#Job wasn’t better off for having suffered

[grapejuicestyless]

Butterfly Wings

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: In an alternate universe where time travel is possible, Harry discovers what the future holds. And theres only one way to change it.

He’d gone over every possible outcome, run his pockets dry as the machine whirred back and forth between decades; no—years. Not even a full ten. He changed his career, his friends, his passions, his address. Down to the way he parted his hair, he tried it all, and yet somehow, it had all come down to the same conclusion. Death.

Without fail, every time the years passed, there you stood, a camera hung around your neck, the camera he got for you as a gift when you’d first met him, waving goodbye. January 20th, 2027. 8:03am.

You were smiling, readily waiting for the car to heat up just a little more before climbing in. You’d cut your hair to your shoulders, put it up in braids and sliced through them with rusty kitchen scissors to make bangs the night before. Harry laughed at how uneven it was and fixed it. Promised to make it better. But he couldn’t make it better, he could never make it better. It just wasn’t possible.

You would leave, go off to do your job and at 12:30pm, he’d receive a call from a hospital a few hours away. They’d tell him the news. The head on collision, a man had served into your lane, smashing up the old blue car you and Harry had fixed up together. Ironic, almost, how evidence of your life you’d built together was crushed in just one reckless moment.

At 1:56pm they would pronounce you dead. He wouldn’t even be there yet, wouldn’t have the chance to say goodbye. You would be gone.

He tried driving you in one of his thousands of trips. It always ended the same. The car was ruined, and you would suffer while he would walk away. He just couldn’t seem to die.

Out of his thousands and thousands of attempts, only one worked. One that he prayed wouldn’t be the only answer, but was.

In one singular time line, you would never get into that car. You wouldn’t drive yourself across Europe to photograph a stranger who would sparkle on stage, and Harry wouldn’t have to shake hands with your friends at the service, the ring heavy in his pocket. The ring he would never get to give you.

So, Harry went back. He traveled back to 2019, when he was helplessly fumbling around for a tour photographer. Someone who could create what he thought up. He stumbled upon your page. His fingers twitched, and his eyes glazed over in despair. This was it, this was the walk off, the forfeit, the end. He brushed past your application, shredded it completely and never looked back.

It was a few years later that you would meet Harry in this timeline. On January 21st, 2027 you attended a party for one of your mutual friends. Harry complimented you, and your boyfriend quickly whisked you away.

He watched from afar, his hands no longer clammy as he watched the clock continue to tick past the time where you had died so many times. You looked gorgeous, smiling down at your feet bashfully, your arm hooked around the brunette actor Harry recognized from a few films.

Your hair was long, and you didn’t have any bangs now. There were no kitchen scissors for you to find and no giggles shared in the bathroom. Only silence. No clothes thrown on the floor in piles or dirty brushes left on the sink. Your decorations were forever missing.

Everyday became increasingly obvious that you were no longer a factor in Harrys life. But he believed it to be worth every moment. He had the privilege of loving you from afar. He had lost you, but at least now he would never truly lose you.

He sipped slowly on his drink that night, acting like he cared for the boring conversations with people he didn’t know, stealing glimpses at the fluttering of your eyelashes.

You looked up, and you caught his eye. It was like you knew something, like there was fear and pain in your eyes.

He never figured that while he had been desperate to hold onto you, you had been doing the same thing.

Harry left that night with a friend, wondering what it could mean. But as he got in the black car and headed for the on ramp, lights blinded him, and it all went dark.

January 22nd, 2027. 2:56am.

[goatbeard-goatbeard]

kind of funny how many people think the Metatron does all the bad stuff when GO’s version of God is canonically a weird mischievous little shit

[giannaln4]

I'm Sorry

lando norris x fem reader

summary: A moment of frustration made Lando react the way you never thought he would, and boy, would he regret it.  (1.6k words)

warnings: angst, swearing, argument, mean lando,  fluffy ending

a/n: ok so for this, i decided to go back to Baku and put the quali result in a totally different perspective than my last fic. i guess i kinda like it but i'm not very good at describing arguments 😭 anyway pls let me know what you think!!

ALSO i have an announcement to make and i'm really excited for it :)

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

The qualifying this weekend was an absolute mess, to say the least. Lando was hard on himself no matter the result he got. Even if it was good, he would always find something to criticise himself, but P17? Everyone was in for a treat, you thought.

The worst part is that it wasn’t even his fault; it was a stupid mistake by the marshals, and he was not to blame for it. A yellow flag interrupted his lap, and he was immediately kicked out in Q1. 

Seeing the first qualifying session being over with his name in red was not something anyone wanted to see, especially not him, and now that every point was essential, you knew it crushed him.

He came back to the garage to see the rest of the qualifying with his team, and as soon as he got out of the car, you saw how frustrated he was. You understood him, of course, it sucked that this is how the weekend was going, but you would be there for him no matter what.

Once Lando took off his helmet, he headed straight to his driver’s room, and he didn’t even look at you when he walked past. That meant he wanted to be alone, but oh silly you, you decided to follow him.

He let out a loud sight when he heard the door open and close behind him, not really in the mood to hear what you had to say. He knew for a fact you were going to tell him he did well and it wasn’t his fault, which he greatly appreciated, but right now, he just wanted to suffer in peace.

“Baby?” You called him out, just testing the waters, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he hummed in annoyance. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but-”

“You are right, I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted you, not even turning around to face you. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned into it, taking a deep breath. 

That should have been your cue to leave the small room and leave him alone, but for some reason you didn’t. “Lando, don't beat yourself up over this. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sure things will be better tomorrow. We all know what you can do and you still have the race-“

“This is MY job, Y/N. I probably know better than you do,” he snapped, raising his voice and finally turning around. “This is what I’m fighting for, we all are. Do you know what’s at stake here? I finally have the chance to compete for a championship, and I just blew it.”

To say you were astonished was an understatement; this was the first time he ever snapped at you that way and you didn’t know how to react. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Every point counts, and not even starting in the top 10 tomorrow- fuck, not even top 15, there is not much I can do.” Now, he looked more mad at you than frustrated at himself, and that crushed you. “I came here to be alone for a bit, I was hoping you would at least respect that." You stayed silent, knowing a single sound would make you cry, and you didn’t want to piss him off more than he already was. “I know you are trying to help, but you are not, you can’t.”

You just stared at him, tears threatening to leave your eyes; he had never raised his voice at you in a heated moment, and it hurt like hell. You definitely should have stayed outside. 

He walked towards the door and stepped out of the room without uttering another word, leaving you alone to deal with your own feelings. 

As soon as the door was closed, you started crying. It was your own fault, really; you could always read him like a book, even today, and you knew better than to disturb him when you weren’t supposed to, but today for some reason you just couldn't keep your mouth shut. Idiot.

You tried to calm yourself down; the last thing Lando needed was to see you cry on top of his result, but it was harder than you expected. This being the first time an argument got so out of hand made you feel absolutely terrible, especially because it was your fault. Deep down, you knew he didn’t mean it, you knew it was his feelings talking, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

A few minutes went by and you could still hear the cars out on track, the mumbling of the team, and people constantly working out there, so you tried to use that as a distraction. Anything to take your mind off what just happened. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t help, but at least you ran out of tears, and now you were just staring at a blank wall, thinking how you could begin to apologise for earlier, if he would even give you the chance to. 

Truth is, you weren’t sure if bringing it up again would be a good idea; you wanted to apologise for disrupting his cooldown moment, but what if hearing that made him mad again? Or worse, what if you didn’t apologise and made the situation even bigger? Your spiralling made you lose track of time, and a knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“The car is about to leave, Y/N, they are waiting for you,” you heard someone say on the other side of the door. You were at least hoping Lando would come and get you once it was time to go back to the hotel, but he didn’t.

“Thanks, I will be there in a minute,” you replied, grabbing your things and Lando’s before sprinting outside. 

The car ride was hell. Lando didn’t look at you the entire time; he was just staring at his phone, texting who knows who, his face as neutral as ever. It felt longer than it actually was, and when you finally got there, he just stepped out of the car and didn’t look back. You let out a sigh and followed him, leaving a prudent distance between the two of you. 

Once you were in the hotel room, you both started to get ready for bed, like you usually did, except this time, you didn’t acknowledge each other. 

That was until you were already on your side of the bed and he came out of the bathroom, taking the spot next to you and burying his face on his phone again. The entire time you were building up the courage to say something, anything, now that you decided that apologising was the right thing to do.

“Lando?” You called for him, but again, he just hummed in response. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were right, I shouldn’t have said anything, and I should have respected that you just wanted to be alone.”

That’s when it hit him. How could he get so mad at you for trying to make him feel better? 

He dropped his phone and turned to face you, and noticing your sad expression and teary eyes broke him. His eyes softened as guilt washed over him. Why were you apologising when he was the one who reacted like that? But as soon as you looked down at your hands to avoid eye contact and tears started falling down your face again, he felt even worse. 

“Y/N… Baby, I’m so sorry.” He got closer to you, softly taking your cheeks in his hands to get you to look at him. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry I acted like a dick and raised my voice at you,” he stared, wiping your tears away, carefully thinking about what else he could say. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t know how to react. Your plan was to apologise and hopefully move on, but now that he was apologising, you didn’t know what to say; you didn’t want him to feel guilty, even though it was his fault you were in that position right now. If only he took a different approach. 

“It wasn’t your fault, okay? You were just trying to help, and I should have appreciated that, you know that I do, I just... I don’t know, there is no excuse for what I did.” But you were still silent and trying to avoid eye contact. “Baby, say something.” 

“Lando, you yelled at me.” You finally replied, your voice a bit muffled by your tears.

“I know, I shouldn’t have done that, and I promise I’ll never do it again.”

After a minute of silence, you just nodded, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m sorry, my love.” He pulled you into a hug, your head on his chest as he placed a soft kiss on your head. “I know I was a dick, and I really wish I was nicer about it.”

“It’s okay, I get it; you were frustrated with your result, and I should’ve known better than to interfere with what you were feeling.”

“No, it’s not okay. I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Lando was rubbing your back softly, trying to bring you the comfort you tried to give him earlier. “I love you, and I can’t describe how much I appreciate everything you do for me; I know having to deal with my shit is not easy, so thank you.”

“It’s fine, I mean it.” You looked up at him, locking eyes finally in the entire day. “Just... don’t push me away, okay? And if you do need to be alone, just say it, and I promise I will listen next time.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

He gently placed a hand on your check, rubbing small circles before leaning in for a kiss, one both of you much needed. And with one final ‘I love you’, you feel asleep in his arms.

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt. 

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

[themeraldee]

The Price of Love - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 3.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes. Breaking and entering. Manipulation. Fraud. Gaslighting. Office sex. Unprotected sex. Homelander being his own warning. I'm not really sure how to tag this properly tbf.

Homelander’s devious plan starts when he perfectly times when both you and your spouse leave your apartment empty. He knows you’re at the Vought tower, assisting Ashley in organizing photoshoots for the next issue of Vought Sports. Just the thought of that makes him roll his eyes. He’s got a four page feature with the Yankees, something about the importance of baseball to the American population. 

No. He can’t get distracted like that. Not when he’s already been so careful. Work can wait. 

He lands on your small balcony, testing the door handle. It budges immediately. Homelander grins at the revelation. You’re clearly one of those people who don’t think to lock the doors and windows just because you’re high off the ground. He’d have thought that after knowing him you’d know better than that. 

Homelander steps into your apartment. He’s planning to be thorough with his little impromptu visit. It’s only fair. Thanks to your job you have pretty much unrestricted access to his penthouse. You’ve seen what his space looks like. He should get to see yours too.

The first thing that hits him is just how this space doesn’t smell like you as much as he’d want. He can almost taste the bitter scent of your spouse in the air. Yuck. Homelander immediately walks through, exploring the kitchen, the living room for anything substantial at all.

There are letters with angry red words, shouting about bills being past due. Medical bills pinned to the fridge with some generic city magnet. Coupons and budgets all crammed on the small space on the fridge. Clearly, something isn’t working. Homelander has zero sympathy regarding your spouse but he cares about you. He doesn’t want you to suffer and with him, you’d never again have to worry about unpaid bills or having a roof over your head. 

