#I am getting in to the swing of things again and am officially Back

[mythopoeticreality]

For the ask game - 🐣 for Maedhros, 🍄 for John Uskglass and ❄ for Feanor please?

Ahhh! I'm so sorry this took a bit xD Been trying to catch up back with my normal schedule since Thanksgiving last week >.< Anyway! Thank you so much for sending these, they were fun to think about! Uskers one ended up a bit longer than I expected but, well, he's Uskers, so xD But, yeah, let's see what we've got here!

🐣 for Maedhros:

I like to think that on Tirion Maedhros acted as wingman for his younger brothers a lot-- aaand more than once it ended up backfiring. I mean just being himself, naturally charming and strikingly handsome, he's ended up in a few situations where people have assumed he's flirting with them when oh...wait, no, actually that wasn't what he meant at all xD He usually manages to clear things up pretty quickly, no harm really done, but yeah, he's had a few awkward moments, and gotten a few stories that his brothers tease him about though.

🍄 for John Uskglass:

Kind of loosely tied into the idea of "a food headcanon" and more having to do with the idea of "luxury" and the differences between Faerie and England, but a part that's always stood out to me in the books is that moment where The Raven King is sitting down to discuss the terms of King Henry's surrender with the man and his court. And they're all there in their fine robes drinking wine, and John instead is drinking ewe's milk from a stone cup.

You could probably put much of this down to legend and emebelishment made over the centuries, as with most things about the Raven King, so much is really unclear. But from what we've seen of Faerie, both in JSMN itself and in other stories, there is a sort of...absence of simpler, human comforts in Faerie. Warm beds, cheerful fires, good food, you know, the more hobbit-ish pleasures in life xD You're as likely to see a Faerie King sleeping on piles of furs as a proper bed, and The luxuries in brughs like John Hollyshoes' are as much glamour as anything else-- even the very real treasures within it in reality are in a state of squalor and decay. It does make me wonder what a younger John Uskglass would have been used to -- especially begining his life as the Nameless Slave -- before his conquest of England.

What would have been food fit to serve for a King in Faerie? The descriptions of the Feast shared between the Gentleman and Stephen before they go to fetch the Moss Oak might be some hint -- honeyed hummingbird pie, roasted Wyvern and Salamander, cockatrice combs spriced with saffron and powdered rainbows -- but the thing is, those dishes were served at an inn run by humans, and at a feast taking place a few centuries into the Raven King's reign in England. I can easily picture food in Faerie being of a far simpler kind before Uskglasses's reign encouraged much intermingling between Fairies and Mankind -- wild fruits and berries, stolen milk and honey from farmer's livestock, Maybe with a few finer dishes stolen from mortal tables as well, sprinkled in there every now and again -- it certainly fits in well with that image of the Raven King we see, as a young man.

I can see The Raven King as being more used to that sort of thing, in the begining, honestly. Can see him as half-wild, and definitely tempted by the sorts of simple luxuries of, say, a warm goblet of Hippocras on a cold winter's day, or the scent of a well seasoned roast chicken, it took him some time to get used to it. to see it as...his own in a way? I could easily see him taking his meals on his own -- If one would consider a loaf of bread, and perhaps a few tarts stolen from the kitchen (Old habits die hard, and he was raised by Faeries) or an apple or some berries picked from the orchards a "meal"-- as easily as I can see him spending his free time alone perched up upon the castle parapets, or spending his nights preferring the ground and a pile of furs to any down mattress. I dunno, I don't think he shunned any of these more human luxuries, persay -- John Uskglass is most definitely an Enjoyer of Nice Things -- but again I just think it took him a moment to get used to them and appreciate them fully if that makes sense? Much like it took him some time to really connect with and understand the rest of his Kingdom, really...

❄ for Feanor:

Generally I see Fëanor as nooot really much enjoying the winter months and preferring to keep himself locked up in the warmth of his forge during them? xD That said, a concept that's always really intrigued me is Tonfui -- that is, the Noldorin Yule in earlier conceptions of the Silm. And honestly? I can definitely see Fëanor going all out during the season, if only to further show off his prowess as a artisan and a craftsman. Just Saying, the guy had *definitely* spoiled his sons when it comes time for gifts...

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi! i saw you were taking requests for post prison spencer, so hey

i was thinking about spencer meeting a kinda sunshine reader, and it’s like…love at first sight. she’s literally the one to make him smile for good

feel free to add your magic to it, and to ignore it, don’t feel pressure at all!

have a good day/night <3

babe you guys are saving my life with these requests right now! I'm feeling so good about everything I write again <3 enjoy sunshine!reader x post prison!spencer who looks less tense and serious around you

You’re at his desk, sitting there all perfect in your orange button up and flared pants, Mary Janes clicking on the linoleum tile as you tap your pen against your lips. Your hair is scraped back into a ponytail, the plait brushing the spot between your shoulder blades. 

Spencer had asked about you to Penelope, asked about your personality, about how you work- all the important things. What he didn’t ask was if you were gorgeous and Penelope, who loves to divulge, had never said a thing about your looks. 

“Hi, you’re Y/n right?” Spencer’s standing before you, not realising how intimidating he must look till you jolt in your chair. 

You’d been trying to get your morning crossword and read in before the day had officially begun, a habit you’d been trying to keep up with since you started the job. So far it’s been going- the crosswords are boring so you have to pretend to be distracted by it to let it last a bit more than four minutes.

“Oh sorry, I am. You’re Doctor Spencer Reid,” you lean back in your chair, not bothering to hold out a hand to you. Penelope had grilled you on his aversion to germs and touching people more than needed. “I’m sorry about taking over your desk, but they didn’t have any free ones.” 

Spencer shakes his head, you take a moment to look him over. His hair is a bit looser than you’d imagined, Penelope said curly hair and you’d thought tight spirals- he has pretty loose ringlets, dark and mocha-like.

He smells like leather and something else, maybe plum and black currant- it’s a bit of an all encompassing smell that you like already. He’s much prettier too, he looks tired, but still pretty. His stubble presents a problem, you know it’s going to be your downfall. 

“It’s alright, we keep a tight ship. Have they been treating you well?” 

You tilt your head, “The team or the unsubs? Because it’s been too many cases to have real team building.” You grin when Spencer huffs, making his lips twitch. “But I think getting concussed while saving Newbie’s ass counts for something.” 

Luke grumbles as he walks by with his coffee, “You were hired after I was,” patting Spencer on the back when the taller, lithe, man rolls a chair to sit opposite you. 

“Do you still experience headaches or migraines?” Spencer kicks himself when he sees your tongue poke into your cheek- you’re trying hard not to smile at his question. He also thinks he’s doing a shoddy job of flirting but that can be fixed- he’s been in prison for the last three months, he just needs to get back in the swing of things. 

“I’m pretty sure your first official day back starts with you in Emily’s office and not giving me an impromptu physical, Dr. Reid.” His lips twitch again, cheeks jumping as he shakes his head. 

“It’s just a check-up, no physical yet.” he stands, not really giving himself time to overthink what he’s just said. It’s more than a little presumptuous on his part but you don’t call him an asshole or swear at him, so he thinks he’s okay with it. 

“Do you want your desk back, Spencer?” you’re earnest in asking, not wanting to fuck up his routines and his norm. You can tell you like him already and it’s hardly been a fifteen minute conversation. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take the one right there.” Spencer points a finger to the desk right in behind yours with a little less severity to his lips, his stubble looking even more attractive as he does so. 

You watch him walk away, willing yourself to be professional about all this, he may be hot but he’s your coworker and you know all about close proximity relationships possibly being shams. You’re not here for that, so Spencer will be a good friend. 

You make your way into the kitchen, steps light as you reach for your mug- a cute blue mug with an orca as the handle. 

“So you come in and the kid’s already obsessed with you?” Rossi’s right beside you, making you jump as you put more than the recommended amount of tablespoons of coffee into your mug. 

“It’s not like that, you all made him out to be this awkward shy mess and he isn’t.” You try to sound as casual as you can, but you profile your own voice and know how it sounds to everyone- wistful. 

“Maybe he’s seen a pretty girl and the ‘awkward shy mess’ melted away,” Rossi places his hands on your shoulders. “He’s a good kid. You can trust in that.” 

You roll your eyes, stirring your coffee. “I’m pretty sure he’s in his thirties, Rossi.” You take the milk from him, pouring it in till your coffee is just at the lip of your mug and smile. “Definitely too old.” 

Rossi waves his hand, “I’ve been married four times, old isn’t a marker for romance anymore. Not when you’re only twenty four.” He leaves you be for a moment, and on your walk back to your desk to fill out the remaining crosswords you mull over his words. 

As you sit, you look down and find it all filled out in black ink, opposed to your blue and you know who did it, if the messy scrawled message is anything to go by- ‘You should get The Washington Post puzzles, much more stimulating.’

[themultifanshipper]

So I read the your story about Logan, George, Max and paddock bunny reader. It was fucking amazing.

Could I maybe request a fluff one where some random man is very sexist and mean towards her. The drivers see it and become kind of protective. When she wants to reward them with sex, they are being like : No honey. You just rest and look pretty while we murder this idiot☺️👍

But please don't feel pressured to write it if you don't feel comfortable

You should have known as soon as the journalist approached you that this wouldn't end well.

“Would you mind answering a couple of questions, miss?”

You naively said yes, not expecting the line of questioning that was about to come.

Part 3 of One of the Boys

Warnings: a smidge of angst, lots of fluff, drivers being protective, a lil smut at the end but it's skippable, i've put a *** where it starts, dirty talk, sleepy sex, smut with Oscar and Lando, mentioned smut with Charles, Max and George just being good friends

“Care to comment on the rumour that you are in the paddock as a sexual companion for the drivers to use to relieve stress?”

Your breath got caught in your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The man cleared his throat and continued.

“Sources say you have slept with multiple drivers, is it because you have some sort of agreement or contract? Or are you just that promiscuous?”

You stared at him open mouthed, not knowing what to say.

“Or are you perhaps doing it for money? Do you have a sugar daddy in the paddock? Do you limit yourself to drivers or do you also let team officials have a go at you?”

What the fuck.

Tears prickled your eyes at the onslaught of invasive questions as rage filled you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to ask about my sex life?! What I do in my free time is none of your fucking business, and for your information, I do not receive money from any member of the paddock, and I am NOT just a toy to use for men whenever they feel like! Just because I'm a woman you assume I have an ulterior motive for being here but-”

Your voice was getting louder as each word left your lips and the shouting attracted the attention of George and Max that were passing nearby.

“What's going on here?” Max asked the man as George noticed a tear run down your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You wiped at it furiously and nodded “Yeah I'm fine!”

Max stared daggers between you and the man “What the fuck did you say to her?”

The man rolled his eyes dismissively.

“I wanted to know if the rumours of her being the paddock's whore were true… I guess I have my answer”

The sudden urge to swing at him almost overtook Max but he held himself in check. George put arm around you and lead you away, managing to spit out a ‘go fuck yourself’ to the man.

Max ripped the man's lanyard off and checked the name on it.

“Well done, Jonathan, you've successfully managed to get yourself banned from ever coming to a race again, good luck salvaging your career after I'm done making sure you never work in sports journalism ever again”

He stormed off straight towards the offices, ready to bribe the entire FIA top brass if it meant protecting you from ever living through that again.

You and George made your way through the paddock and ran into Oscar on the way, who noticed your distress immediately.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Another tear ran down your cheek as you all but threw your arms around him and squeezed him, tears dampening his team polo.

He widened his eyes at George in question, who ran a hand up and down your back soothingly.

“Some dickhead journalist was being a cunt and calling her the paddock whore. Max is sorting it”

“Shit, I'm so sorry baby. That shouldn't have happened”

George hummed in agreement. “One thing's for sure, it won't happen again if Max has anything to say about it”

You sniffled and let Oscar go, straightening yourself out before the next session as the other drivers had to go and get ready.

Qualifying was nerve wracking. It was Monza after all.

Oscar made you stay in the McLaren garage to stop any unwanted attention falling on you.

Him and George came to find you after, at least one of them staying by your side at all times like guard dogs until it was time to go.

You were still a bit shaky as you spotted Max waiting for you by the entrance.

“I've sorted it. That guy won't be coming anywhere near the paddock for at least 5 years, and I've sent a request for a GDPA meeting to discuss the need for extra security for drivers and their guests”

George made an impressed face and Oscar hummed.

“I don't know how to repay you guys for today” you fiddled with the hem of your top as your eyes shifted from one driver to the other until they landed on Max “At least let me do something for you”

Your hand went to Max's chest but he took it and squeezed.

“Absolutely not. That would be taking advantage of you and I refuse to prove that asshole right”

The other two readily agreed.

“You're free to stay in any of our hotel rooms if it will make you feel better, but we’re your friends and our priority is keeping you safe”

You started getting emotional again as you hugged them before swearing you'd be fine on your own and going your separate ways.

You once again ended up staying in the same hotel as the McLaren drivers.

And as you unwinded after your day you started getting a bit stressed out at the idea of something like this happening at every race and before you knew it you found yourself in front of Oscar's hotel room, on the verge of an anxiety attack.

It wasn't Oscar that opened the door however, it was Lando. And he was shirtless.

You stared at him as you tried to collect your thoughts.

“Hey baby, you okay? Oscar told me what happened earlier”

You surged forwards and hugged him, making the man stumble a bit.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively and squeezed while you inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne.

Oscar, wondering who was at the door, came to investigate and awed at the sight of you two cuddling in the doorway.

You looked at him only in his boxers, and were suddenly hit with the realisation.

“Wait, shit. Were you about to fuck before I knocked?”

Oscar laughed and patted you on the back. “Don't worry about us baby, if you need company we're always available for you”

You had to hold back tears as you asked to take a shower, which you did, before climbing into bed in a borrowed shirt, the other two climbing in either side of you.

Oscar turned the light off and you snuggled up to him.

As your beathing synced up with his, your hand wandered over his chest. “You sure you don't want a quick blowjob?”

He snorted and slapped your hand away as Lando cackled behind you. “Absolutely not! Go to sleep and we'll see what happens tomorrow, I'd rather earn it by beating the others on track”

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before wrapping arm around you.

You fell asleep like that, Oscar drawing patterns on your arm and Lando snoring softly behind you.

***

You woke the next morning completely tangled with another body.

Turns out it was Lando's, and he was shifting around, letting out soft puffs of breath against your forehead.

And you couldn't blame him, you were almost panting yourself, both at how hot you were because of you being plastered against his body, and at the fact that his thigh was between yours and rubbing against your clothed pussy with all his shifting around.

You moaned softly and that seemed to wake him up with a start, eyes darting around until they focused on your face and he realised what was happening.

His hard cock was rutting against your hip and he shuddered when your hand went down to palm him through his boxers.

“Fuck baby, I hope you're feeling as needy as I am right now”

You giggled into his shoulder and nodded, hand slipping into his boxers to thumb at his wet tip.

He quickly stopped you, lest he come too quickly and kissed your forehead before trailing your own hand down your body.

“Touch yourself” he whispered “tell me how wet you are for me”

You slid a finger through your folds and your suspicions were confirmed as it almost slipped right in with how slick you were.

“So fucking wet, Lan” you whispered back, you didn't know if Oscar was still sleeping behind you but you didn't care.

“Shit you're right” Lando’s finger had joined yours “I could slip right in. Can I?”

You nodded and he lazily slid your slick panties out of the way and rubbed himself through your folds a couple of times before pushing in.

It was a tight fit, but he was right, he slid inside with no resistance and he groaned and bottomed out.

“Fuck. Shit. Hell, I'm not going to last long, baby” his voice was tight as he started rocking his hips gently.

You just got wetter as he went deeper and deeper, hooking your leg over his hip to drive into you with more force.

You bit into his shoulder to try and keep your noises at bay but it was useless when Lando used you to chase his pleasure and it didn't take long for him to start whimpering into your skin.

“Can I come inside you, baby, please?”

“Of course, Lan. Come for me, good boy...”

“Fuck” his hips slammed against yours twice more as he filled you up.

You quickly ripped the covers off you and breathed a sigh of relief as the slightly cooler air of sunny Monza hit your over heated skin.

He kissed you sweetly and it almost escalated into more but you heard a chuckle behind you.

Your two heads snapped to Oscar.

The fucker was laying on his side, head propped on his hand as he watched you with a smile.

“Well that was quick” he teased, eyes full of mirth “I'm glad you interrupted us last night if that's the performance I was going to get”

You giggled and Lando huffed “Oh fuck off. If you felt how fucking sweet her pussy is you wouldn’t have lasted either”

“Challenge accepted” Oscar said with glee as he slid towards you and leaned against your back.

“You can go shower while I take care of her” he unhooked your leg from Lando's waist and lifted it as he lined himself up and pushed into you slowly.

Your eyes rolled back at the stretch (because Oscar was slightly thicker than Lando) and the change of angle which made him grind into your g-spot dead on.

Lando rolled his own eyes, crawling out of bed to go and shower, grumbling on the way.

“That's not fair, you've got the better angle you bastard…”

Oscar chuckled and thrusted into you harder, ripping a moan from your throat.

You were about to move to get on top of him but Oscar held you firmly in place.

“No baby, let me do all the work”

He rolled over you and pressed your body into the mattress, his weight comforting on top of you as he jackhammered his hips into you at the perfect angle to make you see stars.

One of his hands squeezed itself in-between your body and the mattress to find your puffy cunt and rubbed calculated circles on your clit.

You came so hard you almost blacked out and you started begging for him to come inside you, knowing that always made him weak in the knees.

“Please Osc, fill me up with your come, make me carry a part of you inside me while you race”

Oscar let out a punched out moan and there's nothing he could do to stop it as he did just that, pumping you full to the brim with his cum as he growled into your shoulder, teeth probably leaving indents on your skin.

Once his brain had stopped melting he landed a sharp slap to your ass.

“That wasn't part of my plan. Fucking witch.”

You laughed as he got off you to go join Lando in the bathroom.

“I know my way around my boys' kinks, what can I say?” you laughed as he flipped you off.

“Yeah, yeah. I want a rematch, tonight if I win. I'm not stopping until you're crying”

Fat chance, you thought.

You giggled and got up to follow him in, also desperately needing a shower.

Well, he didn't win, so you didn't get to see him that evening (though your celebrations weren't anything less than extraordinary, after all, it wasn’t every day that Il Predestinato won at Ferrari's home race).

What you did get however, was a video the next day.

As you lay in bed with Charles, you clicked on the icon curiously and almost spit out the coffee he’d gone and bought in an attempt to nurse your hangovers.

