Right. So yeah you can thank me.”

“So you were setting them up to go out. Why?”

He shrugged, trying to seem cool. “Wanted to be alone.”

“You’re not alone now. You could be in your room. Or like out with your friends or whatever.”

“I didn’t anticipate��that you’d actually be cool.”

“Oh you think I’m cool?”

“Yeah.”

The water started to boil, and you threw the pasta in the pot, stirring it with a fork.

“Cool. You’re kinda cool too. You know when you’re not trying to be impressive.”

“I’m not trying to impress you!”

“I didn’t say you were trying to impress me .”

“Well I was.”

“You were.”

“Did it work?”

“Why’d you want to impress me?”

“Cause you’re cool. I wanted you to think I’m cool too.”

“Huh. Maybe I do.”

“Cool.”

“Y/N I’M DONE! I THINK ROWLEY’S HERE !” Greg’s voice came from the dining room.

“I didn’t hear the doorbell, are you sure?” You yelled back, walking past Rodrick to get the front door. Maybe you were too lost in the conversion to hear it, because the boy was standing right there when you opened it.

“Hey Y/N!” He said with a smile, greeting you with a hug, which was very on-brand for the kid.

“Hey Rowley. You alright?”

“Yeah! I brought water balloons!”

“You did?”

“Well they’re not full of water yet so they’re just balloons but yeah.”

“Cool! You should tell Greg!”

“Will you play with us?”

“Oh I don’t know, I don’t have clothes I can get wet-”

“Well that’s not a problem!” Rodrick said, and you frowned in confusion. “You can borrow mine!”

“Oh I don-”

“C’mon, Y/N, you really gonna disappoint the boy?”

“Shut up. Fine, but you’re playing too.”

“Deal.”

“Yes!” Rowley exclaimed, before taking off, presumably to go find Greg.

“Well you wanna go up to my room?” Rodrick asked, apparently having otten some confidence from out of the blue, sporting a cocky smirk.

You laughed. “You wish. Just bring me a t-shirt.”

“Yeah. Someone’s gonna be looking like the number one Loded Diper fan out there.”

“If you bring me a white shirt I will beat you up!” You yelled, and he was already on his way upstairs. You took the past out of the pot, mixing it with the sauce you’d made, which was the easiest one you could find.

Rodrick was back as soon as you set the pot down on the table, handing you a gray shirt that , of course, had ‘loded diper’ written on it in terrible handwriting.

“Thanks.” You draped the shirt over your shoulder and all of you ate in silence, apparently all stupidly hungry for some reason.

You were done pretty quickly, but made sure to get Greg and Rowley to promise to help with the dishes this time, since there were more.

“Okay! We’re gonna get changed!”

“Yeah me too!” You yelled back, making your way to the bathroom, changing into Rodrick’s gray shirt.

It didn’t hang as loose as you thought it would, and you laughed at the thought of Rodrick wearing a tight shirt for no reason. You supposed it was an old one he decided to turn into loded diper merch. Loded diper. What a stupid fucking name. You guessed it was fit.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. Rodrick. “You done? These kids are little demons, they talk so much!”

You laughed, unlocking the door and grabbing your own shirt before opening it.

“Hello?” He looked wide-eyed, like his brain was malfunctioning, staring profusely at his shirt. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Fine. The shirt alright?”

“Yeah. A lot smaller than I expected. Does Rodrick Heffley wear crop tops?”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “Sometimes. That bad?”

“No.”

“Chicks dig the crop tops, you know.”

“Oh do they?”

“Don’t you?”

“I guess I’d have to see you in one to give an opinion.”

“Yeah that’s not happening any soon."

“Shame.”

“What?”

“I said let’s go.”

You barely had the time to walk into the front yard before Rodrick was hit on the face by a huge water balloon. You turned to see a terrified-looking Rowley at the other side. Rodrick gained his bearings again.

“Oh you’re in, you little shit!” He seemed way too determined on winning this, but who were you to judge?

Him and Rowley occupied themselves with each other pretty much the whole time, as you did with Greg, until you got hit rather strongly in the back. You stopped what you were doing, which was aiming your next balloon at Greg, who was right in front of you, and turned around to see Rodrick laughing at you.

“Motherfucker-” you cursed yourself mentally for swearing in front of the kids, hoping they wouldn ‘t tell on you, and launched the balloon at him at full speed, it landing on his chest.

“Hey!”

You played for about half an hour more until the sun set, and you decided it was best to get back inside. All three complained, and you laughed at the situation, because you supposed you did sort of sound like a mom when trying to convince them to get in, but they ended up listening.

“Okay what are we watching tonight?” You asked as you closed the front door behind you and dried your feet on the mat by the entrance.

“Oh can we watch a horror movie?” Greg asked.

“Nope, we know how that ends.”

“But we’ve changed!”

“It’s been less than a week!”

“People change!” Greg tried to plead, but you knew Mrs. Heffley wouldn’t like it if you caved in.

“No can do, Gregory. We can watch that Adam Sandler movie you wanted though.”

“With the little kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

You were halfway through a second movie when the boys decided it was time for dessert, and you still had a little while before the Heffleys came back, so you decided you’d all bake cupcakes.

They didn’t turn out as great as you wished they would, but also weren’t half bad. They were a little flat and maybe a little toasted on the top, but were otherwise pretty edible. You covered them with some frosting and ate them as you finished the movie.

It turned out when you were done the Heffleys still hadn’t come back, so you decided to put the boys to sleep then. You came back to Ridrick looking at you at the other end of the hallway.

“Hey,” you said, not expecting him to be there.

You stood there in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat and started talking.

“Um do you wanna hang out? ‘Till they're back?” It was funny, with him. One moment he’d be full of confidence, flirting with you at the max, but, in a second, his entire demeanor would change and he’d look unsure, insecure to ask you anything.

You were starting to wonder if he wasn’t just being a stupid hormonal teenager and if he actually, maybe, had a little bit of a crush on you. But you wouldn’t entertain those thoughts, of course. First because you could be completely misinterpreting the situations, and second because you needed the job, and you hadn’t gotten enough of a read on his mom to know if she’d be cool with that.

Still, you did have nothing else to do but scroll through your phone as you waited. “Sure.”

“Oh! Cool. Uh, my room’s right there,” he pointed to a white door by his left, and you followed him in. It actually looked pretty cool. It was sort of exactly what you expected his room to look like, except maybe a little messier, if that was possible.

To each their own, I guess. It’s not like you were the cleanest person to ever walk the Earth. You sat down on his bed, and he opted to sit down on a beanbag just in front of you.

TIt's safe to say things were a little awkward. “Uh. So. Cool room.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You studied the multiple posters he had glued to his walls. “Oh, The Cure. Cool.”

“Yeah. They’re not like super my style or anything. But they’re cool.”

“What would be your style?”

“I don’t know. Hard rock.”

“Huh. I don’t know. You just look like one of those guys who like rock but secretly listen to Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber or something when they’re alone.”

“What- what I would never- I don’t-” busted.

You laughed at him as he tried to deny it. “I think it’s cool.”

He stopped. “You do?”

“Yeah. Taylor Swift’s cool.”

“Yeah uh. Girls dig that.”

“Do you really know what girls dig or do you just make random guesses?”

“I’m well-informed.”

“Oh are you? You have a girlfriend or something?” Subtle.

He scoffed. “Pfft. Yeah.”

“Uh- huh.”

He gave in. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay”

“You're a girl. What do you dig then?”

“What a romantic way to phrase that question. I guess I don’t know. Never stopped to think of it. What do you think we dig?”

“Uh. Bad boys?”

You let out a laugh. “Yeah I guess. But it depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether they’re nice to us.”

“So you want bad boys who are actually nice.”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Uh. But I can be nice.”

“Who said you’re a bad boy to begin with?”

“Um rock band? Cool eyeliner?” He motioned to himself, mockingly.

“Well who do you wanna be nice for?”

“Uh. You? Obviously.”

Your smile faltered. There was the confidence making an appearance again.

“What?”

“Uh. You know. So I can uh- practice. For other... girls?”

“Right.”

“Or maybe not.”

“Okay I ‘m lost.”

“Do you wanna go out with me? ” He blurted out at rapid speed.

Okay, sudden much? “What?”

“Uh. We could… go to the movies or something? You seem to like movies.”