He scoffs to himself. What kind of irresponsible and unreliable spouse have you got? You’re clearly working hard, he sees you relentlessly keep your head up at work and with your position only rising and more responsibilities being piled up on your plate he can imagine you earn a decent wage.

Clearly, it’s being drained somewhere. Whoever your spouse is, they’re a good-for-nothing leech that’s holding you back.

He could pay them off. Threaten them. Torture them. Kill them even. A thought that sends a thrilling shiver down his spine. But no, this has to be your decision. You need to be the one to decide to leave them. You need to seek him out. 

Homelander continues with his little exploration trip. Already forming a plan in his mind. What he saw the other day wasn’t coincidental. He feels a rift. Ever since that night he watched you pleasure yourself to the thought of him he knew it wasn’t a one-off. But for the first time Homelander gave you the ammo. He told you to your face that he’s interested. He allowed you to lean into these fantasies at the cost of having no leverage in his petty mind.

He can’t wait to put his plan into motion. 

Looking through the rest of your apartment should make him feel upset, agitated. Instead Homelander walks around with a huge grin on his face as he looks at the few framed pictures on the wall. They’re old. You don’t look like this anymore so decidedly your spouse hasn’t done anything worth remembering in recent times. Perfect. This is all working perfectly towards his plan.

Your spouse doesn’t value you. Clearly. He notices more signs of this behavior throughout your belongings. The cheap perfume that he smells on you everyday is so uninspiring he’s never even heard of the brand. The makeup is cheap, terrible enough quality that should only be used by teenage girls that are discovering themselves, not for a professional woman like you. Your clothes tell a similar story. You have a few nice outfits that you wear to your job. You only ever dress nicely for him. The rest of your closet feels like plastic, uncomfortably stiff and scratchy, it’s unlikely to last another season.

You will have none of these issues with him. Homelander will buy you only the best. Top of the line. All designer, original or handmade. Anything you’ll want, it’ll be yours. Only the best for his lover.

The more time he spends in your apartment the less he’s angry and upset about your initial rejection. He sees it now as a cry for help. Secretly, in between the lines you were rattling the bars of your prison begging him to save you.

And oh he will. 

The cherry on the top is the cheap ring that sits on your bedside table. No special case for it, no display, you don’t even carry it around with you. Maybe unconsciously you know how little your spouse values you. He picks it up to feel it. Cubic Zirconia on a small sterling silver band. Less than $100. Homelander scoffs at the cheap representation of your bond. So easy to scuff and crush. Maybe it directly reflects your marriage. 

Homelander leaves your apartment exactly the way he found it and over the next few days he watches. He watches you interact with your spouse, looking for any chink in the armour of your marriage and oh my does he find plenty.

Your spouse doesn’t deserve you, they don’t treat you with the same respect you give them. There’s room for insecurity to worm your way into your brain. He knows that now. You have sex at most once a week and even then it doesn’t look like it scratches the itch for you. Don’t worry, he’ll have you writhing under him in no time.

But it needs to be at your own pace. He knows you’re loyal to a fault, you’ve proven yourself with such quality over your time working for Vought. You won’t leave your spouse without a good reason. Besides betrayal. You clearly can deal with a non-spectacular life and even less remarkable sex life. But betrayal? A total annihilation of trust? Well, he knows you won’t be able to shake that off.

With that, he sets his plan into motion.

Nothing he does is by his hand of course, he needs to be invisible in all this. Instead he pays lackeys and he bullies Vought employees into scamming your spouse, stealing your shared banking details without them knowing any better.

Over the next month he periodically withdraws a sum of money from your shared account, slowly making his plan come to fruition. He keeps you busy at work. Really busy. You don’t have time to keep up with your household and worry about budgeting. You pull away from your spouse—a bonus he didn’t see coming. It’s even worth the stress it’s causing you. Each day you come in with dark circles under your eyes, tiredness just seeping out of your pores. But it’s okay. You can go through a bit of hardship while he plans your rescue. Things always get worse before they get better.

At the same time, your bills are going up, rent has skyrocketed—something about a new ownership, company you wouldn’t recognise as it’s outlined in the letter that came in the mail. More than ever now, Homelander sees you not skipping any overtime. Good, you spend most of your time with him now. He watches the late night arguments you have with your spouse about pulling their weight and how you can’t do everything yourself. Yes. Yes, it’s finally happening.

You haven’t even seen the main act.

When the next medical bill comes out and there’s not enough money in the shared account he waits it out. He’s planted all the seeds. All the money periodically taken out by the planted escort services. The bank statements laid out plain and clear. The call logs coming and outgoing to the same establishment. Your spouse’s lack of interest in sex with you only reinforced this notion.

Homelander isn’t there to watch the fall out. He’s too excited. Already waiting for you to spring into his arms at a moment’s notice. 

But you don’t.

Each day he gets more and more irritated. You should already be shouting his praises, showing him your signed divorce papers but instead you’re moping around like a sad dark cloud, raining oh his parade. 

Okay fine, he’s gonna have to nudge you a bit. It’s not going exactly according to his plan but that’s okay, he can adapt.

The next time you bring over some talking points for him to read and memorize, he stops you. He stops you from spilling out your rehearsed words, his gloved hand raised tearing you out of your mindless monologue you’ve been told to parrot back to him. You blink up at him, a little confused. You haven’t had many interactions these days so Homelander can’t blame you for acting like a deer in headlights.

“Hey, you okay? You look tired. Are you sleeping fine?” He gives his words the perfect amount of care and softness. Breaking through the shell you’ve put up around him. He gets it, you’re trying to be a strong woman—ladidadida. Normally he likes that about you but now you’re messing with his plans.

You sniffle and he smells the waterworks before they even burst the dam. One little question and you take two steps back, your back hitting the wall of the meeting room and you slide down onto the ground. Whimpering out a little wet ‘no’ you bring your knees up burying your face in them.

“Hey hey hey… what’s wrong?” He lowers to the ground in front of you.

“Everything’s wrong. My whole life is falling apart!” You sob into your knees. You start spilling as if he’s the first person to ask you how you’re doing. You rattle off an unintelligible ramble of hiccups, sobs and half-spoken words. 

Homelander was lucky that you still had your face buried in your knees because he could not stop the grin spreading across his face as he heard you hiccup the word ‘divorce’. After the little indulgence, he trained his face back into a sympathetic pout and he ran his hand down the back of your head, petting your hair.

“Slow down, say what now? Did you say you’re getting divorced? What happened?” If only Vought productions could see this Oscar-worthy performance they’d be making more interesting movies than the cookie cutter action flicks he has to waste his time on.

“Yeah…my…well, my ex now. They cheated on me. I mean they poured all our money down the drain, spent it all in a strip club or on some escort or whatever. Fuck. I don’t even know. I don’t want to know the details.” You look up at him and in that moment Homelander has never seen anything more beautiful. The tears in your eyes, the swollen red rim around them. All because of his doing. This is the start of a new chapter. 

A chapter dedicated to you and him.

He stops himself from smiling widely, he’s meant to be supportive now. Sympathetic. He nods as you continue.

“I’ve been breaking my back just to afford the insane rent and bills and this is what I get back?!” You flip flop between bouts of rage and fresh tears bursting at every other word. 

“Shhh, shh come here.” Homelander pulls you in close to him and back on your feet. He lifts you off enough where you feel the floor underneath your feet but most of your weight is being held up by him. As if he’s saying ‘you don’t have to carry it all on your own’.

“I’ll help you, okay? Anything you need. I’m here for you.” He cooes into your ear, rubbing soothing circles into your back as he hugs you close to him. 

Homelander knows you’re meant for him. But to actually have you in his arms for the first time is different. He wants to bury his face in your neck and inhale as much of your scent as he can. And forever carry that with him.  

But he doesn’t have to wish. Instead you pull away from where you buried your head in his neck, you place your hands on his jaw and you forcibly kiss him. Take the air right out of his lungs. Homelander immediately squeezes his eyes shut, doing his very best to not moan out loud. That’s it! Finally, he’s got you right where he wanted this whole time.

He squeezes you closer, his one hand slides down to your thigh, hoisting your leg up. And like the good, obedient girl you are, you bring your other leg up with him, wrapping yourself tight around his waist.

The taste of you is sweet and salty at the same time, the pure flavor muddled with the tears your ex doesn’t deserve. It doesn’t matter, Homelander kisses you desperately regardless. Hungry for the taste he’s been dreaming of for months. 

“Do you still want me?” You breathe out, less actively sobbing and choking on breaths, now the tears are just freely going down your cheeks.

“Always.” Homelander looks at you in reverence. You’re welcoming him in so freely. He doesn’t even need to push you to it. That’s how he knows you’re perfect for him. Barely just free out of the prison he rescued you from and you’ve already come running to him.

“Make me forget.” You kiss him again and Homelander swallows up everything you have to give. He pins you against the wall, his hands gliding from your thighs to your ass, the leather of his gloves sliding up the sleek fabric of your skirt. Through it he squeezes handfuls of your ass, before pushing the fabric up and out of the way.

“Please…make me feel good.” You sound broken and in need of good fuck that Homelander’s sure you haven’t had in years. Right, he can totally do that for you. He supports your weight easily, pinned between his body and the wall. One hand slides down from your ass, giving himself enough room to slide in between your legs, cupping your pussy. 

“I will. I will. Don’t worry about anything anymore. I’ve got you.” His fingers pinch the sheer tights and with a snap, he rips the fabric, immediately pushing your panties out of the way.

He brings his hand to his mouth, biting the leather of his glove by the fingertips, pulling it off his hand. His bare hand goes back down in between your legs immediately dipping his fingers in your wetness. He feels how excited you are. How for the first time in years your body is finally gonna feel satisfied. You yearn for this. He can almost taste it. 

His lips part and he moans at the feeling of your pussy just inviting him in. So hot and wet just for him. He strokes the back of his fingers up and down your slit, making your legs buzz with excitement. All nerves coming back to life. He sees that in you, the way you light up. Your heart rate elevated, breaths shallow, your muscles twitching. Homelander takes pride in the way he can make your body sing with just a few well-placed touches.

He turns his fingers around, gently, precisely, rubbing circles around your clit. He kisses you. No, he devours you. Parting his lips, he pries yours open, licking the taste of him into your mouth. He grunts into the kiss, moaning with each press of your lips. Each time you shove your tongue into his mouth he shudders, full of want. 

His fingers eagerly move down, pressing two digits steadily into you until he’s knuckles deep, grinding them into your pelvis, shallow strokes in and out. Crooked upwards and thick inside you.

He’s so hard it hurts. Achingly throbbing against the uncomfortable rigidity of his suit and he cannot wait to just fucking bury himself into you.

As if you were reading his mind your hands blindly and clumsily reach for his belt, unclasping it. Eagerly with more dexterity than he expected you to have in a moment like this you undo his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear.

Homelander hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back as your hand touches his aching cock. It’s so overwhelming he barely catches your awe at seeing it. 

“Oh fuck… Can I have you? Please?” You squirm in his hold your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking the head up and down. 

Jesus. You’re begging for him so easily. He could cum just from this. Your hand, warm and soft around him, stroking his sensitive head all while you’re beginning for him to take you? Good god, if he knew you’d be this pliant he would have had your ex killed in an ‘accident’.

“Course you can.” He mutters out, strung out on the pleasure that’s sending sparks up his spine with each twist of your wrist. He takes his fingers out of you, sucking them clean. God you taste good. He definitely needs to come back to that. He shimmies his pants down lower, releasing his cock fully. “Course you fucking can. It’s yours.” Straining he whimpers out, positioning his cock right against your wet cunt, the head spreading you open. “I’m yours.” He almost sounds close to crying. All that effort was so fucking worth it. You are so his. Who else could you want after you’ve had him. He’s so close to euphoria he forgets that you were crying a few minutes ago.