It was from Oscar's point of view, fucking Lando missionary, and the older man was covered, and I mean covered, in what you assumed was his own cum. He was whimpering as Oscar fisted his cock in time with his hips' movements.

“See? I told you I could last longer. Made him come so many times he can't even speak” Oscar growled into the microphone

You (and a curious Charles) watched in silent horror as Lando came again with a sob, completely dry.

It was an unhinged thought, but you secretly hoped Oscar would win the next race, and every single race until the end of time.

[enwoso]

Lovie having an even worse day than the grump story and hitting Vic pelova and having an all mighty meltdown

TINY TEMPER — alessia russo x child!reader

a long one🙃 got a little carried away when i was writing this, but ENJOY!

grumpy masterlist

travelling was tiring for the average person. travelling to the other side of the world was exhausting. travelling to the other side of the world at the age of four was anything but tiring, until it hits you like a brick wall that is.

alessia knew this would happen. she's tried so hard for it not to happen but when your so little and you get to do exciting things there's no containing your energy.

but it was now officially day two of arsenals post season trip to melbourne and you were past the point of tired.

when the flight landed at seven am yesterday morning you were fast asleep, alessia not thinking anything of it. more thanking her lucky stars she was going to be able to get through customs a little quicker without having to have eyes in back of her head in case you decided to bolt. something you'd done on the layover finding it the funniest game ever.

however, alessia wished she could have gone back in time and told herself to wake you up instead of just trying to make things easier for herself as when it came to bed time last night you had more energy than a duracell battery meaning you didn't exactly have the longest night sleep.

but hey you were four and had no concept of time never mind time zones..

"oh did someone not have a good night sleep?" steph giggled slightly as you sat at the breakfast table with your arms on it as your head rested on them an almighty frown on your face.

"who you asking tiny or less?" kyra teased as alessia glared at the young australian a cup of coffee secured tightly in her hands. steph slapping kyra on the shoulder also giving the girl a warning glare. your mummy placing a bowl of cereal in front of you and a bowl of fruit next to it.

you would usually start digging into it but not today, instead you pushed it as far as you could away from you. not wanting it anywhere close to you. pushing it until it hit steph's plate as she was the one who was sat in front of you.

"lovie, don't do that please" alessia said firmly as she pulled your bowl back to be in front of you. you huffing as you turned your head away from the bowl.

"i never thought i would see the day tiny not eating her coco pops!" kyra tried as you gave her a cold stare. you didn't want to eat them, you wanted to sleep but every time you closed your eyes mummy was tapping you on the shoulder waking you up.

"you'll have to be quick, otherwise they'll go all soggy and yucky-" kyra tried again, usually you would listen to kyra as she helped you create some fun when everyone else was being all dull and serious.

"just leave her kyra, she's not gonna eat them" alessia sighed as she watched you turn so you were sat on the on edge of your chair, kicking your legs back and forth. your white crocs which were on your feet close to coming off.

you swinging your feet further and further until your crocs flew off you feet. them being very close to landing on the table next to you. where katie, cailtlin and teyah were sat talking and eating their breakfast.

"ay whose little croc is this" katie's thick irish accent coming out as she picked up your croc, sending you a pointed smile. you giving katie a frown in return as you went back to swinging your legs back and forth.

"do you want it back?" katie had got up and walked the few steps handing your croc back to you but you just ignoring her as katie looked up at alessia who was shaking her head telling the irish girl a no. katie giving a nod understanding you clearly weren't in the mood.

"i'll just give it to your ma" katie nodded to alessia handing your shoe over as alessia mumbled a small thank you as katie returned back to her seat.

alsssia was exhausted already and the day had nearly just begun and that wasn’t due to jet lag although it probably played a big factor but from the fact she knew she was in for a day from hell with you and your grumpy mood.

you come out your shell a little, playing around with vic in a soft play area that the hotel had, most of the girls had been told to chill before it was time for meetings.

alessia was a little more content knowing you were playing with vic, although she would have preferred it more if you’d had a nap but you were having none of that when the idea was suggested.

so alessia sat in the little cafe next to it doing some uni work. her eyes glancing over every so often to where you and vic were. vic admittedly looking like she was having way more fun in the small play area sitting in a ball pit filled with colourful plastic balls.

you were sat playing with building blocks, building them as high as you could before barrelling most definitely a little too aggressively your foot in the bottom of it watching it tumble before restarting.

“vic me wan that one!” you pointed to another little boy who was in the play area on the other side playing with what looked to be his younger brother, as he also was building a tower with other coloured blocks.

“no tiny, you can’t right now someone else is playing with it” vic smiled gently as she picked up another ball in the ball in the ball pit.

“me wan that one!” you demanded a little louder this time, looking over to the little boy as you glared at vic who was starting to get a little uncomfortable as she didn’t exactly know how to respond or handle the situation which in her eyes looked like it wasn’t going to end with your usual cheesy grin.

“tiny you’ll have to wait your turn.. why don’t you play in the ball pit with me” vic tried, hoping it would help for you to forget about the building blocks.

unfortunately for vic it couldn’t be that easy, you instead shaking your head totally uninterested in the ball pit that was filled with colourful plastic balls.

instead you got yourself up from where you’d been sat, vic seeing you were making a beeline for the little boy. in a blink of an eye vic was up out of the ball pit, colourful balls flying out the pit as she lifted you up just inches away from the little boy.

you letting out an angry scream you began to kick your legs into viv’s body as well as flaying your arms around. what vic hadn’t realised is that there was a building block still in your hand and with your arms flaying around, the block hit vic straight in the eye.

the scream alone was enough to catch alessia’s attention as she shot up leaving her uni work, seeing your temper tantrums finally happen. quickly getting to vic’s rescue you were taken out of vic’s arms as you carry on kicking your legs and screaming just this time on the floor.

alessia quickly asking is vic was okay, the dutch girl flashing a smile and nodding her head. her eyes watering a little bit in all she was in fact okay.

alessia’s attention moved to you, as you were still on the floor of the hotel. screaming and crying while you kicked you legs out in pure frustration. alessia could sense the other guests wondering the hotel where staring at the scene that was happening.

alessia trying to pick you up by your hand but you were having none of it, just letting your entire body go limp. to the point where alessia’s patience had worn and she had to pick you up.

"tiny temper strikes!" kyra says with a proud smile, as the others look at her with a pointed look, totally unimpressed.

"you've been waiting ages to say that haven't you-" steph asks as kyra nodded her head enthusiastically watching on as you pull a tantrum in the middle of the hotel lobby. your over tiredness really kicking in.

"that's a singer you tool!" katie laughs at the young australian as the others look on, kyra sat with a confused look.

"what, no it's not" kyra shakes her head not understanding what katie was saying as it breaks katie into another fit of laughter, caitlin hitting katie on the shoulder for her to quieten down.

“katie your thinking of tinie tempeh” steph corrected the irish girl as katie rolled her eyes playfully, “same thing”

alessia managed to get you back to the room, where your sobs had quietened down as you face was now stained with tears as the occasional sniffle came from you.

you had been sat on your own for the past minutes, your mummy giving you the space you clearly needed before trying to talk to you. alessia had tried to talk to you but you just kept moving your head away from her every time she spoke.

“lovie?” your mummy said calmly, as she stood a few inches away from you. alessia was upset with your behaviour but she also knew it wasn’t entirely your fault as you were only acting this way because you were overly tired and overwhelmed. but still it was so excuse.

you glanced over to your mummy as you came a little closer, sniffles still coming from you. your mummy bending down so that she matched your height as you sat on the end of the bed.

“now y/n you understand that what you did to vic wasn’t very kind?”your mummy spoke in a serious which told you she was disappointed in you, you bowing your head so you just looked at your feet, a little hiccup coming from you from spending twenty minutes sobbing.

“you could have really hurt her or yourself with how you were acting” your mummy continued as you still were looking down at you socks and the patterns that were on them.

“do you understand where mummy is coming from?” she asked as you nodded slightly, you understood that what you had done was wrong and you didn’t feel a little upset with yourself for the way you had acted.

"how uncle gio would think if he saw you acting like this?" your mummy asked as you shrugged your shoulder, slightly confused as to why she was bringing up gio he wasn't even here, you hadn't seen him in person since christmas just before he set off on his big adventure around the world.

you shrugged, "uncle gio not here though"

"well he was coming to see you but i don't think he'll want to now especially if you being not very kind" alessia told you as you lifted your head a little. uncle gio was here, how?

“m’sorry” you mumbled under your breath, still looking at your feet.

“i know you are lovie, but when we see vic next i would like you to apologise to her, can you do that for me?” your mummy asked as you looked up from you feet and nodded a small squeak of a yes coming from you as you nodded.

“good, now lovie i want you to promise if you ever get any big feelings that you don’t know what to do. i want you to tell me and mummy can help you” your mummy told you as you slides down from the bed and hugged your mum. alessia’s arms going around you tiny waist tightly as she stroked her hand up and down your back just like she always did.

“can i make a card for vic to say sorry?” you asked quietly, as you mummy flashed a small smile before nodding.

“i think that would be a lovely idea lovie! i’ll get your pens from the suitcases”

you had spent all your time in the afternoon while your mummy trained making vic a card, drawing yourself on it with vic and all of her favourite things — that you could remember that is.

you wanted it to be perfect, and after training you asked your mummy to help you write what you wanted in it.

your mummy writing it while you told her what to write. you making sure to add your own little personalisation into it.

vic was one of the last ones out of training, having went to make a trip to see the physio. just to get a ice pack for the small bruise you had given her on the side of her eye,

your mummy had told you to leave it on her bag, so you doing as you were told you did just that.

mummy was in a strange hurry to leave training you weren’t quite sure why, but you did as you were told. putting your shoes and jumper on when asked before holding tightly onto your mummy’s hand. saying bye to couple of arsenal girls that had managed to get back to the changing room.

your mummy lead you to the front of where you had been training, stopping in the front lobby. as you looked up and asked why.

“just waiting for a second lovie, then we can go on a walk” your mummy smiled as she looked around the lobby.

“can we go to the park?” you asked with hopeful smile, you had seen one on the coach on the way to the hotel and it looked pretty cool and had things you hadn’t seen in the park near your house in london.

“maybe, we’ll see” mummy said quickly as you frowned a little. you hated when people older than you would respond to you with that as it usually meant no, and that was no fun to you.

but the frown was quickly turned around into a smile as your mummy pointed to someone coming around the corner, you gasped as you realised just who it was.

"uncle gio!" you called out excitedly as he lifted you up in the air, throwing you slightly as giggles escaped you as he caught you. your mummy stood recording the whole interaction.

"hey kiddo, you've gotten so big since i last saw you!" gio smiled as you nodded proudly starting to babble how you'd grown and show him how much with your hands.

"i heard you've been causing some trouble!" gio whispered as you gave him a blank smile back, moving your head to face your mummy who's eyebrows were raised.

"i think we are still adjusting to the new time zone in australia, but still we've had a little chat and tomorrows a new day isn't it lovie!" alessia have you a small smile as you nodded your head before resting it on gio's shoulder.

your mummy and your uncle gio began to talk as gio carried you walked through the streets of melbourne. your mummy claiming she wanted to go shopping as you felt comfort in your uncles arms, pointing things out as he gave you a reassuring nod and smile.

but before you had even got to the first shop, you had fell into a trap of dreams. your eyes had felt heavy when walking past a cute little coffee shop but that's the last thing you remember before your eyes, which had felt heavy since the moment you woke up, closed.

"wait- what how on earth have you done that..." your mummy stopped before entering the first shop, noticing you had fallen asleep, something she had been trying all day to get you to have a short nap.

"done what?" gio looked at alessia with a confused look not quite sure what she meant. he hadn't done anything except walk along the streets with you in his arms.

"got her to sleep!"

"cause i'm an amazing uncle duh!" gio laughed once he realised, alessia shaking her head at her older brothers cockiness.

"well she's got half an hour for a nap, you can be in charge of waking her up" alessia smiled sarcastically before continuing.

"and with those amazing uncle skills i’m sure you'll have no problem with lovie's grumpiness when you have to wake her up" alessia continued, the same smile still plastered on her face as she tapped her brother on the back before leaving him to go and look in a shop.

alessia

liked by leahwilliamson and 839,065 others

alessia eventful few days😅 tiny on tour continues🛫🧳🦘

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[jogetsobsessed]

Mrs.Call - Embry Call x Reader

I am still working on this request but to be honest, it's taking me a while because I wrote almost 2k words and then deleted it all because I hated it lol. Anyway, here's something to hopefully tide you over, beware it's kinda small. 

Y/M/N = your maiden name

---------

You stared at the fish darting around the oversized tank, observing as they weaved through the various decorations placed haphazardly amongst the colorful gravel. You were completely mesmerized, as you always had been since you were a kid. 

Simple things could occupy you for hours, it was something that Embry loved about you. He swore he fell in love all over again every time your face lit up when you saw an elaborate fish tank in a waiting room or a field full of grazing cattle when on a long drive. It didn't matter,  you always found something to be excited about and that was something he was trying to imitate in his everyday life. 

His hand rested on your thigh, using his pointer finger to trace small circles against your denim-clad leg. He was observing you, as he always does, listening to you softly humming the tune to the last song the two of you were listening to before you got to the doctor's office.

It was just a routine checkup. You had a small noninvasive surgery on your wrist two weeks prior and even though you weren't even wearing the bandage anymore Embry had insisted that he drove you everywhere. You had tried to argue that you were perfectly fine and insisted that he left for patrol. Five minutes later he came into the bathroom where you were getting ready for the appointment, kissed your cheek, and then you heard the front door close. 

Triumphantly you turned your music up and finished the last of your morning routine before heading out to your car. The music was still coming from your phone as you skipped along to the beat, not paying attention to your surroundings. 

So imagine to your surprise when you looked in your car from the windshield and saw Embry, sporting a shit-eating grin as he tapped his fingers against the top of the steering wheel. At the moment you were flabbergasted, however, the more you thought about it, the more you were not surprised. It was totally in Embry's character to trick you like he had. And while Embry would jump in front of a moving bus if you asked him, he tended to not listen when he thought it would benefit you. 

Now the two of you sat in a pair of conjoined chairs in the waiting room, waiting for your name to be called. Your eyes drifted to his every once in a while because you could feel his gaze. And he would smile the same smile that made you fall for him in the first place and go back to watching you. 

Back when you first got together the combined actions of his hand on your thigh and his eyes not leaving you would have sent you into an embarrassed fit. But now after having been together for over half a decade and having been married officially for a month, you weren't as quick to spook anymore. 

Lost in your own little world you didn't notice the office door swinging open and it didn't register to you what the nurse was calling out. 

“Mrs.Y/M/N” 

“Mrs.Y/M/N” 

“Oh wait, my mistake. Mrs.Call”

Your head snapped up at that. Had she been calling you the whole time? Embry nudged your leg and you met his gaze, this time your cheeks lighting up fiery red as heat warmed your face. You were thoroughly embarrassed now and by the smirk on Embry's face, he knew it. 

“I think it's time for you to go back, …Mrs.Call '', he drew out your new last name offering you his hand as you begrudgingly stood up. Embry was biting the inside of his cheek excessively to hold in the laugh that he so badly wanted to let out. 

The scene before him had been perfect. 

You were so enthralled with the fish that hearing someone call out your maiden name, the same last name you had carried from birth until just a month ago hadn't registered to you in your former state of being occupied as a possibility of being you. 

No, you were only brought back to a state of full consciousness by hearing your last name for only a month, the name that was his last name. 

Embry prided himself on being a modern man, however hearing you being called Y/N Call drove him crazy, and he loved every second of it.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, forgive me”, you exclaimed as you walked towards the smiling nurse all while trying to compose yourself, and not let Embry rile you up. 

And while you gave it your very best effort, sometimes trying is simply not enough. 

Because throughout the entire post-op appointment, Embry couldn't wipe the dumb smirk off his face, especially when the two of you would make fleeting eye contact and your face would burn bright and warm. 

After being given a clean bill of health you hurried to the parking garage, trying to get away from your husband. Because even though you both knew that what had happened was not a big deal, you were making it a big deal because you had gotten momentarily embarrassed.  

Huffing as you pulled the passenger door closed Embry lost it. Releasing all the laughter that he had been holding back. Normally you would revel in the sound, his laughter especially the deep belly laughter which was reserved mostly for you was one of your favorite melodies. But not this time. No, because his laughter was at your expense. 

“Embry it's not funny”, you pouted, staring straight ahead as he began pulling the car out of the garage, the familiar pitter-patter of rain starting as soon as you left the protection of the concrete building. 

“My sweet girl, I feel like I should hold your hand while I tell you this, but that whole situation was hilarious. Your reaction was hilarious”, he was laughing again, turning to steal glances at your reaction. 

Your face twisted up as you tried to figure out a rebuttal, but you couldn't. Because he was right like he always is. 

“She didn't call my name”, you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest in a very childlike manner. 

“And here I thought I knew the woman I married, you finally gonna tell me after seven years together that your last name isn't Y/M/N?”, he questioned, raising an eyebrow all the while the stupid smirk from earlier returned. 

“That's exactly what I’m saying, last time I checked my last name is no longer Y/M/N. It's Call,  so why would I respond to Y/M/N?”, you quirked your eyebrow up at him, waiting to hear his argument back. 

Except he didn't argue. 

Instead, he took your hand in his and brought it up. He placed several kisses against your knuckles and fiddled with the wedding band he had laid on your finger weeks ago. 

“I guess you have a point, Mrs.Call”.

[amongemeraldclouds]

Things I’ll Never Say

Why say things out loud when you can write them all down in a journal? No need to inconvenience everyone else with silly declarations of love that’s only guaranteed to break your heart. So what happens when your enemy - of all people - finds it?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

Thanks to @thatdammchickennugget for the prompt. Here's my official entry for the Hogmarch challenge, prompt one. 1k words.

Author’s note: The way I screamed when this idea came to mind! Journaling is such a big part of my life, I’ll take any and every chance I can to incorporate it to my stories.

Indented text are journal entries.

Warning: Cursing, no use of y/n, slight angst but it’s kinda cute. Fluff express coming through!

✿ Masterlist

“Stop copying my notes!” I hiss at Lorenzo, moving my arm to cover my parchment.

“Come on, I missed class today. I need to catch up,” he says, tugging at the arm of my sweater.

“Go ask your friends,” I retort, moving my arm away from his grasp.

“You know they’re not in that class, just you,” he insists.

“Oh we’re not friends,” I deadpan.

“It won’t take long,” he tries again.