“Right. But as a… date?”

“Yeah.”

You thought about it. It was just a date, it’s not like his mom would get mad about a date, right?

“Sure.”

“What?”

“I said sure.”

His eyes widened, he didn’t seem to have been expecting a positive answer. “Oh! That’s cool! That's- cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

He began standing up. “Well, do you wanna-” In that very moment, before he could finish, the doorbell rang, and you made your way past him, running downstairs and getting the front door.

“Y/N! How are we?”

You hoped the blush on your cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt as you talked to her. “We’re great! Greg and Rowley are already in bed, Rodrick and I have been uh. Hanging out.”

“Oh that’s nice of him!” She turned to face her husband, who, in turn, grabbed your wrist.

“What have you done to him? Are you some sort of witch?” He asked you.

You laughed awkwardly. “Oh it’s all him! He was showing me the posters in his room, we like the same bands!”

“Oh do you uh. Like rock too?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well we’re taking too much of your time. Is Rodrick driving you home?”

Oh, right. Shit. He was.

“Yeah I uh, think so.”

With that, he walked into your view, holding up the van keys. He’d apparently put on shades, probably so his parents wouldn’t see he had eyeliner on.

“Why do you have sunglasses on?” Mr. Heffley asked him as he walked past them.

“It’s called fashion, dad!”

Mrs. Heffley handed you the money for the night, and you went on your way, getting into the van with Rodrick, who, by now, didn’t need the GPS to get to your place. Except he wasn’t driving to your place at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Wanted a slushie. That cool?”

“I guess.”

He stopped by a 7/11 and bought each of you a slushie and some chocolate bars, which you ate outside. The wind started to get harsher, and you crossed your arms around your chest for warmth. He caught on to that, taking his striped hoodie off and giving it to you. You looked up at him, confused.

“What?”

“You’re cold.”

“Yeah but you’ll be cold.”

“Rockstars don’t get cold.”

“You’re not a rockstar.”

“Not yet."

You raised an eyebrow at him, unamused.

"Just take it!”

You did, and put it on. This one hung looser than the shirt you’d borrowed earlier. It did help. You tried your best to contain the smile that was insisting on forming on your lips. You knew it was dumb.

“Thanks,” you mumbled under your breath, and you could see him smirk, proud of himself. “You’re so cheesy. Wouldn’t take you for it.”

“I’m not cheesy. I’m just not an asshole.”

“You kinda are.”

“Shut up!”

You ate in silence for a bit before you decided to say what was on your mind. “Hey about that date?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if we should do it.”

He tried to seem chill about it, but he looked a little hurt. “Why?”

“Well it’s not that I don’t want to! I do. For… some reason,” you added, trying to lighten up the mood. “But do you think your mom would be cool with it? I mean I don’t wanna lose this job and I don’t know if she’d really like us being alone if we’re dating.”

His face lit up. “So you’re thinking about dating me?”

Oh, you’d messed up big time now, he’d never let this go. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

“I think it is.”

“Fuck off!”

“Oh we’re using big boy words now?” He grinned.

“Shut up.”

“Well. Don’t think that should be a problem. They don’t have to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“What, do you tell your parents everything? They don’t have to know we’re dating.”

“Yeah but we’re not dating.”

“Not yet.”

“Shut up!”

“They don’t have to know we’re going on a date, then. Plus, the days you work can be like little dates.”

“Yeah except there will be two children up our asses.”

“You can manage.”

“Fine, Heffley. But if I lose my job you’ll be owing me. Like literal money.”

“Deal.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

[. . .]

A/N: sometimes ur 20 pages into a diary of a wimpy kid rodrick heffley oneshot and you ask urself wtf am i doing with my life. this is the product of that. i wrote this THREE YEARS AGO WOW so i edited some of it to post it here but nothing major cause i didn't want it to lose its energy lol. btw i was in fact like. actually in high school at the time lmao. luv yall!

#diary of a wimpy kid #doawk #rodrick heffley #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley imagine #greg heffley #rowley jefferson #imagine #x reader

3K notes · View notes

revasserium · 5 months ago

Text

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

2K notes · View notes

amirasainz · 17 days ago

Note

How about Lando baby sister came to a GP but all the other drivers hogged her?

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

- xoxo 🧡

Stealing her attention

The paddock was bustling as the weekend’s Grand Prix was well underway. Amongst the excitement and chaos, a certain little girl was stealing the show: Yn, Lando’s six-year-old sister. Dressed in a miniature McLaren team shirt and a sparkly skirt that fluttered when she twirled, Yn had quickly become the darling of the grid. While Lando had initially brought her to the GP for some sibling bonding time, it became apparent that the rest of the drivers were equally, if not more, excited to have her around.

---

“Yn!” Lewis called out from the Mercedes garage as the little girl skipped by, her bright eyes lighting up the room. “Come here for a second. I need help with something.”

“What do you need help with?” Yn asked, her tiny hands on her hips, her expression mimicking Lando’s ‘serious face.’

“Well, you see, Barbie here doesn’t know which dress to wear to her party,” Lewis explained, holding up two Barbie dolls. “Can you help her decide?”

Yn giggled and took the dolls from Lewis, inspecting the options with the utmost concentration. “This one,” she said decisively, pointing at a sparkly pink gown. “Because it matches her shoes. Duh.”

Lewis laughed and nodded. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. Thank you, Miss Stylist.”

---

Meanwhile, in the Ferrari hospitality suite, Charles was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Yn in front of him, her hair falling in soft waves.

“Stay still, mon petit,” Charles murmured as he worked on braiding her hair. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, his fingers surprisingly deft.

“Are you making me look like Elsa?” Yn asked eagerly, turning her head slightly.

“Oui,” Charles said, gently turning her head back. “But better. You will be the queen of the paddock when I am done.”

“Queen Yn,” she mused, giggling. “I like that!”

---

Not far away, Carlos was in the kitchen area, carefully dishing up a small portion of the soup he had made. Yn sat perched on a chair, swinging her legs and watching him with wide eyes.

“Okay, Yn,” Carlos said, crouching down to her level as he offered her a spoonful of the soup. “Try this and tell me what you think. Careful—it’s hot.”

Yn blew on the spoon dramatically before taking a taste. Her eyes widened. “Yummy!” she exclaimed.

Carlos grinned, holding a hand under the spoon to catch any drips as Yn eagerly took another bite. “Good, right? I knew you’d like it.”

As she finished, Carlos dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “We can’t have you walking around with soup on your face, princesa.”

---

Oscar was sitting on a low stool nearby, nodding seriously as Yn whispered to him. She looked around conspiratorially before leaning in closer.

“And then,” she whispered, “Lando told me I couldn’t eat two ice creams because I’d get a tummy ache. But I didn’t! I had three!” She giggled mischievously.

Oscar gasped dramatically. “Three ice creams? Yn, you’re living on the edge!”

She nodded proudly. “Don’t tell him, okay?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Oscar assured her, miming a zipping motion across his lips.

---

Over at Red Bull, Max was leaning down to Yn’s level, holding up a small notebook. “Okay, repeat after me,” he said with a grin. “Hoi.”

“Hoy,” Yn repeated, her pronunciation adorable.

“Goedemorgen.”

“Goo-dem-morgen.”

Max laughed. “Close enough. That means ‘good morning.’”

Yn clapped her hands. “I’m learning Dutch! Can I say something else?”

“Sure,” Max said. “Let’s try ‘Ik ben de beste.’”

“What does that mean?” Yn asked, tilting her head.

Max smirked. “It means ‘I’m the best.’”

---

George was sitting in the Mercedes lounge with Yn curled up beside him, watching The Princess and the Frog on his tablet. Yn was completely engrossed, clutching a stuffed frog that George had given her earlier.

“Do you like Tiana?” George asked softly.

Yn nodded enthusiastically. “She’s so pretty! And she’s really good at cooking, just like Carlos.”

George chuckled. “That’s true. Maybe you’ll open a restaurant one day too.”

“Maybe,” Yn mused before snuggling closer to him.

---

Lando, on the other hand, was not amused. He wandered through the paddock, muttering under his breath. “Where is she now?”

Finally spotting Yn surrounded by nearly all the drivers, he stormed over. “Okay, guys, I think you’ve hogged her enough for today. Yn’s supposed to be here with me.”