He wraps both arms around the underside of your thighs pinning your knees closer to your body as he sinks deep into you with one push. You’re so fucking wet and warm for him he could cry out of happiness. You want him so bad!

“Fffuck me, that’s tight.” He utters, all broken and whimpering as he buries his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of you like he wanted to earlier while he stills his hips, his pelvic flush against yours.

He’s so overwhelmed with the physicality of it all. Even through all the layers he feels the heat of your body, the thrum of your muscles and the rhythm of your heart. It’s intoxicating. 

He pulls out just to sink himself into you again. And again. And again. The feeling of splitting you open with each slide of his cock gets him so worked up, his own breaths coming out stuttered. 

“Homelander please… just… fuck me. Need it.” You beg him to continue, and as much as he’s enjoying the warm welcome on each wet, loud slide he gets it. You just need him to pound you hard and make you forget. Erase all memories of your shitty ex and the mediocre sex you’ve learned to live with. It’s okay. You’re with him now. And everyone knows there’s nothing mediocre about him.

Homelander kisses the plea out of your lips stepping a little closer so that he’s sat deep, deep inside you. Every thrust of his pelvis is a short snap but you feel it so deep it rattles your spine with every move. The way he’s got you angled is just about rubbing his pubic bone into your clit and he can’t help but grin at the way he’s already feeling you desperately claw at him, trying to hold onto reality.

You moan for him sweetly, your body quivering around him. And he doesn’t relent. It’s frantic, sharp and needy. This is about that quick release. He will have plenty of time to explore your body and make you cum a thousand times over later. Ideally from the privacy of his bed where he can watch you from every angle.

When he feels you clench and pulsate around him he stutters, one of his hands landing on the wall, making a dent in it. More than anything he wants you to cum. He wants to show you how much better he will be to you. The pure euphoria of feeling you cum on his cock pushes him over the edge. He moans a deep guttural sound into your neck, parts of it muffled. As your pussy deliciously squeezes around him in a stuttered rhythm he empties himself into you. His cock gives you one last spurt inside before he slides out, letting you get back on the ground to regain your footing. 

He’s mildly delirious and the next thing he wants to do is take you up to his penthouse and hold you close. He craves the intimacy of the afterglow.

Unlike his fantasy you don’t look to be ready to be swept off your feet and carried to his penthouse for some quality cuddle time. You look almost horrified.

“Oh my god…” Homelander watches with a frown as you push your underwear back into place, your skirt down over your thighs. You try to make a sense of the torn, tattered mess of your tights but you decide it’s better to take them off. He takes the chance to tuck himself back in while you sort your clothing situation and the turmoil in your head.

Before he can even question what has you so upset you continue. “I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” What was a warm buzzing feeling that made his whole body vibrate pleasantly just turned to ice. 

What the fuck do you mean it shouldn’t have happened? 

He doesn’t get a say in again as you continue before he recovers from the blow. “I just fucking used you. I’m sorry. That’s—That’s terrible! I’m no better than my ex. I–I—” You visibly panic, your eyes wide as saucers and looking around almost everywhere but him.

But your eyes land there anyway. He almost laughs with relief. This is your problem? How cute.

“Nothing like that happened. Hey, none of that talk. You’re perfect. You’ve done nothing wrong alright?” He took one step closer, his hands immediately cupping your jaw from either side. Only one hand ungloved, using that one to feel the skin of your cheek as he tenderly strokes you. 

“I want to help you in any way I can. How about you move in with me until we sort this out, huh? I don’t want you staying with a person like that. Come on, I want you safe. And Vought’s got some great lawyers that can help you with the divorce.” He deploys his sweet tone, so persuasive, charismatic and charming. He knows what he’s doing and already you’re melting into his hands. Good. He grins at you. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nod with your big watery sweet eyes and it’s then he knows that he won. Fair and square.

You were his long before you even knew it.

Finally, you recognize it too.

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[feyhunter78]

Three Times Buck Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Did)

Description: Three times Buck had to hold himself back and the one time he didn't, (but it's not what he thinks, and somehow maybe better?)

Part 2!

Buck is pretty sure if he ever slept with you, Maddie would kill him, though she’d have to dig him up first because Hen would put him six feet under before he could even blink. So, he tries very hard to not sleep with you, and he’ll admit as the year has gone by and the two of you have gotten closer it’s gotten easier. He finds himself craving the sound of you laughing at his dumb jokes, your comforting presence next to him in the kitchen, or even just you bossing him around, more than he craves the feeling of your skin against his.

More than the idea of how good you’d look lying in his sheets, wearing nothing but his jacket. But then you do something. Squeeze his thigh in an innocent, friendly way. Groan his name in annoyance, or pout up at him when you’re trying to get your way, and the urges return full force, leaving him wondering if he can claw himself out of the grave Hen will put him in.

One: It’s only been a few months into his job, he's bouncing back from Bobby's second warning and forgivenss, riding high on the adrenaline. He’s only known you for six months and honestly Buck thinks he might be cursed, or maybe you’re secretly trying to make him suffer.

It's one of the two because he's pulled away from picking the perfect song to start his drive with by you banging on the driver’s side window of his jeep wearing nothing but a bikini top and incredibly short shorts. He rolls down the window, swallowing hard as you cross your arms over your chest, unintentionally pushing your breasts up.

“Buck, are you serious? You can’t just drive off without me.” You huff, adjusting the beach bag on your shoulder. You’re standing on the sidestep of his jeep, and it puts him face to chest with you.

“Oh I, uh, I thought you were going with Hen?” Buck says, trying not to stumble over his words like an idiot.

You look so good, it’s unfair, and that bathing suit top is cute, too cute for the way it makes his mouth water. It’s pink with white hearts all over it, your hair is pulled back, oversized sunglasses rest on your nose, your beach bag has some cartoon drawing of a margarita wearing sunglasses on it. But the worst part, the worst, are the light wash denim shorts clinging to your thighs. Fuck, he just wants to grab them, wear them like earmuffs until you’re trembling in his grip, and he’s drank his fill.

You shake your head, and lean on his windowsill, the scent of your perfume, or maybe that’s just what your skin smells like, suddenly overwhelming his senses, scattering any coherent thought he might have had. “She said there wasn’t enough room, Danny wanted to bring a friend with him. Didn’t she text you?”

Hen probably had, but he’s been so focused on psyching himself up to go to the beach with everyone, including you—without begging you to let him fuck you in a changing room—that he hasn’t even checked his messages.

“Yeah, probably, just been busy. Hop in.” He unlocks the passenger side door, giving into his impulses just enough to watch as you round the car, his dark sunglasses hiding the way he traces your every curve with his eyes.

You smile as you slide into the seat and buckle yourself in. “Okay, let’s go, beach time!” Your voice has a singsong tone, and it makes his heart melt.

“Beach time.” He echoes, turning the radio on to drown out the voice in his head urging him to ask if you want to take a detour to his backseat.

Two: It’s his birthday, and while the crew has made a big deal out of it, he doesn’t expect you to. Doesn’t expect you to be at his door with a cake, singing happy birthday, surprisingly well. The candles are lighting up your face in such a way that he feels like he’s in a movie, and everything is zooming in on you, only you, like he’s got tunnel vision, and you’re at the end of it.

“Make a wish!” You cheer, leaning on his kitchen counter, the cake between you two.

He bends down and blows, watching the flames flicker out in an instance, small whips of smoke rising then dissipating into the air.

“Twenty-six, it’s a big number, feel any different?” You ask, looking at him over the cake with your stupidly beautiful eyes that shine with genuine curiosity.

He cuts a slice of cake for you and then himself, putting them on paper plates and sliding yours across to you.

You catch it, and thank him, waiting for him to take a bite, or answer, probably answer.

“Not at all.” He says, taking a bite of the cake for good measure.

You laugh, “I doubt I’ll feel any different on my birthday either.”

“It’s in a few months, right?”

You nod, and take a bite of your own, moaning softly. “Oh, wow, okay, this cake is really good.”

Your moan goes straight to his cock, and he’s glad the island is between you two, blocking your view.

“Yeah, yeah it’s great, thanks again, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

You lean on your elbow, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I did, it’s your birthday and come on you’re like the first real friend—no wait that’s Hen, the first person to look out for—no that’s Athena, you’re a nice gu—wait that sounds bad.” You cover your face with your hands, laughing embarrassedly. “Let me start over.”

He laughs and takes another bite of his cake; it is pretty good. “Go for it.”

“Of course I did, Buck, not just because it’s your birthday, but because I wanted to. I wanted to celebrate you, and thank you for going out of your way for me when I first moved here and for changing the batteries in my smoke alarm and making me laugh when my dates end up sucking, and just being a good guy, that I can trust and count on.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, and his pants are growing tight. You haven’t said anything he hasn’t heard before more or less; you haven’t even said anything technically hot, but somehow, it’s different, it means more, has more layers when you say it. He pinches himself and tries to think about safe, nonsexual things, old books, his grandma, cleaning mud off the truck, white bread, cake, your little moan when you tasted the cake—nope, nope something else, think of something else.

You peek at him through your hands when he doesn’t say anything. “Sorry, that was cheesy, wasn’t it?”

He wants to say, no it was perfect, can you say it again while you ride me? Also, I think I do need to see a therapist because I’m pretty sure I’m getting turned on by emotional intimacy and that’s a new revelation for me. But he doesn’t, instead he skewers another bite of cake on his fork and gives you a teasing smile. “Yeah, a little bit.”

You pout up at him. “Rude.”

He bites his tongue to keep from bending to your will and bending you over the island, instead pointing out with a shrug. “You asked.”

You roll your eyes and take another bite of cake. "I take back every nice thing I said."

Three: He’s tasked with driving over to Athena’s precinct to pick you up. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but Hen slaps him on the shoulder and tells him to get there ASAP before someone gets hurt. He’s not worried about you, Hen made it clear you’re not in any danger, just that it was going to take more than Athena’s stern words to get you to stand down. He’s actually curious, you’re not one to cause a scene or argue with Athena unless you really thought she was wrong, and he’s seen that happen maybe twice?

Buck hates to admit it, but the scene he walks in on…turns him on.

“You know what? You’re just a greedy hack who preys on the hopes and fears of poor, innocent people. You want my professional opinion? You can go fuck yourself.” You snarl, holding your head high as you glare at some white dude with a tarot card tattoo crawling up his forearm, and a feather earring.

“Dr. Y/L/N, please, I have to ask you and Mr. Chester to leave.” Athena says calmly, jerking her head towards you when she sees Buck.

“No, I’m sorry, Sergeant Grant, but I can’t walk away when this conman is trying to ply your victims with false hope.” Your arms down by your side, fingers flexing ever so slightly, and you’re tense like you’re going to lunge at the dude.

“Conman? You’re a psychologist, we all know psychology is fake,” Chester scoffs.

Buck rolls his shoulders back; this is not going to be good.

You laugh, high-pitched and mocking. “Fake? Fake? You’re the fake. Fake as that earring, and your claims of studying with shamans in the desert. Newsflash asshole, I looked you up. All you’ve got is a clip-on earring and an arrest for public intoxication from when you and your little business major buddies did ayahuasca on the Santa Monica pier.”

Buck stifles a laugh, and Athena glares at him, urging him forward. He does as she silently asks and makes his way to you, raising an eyebrow when his eyes meet yours.

“You can't understand my vision quest, you weren’t there,” Chester shoots back.

You laugh again, and Buck thinks maybe it’ll be okay, but then you snatch Chester’s earring from his ear and throw it to the floor, the plastic clip breaking off and skittering across the floor. “This man is a fraud, ladies and gentlem—”

“Yeah, okay, time to go y/n.” Buck says, as he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, large hands keeping you secure as you try to wriggle out of his hold.

“Don’t listen to this charlatan, trust the good men and women of the LAPD they will help you, not some hack psychic!” You continue, and Buck can all but feel your eyes burning a hole in Chester as he carries you out of the station.

“Charlatan? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?” Buck snorts, his hands warm where they hold you, his skin tingling at the points of contact. You weigh nothing to him; it’s like holding a pillow, and the thought of how easy it would be to toss you onto his bed makes him bite down on his tongue.