“If you weren’t busy sleeping around with everyone, Berkshire. You would have made it to class this morning.”

 He leans in to my ear and whispers, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I grab the nearest hardbound book and swing it in his direction. Thwack! It strikes his shoulder.

The librarian looks at us sternly. “Your final warning was just given five minutes ago. No noise in the library!” She points her finger to the exit, “You two, out!”

“Great. Thanks for that, Berkshire. Good luck with your notes.” My face gets hot with embarrassment as I gather my things and rush off to the exit.

Enzo spots a black leather bound journal in the area you just vacated. He takes it with him as he exits the library. She’s always writing in this notebook. I’m sure she won’t mind if I take a peek, I’ll give it back to her anyway.

He damn well knew you would mind. When he reaches a quiet corner of the hallway, he proceeds to turn the cover anyway.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to like Lorenzo Berkshire. Why the fuck did I just draw a heart over the “i”! That’s it. I’m losing my mind! I can’t be caught liking the boy who spewed the word mudblood in my direction our first year. Like it’s my fault I was born into my family. And screw him okay, muggles are awesome. I can break my own heart with my misguided affections, but I’d rather die before I ever let him break my heart. So before I check myself into a mental asylum, I need to just say this somewhere. Anywhere. A last ditch effort to save my sanity.

He’s the intrusive thought I love to entertain in my head.

As a dare, he took off his shirt at the party. My toes curled. I pretended not to notice him.

I heard him laughing with his friends. I love the way it lit up his face.

I saw him enter his dorm hand in hand with a girl. I never wish to be her, another one night stand. Once would never be enough. 

I nearly kissed him again.

He helped me pick up the pile of books I dropped at the library. He seemed kind and concerned. Ha! Who am I kidding?

I count down the hours until I see him again.

Maybe in another lifetime it wouldn’t matter: bloodlines, social status, and hierarchies. So unnecessary.

I noticed the veins in his arm at quidditch practice. I tried not to bite my lip. What must it be like to be wrapped in those arms?

And there he was again with his stupid hair breaking my stupid heart.

Enzo hears determined footsteps approaching and he shuts the journal, hiding it behind him.

“Fine, Berkshire,” I sigh when I reach him. “Here, take my notes,” I say, handing it out to him.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“Weren’t you so desperate to get them earlier?” I fold my arms. “I will not be part of the reason you fail in class.” I point at him, “you and your dumb ass can very well do it yourself. I have more important things to worry about.”

“Is it that, or is it because you’re in love with me?”

My brain short circuits, the fire freezing in my veins. How the hell does he know?

He smirks, pulling out a familiar black journal. My eyes widen.

“On second thought,” I say, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter,” I turn around and walk away. “Fail class for all I care.”

I’m yanked back when I feel Enzo’s grip on my wrist. “Wait.”

My heart thumps in my chest. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He knows!

“I’m sorry,” he says. What? I turn back, my confused expression directed at him.

“That I called you a mudblood,” he explains. “I was a dumb ass when we were younger.”

“Finally, we agree on something,” I state, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you back then and I was prejudiced. Over the years, I enjoyed watching your passion for magic and studying. How you light up when you talk to your friends about a book you just read. And how you’re always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. You have this fire and warmth in you and I just need to be around it all the time. I’m reduced to being a moth to your flame and I don’t mind it at all.”

I blink, speechless.

He takes a step forward, voice softening. “Why do you think I tease you all the time?”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know?” The anger not quite there in my voice.

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you and I thought you hated me.” He brushes the hair from my face and cups my face. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

I roll my eyes, “Oh no, I do hate you.” I falter, “but maybe I kind of, just sort of, like you too.”

He grins. “It seems there are things we need to talk about. Will you go on a date with me?”

My heart stutters. “You already know my answer.”

He laughs, “stubborn as always. I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulls me in for a hug. 

Oh. Being wrapped in his strong arms is even better than I imagined. I rest my head on his shoulder when a thought occurs to me.

“You’re sure this is not just some elaborate ploy for me to keep giving you my notes?”

He sighs, “of course not, just enjoy this moment."

He moves his mouth to my ear, "But if you do, I solemnly swear I will make it worth your while.”

I don't hit him this time.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: For those who get the Avril Lavigne title reference, here's a tight hug for you! ♡

I may or may not have also had a place where I wrote down love confessions for someone I couldn’t have. Some of those may or may not have been included in the journal entries.

Two fics published in one day? Who is she?

[naivegh0ul]

OKAY BUT how about Older¡Ghost extremely jealous when his neighbor (reader) brings someone to her house to fuck with her? He would be extremely mad about it, but couldn't help but hear her moans and whimpers, wishing it was him instead making her feel good. (And to be honest, she may only did that to caught Ghost's attention )

YESSS god I love the idea of jealous Older!Ghost (it took me way too answer this i am so so so sorry anon!!!)

(warnings: smut, fem reader, older!ghost, jealousy, blowjobs, face fucking)

(word count: 1908)

It's 3am and Ghost hasn't gotten an ounce of sleep. How could he, when he can hear you moaning so sweetly through the walls. This has been a nightly occurrence. Ghost would go to bed, lay there for a while as he scrolled through pictures of you on his phone, and then the moaning would start.

The first time it happened, Ghost brushed it off, he's heard you pleasuring yourself through the walls before. Hell, he's even watched you. But this time you sounded different. Not so breathy, more high-pitched. Exaggerated.

The second time, he heard the creaking noise. Your bed must be rocking back and forth. Again, not the first time Ghost has heard that, but it is the first time he's heard grunts to go along with it.

Now, at three o'clock in the morning, Ghost has finally had enough. He climbs out of bed, feeling angry and annoyed. Angry that his sleep is being disrupted, and annoyed that he's hard from your moans.

He storms out of bed and out of his house, making his way towards your home in only a pair of grey sweatpants and socks, the imprint of his hard cock visible at the front of his sweats.

There's no response when Ghost knocks the first time, so he goes to knock again but your front door swings open before he can. "Mr. Riley!" You exclaim, slightly out of breath. "W-what's the matter?"

Ghost looks you up and down not so discreetly, noting the fact that one of your pant legs is riding up a little, and your shirt is up slightly, revealing the hickies and bite marks littering your stomach.

A twinge of jealousy filled Ghost at the sight. He has no right to be jealous, he knows that, but he is. You are his. Not officially, but you belong to Ghost. He knows what you like, how to crook his fingers to make you cry out his name, what filthy things to say to make you an embarrassed, whining mess.

That man in your bed probably has no idea what to do, he most likely just whipped his dick out and tried to put it in you, not even bothering to make you cum on his fingers first. He's probably your age, too. Young, immature, thinks with his dick.

Ghost can feel himself getting riled up the more he thinks about that stupid guy in your house. Ghost's is gonna give him what he deserves, the second he leaves your house Ghost is gonna wrap his hands around his throat and watch the life bleed from him-

"Simon?" Your sweet voice coos, pulling Ghost out of his spiraling thoughts. "Have a nice night." Ghost grunts out, turning away and walking straight back to his house.

Going to your house was a bad idea. You're a grown woman, for God's sake. He should leave you alone and stop being such an obsessive old man.

The sound of your sock-covered feet hitting the pavement has Ghost turning around before he enters his house. "Simon!" You say, looking up at him as you come to a stop on his front doorstep. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" There's clear concern in your eyes, making Ghost's heart melt.

"'M fine, love. Don't worry 'bout me." Ghost sighs, reaching forward to ruffle your hair. "Go back inside, 'm sure your guest is waitin' for you."

Ghost tries to turn around again but your hands reach out and grab the waistband of his joggers. "He..." You mumble, looking down at your feet. "He doesn't make me feel as good as you do." You admit as you glance up at Ghost with pleading, desperate eyes.

"Love..." Ghost sighs again "'M too old for you, alright? Go back inside, pretty girl." He leans forward and kisses your forehead softly and strokes your hair before pulling back.

Suddenly, you're on your knees in front of him, hands tugging at his waistband. "Please, Simon?" You coo, palming him through his joggers. Ghost swears under his breath, cock twitching and his hands curling into fists as he fights off the urge to give in.

No, he gave in once. He got his fill, he shouldn't be greedy. But you look so pretty in front of him, kneeling on the hard concrete, your face so close to his throbbing cock.

"You really want this, don't you?" Ghost says as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "Come on, get up. Don't want you kneeling on the concrete." Ghost reaches down and pulls you up, guiding you into his house.

Once the door is shut, you sink to your knees again, eager to please Ghost. "Fuck, you're eager." Ghost breathes as he undoes the ties on his sweatpants, pushing the garment down past his hips, exposing his cock to you.

He watches as your throat bobs and you swallow, your hands sliding up and down his thighs impatiently. Ghost wraps a hand around himself and strokes himself a few times, watching as you shuffle forward and open your mouth.

"Just this once." Ghost thinks to himself as he grabs the back of your head and slowly pushes his cock inside your waiting mouth, groaning loudly as the feeling of your warm, wet mouth engulfs him.

His hand guides you up and down the length of his cock, his fingers tangled in your hair and tugging ever so slightly. He has to fight the urge to buck forward, to fuck into your mouth as you drool all over him.

When he feels your hand on his balls suddenly, he jolts, a moan being shocked out of him as you gently roll them in your hand. "Attagirl," Ghost praises softly, barely audible over the sound of your slurping and gagging as you try to pleasure him at your pace, not his.

Ghost lets you do what you want, letting go of your hair and watching as you scoot forward and take more of Ghost into your mouth. It's a delicious sight, seeing your mouth stretching around him as your fingers wrap around the base of Ghost's cock.

You move further down Ghost's shaft each time, taking more and more of him. Your lips bump into your fingers as you take away one each time, building yourself up until finally you've got Ghost's cock buried deep in your throat, your neck bulging ever so slightly.

"Fuuuck," Ghost groans as he throws his head back, bumping it into the wall. His hips jerk, forcing himself further down your throat and making his heavy balls slap against your face. When you swallow around him, it takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. He has to pull you back so he can control himself.

You're pulled off with a wet cough, one hand holding your throat while the other wipes the spit from your mouth. "Why'd you stop?" You rasp as you look up at Ghost, licking your lips.

"Got close." You tilt your head at his explanation. "Why didn't you just cum then?" Your hand finds its way back to Ghost's cock, your thumb and forefinger gently pulling back Ghost's foreskin as you wait for a response.

"Didn't know if... mhm, if you wanted me to." He pauses mid-sentence as you wrap your lips around his tip, lapping the milky white precum beading from his slit. Your tongue digs under his foreskin, licking him teasingly.

You're so good at this, making Ghost feel like he has no control and you're in charge when you're only giving him a blowjob. You're not even doing anything special, not ordering him around or trying to be dominant, you're just gently suckling on his cock and now you've got him wrapped around your finger.

And it's not fair. Ghost wants to fuck a pretty girl like you with no repercussions, but he knows that's not possible, the moment they're having explains that all away. You can't get pleasure from anyone other than Ghost, and he can't stop himself from pleasuring you.

He's trying so hard to focus and what you're doing, but the way your hand strokes him and your tongue laps at him has him feeling floaty and drunk so he doesn't notice when he starts thrusting his hips forward slowly, fucking into the wet heat of your mouth.

Your hands hold onto his hairy thighs as he gently fucks your mouth, your nails scratching lightly as you let him do what he wants. He sounds so gorgeous, breathy moans and groans escaping his throat as he rocks his hips.

You watch him, big eyes looking up at Ghost curiously as you swallow. He looks so good from where you're kneeling, mindless yet focused as he moves you up and down on his cock like you're a toy, just a thing for his pleasure.

And you let him. You let him drag you along his cock or hold you still so he can fuck into your mouth; you let him lose himself as he stares into your teary, lustful eyes.

"So pretty down there." Ghost mumbles, slurring his words as if he's drunk on the feeling of you. "Perfect little mouth, so warm..." His hand moves from the back of your head to the side, Ghost's other hand joining in as he holds you still and slowly thrusts into your mouth, letting out breathy little grunts each time.

He's close, you can tell from the way his breathing speeds up and hips move faster, eagerly bucking into your mouth. Ghost gets rough when he's close, you know that, so you're prepared when he adjusts his stance and grips your head tighter, pulling you down so your nose is buried in the thick hair at the base of his cock.

"Fuuuck," Ghost groans as he feels your throat contract, watches as your eyes water and your hands grip his thigh. "Good fucking girl, takin' me so well." His thumb swipes below your eye, wiping away your tears as his hips snap against your face, balls slapping your chin.

"'M close," He pants, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. "You gonna swallow it like a good girl?" At his words, you moaned, eyebrows pinching as you scooted forward on the floor and licked at the sensitive vein on the underside of Ghost's cock.

“Yeah, ‘s what I thought.” His hands tighten their hold on your head, pulling you closer to him. You’re a gagging, drooling mess, hands planted in your lap as you hear Ghost let out a loud, long moan, his hips stilling as he forces his cock further into your mouth, spilling his seed down your throat.

When Ghost finally lets you off – after holding you there for an unreasonable amount of time – you splutter and cough, one hand gingerly holding your throat while the other wipes your mouth.

You stand up after a moment, knees clicking and cracking from being so stiff and you look at Ghost with a tiny smile on your face and a happy expression. Boldly, you lean closer, standing on your tiptoes as you go in for a kiss.

But Ghost stops you with a hand on your shoulder, shutting you down. “We shouldn’t.” He shakes his head as he speaks. He can see the look of hurt and confusion in your eyes as you step back, visibly embarrassed.

“Um, I’ll go now.” You say softly, avoiding eye contact. “Bye, Mr. Riley.”

[widowbitessting]

Flower Petals on the Floor

Word Count: 996

Rating: General with fluffy scenes. SFW!

Summary: All you wanted to do was surprise the Trio! at work. But the stupid security guard is set on ruining your plan.

Dom!Natasha Romanoff, Dom!Wanda Maximoff, Dom!Carol Danvers x Sub!Reader

(I swear I'm not an idiot. I got asks and I lost them. Can I find them? No. I remember it being along the lines of 'a security guard not letting Baby past' so nonnie I am sorry for losing your ask. Just label me stupid I guess. Again, it’s not the best thing I���ve written but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless)

xoxo

It was supposed to be a surprise. 

A midweek visit as your classes were called off. 

You’d even bought a small bouquet of flowers for each of them. 

But would the stupid security man let you in?

No.

No matter what you tried to say, he just wasn’t having it. 

“Listen! They know who I am, just let me up!” 

“No. Your name isn’t on the list, meaning you can’t come in.” He tells you. “Now go and bug someone else.” 

You glower at him, officially irriated. 

“I am not bugging - how many times do I have to tell you? I’m their girlfriend!” 

“That’s what they all say. I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

“Listen boogers for brains, I don’t know who pissed in your coffee this morning; but I’m here to surprise my girlfriends ‘cos they’re stressed out of their minds and you’re sort of ruining it!”

“Heard it all before, love. Now beat it.” 

He shoves you and you stumble back. 

“Hey!” 

“Get out of my building, doll face.” 

“Who are you -” 

“I will personally remove you if I have to. Leave.” 

He tries to shove you again but you manage to scurry back.

You glare at him.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going. There’s no need to push me. God.” 

You stomp out of the reception area and back out the pristine glass doors, where the horrible weather is waiting to soak you. 

“Fucking stupid…butt face.” 

You stop as the door swings shut behind you and pull your phone out of your pocket; texting the Trio.

Y/N (13:14): Hypothetically…if I was trying to get into your building…what would I need to do?

Carol (13:14): Well hello to you too, cutie. 

Carol (13:14):  We’d have to put you on the OK list; get you a Visitor ID sorted and so on. Why?

You groan. 

Why is nothing ever simple?

Y/N (13:15): No reason

Wanda (13:15): Are you downstairs, baby?

Y/N (13:16): Maybe…? I’m outside…

Natasha (13:15): Go back inside love, we’ll be there in a minute❤️

You quickly do as you’re told, rushing back into the warmth of the building. 

Only, you’re met with the same security man as before. 

He’s glaring at you. 

“Listen love, if you wanted to be handcuffed this badly, all you had to do was ask.” 

“What?”

He throws your flowers to the ground and spins you around so fast that you don’t even have the time to make a sarcastic comment. 

The cold bite of his handcuffs snag at your skin. 

“Listen -” 

“No, you listen to me, I’ve had enough of your shit. You’re in detainment until the cops get here, is that understood?”

“Cops? But wait -” 

“Save it.” 

This has to be the most mortifying ordeal of your life. 

Everyone in the open reception space is looking at you and you really don’t know what to do. 

And to make it worse, your left shoe keeps squeaking.

“I can’t - I can’t go to jail!” 

“Should have thought of that sooner, love.” 

He moves you so easily that you make the mental note to start going to the gym. 

Dragging you towards the turnstiles. 

He scans his ID and pushes you through.

Taking you towards the back door when - 

“Greg, any reason you’ve got our girlfriend by the wrists?” Natasha’s voice has you both stopping and you just want to sob in relief. 

She glares at the man holding you, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh thank god.” You mutter. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of our job.” Carol adds. 

“Told you I wasn’t lying.” You glare back at him.

“I was just -” 

“Being disrespectful to someone who we care about.” Natasha buts in. “Forget being professional, you were being downright rude. Uncuff her. Right now.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” 

He lets you go and you quickly move to stand closer to your women; Wanda’s hand quickly finds your waist and holds you close. 

“Do you do this to all the visitors that aren’t on the all clear?” Carol asks, putting her hands into her pant pockets. 

If things hadn’t been so disastrous, you’d have found it incredibly hot. 

…Maybe you still do…

“I - no. I…” 

“Go on. We’re waiting.” Wanda snaps. 

“I was told to make sure no one got in if they’re not on the all clear.”

“And how do we ensure people do get on the all clear?” Natasha asks, as if she’s speaking to a 1 year old, 

“Having one of the reception team buzz up to Kate…”

“And did you do that?” Wanda asks.

“No…”

“Why not?” Says Carol. 

“…she…she was testing my patience!”

“And the reasonable thing to do was handcuff our girlfriend and cause a scene?”

“I was handling it accordingly.”

“He hurt my arms.” You pout and nestle into Wanda, hiding your smile. 

“I think we should have a little chat, Greg, don’t you think? Bring in the Head of Security too?”

The man visibly pales.

“I think that sounds wonderful.” Natasha adds on. “You’re dismissed. We’ll contact you later when we’re ready.” 

And just like that, he’s gone. Practically vanishing in thin air.