“But we’re having so much fun!” Lewis protested, holding up Barbie for emphasis.

“She was helping me with my Dutch!” Max added.

“And I braided her hair,” Charles said, gesturing to Yn’s perfectly styled locks.

“Guys, she’s my sister,” Lando groaned, gently pulling Yn into his arms. “Can I have her back now?”

Yn pouted. “But Lando, I like playing with everyone.”

Lando softened immediately, ruffling her hair. “I know, bug. But I barely got to hang out with you.”

“Okay,” she relented before turning to the other drivers. “Bye, everyone! I’ll play with you later!”

As Lando carried her away, the drivers watched wistfully.

“Next race,” Charles said, crossing his arms. “She’s sitting with Ferrari.”

“Not a chance,” Lewis countered, smirking.

And so, Yn continued to be the paddock’s princess—much to her big brother’s chagrin.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x sister!reader #lewis hamilton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #george russell x reader #max verstappen x reader #oscar piastri x norris!reader #oscar piastri x reader #norris!reader #xoxo babygirl 💋

788 notes · View notes

motorsportbarbie13 · 12 days ago

Text

The Princess & The Pilot

In which Lando Norris meets his childhood crush, who just happens to be an actual princess.

Warnings: none Pairing: Lando Norris x BritishPrincess!Reader Word Count: 3.5k or something

(quick note: running late for a meeting this morning but wanted to get this out. I'll update the tag list later tonight when/if I have time. Enjoy the new seriesssss!)

Master List

There must be a foreign power invading London.

That is the only reason you can think that your assistant would be waking you up at 8am the morning after you spent nearly 12 hours entertaining Argentinian foreign dignitaries with your father yesterday. When you had tumbled into bed at 2am after the state dinner the previous night, the last words you had mumbled to Noelle were ‘please don’t wake me up before noon tomorrow.’

This was supposed to be your one day off after attending engagements with your parents four days in a row.

“I’m so sorry, your highness.” Noelle whispers from where she stands at the foot of her bed. You immediately wonder if the palace groundskeepers would be willing to install a set of locks on the doors to your apartments that only you had the keys to.

“Noelle, you’ve been my assistant for how many years now? You can call me by my first name.” You grumble from under the thick cream duvet that you had tugged over your head moments before.

You glare at Noelle but immediately regret it when you see the anxious look on the older woman’s face. This wasn’t her choice, you realized. “What does my father want now?”

Noelle worries at the corner of her lip before holding out her cell phone. “He’s been trying to reach you for an hour now. Insisted I come wake you up.”

“He’s been unable to reach me because he swore up and down last night that I’d get today off from anything family related.” You complain, unable to keep the whine out of your voice.

Tossing off the covers, you swing your legs over the side of your king sized bed before reaching out to take Noelle’s phone from her. You can see the active call ticking away with your father’s name on the caller ID ‘HRH King Edward’

“Good morning Papa.” You expertly adjust your tone, knowing that if your father hears one single hint of grouchiness in your voice you’ll never hear the end of it. “Everything okay?”

“Your brother is sick.” His tone is brisk and you try to tell yourself he doesn’t mean to be short with you. He is literally the King of England after all. You’re sure he’s got a few things on his mind beyond worrying about waking his youngest child up at the crack of dawn.

“Does he need me to bring him something? Soup? Medicine?”

Your father scoffs on the other end of the line. “Don’t be silly.” He scolds. “My doctor has already been in to see him this morning. It’s just the flu, but he is contagious.”

You’re silent on your end of the phone, knowing there is more to come as the news of your older brother being sick didn’t really warrant an early morning phone call.

“I need you to take over the engagement he was going to do today.”

It takes every ounce of royal training for you not to groan. You’d been attending events and engagements all weekend long, standing in for your mother who also was sick with the flu. “Can’t Mike do it?”

Your youngest brother Michael was in his final year at Oxford before he’d go on to do the requisite military training but he was still able to engagements here and there.

“Michael has exams this week, so he is unavailable.”

You nearly suggest your sister-in-law Charlotte take her husbands place but know that would also be turned down as she’s been busy with her new well baby charity and juggling having two young children at home as well. The weight of the expectations of being the second eldest child of the King of England hangs heavy on your shoulders as the sunlight pours in through the curtains Noelle has drawn back. It’s a gorgeous spring day in London, which you know is rare this time of year. You had been planning on spending the day out on the private gardens that are tucked away in a hidden part of the palace not open to tourists reading a book in the quiet.

“What’s the engagement then?” You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that once again, your family duties were coming before your own personal agenda.

You tried so hard not to be resentful of the weight of who you were and most of the time, you were fine with your station in life. You lived a very privileged, if not somewhat regimented and controlled, life as the only daughter to King Edward and Queen Matilde of the United Kingdom. Your parents, while busy with their own lives and duties, adored you and your two brothers, Sebastian and Michael. They had worked hard when you were younger to make sure that you and your siblings were raised as normally as possible, which hadn’t always been easy.

“You’ll be going out to the Silverstone Circuit in Towcester to meet with some people from the McLaren Formula 1 team. They're the Duke of Dover Awards newest partner and their drivers are doing some laps the track with children from the local schools. They’d like to take you on the track too.”

Your brother had started the Duke of Dover Awards when he had married Charlotte 10 years ago and had inherited the title as the heir to the throne. The foundation awarded hundreds of thousands of pounds each year to kids and teenagers that applied to be recipients of grants to improve their communities, start small businesses, and conduct scientific research. It was your brother’s brainchild and baby and you were shocked that Sebastian had agreed to allow anyone that wasn’t him to go near an event of theirs.

Sighing, you stand and shrug on the silk robe that was hanging form the little hook next to your bed. You were certainly not getting a day off today, now were you? “Okay, sounds straight forward enough. Does Noelle have the details?”

“Yes, Noelle has everything you’ll need. Thank you for helping, little dove.”

Your heart squeezes as the nickname your father has used since you were a toddler. You knew he carried a heavy weight with the crown on his head and expected nothing but the best from himself, and by extension you and your siblings, at all times because of it. He meant well and loved you fiercely, you knew that but sometimes it got lost in the legacy of what it meant to be a Windsor.

“Of course, Papa.”

You hang up and hand the phone back to your assistant. “Papa says you have all the details. Could you have everything printed out so I can read it in the car. Towcester is quite far away, isn’t it?”

“About an hour and a half, if traffic is good.”

You nod, mind jumping into preparation mode. The timeline that had landed in your inbox while you had been on the phone with your father said you needed to be there a little after 1pm, which gave you enough time to get ready. “Can you call Tibby, give her the details and have her pull some outfits for me? I can do my own makeup and I don’t think I’ll need anything fancy for hair, yeah?”

Noelle nods, eyes skimming her emails. “Your brother’s valet says he was planning on wearing jeans and a jumper, so it sounds casual. Natural makeup and a sporty ponytail, maybe?”

“That’s fine, I can do that myself.” Sometimes it chafed at you how much had to go into your appearance. You could never really go out looking sloppy or unkempt because the bad press that it inevitably invited drove your mother crazy. If your father was preoccupied with the weight of his crown, your mother was preoccupied with the weight of what her image meant to millions of people. It was a difficult relationship to navigate and you didn’t always do a good job, so you tried to maintain at least the minimum appearance standards your mother requested just to appease her.

Noelle snaps into action, calling Sebastian’s valet to get some more details on the people that will be present along with any other notes he had thought important. You pad towards your private bathroom to take a shower and get ready for what you assumed would be another routine royal engagement.

And boy, how wrong you were.

“Are you nervous?” Oscar mutters as he comes to lean against the counter in the garage next to where Lando stands, scrolling on his phone.

Lando looks up, confusion knitting his brows together. “Nervous for what?”

As far as he knew, this was just going to be another routine event with some kids and the Duke of Dover, who he'd already met last year during the race at Silverstone. Nothing to be nervous about really.

“To meet the princess!” Oscar chuckles, knocking his shoulder into Lando's.

“Princess?" The crease on his forehead deepens even more. "I thought it was the Duke that was coming. Isn’t it his awards thing that we're partnering with?”

Oscar shrugs. “Zak said the Duke is sick. His sister is coming instead. Apparently she just pulled in as well. Sophie is running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. Something about not being prepared for her."