“Shut up. That guy comes in all the time and promises the world, but he never delivers. I hate people like him, who take advantage of the vulnerable, it’s just not right.” You grumble, as he keeps one arm pressed against your legs while opening his car door for you with his free hand.

He gently sets you in the seat and buckles you in. “It’s not, but you can’t just try to fistfight him in the middle of a police station.”

You roll your eyes and smooth down your hair in the visor mirror. “I wasn’t going to fistfight him, I’m not crazy.”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“Just drive.” You snap, turning away from him to look out the window.

“Someone’s a little bossy.” He jokes, putting his jeep into reverse.

You turn away from the window, fire in your eyes. “You wanna see bossy, I’ll show you bossy.”

Fuck, he wishes you would. He’d love to see you riled up and demanding, your nails scraping against his scalp as you yank his head forward.

“Maybe later.” He says, switching gears and driving away from the station.

The one time:  Buck rubs his eyes, groaning as he blindly reaches for his vibrating phone, it’s two in the morning, he just got home from a double shift, somebody better be dead or dying. He winces at the brightness of his screen and scans the multitude of messages, but it’s the most recent one that catches his attention.

Y/N: Need yuo come over?????!!??

He rubs his eyes harder, there’s no way you texted him that. No damn way.

Y/N: Buck

Y/N: Buck

Y/N: Evan Bucckely

Y/N: Come obrr

He sits up, dragging a hand down his face. Maybe you’re drunk? You’re usually a stickler for proper spelling and grammar. He goes to text back asking that very question when a voice message pops up. He turns up his sound and presses play.

“Buck please, you gotta come here, I need your help, I can’t do it by myself.” You whine, and all his blood runs south.

“Fuck.” He groans, trying to force himself to think about anything but what you might have looked like as you recorded that message.

“I need your skilled hands, mine just aren’t working.” You continue, and he bites down on his fist, all exhaustion banished. You sound so pretty, so desperate, so adorably needy, how can he ignore you, ignore your request?

He sends a quick text swearing he’ll be over in two minutes.

As he pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants, he remembers how he thought it was a curse that you two lived in the same apartment complex. But now as he walks over, swinging his keys around his finger, he’s unbelievably glad.

Buck knocks on your door, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hey, he gave it a good run, a solid year of holding himself back and not sleeping with you. But when you’re asking him directly, he's not going to say no. It would be rude to deny you something you so clearly need.

You pull the door open and grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the couch and plopping down before placing your high-heeled feet in his lap.

“Well, hello to you too.” He says, resting his hand on your shin, admiring the smoothness of your skin. You definitely went out, the heels, the tight black dress, the makeup, you look stunning, and he’s practically salivating.

“I can’t get them off.” You pout, tugging uselessly at the straps of your heels.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He purrs, unbuckling one heel then the other before caressing your skin, his hands sliding higher until he grips your thighs.

Your eyes are slightly glassy, and you’re wearing the biggest, most adoring smile he’s ever seen as you sway in your spot. “You’re amazing, my hero.”

“How much you have to drink tonight, Y/N?” Buck asks, his training kicking in despite the lust that rages beneath his skin.

You clamor into his lap, looping your arms around his neck, the fabric of your dress riding up your plush thighs as you straddle him. “Buck, I thought you were a firefighter, not a cop.”

He chuckles and smoothes his hands down your side. “I am a firefighter, but I can also see you’ve been drinking.”

“Just a little bit.” You say, holding up one hand and pinching your fingers to show him how little you’ve had to drink. It would maybe be believable if you didn’t nearly lose your balance in the process.

“Oh yeah?” He hums, raising an eyebrow at you.

Your breath audibly catches in your throat, and you nod, “yeah.”

“Well, that’s too bad because I feel like you maybe had a lot to drink.”

You pout at him, and he bites his tongue to keep himself steady. You’re drunk, way too drunk, he’s not that kind of guy, he’s not going to take advantage of you no matter how badly he’s wanted this.

“Maybe a bit more than a little, but we were celebrating, and I haven’t gone out drinking in forever.” You stretch out the word forever, giving Buck a bright smile when he pats your outer thigh.

“Why don’t I help you get into bed, huh?”

You start to nod but stop yourself, the light dimming in your eyes as you begin to mumble to yourself.

Buck thinks he catches the words, but Maddie and places his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, just to sleep, nothing else. You need to rest and let your body process all that alcohol.”

You nod, slide off him and onto the couch, laying back onto the cushions, your eyes already closing.

“Whoa, hey, not here, and not with your makeup still on.” He says, gently trying to get you to your feet.

“Too tired, carry me?” You ask so sweetly, he’s pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his life carrying you if you asked him to.

“Alright, come on, but you have to keep your eyes open, okay?” Buck says, slipping his arms underneath your form and lifting you from the couch.

“Okay, I promise…I will try.” You say, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

That’s the best he’s going to get, judging by the way your breathing begins to even out, and your grip on his shirt loosens.

Now, if he spends some time gently cleaning the makeup from your face and waking you briefly so you can change into pajamas before carrying you to your bed, then no one needs to know that.

And if he stays by your side definitely because he’s worried about how hungover you’ll be tomorrow and definitely not because you sleepily insist, and he can’t resist you, that’s no one’s business.

And if he falls asleep in your bed with your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, his chest feeling weird, like he’s got butterflies or heartburn, then no one needs to know that either. He’ll just take the best sleep he’s had in a long time and deal with the consequences later.

No lie I have a whole /reader profile created for this man, just waiting to be unleashed

[margeoww]

Toto is sick in bed and his wife is at some gala. He need texting her throughout the night and being annoying because he’s clingy when he’s sick but he won’t admit it.

A Night with a Sick Toto (and His Clingy Texts)

back to my masterlist

pairing: sick!toto wolff x wife!reader

summary: Toto Wolff is stuck at home battling what he dramatically calls “the deadliest cold ever,” while his wife is attending an important gala

warnings: pure fluff, clingy and dramatic Toto Wolff when sick.

Saturday night should have been easy. You had spent the afternoon meticulously preparing for a prestigious gala, one you couldn’t miss because it was critical for networking. Toto had been supportive, at first.

—Don’t worry —he’d said, bundled up in the softest blanket he owned. —You go enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine. Im perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

Yet the moment you walked out the door, his first text arrived.

Round 1: The Neediness Begins

Toto: Are you there yet?

You: Just arrived. Are you okay?

Toto: I’d be better if someone was here to make sure I don’t die.

You: Toto, it’s a cold, not the plague.

Toto: A very serious cold.

You: I left you everything you need: tea, soup, medicine, tissues, and Netflix. What else do you want?

Toto: I don’t know… maybe my wife?

You: Stop being dramatic. You told me to go.

Toto: Well, now I regret it. It’s so lonely here.

You: You’re literally under three blankets.

Toto: And still freezing.

You: You’re impossible.

Toto: You’re beautiful.

You sighed, already anticipating how the night was going to unfold.

Round 2: Mid-Gala Drama

You’d barely had a chance to enjoy a drink when your phone buzzed again.

Toto: What are you doing?

You: Networking. It’s a gala, Toto.

Toto: Networking with who?

You: People important for my job.

Toto: Anyone taller than me?

You: Toto…

Toto: I’m just asking.

You: What do you want?

Toto: I think I’m getting worse.

You: Did you take your medicine?

Toto: It tastes awful.

You: That’s why I left the orange juice.

Toto: It’s not the same if you’re not here to give it to me.

You: Toto, you’re a grown man.

Toto: A very sick grown man.

You: Do you want me to come home early?

Toto: No, no. Stay. I’ll suffer in silence.

You: You’re literally texting me right now.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to laugh. He was impossible, but he was your impossible.

Round 3: Dessert and Desperation

Just as dessert was served, Toto escalated his antics.

Toto: The soup you made tastes like cardboard.

You: It’s your favorite soup.

Toto: Not when I have to reheat it myself. It tastes… soulless.

You: It’s literally the same soup.

Toto: It needs your touch.

You: Are you sure you don’t want me to come home?

Toto: No, I don’t want to ruin your night.

You: You’re already ruining it.

Toto: But I miss you.

You: Toto…

Toto: I think I have a fever.

You: Did you check?

Toto: I don’t know where the thermometer is.

You: It’s in the medicine cabinet.

Toto: Why can’t you just come home and check for me?

By this point, you’d had enough. Politely excusing yourself from the event, you called a car and headed back home.

When you walked through the door, you found him exactly where you expected: sprawled out on the couch, buried under a fortress of blankets. He glanced up, his brown eyes a mixture of guilt and triumph.

— You’re back early. —he said innocently.

—You made sure of that. —you replied, dropping your bag and crossing your arms.

—I wasn’t that bad.

—You texted me 27 times.

Toto winced. —That’s not so many.

Rolling your eyes, you moved to sit beside him. He immediately latched onto you, resting his head on your shoulder like a needy puppy.

—See? This is what I needed. —he mumbled.

—Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. —you teased, brushing a hand through his hair.

—I’ll make it up to you when I’m better. —he promised, his voice already fading as the comfort of having you close finally allowed him to relax.

And as much as you wanted to be annoyed, you couldn’t help but smile. Because at the end of the day, being needed. Annoying texts and all. It wasn’t so bad.

[tyinghershoe]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Unscented |

Shigaraki’s hands were as soft as Tenko allowed them to be.

Pairing: Shigarki/Tenko x Reader

Genre: fluff/oneshot/drabble

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You’d love to one day write parallels about Shigaraki’s hands.

How the fingers that wreaked havoc upon Japan once held you with the lightest touch. That, yes, they’ve caused pain and suffering - but at the same time, you’ve never felt anything softer.

They never said Tenko wasn’t human. 

Your first encounter with him was as expected. Shigaraki was always on guard, his eyes distant as they glanced you over. There was a moment of silence as this took place, the wooden floors creaking each time you shifted your feet, you wondered if this was the only thing he listened to as time passed (there was no room for conversation with just him and himself).

Rumors of the League were whispered in every alley you turned to, and while you never considered yourself a villain, the thought of being a perfect fit for society was just as incomprehensible. You noticed the flaking of Shigaraki’s palms and wondered if he would’ve ever fit that mold. (One day, when you’re both better acquainted, Tenko will help you shape your own).

“I wouldn’t call you a villain,” Tenko whispered to you one night, his voice barely audible over the creaking floorboards. The bar was still, with you two the exception, enclosed between the dim lighting from the lamps above. This was the closest you two have ever been, your fingers gently placing globs of lotion onto the webs of his hands. They weren’t as rough of a texture as you imagined, the skin feeling delicate beneath you. Perhaps it was the brand you bought this time.

Those eyes, once distant and wary, were now soft as they met yours. “You have yet to kill anyone,” he persisted, his tone somber and solaced. “And as far as I’m concerned, you still work a 9 to 5 job, just like the rest of the world.”

“I have yet to pay off a parking ticket.” You confessed, your voice filled with a type of guilt. The alcohol here was less than holy, yet the man in front of you offered acceptance, one that was devoid of judgment. There was a dumbfounded expression as he closed his eyes, allowing you to softly trace the irritation away as your thumbs gently soothed his flaking face - you wondered if this source of discomfort was physical or something more.

“I won’t sell you out.” He deadpanned, before turning to you with a menacing grin, “But seriously, I destroy everything around me. They call me a murderer and yet you’re still here. You’re still here.” Shigaraki grunted, his eyes turning dark and distant as if it were your first time meeting.

There was only a hum of acknowledgment as you finished aiding his inflammation. It’s times like these in which Shigaraki was unpredictable, but you were only ever worried for his sake. Tenko was always an impulsive man. “I’ve never felt safer,” you murmured, rewarding you with a scoff of disbelief. 

“You’ll regret saying that if you ever turn to dust.” He mumbled, the threat empty. His (now soft) hand wrapped around your wrist, yet they held no real malice - you made it a point to ignore the fact that his pinky has always been raised.