“Are you okay, my love?” Carol asks, looking you over and inspecting your wrists. She clocks the red marks where the handcuffs were too tight. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Natasha growls, pulling you in for a tight hug. “My poor girl.”

“We’re gonna put you on the clearance list and get you an ID sorted.” Wanda says. “So you can come straight up next time.”

“Okay.” You pout. “I brought you flowers but he…” You point to the flowers littered on the floor. 

“Aw, baby girl.” Natasha sighs. “We appreciate the gesture. C’mon. Wanna come see where we work?”

You nod. 

Natasha takes your hand and leads you to the elevators. 

They open almost as soon as you get there and the four of you walk inside. 

Carol presses their floor and you grin up at her. 

Until she asks:

“Baby girl. Where’s your coat?”

[janeyseymour]

Love Thy Neighbor again because I can't get over it. Mel introduces reader and Ellie to her family, the reader is a nervous mess and Mels Grandma and Ellie become besties with Ellie proudly stating that she's an honorary schemmenti and making Mel start to think about making reader a official schemmenti 💜

I got you, but know that this has spawned a new little mini-series within this verse

Love Thy Neighbor, Two Families Become One- pt 1

You honestly don’t really know how you’ve made it this far without meeting Melissa’s side of the family. She’s met your parents, and they absolutely adore her. You remember how that meeting went- Melissa was an absolute nervous wreck, and Ellie couldn’t understand why for the life of her.

“Mel,” your little girl had rolled her eyes playfully at the redhead as she twirled around in her dress. “You’re bein’ silly. It’s just Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Just nervous,” Melissa told your daughter. “I want them to like me.”

“They will,” Ellie promised your girlfriend. “Because Momma loves you, and I love you, and that’s all that care about.”

The redhead looked at your daughter with soft warm eyes. “Thanks, El. But I still have to do my best to impress.”

The three of you made your way across town to your parents house, and as you climbed out of the car, Ellie attached herself to Melissa.

“Up, please,” the little girl asked quietly as she raises her arms up.

Of course, the second grade teacher immediately obliged your daughter’s request before taking a deep breath and walking up with you to the front door.

“It’s okay,” Ellie squeezed Melissa just the slightest bit tighter and pressed a kiss to her cheek in hopes of calming the woman’s nerves.

The redhead just gave a tight, nervous smile before turning her attention to the door that had just whipped open to reveal both of your parents.

Your parents engulfed you in hugs, acting as if they hadn’t seen you in forever when it had really only been a few weeks.

“And this must be Melissa,” your father looked your girlfriend up and down with a stone face.

“I am,” the redhead smiled nervously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Your dad stuck out his hand and shakes your girlfriend’s sternly.

“Pop, stop trying to scare Mel!” Ellie giggled. She whispered in Melissa’s ear conspiratorially, “Pop is like a teddy bear, he’s tryin’ really hard to be scary.”

That got your father to break out into a grin as he reached for your little girl’s belly to tickle. “Ellie! You can’t give me up that easily! The name’s Frank, and the ol’ lady next to me is-”

“Frank!” your mother batted at your father playfully before smiling to your girlfriend. “Rita,” your mother introduced herself. “Don’t listen to a word that man says. Ellie is right, he’s just a big teddy bear.”

“Play nice, Dad,” you rolled your eyes as you stepped into the house that you had grown up in. “Is dinner ready? I’m starving.”

“Some things never change with you, kid,” you father chuckled. “It’s on the table and ready.

Dinner with your family was pleasant. Ellie made sure to highlight just about every wonderful thing there was to say about Melissa and state just how much she adored your girlfriend.

“Pop! Did you know that Mel teaches with Momma? Did you know that Mel pushes me on the swings and takes videos of me when I go down the slide?! She’s just the best,” Ellie gushed.

  And by the end of the night, Melissa had gotten the stamp of approval from both of your parents. 

“See?” Ellie exasperates as Melissa buckles her into the carseat to head back to your apartment complex. “I told you there wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“I think you were a big help,” your girlfriend chuckled. “Thank you, little girl.”

“Gram and Pop would be…” she lowers her voice. “Stupid… if they didn’t like you.”

“Elizabeth,” you raise a brow as you turn in your seat to look at her.

Your daughter just shrugs. “I’m just bein’ honest, Momma.”

You chuckle. “Okay, little girl.”

But now that you were going to meet Melissa’s family, take those nerves that Melissa had felt previously, and multiply it by ten.

You’re in the middle of putting your face on in the bathroom when Melissa comes in.

“My love,” she sighs as she wraps her arms around your waist and kisses your cheek. “You don’t need to wear makeup.”

“I know, I know,” you mumble. “But I don’t want to show up looking like a slob.”

The redhead rolls her green eyes. “Babe, you’re beautiful no matter what, and my mom and Nonna are going to love you.”

“And what if they don’t?” you ask as you continue to apply your eyeshadow. 

Melissa looks at you like you just asked her the dumbest question on the planet. “There’s not a chance in hell they aren’t going to love you, and Nonna is going to absolutely adore El.”

“What about me?!” Ellie pops her head into the room. She then sees that you have your makeup out. “Ooh! Sparkles!”

“El, tell your momma she doesn’t need makeup to look beautiful.”

“Mom is right, Momma,” your daughter tells you seriously as she perches herself on the sink. “Why are you putting makeups on anyway? You only wear makeups when it’s a special occasion.”

“It is a special occasion,” you say softly. “We’re meeting Mel’s mom and grandma, and I want to make a good impression.”

Ellie’s lips into a little ‘O’. “Can I wear makeups to make a good impression too?”

That makes you pause, and you chuckle softly. “Pick one eyeshadow, and I’ll put it on for you.”

She squeals with delight as she looks at your palette. She ends up deciding on a very neutral but sparkly shade, and you gently put it on her eyelids. As soon as it’s on, your little girl is leaning in to look at herself in the mirror and giggling.

“Do I look good, Mom?”

“You look beautiful as always,” Melissa leans over and kisses Ellie’s cheek. She then pecks yours. “Just like you do.”

“What time do we have to be there?”

“We have to leave in thirty minutes,” your girlfriend tells you. “And I’ll make sure we have Ellie’s stuff in the car for her so you don’t have one more thing to worry about.”

“Thank you,” you sigh softly. “I should be ready within the next twenty minutes.”

“C’mon, El,” Melissa smiles down at the little girl. “Let’s let your Momma get ready while we get your stuff ready for the car.”

You manage to get yourself together before the promised twenty minutes, and you enter the living room the to sight of your girlfriend and your daughter lounging on the couch together.

“Hey,” you get their attention, and Melissa’s jaw drops just slightly. “What?”

Her eyes sparkle with love for you. “You look… stunning.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laugh softly as you run a hand through your loosely curled hair. “I look like I do everyday we go to school.”

“And?” your girlfriend asks as she stands from her place on the couch. “You look gorgeous there too, and you should know it- I only tell you everyday.”

“You look really pretty, Momma,” Ellie smiles at you as she hands you your purse.

You look down at your little girl as you ruffle her hair. “How much did Mom pay you to say that?”

“Nothin’!” your little girl gives you a cheeky smile.

“Are you ready?” the redhead asks you softly. 

You take a deep breath. “As ready as I’m ever going to be,” you tell her.

The entire drive over to the Schemmenti household, Melissa’s hand rests gently on your thigh to provide warmth and comfort. She’s pulling in far too soon.

“We’re here,” she tells you gently. “But we’ll go in when you’re ready.”

You nod. “I’m ready.”

Melissa holds Ellie’s hand as the three of you make your way up to the front door, and you’re greeting with a woman that can only be Nonna.

“Nonna!” your girlfriend confirms as she embraces the shorter woman.

“There’s my Melissa Ann,” Nonna smiles. “Looking beautiful as ever.”

The redhead is nearly a spitting image of the woman in front of you, and when her mother comes to the door, it’s like there’s three generations of your girlfriend.

“Nonna, Mom,” Melissa smiles brightly. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N and her daughter, Ellie.”

You smile shyly and give a wave before tucking a hair behind your ear. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Hi!” your little girl squeaks with a smile. “I’m Ellie, and I’m seven.”

“Oh, aren’t you a cute little thing,” Melissa’s grandmother coos as she pinches your daughter’s cheek gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. You can call me Nonna.” She stands up straight to look at you. “The pleasure is all mine… Our Lissa has talked a lot about you- can’t believe it’s taken you this long to make it over for dinner!”

“We’re glad to be here,” you smile as you stick out a hand for her to shake. Then you face her mother. “Thank you for inviting us over.”

“We’ve been telling Lissa to bring you over for months now,” her mother chuckles. “Annette.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Annette,” you smile as you shake her hand too.

“Well, come in, come in,” both women say at once. 

“Dinner is almost ready, but there are some snacks out in the meantime, and can I get any of you anything to drink?” Annette asks.

“Wine for me and Y/N,” Melissa answers as she makes her way into the kitchen. “And El, what do you want?”

Your little girl looks up at your girlfriend and shrugs.

“We made sure we were stocked up for you,” Nonna chuckles. “Lemonade, apple juice, grape juice, orange juice, water… you name it, kiddo.”

“Can I have lemonade, Mom?” Ellie asks quietly. “Please?”

At the term your little girl uses, you stay quiet. 

“Sure thing, El,” Melissa smiles softly as she lifts Ellie to sit on the counter.

Nonna and Annette both raise eyebrows in shock, and it mirrors the same face that your girlfriend makes when she’s surprised.

“Mom?” Nonna asks gently. “Lissa, is there something you aren’t telling us?”

The redhead rolls her eyes playfully. “She started calling me Mom, and if she’s comfortable with it, I’m more than happy to be Mom.”

Ellie grins and leans over to kiss Melissa’s cheek while Annette pours a lemonade and Nonna pours the wine.

“Can I help with anything?” you offer.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet?” Annette smiles as she hands you your wine. “No, Nonna has it handled.”

“Can I help?” Ellie chirps from her place on the counter. “Mom and Momma let me help with dinner all the time, and I love it!”

Nonna grins. “Oh, I could definitely use the help from you, little one. The rest of you, out of my kitchen!”

Melissa chuckles as she presses a kiss to your daughter’s head and pulls you to the living room couch. “I knew her and Nonna would get along like two peas in a pod.”

“Yeah?” you ask softly.

“Nonna loves the little ones, and Ellie is the best little girl out there,” Melissa shrugs as she kisses your temple.

“So…” Annette looks at the two of you.

You and your girlfriend spend the time that dinner is being prepared chatting with Melissa’s mother about everything under the sun. Occasionally, you hear Ellie squeal with joy. It brings a happiness to your heart- knowing that your daughter is making a connection with one of your girlfriend’s favorite people. 

“Momma! Mom!” Ellie comes bouncing in with the biggest smile on her face. “Dinner’s ready!”

You, Melissa, and her mother all stand from your place on the couch and head for the dining room. There’s a beautiful display on the table.

“Nonna teached me how to set a table properly!” your little girl absolutely beams.

Nonna smiles a smile that matches Ellie’s energy.

Dinner is wonderful, and you absolutely insist on helping clean up and help to set out dessert with Melissa and Ellie while Annette and Nonna sit back and sip their wine.

“So, what do you think?” Nonna asks.

Annette smiles. “Lissa did good with this one. She’s better than Joe.”

“Her little girl is the cutest little thing,” Nonna notes softly. “If her manners and sweetness are anything to go by, Lissa may have found her person.”

“So?” Melissa asks you quietly.

“Your mom is so sweet,” you tell her genuinely.

Ellie grins. “Nonna is my most favorite person! She teached me to fold the napkins, and that the sharp side of the knife should always face the plate when you set the table.”

The smile that washes over your girlfriend’s face is gorgeous. You peck her lips gently as you finish washing the last of the dishes.

After dessert, you find yourself with another glass of wine while you lounge on the couch and chat with your girlfriend’s family. Ellie curls up in Melissa’s lap, happy to drink her lemonade and cuddle. You can tell though as the night goes on that your daughter is getting sleepy, and it’s clear that Melissa can too.

“Is Ellie girl gettin’ tired?” the redhead asks as she kisses Ellie’s head and takes the cup out of her hand.

Your little girl nods against Melissa’s chest as she rubs at her eyes. The two of you glance at the clock- it is getting to be the time where Ellie starts to wind down for the night.

“I guess we should probably start heading out for the night,” your girlfriend tells her family. “But we’ll have to get together again soon… maybe you can come over to our apartment for dinner one night.”

“That would be lovely,” Nonna smiles. “I’d love to get to see Ellie again- you know, she reminds me of you a little.”

“Really?”

“Full of life, eager to help,” the eldest woman smiles. “She’s a little honorary Schemmenti.”

Ellie gives a sleepy smile that quickly turns into a yawn as she plays with the chains around Melissa’s neck. “Ellie Schemmenti,” she mumbles against your girlfriend’s chest.

If the kiss that’s pressed to Ellie’s temple is anything to go by, you would say that Melissa is quite happy with that little statement.

“Alright, Ma,” your girlfriend stands with Ellie in her arms. “Nonna. It’s time we head out and get the little one to bed, but thank you for having us.”

“Seriously,” you chime in softly. “Thank you so much. Dinner was wonderful.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Nonna and Annette tell you at the same time.

As you hug Melissa’s grandmother, she whispers in your ear, “Seriously, anytime. You’re family now.”

Nonna was never the best whisperer though, so Melissa hears the sweet words that are said. Her smile doesn’t leave her face the entire walk out to the car.

Once you get on the road, Melissa takes your hand in her own and brings it up to her lips. “I told you, there wasn’t anything to worry about. They’re both a lot like me… tough on the outside, softies on the inside.”

“I guess you were right this time,” you chuckle softly.

“When are you going to realize I’m always right?” your girlfriend teases you. “What did you think though, for real?”

“I see where you get a lot of your personality,” you tell her. “And I love you, so I love your family.”

“And my Nonna’s comment about Ellie being an honorary Schemmenti?” the redhead presses just slightly.

“The cutest thing in the world,” you sigh in content.

When Melissa pulls into the driveway, she expertly lifts Ellie out of her carseat and into her arms without waking her before taking her into the house. The two of you tuck her in together, and she only wakes up slightly when you press kisses to her face.

“Goodnight, Momma. Goodnight Mom. I love you,” Ellie mumbles out, still half asleep.

“We love you too, love bug,” you whisper as you brush away a few of the stray hairs. Melissa repeats the sentiment before you head off to prepare for bed yourself.

She’s in bed before you are, and when you slide in, she seems to be deep in thought. You curl into her arms.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you,” she whispers as she kisses the nape of you neck.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you sigh out softly, a bit breathily.

Your girlfriend shakes her head. “That would be me,” she tells you as she nips at you. “I don’t know how I managed to land a gorgeous and kind woman like you- the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

You push away from her slightly. “I am loving these compliments, but honey, I’m too tired to have sex tonight.”

“That’s fine,” she tells you as she pulls you back into her arms and lets you lay your head on her chest. “Get some good sleep, hun.”

You fall asleep rather quickly, exhausted from the events of today, but Melissa lays awake as she replays her Nonna’s words in her head- that Ellie was an honorary Schemmenti, that you were part of the family now. And that gets her thinking… Should she forego the ‘honorary’ portion of your titles and officially make you Schemmentis? She falls asleep thinking about this.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

[lueurjun]

guitarist boyfriend! jay

popstar!reader x guitarist boyfriend jay! in which you’re supplied with a new guitarist who just so happens to end up falling hopelessly in love with you. a/n—if this is bad, don’t blame me. it was a spur of the moment spark of motivation.

gather around and hold hands because this is everything to me

YOU GUYS are everything to me

that micheal scott meme where he’s holding jim and pam’s hands… that’s what it looks like. me holding you guys by the hands because i just love u both so much. i am apart of this relationship. i am the captain of this ship. the leader of- okay you get it

guitarist jay and his global popstar partner?? stop before i cry

okay ! let’s get started with how you guys came to be

it all started because your guitarist decided to seize an opportunity to permanently work for another pop star

traitor. i’ll set them on fire. ( for legal reasons that’s a joke ).

and you’re all for new opportunities and such but they happened to leave smack bang in the middle of your world tour

three hours before your concert

someone hand me a lighter rn-

so not only are you set to perform in front of a sold out stadium, in a country you’re not too familiar with, but you’re left with no guitarist either

cue the emotional meltdown backstage with all your stylists and staff around trying to calm you down

imagine you’re filming a documentary and they put in the scene where you’re sat on the floor just sobbing whilst people rush around you- the way i’d sue my own team

anyways lucky for you, yang jungwon is on your team — and he has a friend who has exceptional talent on the guitar, who also happens to be in the area

how convenient, it’s almost like this was written in the stars

jay arrives but he doesn’t even get to say hi to you before he’s carted off by your manager to be coached for the performance

so you really only saw the back of his head through teary eyes

but according to your stylist, he’s one hell of a babe

stylist is me btw lemme wipe away your tears. come here, pretty

you take their word for it and just try to mentally prepare for the concert ahead after the shock of being blindsided

it’s not until 5 minutes before you go on that you officially get to meet jay

and suddenly the concept of workplace crushes makes sense to you because bro looks like he’s just stepped out of a vogue magazine

models should be thankful he picked the idol industry

he looks super nervous as he shakes your hand, he’s all jittery and it makes your heart swell

of course, he’s polite as ever as he compliments your work and all that you do and expresses how much of an honour it is to play for you

he’s laying it on thick but i would too if i was in your presence tbh- you’re everything embedded in gold

there’s not much time for conversation before the pair of you are being ushered into position, but you catch the wink he gives you before he stalks away with the rest of the band

and you certainly don’t miss the knowing grin you receive from your drummer, sunoo

suddenly, you’re taking deep breaths to ease your pounding heart which is going crazy

not because of the thousands that are about to watch you perform live, but because of the small interaction you just shared with jay

oh you are so cooked- but personally, if i was jay, i’d never wash my hand again after shaking yours

anyways the performance goes smoothly, and jay excels just as jungwon said he would

you were surprised at how easy it was for him to get into the swing of things

and your fans seemed to love the new addition given ‘y/n’s guitarist’ trends on twitter afterwards

needless to say, concert one with jay is a great success so much so that he secures a permanent spot as your brand new guitarist

yesss bros getting a major bag and YOU? he’s living the dream fr

as the shows progress, you and jay seem to gravitate closer both on stage and off

if you’re not hanging out constantly, then you’re sharing winks and subtle glances across the stage whilst you’re performing

and as expected: a ship begins to set sail

your fans are begging for it to happen. your friends are begging for it to happen.

i’m begging for it to happen

and finally, it does.

jay bites the bullet and asks you out on a date

what’s the worst that can happen? you say no, oh wow-

we’re on a floating rock lovelies. shoot your shot 🫨

luckily for jay, you didn’t say no. in fact, you were more than delighted to say yes

onto the relationship because this is so long, i always do this

right off the bat he is OBSESSED with you

but would he swim across the ocean to get to you? i would. i would, y/n.

heart eyes constantly

so much so that fans literally have 30 min compilations on youtube of him just staring at you as though you were an aurora dancing across the sky

blowing kisses at him as you’re performing

alexa play that should be me

your discography is so shamelessly dedicated to him

everyone eats it up

iconic paparazzi photos

jay having you sat on his lap to teach you the guitar and him leaving gentle kisses against the nape of your neck

sighhhhh genuinely why do i do this to myself? someone take over because i am DEPRESSED

if you’re already able to play guitar, i can see the pair of you doing a little duet where you just stare at each other all 😍😍 whilst playing at each other

wearing one of his picks on a necklace

him having your name written on his guitar

also you get special treatment and your band members make sure you know it

“i moved his guitar out of the way so it didn’t get trampled on and he grabbed sunoo’s drum stick and threatened to shove it down my throat but you touch it and all of a sudden roses grow from his eyes? disgusting.”

sunghoon has had enough

yapping about him during interviews with the brightest smile on your face

this would be me as a celeb- i would not be able to keep my life private i’m a certified yapper

if you want to go for the more private approach

subtle exchanges on stage

it would be like private but not secret

cuddles backstage !!!

being seen wearing each others tour jackets when leaving the venue

crawling into his bunk on the tour bus late at night after everyone has fallen asleep but also being the last to wake up so everyone knows you’re in there anyway

him shielding your face from all the flashes of the camera

protective jay is everything to me.

he’ll definitely be your plus one to any event

and the two of you absolutely steal the show every single time

he also supplies your fandom with memes of you and they thank him for it

i better stop here because i’m getting too carried away shsjsjsk and i’m pretty sure i strayed off the prompt 😭

overall, you and jay? dream couple ☁️🤍

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 3 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 4

"So, have you heard of the new girl?" Regina asked, twirling a lock of hair on her finger.