Oh. A thick sense of anxiety settles in the pit of Lando's stomach. Oh fuck. This changed things. He certainly hadn't been nervous before but now he was, knowing that it was you that he'd be driving around the track instead of your brother.

Like most guys his age, Lando had grown up with photos of you taped to the back of his door and indulged in several...interesting and not very polite fantasies when he was in his teens. In fact, now that Lando thinks about it, you were probably his very first crush. You had been the first princess to be born into the Royal family in two generations and the press had fallen in love with you the day you were born, dubbing you the English Rose that was going to save the monarchy.

Once you reached your 18th birthday and debuted into society, taking your place beside your older brother and parents by working for the family full time while going to university to study international business, the country had fallen even more in love with you. Your family was well loved by the entirety of the Common Wealth but you? You were absolutely everyone's favorite Windsor by a country mile. And that included the British Formula One driver.

"You okay, mate?" Oscar's thick accent shakes Lando out of his day dream.

"Oh, yeah." Lando replies weakly, rubbing the palm of his hand over his jaw, glad he had shaved this morning and put a bit of extra care into his hair.

"Boys!" Sophie, McLaren's head of Public Relations, yells at the entrance of the garage, fists on her hips as she taps her toe glaring at the pair. "The princess is here and everyone is waiting on you."

"Coming." Lando mumbles, desperately trying to tamp down the nerves that are making his stomach do somersaults. This is like a teenage wet dream come true.

Just outside the garage is a group of people clustered around several McLaren sports cars waiting to get started. Lando can see Zak chatting with you from 50 meters away and he loses all ability to think straight when he sees you in person for the first time. You're dressed in dark wash jeans that hug your curves and, much to Lando's surprise, a papaya colored knit jumper. With your hair pulled back in a high ponytail, your delicate features on full display. He couldn't help thinking how much better you looked in real life compared to the glossy magazine photos he used to keep tacked up to his bedroom wall.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lando, Oscar, and Sophie approaching before Zak does but you don't allow the group to distract you from your conversation with McLaren's CEO. That kind of behavior would send your mother into a tailspin. She hadn't sent you off to boarding school at the age of 12 for nothing after all. But you can't help how your stomach twists when you lock eyes with the boy with the curly hair. A nervous ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his full lips, sending goosebumps exploding over your skin.

"Oh, there they are!" Zak finally notices the drivers and Sophie and moves to introduce everyone. Behind you, Noelle hovers, lying in wait to correct anyone who might break royal protocol when it comes to interacting with you. You desperately wish she would've let you come alone.

Introductions are made and you try your hardest to ignore the way your skin sparks when you shake hands with Lando. Zak explains how the afternoon is going to go and that Lando is going to take you around the track on a hot lap while Oscar and a few other reserve McLaren drivers take the kids out behind.

"Nervous, your highness?" Lando asks as he checks the chin strap on your crash helmet.

The way your stomach dips when he smiles at you has nothing to do with nerves.

"You're about to whip me around this race track at speeds that could kill me, I think you can call me by my first name, Lando." You tease, deflecting the real reason your palms are sweating.

Lando blushes, eyes falling to the ground. "I guess that's true. Just didn't want your lady in waiting to tackle me for committing some protocol crime, I guess."

The laugh that escapes you would send your mother into a complete fit it's so sudden and loud. "She does look like she's lying in wait, doesn't she?" Your eyes dart above Lando's shoulder where Noelle stands, eyes trained on you as if she's expecting someone to attack at any moment.

"She's just a little...protective." You say, voice going soft. "Last year we had a little incident where I was being stalked for several months. The guy thought we were engaged and he somehow managed to get around my protection officers and into my building at 3 in the morning. They caught him outside my door with duct tape, rope and a knife in his bag."

Your eyes go wide with horror as you realize what you've just said. No one in the public knew about that, your parents had insisted on keeping the investigation quiet. The man had been sent to a psychiatric facility with the blessing of his family and charges hadn't been filed in order to protect your privacy. You had no idea why you had just spilled one of your most closely kept secrets to a veritable stranger.

"Well then I'm glad she's here to watch over you." Lando's voice is quiet, like he knows you don't want others overhearing this conversation. "I'd hate to think of anything happening to such a pretty girl."

For several moments, the busy pitlane falls away a bit as Lando's hands remain on the straps of your helmet and he looks at you like he's known you for your entire life. You're used to people staring at you and being under the microscope but the way Lando looks at you makes you want to squirm in the most delicious way possible.

"Okay, you two!" Zak booms, shocking you out of the little bubble that had grown around you and Lando those few moments. "Lets get you out on the track. Lando, please remember this is a member of the royal family, I'd rather not have to leave the country if you injure her."

"What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I hurt the princess in my charge?" Lando quips, aiming a wink your way before rounding the hood of the low slung papaya colored McLaren.

You can't help the way you snort in response to his flirting, it's so ridiculous but you also can't ignore the way your stomach twists in delight at the way Lando's tongue works around the word princess while he looks at you.

You had to be careful though. Despite Lando being famous and well off in his own right, you were even a step above that and life had taught you that even the most well connected and rich men saw you as the ultimate prize. Who wouldn't want to marry the only daughter to the King of England, even if they had billions. You can't buy a real royal pedigree. Not like the one you had, dating back generations on both sides of your family.

No, you couldn't allow yourself the luxury of lowered walls but you could allow yourself to indulge in a little innocent flirting, because that's all it would ever or could ever be with Lando Norris.

"Zak, can I file a workplace injury claim if I've gone deaf this afternoon from her screeching?" Lando complained as he held out a hand to help you out of the McLaren 45 minutes later.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Princesses don't screech." You sniff, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you yank your hand out of his grasp the moment you're steady on your feet.

Lando snorts now, rolling his eyes, enjoying the color that flushes in high on your cheekbones. He was the one to make you blush like that and it sends a zing of arousal straight to his cock. While you had been in the car with Lando, before he had scared the daylights out of you, he'd been able to overcome the initial nerves of meeting his boyhood crush and had settled into a flirty conversation. The way you two bantered back and forth so naturally was new to Lando and kind of unnerving to him, but in a good way.

"I'm inclined to believe if the princess was driven to 'screech' that it was all your fault, Lando." Zak jokes with a shrug before turning to you. "Thank you so much for coming out this afternoon and filling in for your brother. We got some great shots of you guys on the track and before with everyone together."

You nod, smiling at the group that's now gathered. Beside you, Lando has wiggled his way between Noelle and yourself so he's settled in at your side. "Wonderful. I'm sure they'll be the perfect content you guys all need. Is there anything else you need from me today? Did all the kids get laps on the track and the merch bags?"

Sophie nods, "Yes ma'am, no one left empty handed."

You sigh internally knowing that the day is almost over. You can taste the freedom of the back seat of the Range Rover where you can finally let your mask down for a few extra moments. You loved days like this, busy and filled with lost of interaction with the public but it was also exhausting beyond measure. You knew you'd sleep well tonight, having attended events nearly every night for the past 9 days.

"Good, thank you." Your eyes find the McLaren CEO who stands across from you. "Zak, I assume we'll see you at the awards gala Saturday night?"

Zak nods, "Yes, Oscar and I will be there."

You can't help the bit of disappointment that blooms in your chest when he doesn't say Lando's name. You hate it and ignore it the best you can because it simply isn't acceptable. So instead you lean on your years of training and upbringing to hide your true feelings. "Lovely, I can't wait to see you both again."

As Lando watches your car pull away, he can't help but feel a little disappointed that your time together is up.

"What awards gala was she talking about? Why wasn't I invited? Lando practically whines, turning to Zak once the Range Rover is out of sight.

Zak chuckles "You were invited Norris and you turned it down because, and I quote, 'you don't do boring awards dinners that aren't written into your contract'."

Lando kicks at a rock with his sneaker, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to make an exception for this one then."

Zak narrows his eyes, not liking where he thinks Lando's head is going. "Listen Norris, I know your personal life is none of my business."

"And you'd be right in that assesment, Zak." Lando responds cooly.

Zak holds his hand up, "But I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you that whatever I think is going on in your head about the woman that just left the track is probably a bad idea. A princess like her is not able to have a casual relationship like the ones your used to. Just..." Zak pauses, trying to put his advice in the best words possible. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Message recieved loud and clear, Zak." Lando mutters before turning and walking back towards the garages.