-

a/n: How many months has is been since I last posted a fic? My age is showing in the sense that it’s hard for me to sit down and write all the time, but the mha hyper fixation is back, so hopefully the desire to write comes with it! This is my first time writing anything that isn’t Izuku Midoriya, I’m trying to branch out of characters that I’m comfortable with, but I promise I’ll post more of him soon.

Thank you for reading!

Follow me on ao3 @tyinghershoe

[earlgreylatte]

Returnee

(Justice League Various x Reader) After centuries of surviving in a world without another human in sight, you return and find the heroes you once admired to be the only interesting things around, besides beating the shit out of monsters, of course.

Implied sexual content ahead, minors DNI.

You would describe yourself to be the pinnacle of mediocrity, your life consisting of drowning in course readings and dealing with people’s bullshit in your customer service job. You existed. You may not have been wholly content, but you got by.

And, sure you, like millions of other desolate young adults, had fantasies of escapism, being strong, being someone special. But you ultimately knew your place. You were no hero; no alien or chosen human that could answer to a greater calling. You were just you, average in every way. So unlike the heroes and villains that occupy your world. You’ll never make an impact that’ll even come close to the likes of them.

The only thing you can hope to do is try to make your parent’s suffering of starting a life here worth it. That all the money and work invested in you would have some sort of pay off. Even if it means you had to traverse a path you’re still uncertain about.

You knew your limits, and maybe that rigid acceptance is what led to your own self destruction.

You find yourself in a desolate world void of humans but occupied with beasts unlike anything you have ever seen before, with sharpened talons and razored blades for teeth. No matter how much you cry and scream you do not wake up. The only communication you get comes in the form of ‘tabs’ that resemble something out of a video game. It’s gives you quests to adhere, reminders to keep things interesting, notifications you’re being watched by deities that watch your struggle like a show to tune into. Every moment, no matter how humiliating, is spectated.

You want nothing more to return to the life you had, answer the messages you never got the chance to respond to, try the things you never got to even attempt. You curse your inaction, your own spoiled thoughts from a lifetime ago, your parents for even giving birth to you if this is the reality you have to face.

Your survival hangs on a thread at first, you only being able to run away from the larger beasts. Eventually your tears dry, you fight back against the ones smaller than you. These Outergods sponsor you with a game like currency. You level up. You acquire gear better than a makeshift bone shiv. You consume. You sleep. And you do it all over again for the next couple centuries in this world. You do not age, but you grow taller, strengthened by the creatures you slaughter. Eventually, you don’t need a blade to slay them anymore. Then the beasts try to avoid you. You still kill them. They’re never ending. The least they can do is give you something to do in their infinity.

You stop feeling fear, sadness, indignation, and even hatred. You exist. You somewhat remember the life and name you had before. You don’t really feel one way about it or the other. Your family, obligations, and old identity are all null and void to you now.

Clearly your spectators grow bored as they send you back to the world you once called yours. Apparently barely a year has passed since you were taken, even if you might be the oldest human to walk Earth now.

For the first time in a long time, you’re struck with uncertainty. A world that isn’t stuck in time, one loud with the presence of people, and yet you feel no relief or sanctity in the safety of your old home. No, you’re struck with how just like in that beast world, you’re still horrifically, agonizingly bored.

Until you notice a hoard of androids terrorize the street. You can feel the blood thrumming in your veins, and you realize with renewed vigour that it wasn’t bloodshed that you had yearned for, but the thrill of battle, not knowing if you’ll live, and putting everything you had left on the line after abandoning the softness that once defined your modern life.

And so you fought. You were barely grazed with a laser, but you could appreciate the adrenaline rushing through your body, the uncertainty of a new adversary. You paid little mind to the screaming civilians trying to evacuate the streets, all you cared about was tearing about these metal beings before they could even try to do the same to you.

You’re broken from the euphoria of battle when you feel a whoosh of air behind you, and a dozen androids deactivate before you.

“Hey there, don’t think I’ve ever seen you around,” what appeared to be living electrical energy clad in crimson spoke to you, in a tone you could almost recognize as friendly. “Not that I mind the help! I’m always happy to meet—!”

You can feel your pupils dilate as every inch of your body screams that this man is dangerous. Powerful. Different from the fodder you faced before.

“—so, what do you go by?”

Summoning your broad sword, you swiftly slam it into the ground below, watching the man get tossed back by its force as the concrete crumbles beneath him.

You toss your sword to where he lands, but he quickly recovers and disappears before reappearing before you.

“Woah, what are you—“ you interrupt him by throwing a punch but he dodges again, “Can we talk about this sudden aggression—!?”

Tiring of his evasion, you recall your sword and prepare to strike the ground again before pausing as a sudden rush of memories strikes you.

“Ah,” you hum, before stretching out your hand, halting the approaching speedster that stares at you confused. “You’re that one hero…Bolt, or whatever. Speed guy.”

Yes, a hero. Not a warrior. Not a survivor. And certainly not a killer. You feel the apathy rush back as you stare at him. No, you wouldn’t get a real fight out of him. He’d sooner try to subdue you. Non-lethally. Honestly, he was way too nice.

“Flash? I mean, I’m the Flash, hero of the city you’re in!” The speedster fumbles for a second, starting at you in puzzlement.

“Yeah, let’s just call it here.” You sigh before walking away. You definitely forgot heroes were a thing for a second. And takeout.

You’re stopped in your tracks when Flash blocks your path.

“Woah there, you can’t just leave!” He protests.

“Why not?”

“You took down like hundreds of androids, attacked me, and-and you haven’t even introduced yourself!”

“Hmm, I think I forgot my name,” you reply, bring a hand up to your chin in mock contemplation.

“What-?”

“Do you want to have sex with me or something?” You ask. “Because you’re being a bit clingy, man.”

The hero states at you with his mouth agape, and you can see the red flush growing around his cowl.

“I get it, it’s pretty easy for arousal to mix with thrill in battle. I won’t say I’m not attracted to you, but I’ve got things to do, people to fight, and I doubt I can get what I need from you,” you explain nonchalantly. “But hey, keep your head up, man. There’s some charm in being the fastest man alive. I’d test it under different circumstances, really.”

You back away as Flash remains still as a statue, exposed skin now matching his suit as he blankly watched you leave.

“What just happened…?”

Honestly you don't have anything against heroes. You pity them, really. They remind you of your own inexperience once upon a time, fighting against the inevitable. But you can't deny that there are some with years beyond even yours, continuing to fight in their crusade.

Some more interesting than others.

Hawkgirl, who you recall to have been a member of the Justice Society of America, was someone that made you look like a babe in comparison to the lifetimes held in that strong body. Good fighter too. You're almost disappointed your battle was interrupted by another invasion and she apparently found you to be an ally rather than an opponent after that. You just wanted to see if those aliens were worth a damn.

Wonder Woman also stood out for the same reason, encountering her when you arrived at Themyscira for a duel with their strongest. And boy did she deliver. But sadly you could see that she adopted a non-lethal style, fighting only till first blood rather than to the death.

At least their bathhouse was luxurious even if it was communal. Diana said that it was for bonding. You think she was totally checking you out.

You could say that you were becoming increasingly familiar with the growing Justice League, encountering its members every so often.

You didn't pick a fight, aware it would be more trouble than it was worth. You doubt you'd be too satisfied either.

So when you find yourself encountering the Bat in Gotham after subduing Clayface, you're not surprised.

You're also not surprised when he recites your name and missing status.

He drones on about the circumstances of your disappearance, your return as a much stronger (and hotter) individual, and your dubious intentions.

You throw you sword at him, and he ducks out of the way, throwing you a glare just as sharp as your blade.

You explain that he's not a great speaker, and he should invest in some interpersonal communication courses. And that's coming from you. You then add you'll leave after you try the recently opened batburger.

He gives you a ride in his Batmobile.

Superman was a bit of an irritating figure. A boy scout, despite his godlike abilities. Staring at him, you wonder how much kinetic force it would take to burst the blood vessels beneath that impenetrable skin.

"We would really like for you to visit the Watchtower! We understand if you may not want to commit to being a full time member, so if we could call on you—!"

He pauses when you outstretch your hand and stare at him with a raised eyebrow. He places his hand in yours, almost as if it was instinct, blushing when you brush your thumb across his skin.

You hum in thought before departing.

"Uh, wait! Was that a yes!?"

You're pretty sure you're about to bed Green Lantern. You had come to Coast City, curious to see if any disasters would occur to alleviate your boredom, but had instead ran into a man with swoopy hair and an nice aviator jacket in a bar. He was pleasant. He seemed charmed by your Superman/Lex Luthor conspiracy theories. And he talked about flying with a passion unfamiliar to you.

So when you ended up at his place, back against his door as he kissed and nipped at your neck, you pulled him back by his brown hair to look at you.

"I'm a virgin, by the way."

He stares at you incredulously with a touch of concern. "Are you sure this is how you want your first time to go? We don't have to do this."

You doubt you'll get a fight out of him. He'd probably just trap you in a construct, but there are other ways for you to get physical.

...and you needed the experience for the next time an Amazonian propositions you.

"I like you well enough. And I've waited a long time to actually do something like this," you reply, still playing with his hair.

"You really want to do this with an older guy?"

You laugh, "I'm definitely the older one here."

His lip twitches as he shoots you an amused look, "And I'm Batman."

"Do you really want to talk about him before we-?”

The lantern silences you with another hot kiss that you grin into.

Yes, this Justice League certainly made things interesting, even if some of them were obnoxious do-gooders.

Hal: So, what's your name?

Returnee, with jumbled memories: Demonic Blade of Slaughter

Hal:

Returnee: Do you want to have sex?

Returnee: So, yeah, I was trapped in a monster world for presumably centuries with these outer world gods being the only other sentient beings and they only made contact via stream chat donations. And the only thing that even elicits any emotional or physiological response in me is violence.

Batman, internally dying:

Returnee: Don't worry, I don't fight street tiers like you.

Diana: It's been a while since l've last had such an invigorating bout, I would love to spend more time testing how far we can push each other to... our limits.

Returnee, who spent the last centuries off Earth as a virgin: I hear the glory of battle calling, must be off, let's fight again soon!

Outergods: Okay, so the human has definitely cleared this world, so how about we return this bloody thirsty heathen back to their original world and see what entertainment we find in the chaos—!

Outergods: Okay, so they're just having sex with all these superpowered individuals. And is that—-Oh my god, is that Constantine!?

Outergods: Yeah, no, this is hot, I'm donating 10k coins for that.

Clearing out my drafts! I really love the whole system in ORV and I found the returnee concept so interesting. Masterlist

[swiftlyinlove]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

summary: You and Spencer are best friends, but there's always been a little spark between you. When he cancels your plans for Christmas, you're determined to prove that you know him better than anyone else.

warnings: idiots in love, christmas fluff, a little angst if you squint??

word count: approximately 4.5k

a/n: Hi! It's been a long time since I wrote much of anything, but writing this for Christmas has been an absolute joy. I love Spencer so much, and this poor boy just suffers... I wanted to give him a happy ending for Christmas - or a happy beginning. I hope you like it.

The first thing you realized after the beep signaled the end of the phone call was how weird Spencer was acting lately.

To be fair, you two had an unconventional friendship. Due to the nature of his job, Spencer was often busy and therefore you couldn’t communicate as much as you'd like to, but you'd set up a base rule to make sure you never lost touch with one another: mandatory Friday night video call.

Every Friday, without fail, you would Facetime. Spencer wasn’t fond of technology, you were aware, but he’d gladly face his prejudice and lack of knowledge of anything digital if it meant talking to you. It didn't matter if he was home or if he was in another state for a case; come nine pm on a Friday, you two would be catching up about your lives.

That, of course, meant that you'd grasp at every opportunity you could to be with each other. He was in town for a case? You would meet up and have dinner if he had time; if he was doing something important and couldn’t finish it in time for dinner, he would drop by your place at the craziest hour in the morning and lie down next to you, gently shaking you awake to reveal he had gotten take out from your favorite restaurant.