You were still sitting on the couch several hours later. It was beginning to get dark.

"Caty Heron or something?"

"Cady, yes. What do you think of her?" Regina bit her bottom lip, sucking it and chewing at it in her mouth. Back when you were younger, her mom would've chastised her. Mrs George was lax about a lot of things, but she could not stand fidgeting. Nowadays, though, you doubted she had the heart to say anything negative to her daughter.

"I..." You tilted your head, thinking. "I don't really think of her. We're in the same calc class and she seems smart. Talks to Aaron a lot."

"Does she?" Regina narrowed her eyes and huffed. "I thought so."

"What? Don't tell me you're still hung up on Aaron Samuels. C'mon." You scoffed. "That dude, pretty as he is-" You knocked at your head. "All fluff, no substance. Hollow."

"Oh, because you would know so much about guys." Regina crossed her arms and stared at you petulantly.

"Yes, I would. I'm practically one of them." You shrugged nonchalantly. "By the way, shouldn't you get home?"

Regina didn't answer and just looked at you. You looked back, unsure of what she was thinking. You glanced around, wondering if you'd missed something.

"You're still- I mean, you're... A lesbian." She said slowly as if it were a curse word.

You laughed before answering. "Yes, Regina, I am still a lesbian. Just like I told you I was back then." You frowned. "Is there, like, a problem?"

"No." She said simply, but it didn't seem particularly truthful. "You don't know about what happened with Janis, then?"

"No, I just know she had to switch schools. Why, was it something you did?"

"No." Again, didn't seem too truthful. "I don't have a problem with you being a lesbian."

Clearly, she was uncomfortable talking about it. Still, something was off. You were almost certain Regina had had something to do with Janis leaving. She was probably lying to you.

"You're not going home for dinner then." Better to drop it for now. It wouldn't do either of you any good to push her. "Will your dad be mad?"

"As if he even notices I'm gone," She rolled her eyes, settling more comfortably on the couch. "He's always on the phone."

"I have frozen pizzas we could pop in the oven."

"I'm not eating that processed shit. We're ordering in."

"Reg, I can't order takeout 'til dad sends me more money."

"I'm paying, dummy, don't even worry about it." She pushed off the couch and walked to the kitchen. You trailed after her. "Where are the menus?"

"There should be some in the cabinet over there."

The evening turned to night with you two on the couch, chatting and eating pizza. The TV was turned on eventually. Adult Swim was playing some anime about cowboys in space, but neither of you was really watching.

You'd missed her so much. You didn't like thinking about it much, but that was the truth. You'd missed her for even longer than the two years you'd been officially cut off from her life. She'd started pulling away long before the silent treatment began. You didn't like thinking about how much it had hurt, how you'd felt your world go bleak when she rejected you. You'd never been one for confrontation, that was Regina's job, so talking to her about the why and how of it all had never felt like an option.

You'd eventually gotten the hint. And now, after all this time, after she had left you so easily, you were letting her back in just as easily. As if you were back in that time, sitting in the sandbox peacefully making castles when she came up behind you, pulled at one of your pigtails, and demanded you share your buckets and shovel. You were helpless against her force.

There was probably something deeply unhealthy about your friendship. She was probably only coming back because it was convenient for her. She wasn't interested in making amends- hell, she probably didn't even think there was anything to amend, in the first place.

This had been the way you two had been since forever. Her ploughing through anybody in her way, you clinging to her as she went, just as much of a victim and a perpetrator.

The Regina you missed was the impression of a girl, braces on her teeth, grass stains on her sundress, and laughter on her lips. The Regina that perhaps, maybe, probably was still hidden somewhere in her, but at the same time was just not her. Who she was now, who you were now, were so utterly different from back then.

Watching her face, illuminated blueish by the light from the TV, so much older but still soft and young, framed by naturally blonde hair but bleached a lighter shade, you made your peace. You were probably being way too dramatic about all this, but it felt like a big moment in your half-baked teenage brain. You would take her back every time. You would let her leave every time. You would stay in place while she explored the world, and if she deigned to come back, you'd be waiting.

"Hey, Reg," You said, quiet but not exactly a whisper.

"What?" She looked up at you, just bent over the coffee table grabbing another slice of pizza.

"I missed you." You said, so earnestly it sounded jarring to even your ears.

She scrunched up her nose. "'Cause I bought you pizza?"

"Yeah," You laughed. "That too."

If you hadn't been looking so closely, you might've missed the brief lapse in her armour. It was in the softening at the corners of her eyes, in the slackening of her face, the give in her spine. Something like affection, like she'd missed you too.

"You're a weirdo."

You only laughed more.

The moment passed and you continued eating and talking and watching TV. You must've fallen asleep at some point after Regina went to remove her makeup. Eventually, you couldn't tell when, you woke up to the sun shining through the blinds right into your eyes.

Shit. It was Monday. You pawed around yourself for your phone, flipped it open, and checked the time. Shit, indeed. You nudged Regina with your toe.

"Reg..." She didn't even stir. "Reg!" You pushed harder, causing her to groan and whine.

"What? Five... M're mins..." She mumbled into the cushion, curling up tighter.

"We're late for school, Reggie, c'mon we gotta go." You momentarily contemplated if it was worth even going in. Your dad would be busting a lung at the missed calc class anyway. But did you want to give him more reasons to yell at you? No, not really.

"I gotta go, c'mon." You moved towards her and really shook her.

"What?" She grumped at you. To be honest, it was really cute. She had dust around her eyes, sleep still lingering in her limbs. You'd touched her shoulder, covered by the knit blanket you'd given her last night, but you could feel how warm she was.

"School. It's Monday morning, sleepyhead."

It took no more than that for the reality to set in for her. Cursing up a storm and running around like a headless chicken, Regina tried gathering all her things that'd somehow ended up scattered around the night before. Her perfume was in the alcove by the front, her charger in the kitchen, hairbrush in the bathroom.

"Do you want a ride?" You asked before heading upstairs to change. Couldn't go to school in just Spiderman boxers.

"I have nothing to wear!" She screeched, glaring at you as if you'd caused this. She was the one who wanted to stay the night, jeez.

You held up your hands in surrender. "You can borrow some of my stuff."

"As if you have anything remotely fitting. You dress like a hobo." She said all that while climbing up the stairs past you, heading for your room. "A hobo with a liking to grunge music, nonetheless."

You walked after her, listening but not feeling the need to add anything. Once she got to your door and you went to follow, she whirled around.

"Uh, I'm gonna change." She sassed, though the intimidation was made less effective by the bareness of her face and the messiness of her hair. You smiled and gestured for her to go on.

"Be my guest." As if she needed the invitation.

To her credit, it didn't take long for her to pick something to wear, wash her face, and do her hair. In the meantime, you used the hallway bathroom to freshen up yourself. She stepped out wearing the same white tank top as the night before, over it a short-sleeve button-down in a glossy, satin black, and a black skirt she'd probably found at the very back of your closet. The button-down was neatly cinched around her waist and the skirt discreetly rolled up to be shorter than it really was.

The shirt was probably the nicest thing you owned. Something a relative had gotten you for your birthday. Versace or something like that.

"I'm going to have to go to school in sneakers, jorts." She pointed at you accusingly, leaning over threateningly where you sat on the floor. You looked up at her and just shrugged. What could you do?

She rolled her eyes and waved you away. You took the cue that it was your turn. You didn't bother closing the door behind you. Some wash jeans from the back of your desk seemed clean enough. You sniffed them just in case. Not too funky, but definitely not fresh. They'd have to do. You chucked the hoodie, sprayed on some deodorant, and replaced it with a short-sleeve flannel. You looked into the mirror and checked your hair was okay before grabbing your backpack.

"Okay, let's go." You turned to see Regina staring at you incredulously.

"That's it? That's your morning routine?" Leaning against the doorway, you couldn't help but notice she looked fantastic. It was a real talent of hers, looking so good all the time.

"Usually, I'd eat breakfast." You herded her out of the door. "Do you need to get your things?" She probably didn't have any of her school stuff.

"No, I didn't unpack my purse before coming here." She said, checking said bag as she did. "I'll do my makeup in the car, drive sensibly."

"Psh, as if you need to tell me. You're the speed demon, from what I've heard."

"There's nothing wrong with the way I drive, grandma."

"Until you get your license revoked, speedster."

Needless to say, Regina was not impressed by your 2001 Corolla. And though she complained the whole way to school, she still sat in the front seat, doing her makeup, there was no heat behind her words. You arrived in the middle of the third period. Nobody was out and about, much to Regina's relief. You parted ways with a wiggle of her fingers and a finger salute from you. You sat in the car for a moment, just breathing and thinking.

She didn't say thank you, didn't say she had a good time, didn't even bother pretending she'd enjoyed your company. It seemed like a relief she was finally getting away from you. Was that how she felt?

Now that your friendship had progressed beyond small talk while you worked and pleasantries over dinner, being ignored at school felt a lot more hurtful.

It was sobering, how she could goss and laugh with you on your couch and then act as if being seen with you in public was social suicide.

What made it feel even worse was that it was true. If Regina was seen hanging around you, god knows what the piranhas that were the student body would do. It would end with either or both of you ostracized or worse. Regina could bend minds and shift opinions like it was a superpower, but even she had her limits.

You got out of the car, locked it, and ambled towards Spanish class.

Notes:

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[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. the beauty of winter, the second time. minors dni. nsfw warning under the cut. 7.7k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: hate sex, rough sex, spanking, hand job, biting, choking, orgasm denial (m to f), unprotected sex, brat taming, name calling (slut), oral (m receiving), angst, angst, more angst.

Arthur turns the corner into the kitchen, swinging around the wide, arched door frame. You’re stood at the island, the chilly edge of the granite countertops pressed against the exposed line of skin between your shorts and your top. A plate of toast sits on the heavy ceramic plate in front of you, and you make a shaky-handed attempt at spreading mashed avocado over the dry, cool bread. Charles clears his throat a few feet away, pulling his coffee mug off the machine shelf. It’s not even steaming.

“Ciao Arturo,” you speak. Even your voice sounds sweaty. “Dimenticare la testa?” Forget your head?

Arthur’s eyes dart between the two of you. Charles, you, and then back again. Charles is lucky, his back is turned to the whole thing. You’re the one who has to deal with his questioning glances. He stirs sugar into his cold coffee, and the spoon clinks against the sides of the mug painfully loud. 

Arthur smiles. “Occhiali da sole,” sunglasses, he says, reaching for the plastic frames on the counter, pointing them between you and charles. “sto interrompendo qualcosa?” Am I interrupting something? 

You glance at Charles, still stirring his cream and sugar, and you realize he won’t be turning around, not while his brother is in the room, not while he’s still got a bulge in his shorts. You almost laugh. “Nope. I’m making breakfast, he’s being a bitch.”

“Ah, so, the usual?” Arthur jokes and you nod, try to stifle a laugh so you don’t get an earful later. You fail, and Charles is flipping both of you off over his shoulder. You raise your brows knowingly towards Arthur—See? What did I tell you? “Ok, well. I’ll see you guys out there?”

“Yup,” you nod. “Probably in like an hour-ish? For me, at least.”

You watch, butter knife in hand, as Arthur trudges out of the house, the shuffling of his nylon snow pants and the thud of his heavy boots across the floor. He slams the door shut behind him, a quirk of the old house—the refusal of the heavy door to latch shut unless you threaten to pull your shoulder out of its socket when you close it. You’d spent half your childhood trying to shut it properly.

“A bitch?” Charles is teasing as soon as his brother is gone, abandoning the coffee he won’t be drinking and slotting comfortably behind you. He pokes your sides, has you curling in giggles as he continues through his own laughter, “I’m a bitch?”

“You are!” You laugh out, escaping his grip and pointing the avocado covered butter knife at him. “I’ll cut you.”

“Sure you will, baby,” he smiles, and then he kisses you because you’re alone and he can. There’s been lots of kissing just because you’re alone—just because you can—as of late. Since that one date you’d agreed to a few weeks ago, and all the subsequent basically-almost-half-dates-half-hookups you’d experienced since. Officially, though, there has been no second date. Unofficially, you’re dreading knowing he’s going to ask any time now. 

It’s not that you don’t want to date him, you’re just not sure you want to be dating him. It’s the difference between what you’re doing now, or having fun and being happy and keeping it all to yourself, or making it into something, turning up to joint-family parties in the same car with an overpriced bottle of wine and listening to your grandma talk about your kids having his hair. It’s belonging to yourself or belonging to him, and you just aren’t sure you’re ready to belong to anyone. 

He’s ready, you know. You know, because he all but wrote it down for you in Vegas. Your agreeing to go out on a single date was the consolation prize, the taunting, the holding what might be over his head like a carrot on a string. 

“We have to be more careful,” you say, wiping the last of the green fruit onto the practically stale toast. It’s been twenty minutes, at least, since you’d put it in the toaster. “Arthur’s silly, but he isn't a fucking idiot. None of them are.”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why?” He laughs. The two of you are on such different wavelengths right now it isn’t even funny. “I mean, would it really be that bad if they found out we were seeing each other?”

You bite down hard on your toast, you have to because it’s so stale. “It would, actually,” you say around the dry bread. Crumbs fall to the counter below you. You sweep them off with your palm onto the floor, and then under the edge of the counter with your sock-covered foot. 

“Oh, come on,” he says, all nonchalant. He takes a sip of his cold coffee and winces, cradles it in his hands like it’s going to provide him any warmth. You don’t laugh, don’t even want to. “They’re going to find out eventually.”

“Says who?”

“We aren’t going to keep it a secret forever.”

You nod. Slow and intentional. “Keep what a secret?”

“Us.” You hate the casualty of it, of the label, of the grouping you two together. You hate that he can just say it like that, let it fall from his lips like it’s nothing. 

“There isn’t an us.” You choke on it—us—like it’s a swallowing sword. It’s not that you’re… opposed to the idea of us, so much as this is the last way you wanted to start referring to the two of you as a unit. 

“I mean,” he dumps the coffee into the sink. “We’ve been fucking for a year, dating for a few weeks.” The coffee gurgles in the drain, echoes through the kitchen. He flips the sink faucet on. “I think there’s an us to be talked about.”

“We aren’t dating, Charles,” you’re quick to correct, because, well—you aren’t dating. “We’re seeing each other,” you take another bite. It’s not good, beyond just the toast, you think maybe the avocado was a day from being perfectly ripe. “It’s different.”

He fills the mug to the top with water and dumps it again. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” you insist, but your inflection betrays you. 

“Okay.” He repeats the action, drops a dollop of dish soap into the bottom of the mug and swirls it around so fast the water spins out over the edge of the mug. Fill it, dump it, swirl a sponge around angrily, fill it again. 

“Dating is like, dating is like a label.” Dump it again. “We don’t have a label. We’re free to see other people if we wanted to.” You drop the toast onto the plate, three notes taken from it, each progressively worse. 

“Okay.” Fill it, dump it—until the water isn’t soapy anymore. He leaves the mug face down on the dish strainer, carefully, without making a sound. It’s impressive, his silent, brooding, angry act. You know he’s full of it, that he wants to scream at you so bad. It annoys you, almost—that he won’t shout.

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?” You say, because you don’t like the implications of him refusing to yell at you. That’s like. It’s almost. You can’t even face it. 

“What is it that you would like for me to say?” He spits, slams the faucet off. You almost flinch. Almost. “That I don’t want to see anyone else? That I think you’re full of shit and feel the same way I do!?”

He’s never—he’s never yelled at you before, not really. Sure, he raised his voice in Vegas, he did. But he’s never yelled at you. Your dynamic has always been sharp, yes, but it was never loud. It’s always been grounded in the smart-ass comments, in the quick wit, the silence of arrogance and annoyance and frustration. It’s never been loud. It throws you off balance, completely off kilter. You don’t know why you wished for it, why you were annoyed with his previous refusal. You—you don’t like it. Not at all. 

You can’t think straight, much less speak straight. “I don’t know, like… I don’t know.”

“Like, like, like,” he mocks you. His words are like venom. He’s such a fucking child. “Like, what!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!?” You yell right back, aren’t even hurt by the mocking so much as annoyed it’s the best he could come up with. He’s better—smarter—than playground insults. You expect more from him at this point. “Are you fucking seven years old!?”

“Maybe!” He slams his hand on the edge of the counter. You hope it hurts as bad as it sounds like it does. “Maybe I fucking am!” You scowl. This is an ugly look on him. You don’t know what you ever fucking saw. 