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you

1K notes · View notes

nanenna · 2 months ago

Text

Detective Work on the Other Side

We getting into my own HCs now, enjoy the lore!

Sleep King Master post (it should actually work this time)

---

It felt weird sitting in the Specter Speeder as Phantom with his parents. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d finally told his parents himself, but just like Jazz had said they’d loved and accepted him as is. Danny was still getting used to it.

Danny pointed out the windshield, “That island there should be good.” It was little more than an oversized boulder with some grass on it, but it was big enough for the speeder and was pretty close to Johnny and Kitty’s lair, so it would do. Once they landed, the three Fentons disembarked so Danny could let the lovers out of Soup Time.

“Ugh, finally!” Johnny griped once they were set free.

Danny crossed his arms, “How do you keep getting into Amity? We put extra protections on the portal, no one should be able to get through.”

“Your dinky portal isn’t the only one in the whole world,” Kitty said with an eye roll.

“You just gotta know where to look,” Johnny added with a wink.

“Well stop it! I don’t want to have to repeat a grade!”

“Then stop chasing us. Jeez, no one’s forcing you.”

“Danny, sweetie,” Mom interrupted, “ask them about the summoning.”

“Summoning?” Kitty asked, perking up.

“It’s really concerning,” Dad said while scratching his head.

“Yeah, I was asleep so I don’t really remember it but I got summoned last night.”

“How’d you sleep through a summoning?” Kitty asked incredulously with a sneer.

Johnny just nodded, “Damn, wish I could sleep through a summoning.”

“I don’t know!” Danny threw his hands up in the air. “The really weird part is they were trying to summon Pariah!”

That got Johnny and Kitty to stop laughing. “Oh shit, really?”

“Johnny! Don’t cuss around the baby!” Kitty smacked his arm lightly.

“You owe the swear jar,” Dad boomed eagerly.

Johnny just rolled his eyes.

“That’s what we were told,” Mom cut in. “There was a cult that was trying to summon the Ghost King and somehow got Danny.”

“Wait, were they trying to summon Pariah by name or the Ghost King title?” Kitty asked eagerly.

“Ghost King,” Mom said decisively.

“Oh no,” Danny said. His grades may be in the toilet, but even he could put two and two together. “No, there’s no way I’m the Ghost King!”

“Maybe,” Kitty said while looking Danny up and down.

“Not like it means anything,” Johnny said airily.

Danny thought the matter over, “How does it not mean anything?”

“Well Pariah just declared himself the Ghost King one day, others only listened because he forced them to. And it’s not like we need a king, we’ve had the council ever since.”

“Ugh, stupid eye balls,” Danny griped. “But yeah, if he just decided to make himself king I guess it doesn’t really mean anything.”

Mom sighed deeply, “You mean like Alexander the Great? Or Ghengis Khan? Or William the Conquerer? Or anyone else from history who declared himself in charge and then killed anyone who didn’t listen?”

Danny drooped, “Okay, so maybe it does matter. But how would that even work? Why am I the Ghost King now?”

“Dunno,” Johnny said with a shrug. “It’s not like you even have the crown or ring.”

“No, Pariah still has the ring and last I saw the crown Vlad had it.”

“Good old Vladdie,” Dad boomed eagerly, “holding onto a powerful artifact like that to keep it safe!”

“So shouldn’t Vlad be the new Ghost King?” Danny asked with a shudder.

“Well the summoning circle thinks you earned the title somehow, so I guess it’s you now.” Johnny snickered as he got on his bike, Kitty quickly hopping on behind him. “Anyway, see ya ‘round, your majesty.” Johnny sneered the last part, then the pair both laughed like Johnny had just told the best joke ever as he zoomed off.

“Well I’m proud of you!” Dad slapped Danny’s back so hard he face planted. “Fighting that nasty Ghost King was really brave of you, and look at you now! Our boy, the Ghost King!” Dad wiped away a tear of deep paternal pride.

Danny had already floated himself up off the ground and dusted himself off, completely unharmed. “Thanks Dad, that means a lot.” And it really did! He was used to his parents being proud of him, not for his grades obviously, but just… in general. Or something. To have his dad say he’s proud of things Danny did as Phantom just… hit different.

“Is there anyone we can ask about this? The council that ruffian mentioned?” Mom looked thoughtful.

“Ugh no, the council hates my guts for some reason.”

“Well… if they’ve been in charge since Pariah was put in the sarcophagus and you’re the king now, maybe they feel threatened?” Dad asked, rubbing his chin.

“That’s probably it, sweetiepie. They’re just threatened by you.” Mom gently pat his arm.

“That’s so weird! I don’t even want to be king, I’d probably be a terrible one anyway.”

Dad gasped, “Danno! That’s just not true! Sure, you’re a bit young to be king now, but in a few years I bet you’d be a great king!”

“Pass.” Danny did not want to add a crown to his disaster of a life. Especially if it meant he’d have to be a bully to make others listen to him anyway, it’s not like anyone listened to Pariah.

“So honey, anyone else we can ask about the Ghost King? Or summoning circles? I’m really worried about you randomly getting summoned by creepy cults.” And boy, did Mom have a point about that! Yikes!

“Uh… maybe Frostbite?” The yeti did keep calling him “Great One” and that had to mean something, right? And if not he could hopefully point them in the right direction.

“Wonderful!” Mom chirped as she started herding Danny back into the Speeder. “And along the way you can answer a few small questions about your fight with Pariah.”

“I’m sorry about taking the Ecto-skeleton without asking,” Danny blurted out, face turning green as it grew colder.

“It’s alright, baby boy,” Mom pinched his cheek, “we understand why you did it and why you felt you had to at the time. But never do it again, okay?”

“Yeah,” Danny said miserably as they got back into the speeder. Once Danny had pointed them in the direction of the Far Frozen, he sat criss cross applesauce in the air. “So uh… questions?”

“Oh yeah! What questions did you have, fudgecakes?”

“Well…” Mom started but hesitated before continuing slowly. “This sounds like it might be a right of conquest situation.”

Danny had no idea what that meant. Well he knew what the words individually meant, and he had a pretty good idea what the phrase meant generally, but he had no idea what the rules or details were.

“Was this an official challenge?” Mom asked when Danny only stared blankly at her.

“Uh… maybe?” Danny tried thinking back to the fight, “What would make it an official challenge?”

“Did the Ghost King say he accepted your challenge? Or challenge you?”

“He uh…” Danny tried to remember the times he’d bantered with Pariah. “He said he accepted my terms,” Danny said with a squeak near the end.

Mom just nodded, “Right, so it sounds like a challenge. And did you take his crown at any point in the fight?”

Danny tried to remember the end of the fight, and well… “Yeah, I knocked it off him right before shoving him back into the sarcophagus. But Vlad had the key that actually locked it, and then he had the crown the last time I saw it.”

“Danny, sweetie, Vlad didn’t challenge the Ghost King to single combat, and he didn’t take the crown as part of that challenge.”

“Oh,” was all Danny could say as the realization of what he’d unwittingly done sank in. “Well… shit.”

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc comics #justice league #fanfic #nenna writes #sleepy king #he's not sleepy right now LOL #insert the rant from princess diaries here #just in case i wasn't enough of a freak let's add a crown!

561 notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 4 months ago

Note

Okay THANK YOU for saying “your body craves what it needs” is bs because that felt like bs this whole time.

Like you don’t need more sugar if you crave sweets that is NOT what that means. Sugar is a food that people crave because it tastes good/sugar I think is an addictive food??

Idk it just felt like people making excuses when they’re supposed to be trying to eat a little healthier (healthier, not low cal, not low fat or keto or whatever. Diets are bs but craving sweets does not mean sugar is healthy thing for your body rn)

People crave sugar because it tastes good, which is not a bad thing, and there is an evolutionary reason that sugar and fat taste good to us. Carbs are your body's favorite thing because it is SUPER easy for your body to break them down into useful molecules.

I'm not a fan of the idea that any foods are addictive and I'm skeptical of models that suggest "refined food addiction" is a thing with a measurable, real-world impact; there's a lot of debate in that area of nutrition science and to me it kind of seems like the tools people use to track food addiction aren't really examining the addictiveness of specific foods, but are decent screening tools for people who have compulsive behaviors around food (for instance, one group of people who the Yale Food Addiction Scale has repeatedly been demonstrated to be REALLY good at identifying is people with anorexia).