Despite being awakened from your slumber, you would greet him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen - well, after letting out a little shriek of surprise, to which Spencer would respond with an “It’s me, little menace” and a chuckle that would make your heart flutter every time. 

The nickname had originated from your childhood. Spencer didn’t have many friends in middle school, and the fact that he was much smarter than kids his age didn’t help. His classmates either made fun of him or avoided him altogether, but you were… different. 

When you first moved into town, you were very nervous for your first day of school. Making friends was never easy for you, as your peers would deem you rather weird for always having your nose stuck in books. However, you quickly realized you had nothing to worry about - it took one look at little Spencer Reid, reading Crime and Punishment at the lunch table, for you to know you had found your place.

You sat next to him, ignoring the snickers from the so-called “popular kids”. He hesitantly lifted his gaze from the wrinkled pages - you reckoned he had probably read that book many times before -, expecting to see someone with a mean scowl ready to taunt him.

Instead, his wide eyes were met with your bright smile, your rosy cheeks, and your adorable ponytails, and he frowned in confusion. “Hello…?”

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You greeted him excitedly. There was something about him that made you feel confident, so you continued. “I’m new here and I noticed you were sitting alone. And that seems like a really cool book if you don’t mind me saying, and I just thought you-”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. You could feel your cheeks warming up, and you were sure you looked as flustered as you were feeling. Before you could even dwell on how embarrassed you felt, Spencer’s lips broke into a smile. 

And that was it. From that moment on, you had been inseparable. Well, perhaps not physically; after all, he was academically way ahead of you and everyone else, and he even managed to graduate from high school at only twelve years old. 

That didn’t stop you from hanging out every moment you could, nor from exchanging letters every single day when he went to college. To this day, you still had those letters, safely tucked into a charming wooden box you kept on your bookshelf, but you’d never tell him that (although you were sure he knew, as the great profiler he was).

So, despite being separated due to your busy jobs - his more than yours - and living in different states, it wasn’t a surprise when you started arranging to spend the holidays together.

Since his mother was still institutionalized, Spencer didn't really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with and therefore didn't care much for the traditions. You, on the other hand, loved the holidays, but since your parents had passed away when you were in college, you were also alone during the season.

Thus, you cut a deal. Every year, he would use his extra vacation days to take a week off around Christmas and you would take turns visiting each other. Usually, you were both very excited about this occasion – it was one of the rare opportunities you had to be together in person, and you missed each other terribly.

This year, though... You had just called Spencer to confirm the date so you could book your flight to Quantico, and he had simply managed to say he couldn’t take time off before hanging up on you.

You were confused by this but chalked it up to it being one of those days for him. Working at the BAU, Spencer had to deal with a lot of gruesome cases often and, after a really bad one, he didn't find any energy to do much of anything.

While he'd never avoided you per se, when those days coincided with your phone calls, you would try to comfort him the best you could, and sometimes even managed to cheer him up a little. 

This time, you didn't even have the chance to, and that threw you off. Still, if Spencer was in a bad mood, maybe he just didn't feel like talking. Not even to you.

Deciding to not push it any further, it's only a few days later that you brought up your trip to Quantico, this time via text. You spent the entire day nearly jumping at your phone each time it vibrated, expecting a notification with his name on it.

It was only later that night that you'd get your answer in the form of an ‘I can't this year’. You read the text over and over again, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking, but you had hoped that, once he was in a better mood, he would be just as eager as you for your shared holiday season. 

It occurred to you that perhaps something happened, perhaps he couldn't file for a vacation because he had a big case that he couldn't step away from.

But if that were the case, he would've told you so. He would've explained, apologized even, and tried to schedule another date for your trip to make it up to you. So, you concluded, he just didn't want to see you.

That thought haunted you for the entire week.

Finally having enough of feeling blue and not getting any work done, you decided to go straight to the source in search of answers. Well, source adjacent - Spencer was still replying rather coldly to your texts, so you couldn’t ask him directly. Penelope Garcia was the next best thing.

You had met the members of the BAU after a particularly successful case in your city. Their flight would only leave in the morning and Spencer thought he could take the opportunity to take you to the cinema for a late-night movie, just like the good old days of your adolescence.

However, Penelope and Rossi had other plans. To properly celebrate their hard work that led to saving multiple women who had been kidnapped a few weeks prior, they decided to take the team out for dinner in a nice restaurant.

“And it’s mandatory. It’s not like we have anything else to do tonight, so no excuses.” She had warned in a playfully threatening tone. 

Spencer shifted in his spot while putting away his things in his satchel. After all the years he worked at the BAU, he still hadn’t told his coworkers - his found family, really - about you. It was the one thing he kept close to his chest, the one secret he wanted to keep forever.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brushed his hair behind his ears, not daring to turn and face the team while he spoke. “I sort of already have plans.”

His voice was so quiet that the team wasn’t sure they had heard him correctly. After a moment of silence, Derek’s lips curled into his (in)famous smirk and he gently nudged Spencer’s side, making the lanky boy turn around to face his friends.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed and he kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to face the curious expressions on their faces. But when Derek nudged him again, asking him “Who’s the girl?” with such a teasing tone, he couldn’t help but look up.

“She’s just a friend.” He blurted out, eyes immediately widening upon the realization of what he admitted.

While the rest of the team just shrugged it off and dived into their conversations, Derek patted him on the back - the force of which sent Spencer stumbling a few feet forward -, and Penelope lit up like he had just told her that he won the lottery.

“You have to bring her!” Penelope begged, grabbing his arm as they walked towards the door of the local precinct they had been working on for the case. “I want to meet this mystery woman.”

Penelope didn’t say it to him then, but she was sure you weren’t ‘just a friend’. She might’ve not been a profiler, but the look in his eyes when he spoke about you and his hesitation to cancel your plans for the sake of the team made her think that perhaps you were much more special to him than he realized.

Her suspicions were, of course, confirmed when he showed up at the restaurant a few hours later with you in his arms, wearing an elegant black dress and a radiant smile on your face as you whispered something to him, immediately breaking into a fit of giggles.

Spencer tried to feign indignation at your comment, but he couldn’t help but smile as he led you to his friends, who were all watching the interaction with surprise and disbelief. Your laughter calmed when you reached the table, but the smile never fell from your face as Spencer introduced you, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That’s when Penelope knew.

You clicked rather well with his friends. They were, naturally, very curious about you, and you did your best to answer all their questions. Meanwhile, Spencer, who was sitting next to you, placed a hand on your lower back, making sure you didn’t feel overwhelmed under the attentive eyes of his friends.

Penelope and you were a match made in heaven, Spencer reckoned. You quipped back and forth the entire night, even swapping numbers by the end of it, and Spencer even joked that you had found a new favorite FBI agent as you made your way to his car.

Chuckling at his statement, you stopped in your tracks, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite. But she’s a close second.”

Spencer was sure his heart had stopped right then and there and that he had gone to heaven.

Since that night, you frequently called Penelope to talk about numerous things - from the latest TV shows you were both hooked on to recipes for dessert -, but you rarely talked about Spencer. Until today.

“Penny, I need your help.” You blurted out as soon as the blonde answered your call. 

“Woah, woah, calm down my friend,” Penelope answered, amused and slightly worried about the urgency in your tone. “What’s on your pretty little mind?”

All it took for Penelope to know something was wrong was two words. “It’s Spencer.”

“What about boy wonder?” The technical analyst questioned, trying to make sense of what you were saying.

“He’s been acting so cold lately.” You explained, sighing in exhaustion as you plopped down on your couch. “Well, you know how we always arrange to spend the holidays together?”

Penelope hummed in agreement - every year when Spencer would put in a request to take time off during the holidays, she would make sure it was at the top of Strauss’ paperwork, knowing he was doing it for you.

At her approval, you continued. “This year I was supposed to come to Quantico, but every time I try to bring it up, he shuts me down and just says that he can’t. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this and it's been driving me nuts all week.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at your image on the phone. 

“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person? Because he seemed pretty excited last week. He wouldn’t shut up about how he found the perfect gift for you and how he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.”

This confused you even more, and you frowned as you processed her words. “Yeah, well, this week he can barely text me back. I don’t want anything crazy, Penny, I just want to be with him for Christmas.”

“I don’t know what happened. As far as I can tell, he did put in the request for a vacation.” Penelope replied. Then, her face lit up in realization and she cursed under her breath. “Morgan.”

“Morgan? What does Derek have to do with this?” You asked, more disoriented than ever.

“Wait here,” Penelope said, quickly getting up from her chair and leaving you to stare at her empty office. She returns a few minutes later, looking pretty annoyed, to see you making a cup of coffee in your kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweet cheeks.” The blonde said apologetically, making your gaze return to your phone, forgotten on the counter as you waited for her.

You quickly picked it up, registering her distressed expression. “What happened?”

“I found out why Reid’s acting like an ass to you.” She replied, her voice softening as she saw the glimmer of worry in your eyes. “It seems like Morgan has done quite a number on him.”

“What do you mean Morgan has done a number on him? What did he do?” You questioned, growing irritated by Penelope’s ability to beat around the bush. You loved her, you really did, but you just wanted to know what happened.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but since you’re so upset…” Penelope trailed off, pursing her lips. “Morgan better pay me back.”

“Penelope, just spit it out.” You interrupted, your impatience reflected in your tone.

“Fine. I told you Reid wouldn’t shut up about you, and Morgan may or may not have teased him about his feelings for you and it may or may not have caused Spencer to clam up in his shell.” Penelope rushed through her words and you blinked, unsure you had heard her correctly.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as you asked her, “Spencer… Has feelings for me?”

Penelope looked reluctant to answer your questions, clearly not wanting to violate Spencer’s privacy. Ever since she met you, she knew you and the resident FBI genius were destined for each other, but she wanted you to discover on your terms.

“Penny, please.” You sounded out of breath, and it cleared any sign of hesitation on Penelope’s mind. 

“Baby girl, I can’t be the one to tell you that. You have to ask him.” She responded, her voice full of empathy. “But between me and you, I’m pretty sure you know what the answer is.”

Spencer was certain that he was in the 9th circle of hell. 

Ever since Morgan’s comment, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always knew what you two had was special.  You knew how to make him laugh; Spencer didn’t consider himself to be difficult to entertain, but he could be quite oblivious to his coworkers' jokes sometimes, especially if they were about him. But you? Oh, you managed to make him laugh hysterically with a simple comment, and it endeared him. 

You had been with him through the good and the bad, after all. You were there at his graduation, celebrating his first Ph.D. - and the two that came after that, too - and you were right there by his side when he watched his mother be dragged away to a mental institution, holding his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

That was what he loved most about you. He could always count on you to be there for him. He recalled the first moment he realized you were much more than a friend to him.

It had been after the Tobias Hankel case. Spencer slipped in and out of consciousness as the doctors dragged him through the hospital, murmuring to themselves about testing the drugs in his system and checking his vitals.

His life wasn’t in danger anymore, but he was oh so tired. He had spent days upon days of captivity without a wink of sleep, locked in an empty cabin where he was tortured by two of Tobias’ personalities, and all he could think about between getting tormented and getting drugged was you.

He was sure he was going to die then, and his main concern was that he wouldn’t be able to see your pretty smile again. He would tell you this when you appeared at his bedside a few hours later, claiming that you received a call from the hospital - unsurprisingly, you were each other’s emergency contacts - and had threatened a stewardess to get a ticket to the next plane to Virginia, and you would call him ridiculous for it.

It was only when you were sitting next to him on his hospital bed, his head leaning against your chest as you combed your hands through his hair, that he allowed himself to cry, to reveal how truly scared he had been under Tobias’ hands.

You whispered sweet nothings in his ear as you softly lifted his head, making sure he was looking at you when you softly kissed his tears away. His arms had tightened around you, a silent sign of his gratitude, and he knew then, he knew, you were everything to him.

How could he have not fallen for you after all that? 

But he could never tell you. He had been rejected many times in his life, but if he was to get rejected by you? He was sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

So he tried to bury his feelings deep inside him, keeping you a secret from the people who knew him best and, when the time came, introduced you to them. As a friend. Because that’s all that you were. Friends.