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you!” He wags a finger at you, he actually fucking does it, points a finger at you like he’s scolding you. 

You smack his stupid fucking finger out of the air and when you do, he grabs your arm, pulls you crashing into him, into his lips. He kisses you, and you kiss him back, but there’s nothing romantic about any of it. No, no. This might be the angriest you’ve ever seen him, all teeth clacking, tongues fighting, hands groping. 

It’s reminiscent, almost. Of the time that really wasn’t all that long ago, even if it feels like half a lifetime. To the time where his only goal was to shut you the fuck up, when the only reason he fucked you was because he thought someone needed to put you in your place. 

He’s not taking his time with you. Not today, not this time. No, he’s pulling your shorts down fast, grabbing at your bare ass and pulling you flush against him.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling the short locks, pulling his mouth to yours. Everything is so greedy and selfish and a fight—a fight to win the unwinnable game. 

He’s crude with it, crass almost—the way his fingers move against your cunt. Quick, hard, mean. You hate yourself for how wet you are, how easy you make it for him to slide in a finger, and then another, to fuck into you with a burning curl. 

When you settle into it, just as your breath picks up and your hips start to move against his hands with some semblance of rhythm, he’s pulling his hand away with a guttural fuck, moving back to your ass, giving it a hard smack. 

Two can play at that game, you think, hand diving into his shorts. You take his cock and stroke him, impatiently thumbing pre-cum over his head and fucking him with your hand. He’s hard before you have to do any work, had spent the morning half-way there already. 

He bites on your bottom lip so hard you think it might bleed. “I fucking hate you,” he says into your neck, biting the skin there, too. 

“Good,” you say, lips curling into a naughty smirk. “I like it like that.”

He’s rough when he moves you around, almost shoves you, turns you and bends you over the countertop. It’s cold, even through your shirt, it’s cold. You push the plate away, the half eaten toast relegated to the other end of the kitchen island. 

There’s no teasing, no warning. Just him, fucking right into you, leaving you grabbing at the smooth granite for any sort of stability, to brace for all of him. You can feel the fabric of his shorts; he’s got them pulled down just enough to have his cock out, and it reminds you of the fucking sauna this summer. 

In the same way you were given no warning, you’re given no time to adjust. He’s already fucking into you with hard, measured thrusts that slam you against the edge of the counter. You think he might fucking break you, split you right down the middle. It hurts so good. 

He’s quiet, lets the sounds of your skin smacking against him do all the fucking talking, tell the story the both of you already know. You can’t find the words. You’re just there, against the cool granite, full. Full. So fucking full. 

It’s unlike him to be so quiet, but, you don’t mind it. You don’t think you can hear another sentence out of his mouth without wanting to walk clear off a cliff. 

Gibberish moans are forced from your lips before you can even process them. “Fuck—fuck you,” you manage to sputter out, and then he’s reaching around to cover your mouth with a flat palm, leaning over you and whispering in your ear all husky. 

“Shut the fuck up, or I stop,” he says, and you nod. You nod, but his hand holds steady, moves slowly down around your throat, applies just enough pressure around your neck to make everything that little bit hazier. You choke on your words, bite back moans until you taste copper. 

When he’s had his fill, he’s turning you back around to lick into your mouth and hoisting you up onto the counter, taking you like that instead. Harder, harder. Impossibly fucking harder. You’re scratching lines over his back, dragging your nails over his skin and whining against his shoulder. When you toss your head back in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself quiet, he laughs—and then you’re looking at him.

The eye contact goes on for what feels like a decade, him fucking into you with reckless abandon while maintaining a steady, furious glare. He pushes his forehead against yours, lips just out of reach, ghosting over yours with every thrust of his thick cock. 

You open your mouth to moan, feel the threat of your orgasm in your core, in the way he perfectly fucks you. 

“Fuck you,” he breathes into your mouth, and the anticipation of the kiss that never comes burns. He breaks his glare, can’t look at you any longer, can’t kiss you, either. His eyes fall to your body, to the space where he disappears into you. He’s captivated by it, watches with a hard stare as he fucks you senseless. 

You could see his denial of your orgasm coming before you started fucking, so when your leg starts to shake and your cunt clenches around him so nicely, you’re unsurprised by his, “don’t you fucking dare.”

The problem for him is, he forgets that you’re just as pissed, that you don’t give a fuck what he says. No, you know that he’s all fucking talk, could never actually bite what he barks, not with you. He’s all talk, and he’s just as close as you are. Nothing short of your families walking through the door right now would get him to stop railing against you. 

So, you come around him, feel a special kind of satisfaction at the way his face contorts, at his canding, “God,” and the way he comes tumbling after you with a groan and a fuck. 

(four hours later) 

“Qu'est-ce qui a rampé dans son cul et est mort?” What the hell crawled up his ass and died? Lorenzo asks in the ski lodge. Both of your families are eating lunch at one of the restaurants on the mountain, and Charles, in his ever ending broodiness, opted to sit at the farthest possible end of the table from you and his brothers. Mostly, from you. He sits silently in a conversation with your father and brother-in-law, ever the entertainer. 

“Il est dans une de ses humeurs,” he’s in one of his moods, you reply. “J'ai râlé toute la matinée à la maison,” bitched all morning back at the house.

“Ouais,” yeah, Arthur adds. “Quand je suis retourné chercher mes lunettes, il ne s'est même pas retourné pour me parler,” when I came back for my sunglasses he wouldn’t even turn to talk to me.

“Je parie que sa copine lui manque,” I bet he misses his girl, Lorenzo settles, rocks back on the legs of his chair. A pang of green runs through you, gross and envious. 

“Sa copine?” His girl? You ask. 

“Ouais. Chaque fois que je l'appelle, il me dit "j'ai quelqu'un chez moi" ou "je suis chez un ami,” Yeah, everytime I call him he’s talking about “I’ve got someone over,” or “I’m at a friend’s house,”” Lorenzo reasons. Your jealousy is replaced with mortification as you realize Charles not only has a girl, but that the girl is you. 

“Someone should call her,” you say. “Get him laid so he isn’t so fucking annoying.” Lorenzo laughs and Arthur offers up a half-hearted smile, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Your phone rings on the tabletop. “Arthur!” You scowl. “Gross! I can't stand Charles.”

“Je dis juste que pour deux personnes qui prétendent se détester, vous passez beaucoup de temps ensemble,” I’m just saying, Arthur defends, for two people who claim to hate each other, you two spend a lot of time together. 

We don’t—you want to tell him—we don’t spend a lot of time together, but then you think of all the times they don’t know about, all the nights and all the hours and all the days. “Cela aurait effectivement beaucoup de sens,” It would actually make a lot of sense, Lorenzo laughs. “He likes pulling pigtails.”

“I know you love me boys, but I wouldn’t touch your brother with a ten foot pole,” you insist, and it sounds convincing—at least in your own head. Only time will tell, you suppose, if you managed to convince them of the lie. 

You enter the family room seven and a half minutes before Charles does. Where he is for those seven and a half minutes, you don’t care, as long as it’s not anywhere near you. Your families have always done this a couple days after the New Year, your own little joint Christmas celebration. Over the years, you’ve found it to be varying levels of both endearing and infuriating. 

“It’s hot in here,” you say, plopping yourself down onto the sofa, fanning yourself with a magazine from your mother’s coffee table. 

“Really?” Your sister peruses, eyes unmoving from her phone screen. “I was about to put on a sweater.”

“Yeah,” you continue, abandoning the magazine and instead opting to gather your hair into a messy, half-twisted knot off the nape of your neck. “I’m on fire.” You secure it with the thin black band from around your wrist, look to your sister as you pull loose pieces out to frame your face. “What’s the damage?”

She assesses the situation, pulls a few more hairs out of the knot and twirls one around her finger. “Has your hair always been so shit as holding a curl?” She asks. You nod, tucking all of the loose strands behind your ears in a swift movement. 

Charles is here now, lingering in the archway between the family room and the kitchen, his hand leaving indistinguishable fingerprints on the trim above his head while he nurses a beer, nurses a conversation with your brother-in-law. His hair is a fucking mess and you’re going to kill him, something you become so, so certain of when you notice the buttons on his shirt are mis-aligned, that just above his waistband, a single piece of plastic is missing, loose threads left in the wake of the long lost button. 

As if second nature, your fingers trail over your own, down the linen shirt that clings to your figure. A missing button. He has a missing fucking button. Your eyes don’t stop at the torn threads; all the way down to his sneakers, all the way back up to his messy hair. 

He brings the glass beer bottle to his lips gently, parting them ever so slightly to allow the smooth brew to cool his throat. When he pulls it back, his lips are damp with condensation and ale, tongue swiping the pink skin clean. 

“I need a drink,” you announce, standing from your seat and moving to the kitchen. He doesn’t move out of your way when you approach the doorway, has this stupid, satisfied smirk on his face as he takes another swig of beer. It’s the look he only gets after he has you. 

“You broke a fucking button,” you mutter as you squeeze through, finger grazing the loose fabric strands that hand above his waistband. He stiffens at your contact and now you’re the one with the rotten, pleased smile. 

“Leave a gap,” he says, looks past you and into the family room. You haven’t wanted to punch him this bad in at least a week, maybe two. You longed for the days when it was all you worried about: finding the next opportunity to hit him. Things were so much simpler then, so black and white. Now it’s wild colors and they’re all bleeding into each other to create a particularly shit-toned shade of brown. 

Given the opportunity, you’d go back. Back to the Ski Lodge and Vegas and the sauna. Back to Monaco and the yacht and that one chilly winter night. All the way back to last year, to the club, to right before the club. You’d stop yourself if you could. But you can’t, can you? No, the best you can go back is ten minutes. 

(Ten minutes earlier)

“Fuck you,” he groans, hushed and gravely, rutting up into you.

The closet is hot and humid with the air that pours in through the attic entrance. Dark, too: smells like fabric softener and lemon furniture polish–not that you’re smelling any of it now. No, right now all you can smell is him, raspberry and incense and a summer hike through a forest. 

All you can feel is him, the stretch of his dick as it fucks deep into you. You moan against his hand, the calloused palm muffling your whimpers, cheek flush against the drywall. “Show up with your fucking ass out,” he says, hand forcing the hem of your skirt up higher, higher than your hips, slipping under the fabric of your shirt to cup your breast.

He’s fucking up your hair. You’d spent half the morning curling it and here he is, running his rough fingers through the hairsprayed strands like he owns them, like he has any right to knot them into a messy ponytail. You swat his hand away from your hair, and it snakes around your neck. “Don’t be a fucking brat,” he goads, the heavy weight of his fingers leaving you white and fuzzy with pleasure. 

You shake your head, free your mouth from his palm and pant, “Fuck you,” you spit. “Fuck–ah,” he ruts up into you with all the force he can muster, pulling you off the wall, bringing  your back flush against his chest. “–fuck you.”

He laughs, buries it in the skin of your shoulder, biting a purple bruise into the space there. “Bab–God, so fucking tight.” Your back arches against him, body moving, craving, begging to feel more of him, all of him. Every last inch. 

You can feel him in every nerve ending and it still isn’t enough. You know he can give you more, that he can leave you sweaty and sleepy and monolingual if he really wants to. You know, because he had you sprawled out on his bed last weekend, dried tears crusting on the corner of your eyes, muscles weak and chest heaving against his sheets. 

Tears prickle your eyes when his grip on your throat tightens, when he pushes to see how far you’d let him go. You move a hand to wipe them before they fall. You still have to face the family after this, can’t walk out there with black streaks running down your cheeks. The tangled hair is more than enough to get them asking questions. 

His hand moves up your jaw, locking into your hair again and turning your head to face him. Look at me, he says, pulling you into a hard kiss. His long, measured thrusts fuck you open. His dick makes you drunk; floaty and dizzy and off balance and so, so fucking needy. You’re close, he states, knows your subtle breathing changes well enough that it doesn’t even have to be a question anymore. You nod against his lips, lick into his mouth, across the scrape of his sharp teeth. “I’m gonna. I’m coming,” you choke, breathing shallow and rapid. 

“No,” he whispers, hard and gravelly into your ear, biting on the lobe. A hand moves between your legs, dips into your slick and sends a jolt through your entire body. You don’t even know which hand he moved, can’t feel anything but his two fingers circling your clit, his dick fucking into you. “Not yet.”

His instructions are thinly veiled, but you’ll follow them anyway. Your body writhes against his hand, hips fighting your mind, moving in any rhythm that might make you finish harder, faster, even a second sooner. 

Your leg shakes under you, muscles weak and strung out. “Give it to me, Charles,” you beg. You know he’ll let you come as soon as he does. “Want you–fuck–want it so bad.”

“Ouais? Putain, such a slut for me.”

You nod eagerly, try to shake away the thoughts of release with it. He makes it so fucking hard. “I am, I am,” you insist. You are, you are. For him, every fucking time. 

You know he’s close the same way he knows, the micro-changes in his movements, his breathing, his words. You know he’s fucking close when he loses his rhythm, tries to bury himself impossibly deep inside you, to actually rip you fucking open. 

“Where?” He asks, offers you the option only because you aren’t in the privacy of an apartment. As of late, he’d been having his way with you, getting you messy and marked with him. Clean up is significantly harder in a fucking linen closet. My mouth, you mumble. Let me taste you.

He nods, picks up the steady pace of his fingers. You first, he instructs. “I want you to come for me, baby.” The pet name, always the pet name. Even when you’re this pissed at each other, it’s the only word your brain holds onto when you come around him, clench tight and quiver on his dick, muffling your own cries with your hand.

He pulls out of you with a whine and a mumbled fuck, a hand on your shoulder, turning you, pushing you down to your knees swiftly. There’s nothing careful about the way he fucks into your mouth, bruises the back of your throat as you muffle your gags around him. “Your fucking mouth,” he groans. “Makes me fucking crazy.” Your eyes meet his and you roll them, hollow your cheeks and swirl your tongue and watch, like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever seen–watch his face contort when he comes undone, thick stripes of him painting the back of your throat. 

You swallow. Clean, no mess, wipe the spit with the back of your hand and flatten your hair, twist what’s left of the curls into some semblance of what they were before he pulled you into the closet by your wrist. 

You hurriedly re-button your shirt and flatten your skirt over your thighs. You’ve been gone too long, both of you have. Your families are going to catch on if you keep it up like this, all horny rendezvous in humid closests because he can’t keep his hands to himself. 

His hair is pointing in every which direction, and when he runs his hands through it he misses a chunk. You reach to fix it and he swats your hand away. 

You scoff. “Stay here, leave a gap,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. You’re the brat, though, right? You turn the doorknob slowly, peek your head out into the empty hallway. He laughs behind you, what the fuck are you doing? “I’m going to the bathroom,” you quip.

He reaches over your head, wraps his fingers around the edge of the door and pulls it all the way open, moving forward until he’s flush against your back. “No UTI’s on your watch,” he mumbles. 

You elbow his chest. “I said to wait here.”

“Fuck that,” he says, squeezes out behind you and the door. His feet are heavy on the hallway floor as he dips into the kitchen. You scurry in the other direction towards the bathroom.  

It’s your parents anniversary party where it all comes to a messy boiling point. Thirty years of love, twenty-something years of parentage, and still. Still, you surprise them when you knock on the apartment door with a boy on your arm. A boy who, you assume to the surprise of Arthur and Lorenzo, is not their brother. The person perhaps most surprised by your bold decision making, however, is Charles. He’s glaring holes into you all night. 

You try to take it as a compliment. You look good tonight, took careful consideration of your hair and makeup and clothes—your best black cocktail dress, all silk and long sleeves and exposed back, and your highest nude heels. You look good, and you like to think he notices, even if you’re nearly certain he’s watching your date more than you.

Your date, Jean, the friend of a friend and a blind date two weeks ago, hovers behind you like a lost puppy in his crisp white shirt and freshly pressed black slacks. He’s French, as french as they come—spends his evenings smoking cigarettes on the balcony and drinking wine with a careful pallet, distinguishing between the sweetness and the high notes and the low notes and all the wine terms you don’t understand. He’s a bit hushed and likes to make fun of your pronunciation and loves, loves, loves sex. 

You don’t know how you get separated from him, where he disappears off to, You don’t know what compels you to follow the sightline of the stare that burns into you, to follow Charles out onto your parent’s balcony, but you do. You do, and the air is chilly and you shudder, skin prickled with goosebumps. You can hear the music playing through the glass door. If it wasn’t so terribly cliche, you’d swear la vie en rose is filling the air. 

“Hey,” you nod, and he acknowledges you with nothing more than the raise of his brows. He leans against the balustrade, the cold metal of the railing clinking against his rings. You stare into the bottom of your wine glass, swirl the liquor round and round.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” He asks, and you look up to him. He’s not looking back, smirking down at the ground at nothing in particular. 

You roll your eyes, swallow down on the pit knotting in your stomach. “Oh, please,” you scoff, halfhearted and lackluster. “Like that would ever work on you,” you reply. 

He chuckles, cranes his neck to look at you. “Maybe not,” he says, “but your games are always so fun.” His voice is low, unplayful. Horridly serious, despite the laugh. 

“I don’t play games,” you replied, step closer to him, to the edge of the balcony. You lean against the railing, gather your hair and pull it over one shoulder. Everything is so weird now. 

He quirks a brow, lets a genuine laugh slip and looks at you again. “What’s Jean, then?”

Your cheeks burn red but you refuse to let him get the upper hand. “Why do you care? It’s none of your business,” you shoot back, all spite and venom and irritation. You knew he’d be here and yet, still. Still, you hoped it wouldn’t be like this. 

It was naive. Moronic, even. You should have known better. 

He leans in closer, your faces no more than inches away. “Oh, but, it is my business when you’re trying to make me jealous,” he says, voice hushed, almost disappearing into the sound of the street below you. 

Your eyes drift away from him, back into the apartment, into the dynamics of your families, into the way Jean hides in a corner nursing a drink. He’s so nervous, needs constant babysitting. You turn back to Charles, to his pink cotton shirt, top two buttons undone. It’s begging to be ironed. “And what if I am?” you challenge, and your voice threatens to betray you, to expose the vulnerability you try so hard to conceal. 

A flicker of something, something you’re too scared to properly identify, flashes across his face. “Then you’re wasting your time,” he replied, voice tinged with the same something his expression is. 

Your frustration bubbles. He makes you mad in a young way, in a fiery sixteen year old girl way. Pissed at the drop of a pin over nothing in particular. “You think you know me so well?” You ask, and he smiles down onto the street. It makes you angrier. “Well guess what? You don’t.”