But your body needs sugar all the time, whether that's in the form of complex carbohydrates that get broken down into simple sugars by your body, or simple sugars that you stir into your tea that then gets sent to your cells as energy. If your diet doesn't have enough sugar in it, your body has a processes to turn non-sugars into sugar so that it can use the sugar (gluconeogenesis!). Sugar is unambiguously good for you in the way that fat is unambiguously good for you. You need sugar to survive and it's not a bad thing if you want to have a cookie or a soda or some candy, and again - your craving probably isn't telling you that you're deficient in a specific micro or macronutrient, but I still think that you should listen to your craving.

Like, I don't know how much you know about psychotherapy but the attitude that a lot of diet-focused discussion takes toward cravings reminds me of cognitive behavioral therapy. "When you crave chocolate, no you don't! Don't think about the chocolate, you actually probably need starch or sugar or something, let's redirect that into having a banana, or some frozen berries, or some spinach. Point away from the unhealthy craving and into the healthy replacement, or, better yet, ignore the craving. Mind over matter. You choose how you act."

(I actually think "X craving means that I want Y food so I shall replace it with Z, which is similar" "craving salt means that I am dehydrated and need electrolytes so instead of potato chips I'll have some soup" is how this goes most of the time. I think this is a diet culture thing, not a food positivity thing.)

And you know what I think that's a garbage way to look at both food and emotions.

When I'm craving ice cream it's not because I've been mostly vegetarian for a week and am low on dietary cholesterol (AN IMPORTANT NUTRIENT. Don't be scared of consuming some cholesterol), I'm craving ice cream because sugar and fat taste good. So instead of trying to pretend that I'm getting "what I need" from a piece of salmon the size of a deck of cards with no salt and some lemon squeezed on top, I'm going to scoop out a moderate portion of ice cream and eat it while focusing on how much I enjoy it. And I'm going to do that instead of sitting down with a pint and a spoon while I'm stressed at work and eating something that tastes good to distract from the fact that work is stressful. (And sometimes it's fine to sit down with a pint and a spoon but I will say that's generally best not to do while you're in the middle of something stressful)

And if you want to relate that back to therapy I see this as more of the DBT approach. I've accepted that I want ice cream so I'm going to eat it in an intentional way and enjoy it instead of eating so much that I don't want dinner, or that it makes me feel sick, or that I eat it without noticing it because I'm using it as a distraction instead of a snack.

I'm not trying to shut down the negative emotion or shun the "bad" food, I'm accepting that I have that emotion and I'm working this neutral food into my day so that I'll feel good tomorrow and won't get heartburn overnight.

So I see that you're trying to be kind of anti diet culture here, but I don't think people need excuses to eat sugar, and I actually think that making excuses to eat it is significantly less healthy than just eating the sugar (which, again, is unambiguously healthy to eat as part of a varied, filling, nutritious diet). It seems like you may have internalized some ideas about sugar that are not great even if you are trying to separate from diet culture.

Nobody is ever going to eat a diet so healthy and nutritionally complete that they don't want candy or cake or cookies sometimes. Food is not only fuel, it is entertainment and culture and comfort and distraction and celebration and a million other things, but it is not bad. I don't think there's a single universally bad food out there, or any food that never belongs as part of someone's diet (unless it's something you're allergic to - I don't care if you're craving peanuts, do not eat peanuts if you have a peanut allergy).

So it's okay to make sugar, you don't need to make excuses. It's okay to eat sugar if you're craving sugar, even if that's not what your body "needs". But also sometimes a craving is your body saying "I'm hungry and this sounds good, please feed me" even if you're not a finely-tuned spectrometer that's craving blueberries pie because you actually need antioxidants from the blueberries (you're not a finely tuned spectrometer, you don't need the antioxidants from the blueberries, it's perfectly fine to just eat a slice of pie).

#diet talk #food tw #calorie counting #tw disordered eating

635 notes · View notes

wife-of-all-dilfs · 9 months ago

Text

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants.

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked…

Wow.

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks.

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol.

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!”

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell.

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge.

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up.

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration.

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird.

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other.

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty.

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless.

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row.

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.”

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day.

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble.

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—"

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt.

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head.

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill.

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.”

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.”

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you.

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out.

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face.

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you.

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job.

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk.

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #sam claflin #the hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

1K notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 3 months ago

Note

Ooooo can I grab a spice pie a Eton mess with a coffee and hard lemonade please and thank you bunny 😊

With max verstappen

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu (yay), there's still tons of things to order and i'd love for you have a little slice from the bakery! thank you for any prompts sent and especially to @e-verstappen for this lovely prompt! i don't usually get a lot of spice pie & eton mess orders so this was fun!! i hope you enjoy!! <3

spice pie ("i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut.") + eton mess ("be careful. your breath smells like cum.") + coffee (rivals au) + hard lemonade (possessive behavior)

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, possessive behavior, dirty talk/degrading language, mean!max, ferrari driver!reader, jos jumpscare, oral sex (reader receives), couch sex, unprotected sex

this had a happen in groups of three within a similar time frame. and with max, these three things sent the possessive driver off the edge. you had been deluding yourself into believing that these encounters with him were simple little flings.

you didn't realize that max verstappen had been going around the paddock telling people that you were together and to get their noses out of you. regardless, things happened in threes

first, it was practice. for the singapore grand prix, you shoved max out of first position and he scrambled only being able to cling onto fifth. it didn't help that jos had come by to see how the weekend was going to shape up. secondly, the same jos verstappen congratulated you on the excellent job maintaining a strong presence on the track. what made max's mouth twitch as he watched was that his father was being genuine to you. and thirdly, while you and max were in his hotel the night before the race, both nursing a beer. he caught a glimpse of you on raya.

and that just set the driver off. beer can tumbled on the floor, and his hands around your wrist. your phone threatening to meet the beer can. your eyes gazed into his with concern marking your features.

"what the fuc-"

"i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut." his words were biting.

"excuse me!"

"raya? really? you sit there all pretty on the track. getting all the praise, and the first place in the qualifiers. then you come with me and now you're trying to find other men to fuck." his voice was venomous.

you got out of his grasp and gave him a shove off of you on the couch, "this is stress relief, asshole." then shifted in your seat as you put your phone to the side. you hated that when he got like that, it turned you on, "and i barely got any praise from anyone besides me team. it was almost too close to call."

his hand was on your thigh and his lips at your neck. he said, "stress relief?" his breathing was hot against your neck, "god, you're stupid." his large hands were on your hips as he went after your neck once more.

this time were was little resistance from you. you couldn't help it, after all this time with him. he still made your brain turn into soup.

"no, no. this is far from casual. the trips, the gifts, our time together. you knew deep down that you're only on raya to kill time. because you don't want to admit that you already found your husband."

you took him by the back of the neck and looked into his gaze. you swallowed, "you're a possessive fuck, max."

he raised his eyebrows at you, "i have to. because these men don't know when a woman is taken." before he crashed his lips against yours. you wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders.

you hated it. he was your rival, you stood on opposing ends. you fought tooth and nail on the track, your entire career had been snapping your fangs at one another. so to be stripped for vulnerable felt so different. it was like max could see through it all. whatever face you've given to the press.

you hated more that it was the same face you put on raya. the confident woman of formula one. but deep down, you yearned to be loved by someone. someone who was as unbalanced as you. thus you collided with max as he got between your legs and started to get you out of the sweatpants (that he owned) you were wearing. your panties went with it.

"i need to remind you that you are mine, got it? i need that app deleted when i'm done with you. better yet, delete the entire account and apologize to the company for wasting their time with you on it... because you weren't finding prince charming on it." then went between your legs and licked across your cunt which made you tense up.

his mouth on you was hot and it made you heated all over. damn max verstappen damn him, and when his tongue came out you were gripping onto his short almost-blond hair. you felt the skip in your chest as he rubbed his nose up against your clit.

if you could, you'd be hitting him in the head in frustration. he drover you insane as much as you fell in love with him. a push and pull of desires as he orally pleasured you. your toes curled in the socks you wore (which was also stolen from him).

his tongue continued to lap against your soaked hole and his nose nudged up against your achy clit. it was a stimulated hell in the best was possible. it made you feel so hot that you eventually took your t-shirt off and laid there in just socks and your bra.

while it felt amazing, he didn't quite get you to climax, when he eventually came up for air. he looked up at you with those blue eyes of his. there was a heated lust in them as he got up from his spot on the couch and was on you once more. he was heavily breathing, as were you.