When Morgan teased him about his feelings for you, Spencer entered panic mode. If Morgan could see Spencer was madly in love with you, then you could see it too - you could always read him like a book, after all.

And if you hadn’t brought it up… You didn’t want to. He knew you’d never want to hurt him, so the only logical conclusion he could reach was: you don’t feel the same.

He tried his best to avoid you. Cutting you off whenever you brought up your plans for the holidays, replying to your texts with short answers, and even refraining from watching Doctor Who in his free time, because it only reminded him of how you two used to lie on your couch during summer break and watch it together. 

What he didn’t count on was opening his door in mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve and seeing you standing in front of him, coat covered in the snow that was falling outside the comfort of his building and a small smile on your face.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.” You said bashfully, not sure how he would react to your presence. 

“Merry Christmas.” He replied, his breath knocked out of his lungs at how beautiful you looked standing there. He might have fallen in love with you all over again. 

After a beat of silence, he wet his lips, looking at you with the same wide-eyed gaze he greeted you with when you were kids. “What... What are you doing here?”

Your lips curled into a sheepish smile. “What, you thought I was gonna miss Christmas?”

Seeing you in front of him, hearing your voice without the faint static of the phone for the first time in a while… it was surreal to him. He couldn’t help but cave in and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer into a tight hug.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders just as tightly, your body finally relaxing against his. You could feel his nose nuzzled into your neck, and you smiled against his shoulder.

“I missed you.” You whispered, letting your words linger between the two of you.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back, and you knew he was sincere. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I know.” You breathed in his scent, pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder before pulling away. He reluctantly let you go, a remorseful smile on his lips.

Spencer guided you into his apartment, and you took note of how he put up your usual Christmas decorations. “You managed to set up the tree by yourself?” You teased him.

He chuckled, watching as you settled on his couch and patted the space next to you. He promptly followed your lead, sitting down beside you. “Yeah, it was a real challenge.”

Before you could even reply, Spencer reached out to grab your hand, his thumb softly caressing your knuckles to calm his racing mind.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I’ve been stuck in my head lately, and it’s not fair that I treated you like that. We’ve had this tradition forever and I feel like I disrespected it and-” Spencer rambled, and you pressed your lips against his to shut him up.

Your sudden action stunned him, and he couldn’t help but succumb to your spell. Placing his hands on both sides of your face and closing his eyes, he kissed you back as gently and tenderly as he could, feeling you melt against him.

Once you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a lovestruck, surprised gaze. He seemed to be speechless, which made you giggle.

“I hope that was on your wishlist this Christmas.” You joked, leaning your forehead against his. 

Your gaze softened as you took in his expression. “Penny told me everything. In all seriousness, I understand why you did it.  I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me.”

He gulped, feeling vulnerable under your loving stare. He always got the impression that you could see right through him.

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been in love with you almost my entire life, and when I finally realized it, I was afraid that if I acted on them, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.” He murmured, his tone growing sadder.

“And when Morgan joked about my feelings for you, I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought and perhaps you already knew and didn’t talk about it so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He continued, closing his eyes again as if the mere thought was too painful to bear. 

He took a deep breath, his thumbs starting to slowly brush against your cheekbones. “I didn’t want to face you and find out if it was true, because… Because my heart couldn’t take it.”

You listened quietly to his words, his touch on your skin grounding you and sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It broke your heart to hear him speak like that, as if the mere thought of you feeling the same never crossed his mind, as if it was absurd. 

You knew he had low self-esteem, a permanent scar from all the times he was bullied throughout his life, but his self-deprecating view never ceased to shock you.

“Spencer…” You whispered his name like it was sacred, like he was something to be worshipped, and it made his heart skip a beat. “I know all your favorite songs, how you take your coffee, and your favorite books. In order. I know you. I’d be crazy not to love you.”

You could feel him exhale in relief at your quiet confession, his racing mind finding solace in your words. “Really?”

“Of course.” You replied with a chuckle, leaning forward to press a feather-light peck against his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since we were, like, sixteen. All I ever wanted was to be the one to give you everything you want.”

He smiled as you pulled away once again, thinking about how much time you two had lost while dancing around your feelings. Although, he supposed, it wasn’t lost time - you had spent those years giving each other love, even if it wasn’t necessarily romantic.

“We’re both idiots.” He replied, making you laugh once more. You stood up, grabbing both of his hands and guiding him to the kitchen. He followed you with a bright smile on his face; he would follow you anywhere, he suspected.

“I was thinking I could make those cookies you like and, afterward, we could perhaps… snuggle by the fireplace?” You suggested, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

He pretended to think for a moment, before he finally gave in, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. “Anything you want, little menace.”

Spencer hummed, burying his face further into his neck. “I was thinking of reading a few books. Santa was going to keep me company.”

Later that night, when you were both snuggled up against each other in front of his fireplace while eating the gingerbread cookies you both made, you asked him curiously, “What were you planning to do for Christmas, if I hadn’t shown up?”

You laughed quietly at his admission. “Well, Santa doesn’t know you like I do.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Your genius agreed, peppering little kisses onto your skin. “You’re the best Christmas present ever, do you know that?”

“Yeah? Wait until you see what I actually bought for you.” You replied, a playful smile on your face. “Besides, a little birdie told me you got me the perfect Christmas gift.”

“I’m gonna kill Penelope.” He muttered under his breath, sending you into a fit of laughter. 

Well, maybe this Christmas time

You'll finally realize

That I could be the one

To give you everything you want

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey! How are you?

May I request how the batboys would react to reader losing their job unfairly? I just lost my job for no reason after only working there for 2 weeks. I could really use some comfort rn 😭😭

Sweetheart, I know your pain in loosing a job unfairly, I’ve been there before and funnily enough they’re suffering to this day with ppl wanting to leave and or leaving. Karma is truly a bitch. I’m sending all the virtual hugs I can.

Jason

Livid isn’t even close in describing how he felt upon hearing the news but it was the closest word for how he was feeling right now. The fact that you had been let go and unfairly too after a short period of time was enough to make his blood boil.

No explanation just ‘yeah we’re letting you go for no real reason cuz we’re tight fisted cunts who can’t be bothered with bettering ourselves for our staff, and would much rather let them go without prior warning because we’re just that shitty of an employment.’

In Jason’s opinion you were the only one who actually knew how to do to do your job and will remind you of this constantly because it was the truth. You worked your ass off at that place and this was the thanks you get? Fuck that!

Jason was more then ready to let the piece of shit who made the call to drop you have a piece of his mind but you had to calm him down and tell him it wasn’t worth the anger and frustration. However to Jason it was more than worth the anger and frustration, his sweetheart lost their job because of some fucking corporate lapdog!

‘They fucked up babe, big time. They lost one of their best and I hope they fucking go bankrupt and loose everything they’re worth because of it.’ Jason would tell you as he presses kisses against your head as you played with his fingers before intertwining them with yours.

‘I hope so too.’ You muttered against his chest and Jason could only tighten his hold on you as he continued to shower you in praise, kisses and utter adoration in hopes of ridding the god awful taste that place left in your mouth and your self esteem. Jason’s as about to let you drown because of them, he’d gladly keep you afloat however he can because you deserve it and so much more than they ever gave you in two weeks.

Dick

‘They’ve lost out on the best thing going sweetheart, they’ll come to regret it sooner or later but you’ll be in a better position when they do.’ He’d whisper reassuringly as he held you close to his chest, his heart breaking when hearing your sobs.

He hated how affected you were by their decision and he hated how powerless he was to stop you from getting hurt by stupid employments like this one. They obviously didn’t see what he saw in you and that was their loss and his gain. You were dedicated, loyal, hardworking but apparently that wasn’t enough for them and so without much thought they dropped you.

So Dick, with the help of Hayley, would try his best to provide you with happier times to drown out the pain that came with reminiscing the shittier times.

They would try their hardest to make you cry tears of joy rather then sadness from their goofiness alone as both Dick and Hayley would rather see you happy then sulk over the decisions of some stupid employment. They -the employment- fucked up with you and Dick wasn’t about to let it be your problem to deal with alone because it wasn’t your problem to deal with in the first place. It was theirs.

So you spent the rest of your days with Dick trying his best in making you happy and smile more then you’ve ever have, that place was poison for you and he’ll try and be your antidote.

Tim would absolutely do everything in his power to ruin your old workplaces reputation out of sheer pettiness, whether it be digging up some dark/ shady stuff that they’ve tried sweeping under the rug or spreading their tendencies to mistreat their staff on a daily basis, Tim would single-handedly destroy their reputation by leaving it in complete shambles.

He was smart enough to do so and could do so if you were to ever say the word, he was more then ready with documents filled with evidence to back up his claims, all he needed was you to give him the go ahead.

Tim could be petty but his petty was unlike anyone else’s and could cause mass damage to corporate assholes, especially those who thought it was completely justifiable to release someone after two weeks of working there.

Give him 5 minutes and the workplace will have collapsed from the information he had released to the general public. That’ll teach them a lesson for certain for messing with you.

However you didn’t want him to get into any trouble because of you and would much rather cuddle with him in bed as you watched a movie on his laptop in your pj’s as you both shared some ice cream. That’s all you needed and Tim was more than willing to comply as he told you how stupid of a decision it was of them to let you go, they were only shooting themselves in the foot and digging their grave simultaneously.

[sometimesanalice]

Sun Stroke

Summary: It’s been a few months since you’ve broken up with your boyfriend and moved to San Diego. And when Rooster and his teammates introduce you to Dogfight football, you know you’ll never be the same again. Hard pressed and out of sorts, you take matters into your own hands.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw/Female Reader

Length: 8k

Warnings: smut, mentions of masturbation, an ode to the jorts.

(author's note: this is a prequel to the 'Like I Can' series, however it can be read on it's own!)

Bradley Bradshaw was a dead man.

The hangover you’d woken up with was 100% his fault for pressing that final Blue Moon into your hand last night at the Hard Deck.

It had been a couple years since the last time the two of you had seen each other in person and even longer since you’d both lived in the same city, but he knew you. And he without a doubt knew better than to order you another drink when you were already fighting back the giggles.

But what were you going to do, not drink a free beer paid for by your longtime best friend? Not to mention the way he’d teasingly called you a lightweight in a way that sounded a little too much like a dare.

You’d only moved to San Diego a little over a month and a half ago, and maybe if you were going to own up to the role you played in earning this headache, you probably should have known better than to try and keep up with the group of aviators. But since he’d been the one to drive and you were having a good time, you’d thrown caution into the wind and cheers-ed his glass with your own with a grin.

Bad choices shouldn’t taste so good.

It was a citrus-kissed mistake you were paying for now with your head pounding as you rushed around your apartment in a frenzy trying to throw your things together to get out the door to meet everyone at the beach. It’s a feat that would have been so much more manageable if you hadn’t been surrounded by a sea of cardboard boxes, all in various stages of unpacked disarray. It’s an inconvenient maze made by your own procrastination.

Those pain relievers you’d popped not too long ago couldn’t kick in quick enough.

You were running late. You hate being late.

And the way your phone keeps pinging is stressing you out even further. You know it’s Bradley and you’ve been ignoring it in favor of trying to get your act together. It goes off again, barely a minute since the last text had come through, but this time you pause your rummaging to check it.

🔴 Rooster, 11:10 AM: where are you??

🔴 Rooster, 11:17 AM: on a scale from 1-10 how bad is your hangover?

🔴 Rooster, 11:22 AM: tick tock, kid.

🔴 Rooster, 11:23 AM: bring me a coffee?

You roll your eyes at the nerve of that last one. He was going to have to beg Jimmy to make him a tar-like pot from the Hard Deck’s ancient coffee maker if he wanted any. If you were suffering through a hangover, he could suffer through being undercaffeinated.

It didn’t help that you were feeling more high strung than usual. Your vibrator had died before you could finish last night and you’d meant to buffer in time for a quick orgasm this morning, but then you’d slept through your alarm.