There’s an air of arrogance about him. He drips with it. “I know more than you think,” he says, dips his head in the direction of the party, or your date. “And he is not your type.”

You couldn’t hold back your retort if you wanted to. “Oh? Tell me then, Charles, what is my type?”

“That guy is a bitch,” he says, stupid, satisfied smirk on his face, digging dimples into his cheek because he thinks that he’s so, so funny. “So, for starters, your type is someone with the confidence to make you come.”

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, with anger. His words cut through you like a hot blade, the lack of decency, of basic respect. He gives more to a stranger than he does you, at this moment. You’d come to expect a lot of things from him over the years, but never, never, was blatant disrespect one of those things. He’s been raised better, you knew he had been, that Pascale would be red with fury if she heard him speak to anyone—much less you—like that.  “Go to Hell, Charles,” you say, quiet, steady, without a single crack of betrayal, and then you’re turning to head back inside.

The sliding door is cracked, and you almost literally run into your date, standing just out of view from your previous spot on the balcony. You’re even more embarrassed at his eavesdropping, but it’s not like you can blame him, not with the show you and Charles always manage to put on.

Jean is visibly uncomfortable, all flushed cheeks and red ears. “Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay? He asks, and the concern in his voice is evident, even through the embarrassment. 

You force a smile, hope he hasn’t heard most of the conversation with Charles and attempt not to burden him with the emotional complexities that come with your past, with your present. “Je vais bien,” I’m fine, you reply, downplay the whole event. “C'est juste un truc de famille,” It’s just a family thing. 

Jean nods, and it’s so uncertain you know he heard what you hoped he didn’t. “Je l'ai écouté,” I heard him, he admits, and your stomach churns. “J'espère ne pas avoir aggravé les choses,” I hope I didn’t make things worse.

You wonder how that would be possible—how things could get any worse than they already are. 

“Ce n'est pas de ta faute,” It’s not your fault, you say, half-apologetic, half-hushed. “Charles et moi avons une histoire compliquée. C'est juste... difficile à expliquer,” Charles and I have a complicated history. It’s just… difficult to explain.

It’s not that difficult to explain. You and he hooked up a year ago. Since then, you’ve hooked up a lot. The feelings have been felt, the emotions turned, the hearts dropped. But you’re past it all now. You’re past it, both of you. It’s history now. It’s history. It’s history. 

Jean gives you a half-hearted smile, and you know then that it’s as good as done between the two of you. He clears his throat, looks past you onto the balcony, onto where you assume Charles is still preparing more salt for your wounds. “Je devrais rentrer chez moi,” I should go home, he says, “Réunion anticipée demain,” Early meeting tomorrow. You know it’s a lie because you know he doesn’t work on Sundays, but you’re not in the place to call his bluff, not when you’ve got a full hand behind your back. 

You offer to walk him out to his car, but he turns you down. You don’t give him the option to avoid your company on the walk to the elevator. It’s silent, the sound of your feet on the floor, the elevator moving up through the shaft, the dinging of the doors. 

He steps inside, presses the ground level button and when the doors close between you two, you know it’s the last time you’ll see him intentionally. You wait five minutes before you’re pushing the elevator button, too, stepping in and heading down to the floor level. You need air. You desperately need air, and the balcony of the apartment is no longer a safe place for you. 

You cut into an alleyway between your parents’ building and the neighboring one, lean against the chilly brick wall and close your eyes. 

Breathe in, breathe out. It was never supposed to turn into this. The whole fucking point was that you didn’t want it turning into this, all messy and boundariless and bleeding over into the rest of your family’s dynamics. That was the whole point, it was. Your whole reasoning in Vegas, on the trail, after his best win. The whole point was to keep the damage minimal. 

In. Out. You don’t know what the point of it all is, anymore. Why you’re still playing this game when it’s clear the rules are so long broken they can’t be remembered. You need to just. You need to just let it be. Let it be what it’s supposed to be. 

In. Out. You know that it would work with Charles, you know it like you know your own hand. You know it would be good, and you used to be able to rationalize why the tiny little chance you were wrong outweighed any potential. You can’t rationalize it anymore, you can’t. You want to, because it’s easier to keep on, keeping on. But you can’t. It just doesn’t make sense anymore, not even to you. 

Breath in, breathe out—until you hear his feet scuffing on the sidewalk. 

They’re hurried, and you figure they’re making their way to you. You listen to them walk past the alleyway three times before you open your eyes. He’s pacing, typing away rapidly at his phone screen, brows furrowed, hard lines running through his face. He’s typing and pacing and muttering about something under his breath. 

“Charles,” you speak, and he jumps, completely and utterly startled by your presence. He sighs out your name softly, like he’s going to startle you back, and then he’s approaching slowly, cautiously, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Who are you texting?” You ask. 

“Who do you think?” He says, offers up a weak chuckle, and then, before you can say another word, “I’m sorry.” His voice is ridiculously sincere, all drowned in guilt and regret. His eyes are soft, his lips pursed. “I shouldn’t have said that, It was stupid and immature and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “Yeah, it was,” you admit, voice half tinged with resignation. 

He takes another step. His posture is so docile, lacks any kind of defense. He knows he fucked up. “I can be a real fucking idiot, sometimes,’ he continues, a rare example of self-awareness. 

Despite your frustration, you nod. “Yes, you definitely are.”

He leans against the bricks next to you and you look up to the sky again, close your eyes and breathe the air again. Anything to keep your resolve, to keep your wits about you. 

“But, you have to admit. I was right about one thing.”

Even closed, your eyes tell the whole store, scrunch and wince before rolling open to look back at him, certain that nothing you invite to come from his lips is going to make any of this better. You frown because curiosity always kills the cat. “And what was that, Charles?”

“I know you,” he huffs, pushes air past his lips like he knows better than to do what he’s about to do. “Well enough to know you know he isn’t a match for you, that you only brought him around to make me jealous.”

Honest, honest, it wasn’t your intention. It was an added benefit, sure, but it wasn’t the intention. No, the intention was to move past Charles, to finally, finally move on from what the two of you had. The problem with that, though, is that somewhere over the course of the last year, your type had become Charles. You’d tried to force the attraction with anyone who was opposite, to the antithesis of Charles, and that’s how you wound up with Jean. He was different, in every category, and the line between hate has always been very thin, you reasoned with yourself. Very thin. Very thin, you knew, because you walked it with Charles for twelve months. For all of the seasons. 

“It hurt,” he admits. “It really bothered me seeing you with someone else and that’s not an excuse for what I said,” he continues, and you drop your head to look at him. He’s looking at the sky, too. Like he’s trying to rationalize his own words with even himself. “it’s not, but it’s the only explanation I can give you.”

Somewhere on the street, an overhead light clicks on, fills the street with orange, cuts harshly around the buildings and into the alleyway where you both stand. It casts hard shadows on everything, on everything but him. It lights him softly, somehow, apologetically soft like the universe itself wants to apologize for his actions. 

You think maybe you should be the one who’s sorry, the echoes of your spat still hanging in the air, heavy in the darkness just a few steps away. 

Your voice trembles when you speak. “I didn’t know it would hurt you that much,” you admit. “I was just trying to move on, to prove that I could.” Prove to him, or prove to you—you aren’t sure. 

The pretense falls between you, almost suddenly, all at once, and the air is different. It’s not angry and it’s not apologetic. It’s just. The air is just shared. Shared pain, shared sadness and hope and understanding. 

“You know,” he says. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me.” His voice is soft, but it’s firm, unwavering. “I never wanted you to.”

Your breath catches in your chest, heart pounding fast. Fast. Faster than you can think. You can feel it in your toes, in your temples, in your fingertips. He looks to you, your eyes meeting and your heart jumping that much more. “I can’t pretend anymore,” you admit, below even a whisper. It’s a miracle he hears you. “I can’t pretend I don’t care about you, Charles.”

He reaches out, fingers brushing against the skin of your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even noticed had slipped. He murmurs your name, half-pain, half-hope, and you finally recognize it, the something about the way he looks at you, the way he talks to you. The something, you finally see it. It’s been looking you in the eyes this whole time and you’d been so blind to it all.

He was wrong in Vegas, you could be this smart and that dumb all at once, because here he is, looking at you and speaking to you the same way he always does, and for the first time you see it for what it is: tender, candid, and utterly consuming love. 

"I've been so scared," you confess, voice quivering. "Scared of losing what we have, scared of ruining everything if I let myself fall."

He holds your gaze, a comforting anchor in the midst of the uncertainties. “I’m scared, too,” he admits, and you find solace in it. That even him, who’s known for how long now—you can’t remember, even he feels scared. You don’t even care if he’s lying, if he’s just saying it because he knows it will make you feel better. You don’t care, because it does. It makes you feel so much better. “But, I’m more scared of not trying.”

The truth hangs in the air between you, fragile but undeniable, a connection that has endured far more than it should have. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” you say, voice finding steady ground now, your eyes locked on his. “But I’m done denying what’s been here all along.”

He cups your face with both hands, a sweet smile on his face, a stutter to the way his Adam's apple bobs. His thumbs brush your tears, and he says your name so sure. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he says. “Through all of the painful silences and the complicated, unspoken shit.”

Tears stream down your face now, a mixture of everything overwhelming you in the best way. You place your hands over his, hold them against your face like it’s going to ground you to the reality of his words. 

“I’ve loved you, too,” you whisper, voice riddled with quiet intensity. “I have,” you laugh. He smiles. “Even when I didn’t fully understand it, even when I pushed it away.”

Charles leans in, forehead resting against yours, breaths sharing the little space between your lips. “I want to be with you,” he says, a plea. “I want to be with you, even if it’s messy and uncertain.”

Your face is half as bare as your heart, now, and you’re sure he’s got mascara all over his thumbs, that you’re a real sight for sore eyes. But when you kiss him, he kisses you back.

He kisses you back, despite it all, despite how long you made him wait. He kisses you back and somewhere in the space between the kiss and the tears, you both find the space to laugh and you know you’ve made the right decision. The decision to leap. 

For him, you don’t know why you ever hesitated. 

[sunlightmurdock]

Ceasefire | 1.2 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (18+)

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Synopsis: Bradley Bradshaw is in San Diego, summoned to Top Gun for the first time. Commander “Hyde” Simpson is his flight instructor, and she doesn’t have time for schoolboy crushes.

Warnings: ex-husband!beausimpson, divorce, age gap (rooster is somewhere between 26-28, reader is 38), power imbalance between instructor and student aviator, swearing, slight angst at the end, smut, handjobs, teasing, riding and creampies that are never addressed again, sub!rooster, bondage, probably very inaccurate flight info

…

Eleven weeks have never felt quite so long. At the same time, the memory of seeing Bradley Bradshaw staring at you with that dopey smile still feels so fresh. In one week, classes will officially be over. Rooster will no longer be your student. It’s almost pathetic, the way you’re already miserable at the thought of not seeing his face when you walk in every morning.

Still, in this moment, he’s still here and frowning down at his flight manual. It’s a storming afternoon and the air stuff got canceled, but with Beau’s mood swings lately, class remains to be in session. You’re perched on the edge of your desk, waiting patiently for whichever one of your star pupils can answer your question first.

“Minimum total hydroplaning speed of the main landing gear tires inflated to 250 pounds per square inch is 140 knots groundspeed and, for nose gear tires inflated to 150 per square inch, is 110 knots. Ma’am.” Flipping his toothpick in his mouth and offering you a dimpled grin that proves he knows he’s correct before you tell him, Jake Seresin is a fraction faster than Natasha Trace, who sits directly behind him. It’s not the hardest question. They all should know it. It’s just the rain outside that even made you think of it.

Offering Jake a small smile and a curt nod, you open your mouth to confirm that he is once again correct. To his left, you can’t help but glance across at your favourite thing to look at in this bleak little teaching room. Only, he isn’t smiling at you.

He’s staring down at his NATOPs, brows drawn together in something between frustration and confusion. Maybe embarrassment. You can’t pretend that it isn’t your initial impulse to discredit Jake to save Bradley’s feelings — but you don’t. That’s not your job, and it’s not what you’ve worked so hard to do.

“Good work, Hangman.” You tell him calmly. Bradley doesn’t dare look up from the page. Not once. Rain pours on outside and he spends the entire afternoon glaring at the manual like he wants to rip it to shreds.

As you dismiss the class, the thought looms of this all being over soon. With just one more week to go, there are lots of decisions hanging heavy. Maybe that’s what is getting to him.

“Rooster, hang back. I need to speak to you.”

Instantly, you can tell that this was not the right move. He turns towards you, his face sullen and his eyes dark. Your brows draw together, closing the door behind the last of your students and shutting him in there with you. Alone, he remains just as closed off.

“Are you okay? — You seem kind of—“ One step forwards, you reach out for him with a gentle touch, in a way that could still be mistaken for professionalism if someone were to walk in on the two of you. But, the second your hand grazes his bicep, he shrugs it off.

“I’m fine,” He mutters, gaze turned towards the floor. His usual sunny disposition seems to have gone away with the weather. Your eyes draw into a stern squint. “Am I dismissed?”

“Dis— Okay. No, Bradshaw,” You pretend that one didn’t sting, squaring your shoulders and inhaling slowly, stepping closer so that he has no choice but to see you finally standing in front of him. “No, you’re not dismissed. If you want to start acting like this is about rank, then that’s fine by me. I want you to talk to me either way.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His eyes dart towards the door, and then back to you. Finally, you watch him soften. His fingertips graze the inside of your palm, choosing to look down at that exchange rather than at you.

“Could you come over tonight?”

“On official Navy business?” You tease, poking softly at his ribs through the fabric of his flight suit. All you’re offered in return is a weak smile.

He links his fingers gently through yours. Slightly more incriminating, if you were to be walked in on. Still, it tugs at your heart strings as he sighs in resignation. “Please, Hyde?”

“Of course,” You tell him, giving his palm a quick squeeze. “I’ll be over just after seven.”

He has to wait for you to finish up your work before you’re able to leave. By the time you find him, he has already worked out and showered, and he has been sitting in his room wallowing for about forty minutes.

“Talk to me,” Even with his mood, there’s nothing he can do but drape his arms around your waist and tuck his head into the soft curve of your neck as you straddle his hips. “That’s what couples do.”

There’s a moment of silence, but not the same as earlier. His hands find the small of your back, tugging you closer as he sighs against your shoulder. You know that this time he’s just finding his words. It’s almost enough, having you here in his bedroom, draped around him, ready to listen.

In the meantime, you inhale the fresh scent of his cologne and turn your face towards his temple, pressing your lips to his damp curls.

“I’m just in my head about graduation,” He settles finally, curling his fingers around your hips, pulling back to look at you. “I knew I wasn’t going to graduate at the top of the class, but — I’m starting to wonder if I even deserve to be up there with all of them. You know?”

Your fingers are soft as they card through his hair, your expression much softer than it should be as his instructor. His fingers can’t sit still, pulling you closer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Of course you do,” The answer comes instantly, without hesitation. It’s followed by a chaste kiss. He turns his head and sighs again, readying to protest. “You knew the answer today. Doesn’t matter if you can find it in the book before Hangman or not, you knew it.”

“How’re you so sure that I did?” He challenges, frowning back at you. As much as he wants to believe you’re telling him this because you really believe in him, there’s still a voice in the back of his head telling him that you’re just trying to pacify him by giving him what he wants to hear.

You squint back at him, smoothing your fingers through his freshly washed curls.

“Because I know you better than I know anyone in that class, I’ve flown with you,” You tell him softly. He hums as you kiss his cheek. “I know your instincts up there are better than anyone else. Even if the answer isn’t in your head right away, I know that when you’re up there, you would know what to do.”

With that, he sighs and leans his head back. His fingers flex nervously around your hips. With his eyes closed, you used the moment to catch him by surprise. He sucks in a sharp breath as your palm dips between the two of you and grinds against his cock through his shorts.

“I trust you. Up there, and down here.”

His mouth twitches slightly, his eyes softening as he tries to pull back from you. “Hyde… come on, I don’t need you to baby me.”

You smile back at him, giving a curt nod of your head as you brush your palm more firmly against him. The way his throat contracts when he’s trying not to give in to you prickles along your skin, a rush of excitement.

He closes his eyes as you lean in and suck softly at the freckle on the left side of his neck. Your lips trail tantalizingly slowly along his throat until finally he shivers at the feeling of your breath against his earlobe, “Okay. You want me to make you prove it?”

“Make me?” He breathes out, fingers balling into the fabric of your T-shirt, brows knitting together. Already, his cock is standing to attention through the fabric of his shorts.

“That’s right,” It’s a gentle coo, so soft and sweet that Bradley really isn’t expecting it at all when you tug hard at his hair with your other hand. He inhales sharply, catching your hips and pulling you against him. His cheeks flush red, his eyes blown wide and desperate. You’ve never seen a man beg without even opening his mouth before. “Close your eyes for me.”

Another thick swallow, his throat squeezing around nothing as he closes his eyes, his dark lashes brushing against his cheek.

He’s so pliant, giving himself up to your more than capable touch. Lulling him into calmness that he’s powerless to fight against as your mouth kisses at his chest, pushing at the hem of his t-shirt and helping him out of it.

“Contrary to what you might have heard from Hangman, or from Pete Mitchell,” Bradley bites at the inside of his cheek as you lick at his freshly exposed chest, nipping at his pectoral. Even with his eyes closed, he’s red and embarrassed by how hard his nipples are in the chilled room. “Being a good aviator isn’t about confidence.”

If you’re going to keep talking as you head further south, he’s going to struggle to keep listening. His hands follow you as you slip out of his lap and settle between his knees, your tongue trailing along his middle.

“Instinct is everything.”

Bradley balls his hands into his bedsheets, lips parting just slightly as you suck firm kisses into his taut abdomen.

“Lay down.” You order, and without question, he obeys by scooting back and laying down flat with his legs still over the edge and bracketing you.

“Lay back for me.” You say sweetly, he obeys. To your right, you find the brown leather belt that you’ve been eyeing. Still looped through his jeans, discarded onto the chair in the corner of the room. Rooster fidgets in front of you, waiting to feel your touch again. “You trust me, right, Rooster?”

“Of course.” He exhales, his answer instant.

You push yourself up and he peeks an eye open, watching you free the belt and turn back towards him. Your smile grows as you find him even more red-faced than before, staring right at you.

“Lift your hands and hold your wrists together for me.”

“Really?” He whispers, his voice thick. You nod sweetly, nodding for him to shift further up the bed. He complies wordlessly, pushing himself to the top of the bed and presenting his wrists for you. His eyes darken and his brows raise, watching you climb up the bed with his belt in your hands.