"be careful. your breath smells like cum." you said softly as you covered his mouth with your hand for a moment before he went in for a searing kiss. first on your palm before he pulled it away and went for your lips.

you whined against the kiss and gripped onto the back of his shirt. your nails dug into the soft fabric, threatening to rip it off his shoulders. his clothed, hard cock rubbed against your achy cunt.

"i want you." you sighed, "i hate that you're in my head."

he chuckled, "i wouldn't want to be anywhere else." he got his cock out of his pants and rubbed it against you for a few moments before he sank inside of you. his hands braced on the back of the couch as he got inside of you as far as he could go. which was far enough because you could already feel him bruising your poor cunt.

you shuddered, your nipples grew hard as you held onto his strong shoulders. he always made you feel so good, especially when those soft lips of his were pressed against yours. it was because of you that he learned what lip balm was and didn't gross any of his dates out. now it benefited you as he rocked his cock up into you.

fucking on the couch like two desperate animals. but desperation didn't lead to long lasting sessions of intimacy. you hated that max verstappen lived in your head rent free, devouring any attempts to meet anyone else. why meet anyone else when you have max? while you bloomed under his attention, you hated that you had little choice in the matter. he had sunk his claws into you long ago. and now you were lazily making out with him.

you came quickly, like a strike of lightning through your body. you moaned into the kiss and arched your back off the couch as he continued to fuck you with a high intensity. your toes curled and your nails dug into his shoulders more.

he panted heavily, "that's good. a good little girl. you know exactly how to get me going." he groaned as he continued to fuck you with heavy thrusts and it made you feel hot all over as his cock pressed into the deepest parts of you. your brain felt over stimulated and the kisses got harder.

you needed him, it wasn't a want any long. he was what was pulling at your chest as he gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with a heated groan against your lips. which made you pant heavily.

you relaxed against the covers and panted heavily. you felt a drum of heat in your head as you looked at him. he was loomed over you for a moment as he tried to compose himself.

you let out a little whimper and it made max's cock jump while still in you.

"now do you get it? you're mine." he said as he pulled out and then grabbed your face for a kiss. you moaned a little into the kiss and when he pulled away, "right?"

you looked at him a little blissed out, your tongue couldn't find the words. but that didn't mind max too much, he could see it in your eyes. his little rival wanted him. he gave you another kiss before he got a hold of you. he could get a second round out of you in the bedroom before he fucked all sense out of you. <3

555 notes · View notes

pseudophan · 1 month ago

Text

PHANNIE COOKBOOK SIGN-UPS!!

Do you have a really good recipe you think Dan and Phil would enjoy? Consider submitting it to this collaborative phannie cookbook that will be given to DnP at a meet & greet! It will also be available to everyone to download as a PDF.

Family recipes or your favourite dish from your country/culture is a bonus, but it doesn’t have to be that personal. All I ask is that you don’t go rip something random off the Internet right now just to be in the book, I want food you genuinely enjoy!

I’ve decided the most efficient way of doing this is to let you submit up to 3 different options, that way if there are any repeats (and I’m certain there will be) I won’t have to message everyone it concerns to ask if you have any alternatives. Besides, that way I can choose which version gets in based on your other options rather than which one “sounds better” to me, cause I think that would be a little unfair. I also have no idea how many people will actually participate in this yet, which is currently the biggest hurdle in terms of planning. If only a few sign up there is a chance we’ll end up using multiple recipes by some, and if somehow we get too many I’ll have to pick and choose. I do really want to include as many people as possible, but until I actually see the recipes it’s hard to tell what will end up happening.

The main focus of this will be actual food, but we obviously need to include a few desserts, so feel free to submit those as well just be aware the chances of those getting picked might be lower. The same goes for soups, I assume a lot of people have soup recipes and we might include a couple, but for obvious reasons it's a low priority.

Some key things to keep in mind:

Phil is a bit picky and has some dietary restrictions! He shouldn’t have dairy or chocolate and he doesn’t like cheese or mushrooms, among other things. That doesn’t mean you have to avoid these things entirely, but maybe your grandma’s mac and cheese recipe isn’t the best choice

While neither of them is vegan they do eat a lot of vegan food, so we definitely need some vegan dishes. I also think it would be really great if you suggested vegetarian and/or vegan substitutions you know work well with your recipe! That isn’t a must for every dish, but it’s a nice addition where possible

Tragically, Dan and Phil are British, meaning they won’t necessarily have access to all the same ingredients as you. Luckily they are also rich and live in a major city with a lot of options so they aren’t limited to what they can find at their local Tesco, but since the aim of this book is to encourage them to cook we probably shouldn’t be sending them on a scavenger hunt either. I don’t think this will be a huge issue, but if your recipe calls for something you think might be very niche or local to you it might be worth googling it or asking around

The final book will be using UK measurements, but if your recipe doesn’t then don’t even worry about it for now. We’ll get to that later. You also don’t have to worry about typing out the whole step-by-step in detail in the sign-up form, I just need a list of the ingredients and roughly how to prepare it to gauge whether it’s a good fit.

I promise I’m almost done yapping but lastly, about some of the questions on the form - you don’t need to know exactly how long the dish takes to prepare, that will depend on the person or people making it anyway, but we do need a rough estimate. The difficulty level is obviously quite subjective, but I just want to hear how you personally would rank it, and if there is a specific part of the process you think someone who doesn’t cook a lot might struggle with. As for the last question about photos, I’m asking both if you have the time and opportunity to make the food and if you are able to take a good photo of it. Obviously it doesn’t have to be anything professional, a phone camera is fine, it just needs to be well lit and decent quality.

Okay, I think that’s everything-

Here's the sign-up form

The deadline is in a week, at midnight Thursday to Friday CET :)

(I also made a blog for this @phookbook for information and updates! A lot of it will probably still be on this blog, but I'll try to post/reblog the most important things on there for those who want to keep up with everything but who may not want to deal with all the chaos of pseudophan)

#i'm so sorry that this is five hundred thousand words long #dan and phil #phan

462 notes · View notes

melissa-kenobi · 3 months ago

Text

🎃 Kinktober 2024 🎃 Dean Winchester + Mirrors

Hii, to kick off Kinktober 2024, we've got Dean Winchester first.

Under 18s, DNI.

Warnings: Mirror Sex, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Size Kink, Breeding, Dean Winchester himself.

Word Count: 2.1K Words

🎃 Kinktober 2024 MasterList 🎃

***

Now, you weren't a huge fan of carnivals or circus' or theme parks or that whole gig, but Dean was beyond excited to go, and how could you say no to his cute face?

He had pleaded with you for days on end, begging you, cooking for you, taking care of you every single time.

Almost as if he was trying to bribe you.

And he was.

"Dean, honey?" You sidle up to him, kissing his cheek whilst he prepared a grilled cheese sandwich and some soup for you. Something he only ever did when you were sick, and you most definitely was not sick.

"Mmhh, yeah sweetheart?" Dean replied, quickly turning his head to capture your lips before he gave you a cheeky smirk.

You pat his bottom playfully before taking a seat on the countertop, "You know bribery isn't usually your strong suit."

"Isn't it?" Dean gives you a playful grin whilst plating up your food and sliding it over to you. You watch with bated eyes as he stands in between your legs and picks up the sandwich to feed you, "Take a bite princess."

You narrow your eyes at him before indulging in his request and leaning forwards to take a bite of the grilled sandwich. You had to hold back a moan as the cheese stretched apart from the sandwich and your mouth. Before you even had the chance to lick your lips, Dean was already kissing you and licking them for you.

"Good?" He asks smirking softly, knowing you enjoyed that.

"Meh, I've had better." You shrug nonchalantly, noticing his playful glare at you. You'd purposely made it a double meaning talking about other things, too. You hope down from the counter kissing his cheek and taking the plate of food with you, "Thanks honey."

"Wait- I thought you didn't like it?" He looks at you curiously.

"I don't." You smirk, making your way to the couch with a cheeky sway to your walk.

Dean lets out a little growl, which goes unheard by you, "I'll show you better, sweetheart, I'm the best you've ever had."