“Don’t pull too hard, you’ll be sore.” You warn him, looping the belt around his wrists and through the wooden slats in his headboard. He gasps softly as you pull the leather tight and guide it through the buckle.

“Fucking hell…” He breathes out, his voice an excited whisper.

After the soft leather is secured, his wrists fastened to his headboard, you take a minute to sit back and observe. He’s watching you with such abject trust, desperation and excitement all at once. His stomach is quivering with each breath, stretched tight by the way his arms are raised.

Your tongue dips out to wet your bottom lip as your fingers reach for him, walking along the length of his thigh. Leaning over him again, you dip forwards and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to be naked.” Rooster rushes out, shifting uncomfortably and glancing towards his tied hands. When his eyes flicker back to you, he breaks into a bashful smile. Your lips twitch, looking back at him.

“Okay,” You agree sweetly, reaching for the bottom of your t-shirt. He watches the way your eyes darken, filling with mischief as you pull it up just enough to expose the soft skin of your stomach, then hold it there. “You’re at a cruise altitude of 35,000 feet, how do you know how to calculate your descent?”

Three miles per distance per thousand feet in altitude. Your mouth twitches watching him do the math in his head while staring at the sliver of exposed skin under your shirt.

“35,000 minus the last three zeroes — uh, thirty-five. Thirty-five multiplied by three… a hundred and five.” You narrow your eyes quizzically as he stumbles through the math, knowing that it comes more easily to him than he’s able to tell you. You’ve not seen him personally land on a carrier, but you know he can. You know that he’s done it a hundred times over. “You’d start the descent 105 nautical miles from the destination, maintaining a speed of 300 Knots-Indicated air speed… and a descent rate of 1,500 to 2,000 feet per minute, with thrust set at idle.”

You smile back at him, peeling your shirt up and over your head. He exhales, eyes falling down to the black bra covering your tits. Forgetting himself for a moment, he moves to sit, the buckle of his belt knocking into the woods and reminding him of his predicament.

“Feet per minute,” You continue, reaching for your own belt, slipping the leather from the buckle and pausing. “If you land on the carrier right, how does the hornet hit the deck?”

“800 feet per minute.” He exhales. Your mouth twists into a grin as you pop open your belt buckle.

By the time that he has rid you of your clothes, his answers are especially fast and you’ve noticed that his wrists are growing red under the hold of the leather.

Standing on your knees, you crawl your way up your, now completely naked, boyfriend and turn. Straddling his abdomen, your naked core sits just out of his reach. His mouth falls open and a dismayed, needy sound slips out.

Having freed him of his own shorts and boxers just moment before, his cock is red and swollen, angry from the lack of attention. Settling yourself with a sly wiggle of your hips, you take his cock in both of your hands and cover as much as you can with your mouth.

Soaking his length with a generous amount of saliva, you hear his head fall back and hit the headboard as your hands start to stroke him. Long strides coat his shaft in spit, your hands twisting loosely left from right. From this way, the way you’re straddling him, you’ve got a front-row view to the way his thighs have started to tremble.

Furthering his dismay, he has a front-row seat to your soaked pussy, inches from his face, but just out of reach. Your hands are steady, just as calm and skilled as they are when you’re in the cockpit. Not too fast, just guiding him steadily closer to his orgasm. Letting your spit soak him, adding more to the mix, squeezing him firmly every now and again. Craning your neck so that you can lick and suck softly at his balls. His moans are strangled, agonizingly desperate from behind you.

When you finally decide to grace him with a firmer, faster touch, his moans are so jagged and eager that you know Hangman and Coyote must be able to hear him. The heels of his feet press into the mattress, his hips bucking eagerly into your hands.

He tugs hard at his restraints and winces behind you. With each delighted sound from your lips as they’re wrapped around him, his own voice is growing more and more strained. For the life of him, he just can’t keep still. He’s putty in your hands. This wouldn’t be the first time he has made a mess all over your hands, but today, that isn’t the plan.

“Hyde, don’t — please don’t — I’m so fucking close…”

You hum, hands already withdrawn. He writhes under you as you turn to face him.

“You can hold on a little longer for me, right baby?”

His voice is getting more strained as you squeeze your hands around his twitching cock and just as he is about to erupt you retract your hands leaving his chest huffing in frustration and near euphoria.

You shift, straddling his hips. His eyes go wide and round, lips parted as you situate yourself right over him and sink down just barely. Your soaked core just grazes him as you rock back and forth softly. His eyes follow the curve of your waist, the slight movement of your tits as you taunt him.

“Can wait a little longer for me, right?”

“Oh, fuck.” Rooster whimpers.

You lower yourself gently onto him, palms braced against his shivering chest as his tip notches into you. He gasps and turns his head towards the pillow, pulling hard at the restraint.

You lean all the way forwards, your naked tits pushing against his chest, your lips mouthing softly at his neck. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of you.”

Finally, he’s fully sheathed into you, and he sighs out in relief, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulders.

“I still wanna see you cum,” He pants out, groaning softly as you lift up and sink slowly back down on him, digging his heels into the mattress. “If I can’t do it, I still wanna see it.”

Your mouth twitches at the thought.

“Yeah, you want to watch me get off?” You grin, kissing across his cheek and finally at his mouth. He whines softly, watching you rocking your hips into his gently, grinding yourself into him.

“You have to stop talking or I’m gonna cum.” He mutters with a stiff shake of his head, his eyes flickering up to you as you giggle above him. You purse your lips and lean forwards, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose and then sit back.

He watches, every muscle in his chest and arms constricting as he watches you sit back on his thighs, all full of him, lifting your fingers and miming a zip across your lips, and then a lock at the corner of your mouth. Finally, even though all of his focus is on trying not to bust, his lips stretch into an amused grin.

You settle back into the rhythm of bouncing on him, bracing one hand back against his thigh as the other dips between your own legs.

The angle is just right, your orgasm ebbs closer but remains just out of reach as he watches helplessly, dazed by the glow of you.

From the first day he saw you, he’d never imagined he would be as lucky as to be at your mercy like this. The thought dawns him and his hips twitch, snapping up to meet yours.

“Christ— wait, slow down, wait— oh, fuck.”

You gasp sharply as he drives himself into you just once more from below before he’s spilling hot and fast into you, groaning and gasping out loud with little regard for who might hear him.

His deep groans are music to your ears as your fingers work feverishly at your clit to keep up. His mouth hangs open, still buried inside of you as he watches you come apart in front of him, your eyes closed and your chest heaving, his name on the tip of your tongue.

Finally, you collapse forwards against his chest, lifting off of him and kissing at his neck.

“Fuck…” He breathes out.

“You feel better?” You whisper, catching your breath as your nails rake along his stomach. He hums in response, kissing softly at your temple.

He sighs in relief as you pull the belt apart and free his wrists, stretching out his arms and rubbing at the reddened skin.

“I can’t stay, Taylor’s getting dropped off home at nine.” You kiss his mouth softly, already starting to push off of his chest. He just groans and rolls onto his front, disgruntled by the idea of not having you in his bed tonight. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six?”

“Right. What should I wear?”

“A little more than you’re wearing now, preferably.”

He chuckles tiredly and considers grabbing his boxers, opting to instead just press his face into his pillow as he listens to you getting dressed again.

“Should I bring them like… a gift or something?”

“It’s a little early for bribery.”

He sighs and sits up swiftly, resting his elbows on his knees, his mouth creasing into a worried frown. “What are we going to do if they don’t like me?”

Really, there’s only one answer; you’d never put him before your kids and he knows that.

Pulling your shirt down over your body, there’s only one thing to do. You lean forwards and kiss his lips tenderly. “They’ll love you.”

Once you convince him to get dressed again, Bradley walks you down to your car. Jake and Coyote say their greetings and goodbyes swiftly and politely, not making you stop for small talk.

Then, as Rooster heads back upstairs with a reddened face and even more reddened wrists, they meet him in the living room, beaming.

”Don’t start.” He groans, trying to dismiss them and head back to his room before the ridicule starts. It’s a little late for that. It’s been a little late for that since they heard Rooster practically crying your name twenty minutes earlier.

As you return home to reunite with your children, you’re greeted with an onslaught of texts about how — to quote — ‘those idiots heard everything’. It should bother you, but the thought of Bradley all red-faced and squirming at their comments just makes you chuckle.

Meeting at a neutral place always seemed like the best option, until you’re sitting in the parking lot, staring at your kids in the backseat — feeling like you’re introducing cats. Well, it has been quite some time since your children got over their interest in scratching and biting, so hopefully this will go smoother than that.

”How are you guys feeling?” You ask them, turning in your seat finally. Dylan can see the worry on your face. Your brows are raised, your eyes are round and fleeting between them each, lips pursed.

”Yeah, fine, mom.” He offers you a polite, sincere smile. It’s the best that he has to give. He knows this means something big to you. He knows that you’ve started singing in the kitchen again, and reading Taylor the stories with the voices, laughing with him until you’re doubled over and crying.

”Do you think he likes cats better or dogs?” Taylor perks up, tucking her feet up onto the seat and quirking her head at you. Your lips twitch as your son rolls his eyes at her.

“You can ask him.” You decide, and she seems to accept this as good enough of an answer. She settles back in her booster seat, crosses her arms across her little knit sweater and smiles back at you. Poor Rooster doesn’t have a clue what he’s in for with this little chatterbox — but you know he’ll be glad to not have to sit in silence.

A beat passes as you look between their faces. They both smile back at you, for different reasons entirely.

“Okay, are we ready to go inside?”

After quick agreement, Taylor watches her shoes cast purple neon shadows across the puddles, flashing bright with each step as your heels clack across the ground ahead of her. A hand lands on her shoulder, guiding her along and making sure that she keeps up.

Swiftly, she looks up at her big brother, frowning curiously at him, ”So, do we have to call him Dad too?”

”Rooster.” You breathe out, lips stretching into a smile as you spot him walking over from his truck. He looks right past you as you wrap your arms around his neck. About five paces back, your kids are trailing you, deep in conversation. About him, no doubt.

Suddenly, his attention snaps back to you, his eyes going wide as you kiss his cheek. He untangles himself from you, aggressively platonic for a man who was begging to hold you yesterday.

“Hi.”

”Don’t be weird, they’re children, not the FBI.” You whisper to him, turning quickly as you hear the two of them approaching this. “Guys, this is Bradley. Bradley, this is my daughter, Taylor, and my son, Dylan.”

”Hello.” Bradley stiffens.

“Hey.” Dylan tries.

“You’re pretty tall. Women like that.” It would seem that you’re all caught off guard by your daughter’s comment. Luckily, it’s just enough of a surprise to make Bradley’s tight-lipped smile break into a wide-stretching grin.

He sits opposite her at the table, Dylan by his side and you opposite Dylan. She spent the afternoon with your mother and it would seem, the two of them spent their time preparing questions.

”So—“ Dylan manages to interrupt, earning himself a stern glare from the little girl who was just about to get into the favourite colours segment of her interview. Bradley turns his head and looks at your son. “What team do you follow?”

Bradley shoots a glance over at you, knowing full well that your son has been raised to be a die hard 49ers fan. He looks back to the thirteen year old and inhales— he can’t pretend to like that team, he just can’t do it—

“The Eagles.” He rushes out.

“Huh.” Dylan quirks an eyebrow, turns his head and shoots you a look. He smirks softly, bringing the rim of his Pepsi glass to his mouth. “And… how’s that working out for ya, big guy?”

Bradley’s mouth falls slack, and he looks quickly across the table for support, finding nothing but you smirking back at him and Taylor giggling in response.

“Hey, buddy, I’ll have you know—“ And once again, that seems to do the trick. That’s the straw, right before the appetizers come out, that gets Bradley really talking, and after that it just doesn’t stop.

Taylor quickly gets him onto the conversation of cats versus dogs — he seems to pass her test. Bradley turns the conversation on you, and winds up grinning ear to ear with the insight of how your children perceive you to be, how they love you. You turn the conversation on Bradley, and reveal to the children that he not only enjoys rum and raisin flavoured ice-cream, but that it’s his favourite.

The betrayal on his face after that one will keep you laughing for weeks to come. It’s almost enough for the children to change their minds about him, but he quickly gets things back on track by revealing that he once met the guy who plays Captain America on a flight.

That wins him some serious brownie points.

You know that, just as easily as he had with you, he had won them over.

He grins at you as he settles the bill — despite your insistence to split it, his nerves seeming to have finally calmed.

“Mom, why do you call him Bradley when his work name is Rooster?” Taylor asks, slipping her hand into you palm as you head for the exit.

“Because we aren’t at work right now.” You answer with a shrug, checking over your shoulder to see Rooster talking with Dylan about something behind you.

“Can I call him Rooster?” She asks, peering up at you.

“If he says you can.”

“Bradley?” She cranes her neck as she calls back to him, capturing his attention instantly. “Can I call you Rooster?”

“Sure. Either works.” He shrugs, tucking his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, walking to catch up with the two of you.

She looks quickly back up to you, approval plastered across her little face. She gives your hand a quick squeeze and smiles.

…

Tags: @cherrycola27 @mak-32 @khaylin27 @stoncms @shanimallina87 @cool-ultra-nerd @angelmavmurdock @gingerbreadandpaper @mizzzpink @whisperofsong @throwinsauce @perpetuelledaydreaming @n3ssm0nique @thedroneranger @abaker74 @marantha @ghxst-heart @diamond-3 @shawnsblue

[vernons-girl]

never stopped loving you | lee dino

angsty but sweet,wc:0.9k

A few months back you broke up with your boyfriend Dino.

And you might ask, why would you break up with such a nice boyfriend ?

Well, you were not feeling good. You did not feel like yourself anymore, and nothing felt right, nor fully real. So you decided you needed to spend some time alone to focus on yourself and only yourself because you did not want to hurt anyone’s feeling or make them feel bad about the way you were feeling yourself. So you broke up with your boyfriend. Because he was affected by your state, and you noticed it.

Sometimes you would have mood swings and push him away, he wanted to help you though, he really did, but you knew he could not. He was not the problem but you did not want your relationship with him to become a part of it, so you put an end to it.

The thing is, during that phase you were angry, sad and in pain, but mostly angry. So that resulted in you breaking up with him in a fit of rage without giving him any real motive for your actions, he knew you were not feeling good, so he did not ask more questions and left.

But now, a few months later you felt better, but also guilty. Guilty about the way you treated him at the end of your relationship and guilty about how you broke up with him. So one evening you decided to text him and asked if he wanted to grab breakfast with you, and very much to your surprise, he immediately agreed.

So here you were, waiting for him at your non-officially designated table in your favorite signature café. You were anxiously chewing on your bottom lip, scrapping of the lip balm you had put on earlier in the morning, playing with your fingers you did not see him coming by your table.

“You will never get rid of that habit, won’t you ?” a voice said, you looked up to be met with him, Dino.

He had not changed much, his hair was slightly longer and his efforts to the gym had obviously paid off but he was still the same, he was still your Dino.

"Hello ? Earth to Y/N ?” he waved his hand in front of you, getting your attention back even though your mind stuck to the way your name rolled out of his tongue.

“Yeah sorry.. Please sit down !” you said pointing to the empty spot in front of you.

And he did just that, “Have you ordered yet ?” he asked, “Yes I did! I ordered for you, I hope you still like the same things from here though, I should’ve asked I am sorry !” you apologized, feeling your face get hotter.

He chuckled, god you had missed hearing his breathy laugh, “Don’t worry, some habits don’t change” he replied.

The waiter brought you guys your drinks and snacks, breaking the awkward silence that had taken place, “Enjoy your drinks.” he politely said before walking away, leaving you once again with your ex boyfriend.

“So..” he started, “Why did you want us to meet up ?” he asked.

“Well, I feel like I owe you some explanations about the last time we saw each others” you began, receiving a nod from him signaling you to continue.

“So as you know, I was not feeling the best when I ended things between us and I did not make you come here to give any excuse for what I have done, I just want - no I need to explain why I did it. I hated feeling that way but I also hated that you had to put up with it, and I know you dealt with it amazingly and the best you could, but it hurt me to see how my mental state could affect you. I did not feel like my old self, like the Y/N you fell in love with so I pushed you away before you could do the same. I thought that doing this would avoid unnecessary damages even though I was aware it was going to hurt one of us, if not both. But I felt like I had to do it for myself, for you and for us. And I know lots of time passed by but if you still love me, or at least have a tiny bit of faith left for us, I wondered if you could give me - us - another shot.. Because I miss you and I still love you, I’ve never stopped loving you.” you finished, letting out a big breath you did not know you were holding before focusing on the face of the man who was sitting in front of you.

He was smiling, that smile, you missed that too, you missed him.

“I’ve missed you too Y/N, and I’ve never stopped loving you either. I knew you were going through a rough time and I knew it was best for you and for our relationship to give you time and space. And I am glad I did.” he confessed, putting the brightest smile that had ever been on your face.

“Now get up from that sit and come sit next to me.” he said.

He pulled your closer next to him, turned your face towards his, delicately placed your chin between his fingers before lovingly, passionately kissing you, saying all the things words could not express.

[losergames]

an update - 28th aug '24

whew! long time no see!

i am well overdue for an update (apologies) and i am still trying to find the swing of things between work, writing, and general life etc.

anyway, you probably want to know how episode 04 is coming along and it's good! i've hit 40k out of an estimated 60k, so all i can say is that we're getting there. i'll be honest and say i'm kind of in the slog phase where everything is set up and laid out... i just have to keep pushing, which isn't always easy. i've been going over the outline and writing some bits for episode 05 too, just to keep things alive and interesting (i am very Very excited about it) but restraining myself enough to not totally lose myself in it just yet lmao.

it's been a long looong time since the last official release back in march and i definitely should've put another game patch by now but... i haven't! i'll most likely just merge the patch things with the episode 04 update so it's nice and easy for me to drop it all at once.

again, i'll be honest and say that i am behind in terms of my own personal timeline for the project and episode 04 in particular but it's not the end of the world! just gotta remind myself it's a crazy amount of writing to do for just one person!! plus, it's nice and very motivating to see people still finding the project in the cooler periods of the game's development!!

this month is also the 1 year anniversary for chop shop hitting itch.io! i'm very proud, and honest to god relieved, of the twine build of CS. i wanted to rip my hair out at times but i would not give up any of that learning curve and experience -- it's a better game than i ever dreamed it could be! so thank you to anyone that's been following the game since its baby days! ❤️

that's all from me right now, hopefully i'll have something more solid to share next time. as always thank you for the support! ❤️