***

A week later, you had succumbed and got dragged with Dean to the circus/theme park he had given you those cute puppy dog eyes with his dimples, and you'd agreed.

Dean was beyond happy as he drove you, Sam, and Jess to the Circus. Sam sat in the back and leaned over to you, whispering, "Hey, what's got him so happy?"

You rolled your eyes and looked at Dean, who was singing along loudly to Highway to Hell, "He's happy because he dragged me along to the Circus even though he knows I don't like them."

Sam chucked as he patted your shoulder, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Jess leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry, us girls will stick together."

You smiled as Jess patted your arm in a comforting gesture before moving back, only then to feel a hand on your thigh. You looked up at noticed Dean still singing along, but this time, he glanced over at you with a smirk on those sinful lips.

"And we're going doooownnn, all the waaayy...."

***

You and Jess did not stick together.

Dean had pulled you away from Sam and Jess and was constantly making you go on scary rides so you'd hold onto him and beg him for forgiveness. You were starting to think he liked the way you'd hold onto him for support and pray that he'd save you.

"I fucking hate you Dean!" You screamed as you squeezed his hand just as you saw the huge drop on the rollercoaster.

After 45 minutes of torture, Dean had bought you some food and had won a stuffed squirrel, which funnily enough reminded you of him.

"Look at him, he's so cute! He even has dimples like you and the little freckles!" You gushed over the plushie.

"Alright, give it here." Dean grumbles as he reached for it only for you to spin away from him.

"Hey! No! He's mine." You frowned, protecting your squirrel Dean.

"Sweetheart- give me the damn stuffed toy." Dean said in his deep voice.

You rolled your eyes, he knew that wouldn't work on you, not anymore, "You want it? Come and get me."

You giggled before running into a tent along with plushie Dean. What you hadn't realised was that it was closed and that it was a hall of mirrors. You know those creepy ones where if you take the wrong move, you bang your head into a mirror?

Yep. It was one of them ones.

"Y/N!" Dean called out your name before running in after you.

You ran around, surprisingly not bumping into any mirrors so far, but in one of the reflections, you saw a glimpse of Dean. You cursed under your breath, turning left only to bump straight something. You let out a yelp rubbing your forehead only to look and notice it wasn't a mirror you'd bumped into, it was Dean.

"Fuck!" You screamed as Dean tilted his down at you with a smirk.

You took a step back but everytime you took one back, Dean would follow through with one closer to you. Until you found yourself backed up against a mirror, Dean's chest pressed against your as he placed his hands by your head.

"Where are you going sweetheart? I've already found you." Dean smirks, reaching over to caress your cheek.

You stay quiet.

"Ah ah, you weren't so quiet earlier. Or even this past week." Dean says pressing his lower body against you, "You know, I think you enjoyed me being at your beck and call."

"Dean.." You mumble out, still holding onto plushie Dean.

"What baby?" Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your neck, slowly moving his way down to your clavicle as his other hand unbuttons your shirt. "Tell me to stop-

"No!" You moan out a little too loudly- "Don't stop..."

Your words make Dean grin sinfully he bites your neck, leaving a mark "Hmm, what was that sweetheart? You want me to stop?"

"Dean.. no! Don't stop, fuck-" You moan out softly, dropping plushie Dean and wrapping your arms around Dean neck to pull him closer. "Fuck- I want you..."

The moment the plushie drops from your hands, Dean instantly smirks and thinks, 'I'm the only Dean in her life' and flips you around, pressing you against the mirror, "Look at how ready you are for me.."

Dean rips your shirt off your body and slings it away, making you let out a quiet gasp, "Dean my-

"Shush. No talking, princess. This is my reward for being at your beck and call for the past week. This is me showing you I'm the best you'll ever have."

His words ring a bell in your mind, but you're too distracted with the way his hands caress your breasts and push them together. Dean continues sucking at your neck before sliding a hand down your stomach and into your jeans and cupping your bare pussy.

"Fuck." He curses, feeling his cock strain against his own jeans, "Naughty fucking girl, no panties?"

You shudder as he slides a finger through your bare pussy, gently circling your clit. You can't help but grind your pussy against his finger, needing that friction, needing him, "I can feel how wet you are princess." Dean moans out, hips rutting against your ass.

"Dean-

He ignores you and slides his hand out of your jeans, and brings it to your lips, "Clean."

You immediately take his fingers into your mouth, closing your eyes as you taste yourself on his fingers, "Look at my dirty girl- tasting herself on my fingers."

He grips your chin with his free hand and makes you face the mirror, "Eyes open, baby. I want you to watch as I wreck your pussy. I want you to know I'm the only one who'll ever have your pussy, it's mine."

"But- Dean there's people-

"Ah- no. I don't care. You need a reminder of who you belong to and who looks after you." Dean growls, pulling your jeans down and slapping your cheeks. You jump forward, letting out a gasp, not expecting Dean to do that.

"Eyes open princess." Dean reminds you before sinking down to his knees and burying his face in your pussy. You scream out his name, eyes immediately closing, hands going to his hair to tug on it before Dean bites your thigh making your glance at the mirror where Dean sat between your legs.

"Don't make me ask again." He growls out in another warning.

You nod, keeping your eyes open this time, watching Dean through the mirror as he ate your pussy out. Constantly changing from sucking on your clit, to dipping his tongue in and out of your hole whilst moaning loudly. You watch as he swings one of your legs onto his shoulder, burying his face further into your pussy making you moan his name louder.

"Dean- ah I can't- I'm gonna-" You barely get to finish your sentence when Dean sucks harshly on your clit. His actions make your mind break, and your body softens in his grip as you reach your high, eyes rolling back into your head as you grip his hair tightly.

"Fuck you taste so good baby, best pussy I've ever had. Mine." Dean mumbles against your lower lips, eyes closed in pleasure as he gently laps up your juices and release.

You can't help but tug on his hair, wanting to see his face, his lips and mouth soaked on your juices, eyes filled with lust as he gazes at you in the mirror.

"So pretty." He moans as he looks at you through the mirror. He gives one last kiss to your pussy before standing up behind you. His jeans were at the bottom of his ankles, cock in hand whilst he pulled your hair back to kiss you.

You moaned wantonly into the kiss, tasting you on his lips, in his mouth everywhere.

"Sweet. My sweet princess, do you know how sweet you taste? Fuck I could stay here for days." He moans against your lips, tapping the tip of his cock against your pussy, gently hitting your clit. "God, I wanna stay here for days."

You gasp as he slides his cock between your thighs, rubbing it between them, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror as you watch his tip peak out between your thighs in the mirror. You purposely squeeze your thighs around his cock making Dean growl and bite your neck.

"Don't-" He warns just before pulling your hair making your head lean on his shoulder, "Don't test me."

"I want your eyes on my cock, watching how I pound your tight little cunt. My princess' tight little cunt." He orders you before pushing his cock in with a low growl.

You keep your eyes on his cock, watching and enjoying the way his cock fills your pussy so well. He pumps in and out slowly, almost torturing you. A ring of white lays around the base of his cock, making you moan at the sight. The way you cream around his cock makes you unintentionally squeeze him, wanting him to feel your walls tighten around his cock.

"Shit-" Dean moans your name before placing a hand on your lower stomach, "Fuck- don't do that-"

Dean presses down on your lower stomach, feeling a bump causing you to moan Dean's name lowly, "Ah, you're so deep..."

"Fuck fuck- I can feel my cock here-" Dean says softly, pushing against the slight bump making you squeeze him. Your eyes fall upon his hand, where his cock bulges your stomach out. You place a hand over his and moan.

"Dean..-"

"I know baby- eyes on me- I'm gonna-" He says when you squeeze around him again. He bites down on your neck and pumps his cock in and out of you in a torturously slow pace, wanting to make you break. He growls when you tremble around him.

"Dean- I'm gonna-" You're cut of by Dean growling your name and shoving you against the mirror and thrusting faster. A moan of Dean's name spills from your lips as you reach your high, Dean swiftly following after. His cock stilling as he fills your pussy with his cum.

Through the mirror, you meet Dean eyes, a smirk etched on his lips as he watches his cum leak out from the sides of your pussy.

"Mine." Dean finishes, kissing your neck, holding you possessively before kicking away the Dean plushie.

***

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural #kinktober #kinktober 2024

501 notes · View notes