You hadn’t had sex since you’d broken up with your ex almost three months ago. While you were doing just fine on your own, you were getting tired of the feel of your own hands and fingers.

When your boss had mentioned the promotion that he wanted to put you forward for, you were elated until he mentioned it would involve relocating to the West Coast office. You’d been on the fence, it was the next step towards your dream job, but you were content with your life in Boston. That night when you had casually mentioned the possibility of it to your boyfriend at the time, it seemed clear to you that it would be an either-or situation.

Either you’d stay in Boston with him or you’d move to San Diego on your own.

Not wanting to rock the boat, you didn’t mention it again. Even though you were still weighing the choice in your mind. It wasn’t until a phone call with Bradley, that you’d finally settled on the right choice for you. After breaking it off with your ex, the two of you had essentially lived like roommates until you’d left without a look back.

At the time, you thought it had been a brilliant idea to use some of your less worn clothes as packing protection for your things. But now as you desperately dig through your third box labeled Bedroom looking for the sporty black and white one piece with the zipper that you know you have but can’t seem to find, you’re starting to think you might be the biggest idiot on the West Coast.

The only beach appropriate thing you’d been able to find in your frantic searching was the bright red scalloped bikini you’d bought a few years ago for a bachelorette party in Tulum wrapped around a set of pretty glass candle holders. And while it made your boobs look great, it was much sexier and revealing than what you were going for to meet up with the Daggers on their home turf.

When your phone dings yet again, you finally admit defeat and give up on your search. In a huff, you put on the bikini, giving the bow behind your neck a good tug before pulling up your denim shorts with a couple jumps, trying to speed things along.

Earlier, you’d found the sticky note that said “FRIDGE!!!” underlined a few times by a heavy hand on top of the beach bag you vaguely remember packing for yourself the night before. The soft cooler bag covered with cheerful palm leaves had been haphazardly shoved onto the top shelf and was now sitting by the front door with the rest of your things, including the low sitting pink and white striped beach chair that Bradley had given to you as a ‘Welcome to San Diego’ gift.

You take one more passing glance around your apartment you look for any stray item that might have been missed- not that you’d be able to spot anything anyways through the cardboard battleground that is your apartment- and then you’re shoving your feet into your sandals and flying out the door in a flurry.

Pulling into the private lot of the Hard Deck, you park in the open spot next to your best friend’s blue Bronco. The bar wouldn’t be open until later, but Penny had given the group of aviators’ carte blanche parking perks. It was something you were especially thankful for as you slung the heavy bags over your shoulder.

The warm coastal breeze and briny salt air were clearing the cobwebs from your head.

Even though the feel of it drifting over your bare skin reminded you of just how exposed you were in just your skimpy bikini top and frayed denim shorts, you’d only realized when you were halfway to the beach that you’d forgotten to put a shirt on in your haste to get out the door. But you were sure you’d packed an oversized linen shirt to cover up with if the sun got to be too hot.

As you pass by the well maintained, but sun-bleached patio, you see Penny sitting at one of the picnic tables with her laptop. She waves when she sees you and you raise the iced latte you’d stopped for up to her in greeting, as much as you can without having the beach chair slip off your shoulder.

Further down the beach, you see the group of energetic aviators. Nat looked a bit like an orchestral conductor the way she is directing the finishing touches on the set up. You weren’t too late, just fashionably so, but you were already planning to buy them all a round of drinks later anyways. Even though it’s just a casual hang out, you still want to make a good impression with Bradley’s friends.

It was been one of the things you’d been most worried about moving here. Rooster had opened the door for you to get to know his friends, but you didn’t want to be just an extension of your best friend in the way it felt like you had been in high school. You really liked these people and wanted to make your own friendships with them too.

You’re more than regretting the choice to try and bring everything in one go, with the way the sand is shifting under your feet and how your beach bag and chair keep bumping against each other with every step you take. And just as you’re contemplating ditching them for the moment to circle back for after you get rid of the cooler bag that’s weighing you down, you see Fritz nudge Bradley, pulling his attention away from his phone and pointing in your direction.

The wide grin that appears on his face is immediate and you feel the corners of your own mouth pulling up. California looked good on him. He seemed happier and lighter here, more like the boy you knew from back home. The one he’d been before he lost his mom and the man who’d helped raise him. You hope that one day it’ll look just as good on you. He gives the other man a quick pat on the back before he’s setting off towards you in an easy jog.

“Hey, where’s mine, kid?” Bradley asks, nodding to your drink with its ice cubes now more than half melted before effortlessly taking the heavy bag from you.

You’re so grateful for his help- now that you can feel your arm again- that you almost forget that you’re supposed to be annoyed at him.

“You know what you did, Br-adshaw,” you retort, catching on his name and hoping he could feel your attempt at a glare from behind your dark sunglasses.

It was a change you were still getting used to. You’ve known him since you were eight, he’s always been Bradley to you. But you’d caught on very quickly that everyone else here only ever seemed to call him ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’. And he’d grinned so widely the first time you’d called him by his callsign that it seemed like a confirmation to the question you’d been too apprehensive to ask.

The man didn’t even have the courtesy to look guilty, the all too knowing smirk on his face confirmed everything you already knew, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mhmm, sure,” you say, flatly pressing your lips together in an unamused line. You’re tempted to flip him off now that you have a free hand, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He tugs his sunglasses down his nose with a finger to look at you from over the top of them, more serious now, “But you had fun, right?”

And it’s too hard to keep up with the façade of being mad at him when he is looking at you so earnestly. When you were younger you had a higher tolerance against those big brown eyes, his ‘cow eyes’ as Carole had called them. Now that you lived here maybe you’d have a fighting chance against them again, but you felt yourself giving into them.

You were still getting use to the fact that you got to be around him all the time again, and sometimes it felt like you were relearning him as an adult. Your friendship with him felt just as familiar as it always had, but you could admit it was also different now.

“A little too much,” you say with a light laugh at your own expense, “But yes, I had fun, Rooster. I really like your friends.”

He smiles, pleased. “Ok, good.”

Bradley slings an arm over your shoulder and the two of you start walking towards the rest of the group. You hold your drink up for him to take a sip as a sign of truce.

He grimaces at the taste, “Why does it taste like I just licked some of that potpourri shit my Grandma Rose used to keep in her house?”

“Maybe because it’s a lavender latte,” you say, taking a smug sip of your own now that the two of you were even. The coffee shop you’d stopped at has become your favorite in the area. It was a little thing, but you liked having a go-to spot when so much still felt so new to you.

“You’ve only been here a few weeks and they’ve already got you drinking the California Kool-Aid? Coffee should taste like coffee, not a damn flower,” he gripes.

“You sound like you’re seventy. Next, you’ll be yelling at kids to get off your grass,” you tease, nudging his ribs with your elbow. “And I’ll have you know I liked these before I moved here. It was just an extra selling point getting one this morning because I know you aren’t going to drink it all when my back is turned.”

He barks a laugh, “Now that I know there were ulterior motives involved, I might just have to help you finish it.”

You stop and push your sunglasses onto the top of your head, giving him a firm look, “You’re still on friendship probation, tread carefully where my coffee is involved.”

Bradley playfully reaches out for your coffee, “You don’t scare me, kid.”  You attempt to push him away, but he doesn’t budge an inch.

The two of you had basically reached the rest of the group. The gentle crash of the waves was mingling with the sounds of Fleetwood Mac playing from a speaker and the bursts of easy laughter of his friends. Jake is a few feet from the two of you at the edge of the set up as he works to cover himself with sunscreen, the mist sparkling on the fine hairs on his forearms before he rubs it in. 

“You might have those curls figured out now, but I bet my mom still has photos of you with that terrible middle part from when you were thirteen. Don’t mess with me, Bradshaw.”

His head snaps towards you, “Your potpourri coffee is safe, I promise.” You can’t help but laugh at the panic in his voice and the way he warily eyes Jake, clearly not wanting the other man to get his hands on any potential blackmail material.

The sound of a low, exaggerated whistle pulls your attention over to Hangman. “Lookin’ good, kid,” Jake drawls, a pair of dimples punctuating his lazy grin on either cheek, “Red is definitely your color.” His pecs and abs are gleaming in the sun. He’s not your usual type, but it’s working for you more than it should.

God, you really needed to get laid. Or at least get a more reliable vibrator.

“Nah, I’m not having any of that,” Bradley warns, pointing a finger at him, “You cut that shit out right now, Seresin.”

Jake puts his hands up in surrender, but that sharp smile gets even wider, “Just givin’ the lady a compliment, Rooster, don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” He sends you a wink and you think you hear Bradley grumble something under his breath.

The blonde with all his pretty boy looks was absolutely a shark when it came to finding ways to get under Rooster’s skin. You’d heard your best friend complain about him for years. And even after learning about their truce, you hadn’t been too sure about meeting him in person. But ultimately his easy charm had won you over pretty quickly. You could admit that now you had a lot of fun teaming up with Jake and riling Bradley up.

“Thank you, Jacob,” you sing, tugging on Rooster’s arm towards the spot that had been left open for you in between his things and what you recognized as Natasha’s oversized beach towel.

You gingerly balance your coffee on the arm of his deep green beach chair before dropping the rest of your things into the sand and take in the carefully curated beach arrangement.

Fritz and Harvard are off to the side casually tossing a frisbee back and forth between them. Callie and Nat were facing off against Coyote and Payback in a game of cornhole laughing as they shit talk. Yale looks like he is napping, but you spot the AirPods in his ears, probably trying to listen to the audiobook he’d recommend to you last night in peace. Next to him is Fanboy, who looks pretty engrossed in the comic book he’s reading. And Bob was making his way back up the beach towards the group from where he’d been down by the water.

“I’m going to go offload that and say ‘hi’ to people,” you tell Rooster. Taking the heavy cooler bag back from him, you set off towards the designated grazing area in the middle of the ocean-facing semicircle Nat had corralled people into, greeting his friends as you pass by.

You were more than a little curious about tipsy you had packed for the day. Unzipping the bag, the first thing you spot is the last thing you ever would have expected to find for a day at the beach.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, hesitating for a moment, unsure whether or not to add it to the rest of the things in the cooler.

“Are those pickles?” You turn to see Mickey standing behind you.

You hold the jar up for his inspection, “I can’t tell you what I was thinking by bringing them. Do you think I should put them in?”

He surprises you when he whoops and takes the jar from you, holding it above his head like a championship belt, “Yo, Payback! Look! The kid brought pickles!”

“Which kind?” Reuben calls back, taking a pause from the game with a beanbag still clutched in his hand.

“Claussen! The whole kind!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” he hoots, sending you a thumbs up. “Grab me one too, Fanboy.”

Mickey twists open the lid with a satisfying pop and fishes one out. “These are the best, thanks!” he says before excitedly hustling off towards Reuben to share, the cornhole game now on an indefinite pause.

You hadn’t been too sure what tipsy you had been thinking, but apparently the beach pickles were destined to be a hit. Either that or you weren’t the only one trying to shake off the tail end of a hangover this morning.

Bob swings by to grab a soda, but stops to help you unload the rest of the things from your bag. As the two of you work together, he tells you about the crab he’d found near the patio of the Hard Deck that he’d just released back into the ocean. 

Both of the large coolers were pretty packed, so no one would be going hungry or thirsty today. You make a note to shop around for one of your own and maybe a beach umbrella since no one else seems to have one. You were more of a sand, sea, shade type of girl.

Once everything is all put away, you grab a couple bottles of water and make your way back to your friend. You catch him taking another curious sip of your coffee, this time he nods like the taste might be growing on him. You let it slide because you see that while you’ve been away he’s set up your chair for you.

“Are you feeling peckish, Rooster?” you ask, plopping the water in his cup holder, eyeing the pilfered bag of trail mix he must have pulled out of your tote bag in his hands.

“What?” Bradley shrugs, unapologetically. You roll your eyes at him affectionately as he helps himself to another handful. “God, I’ve missed this. Japan has so much good food, but one of the perks of being back stateside after a year and a half is all the snacks. I’ve been going to Trader Joe’s like twice a week since I’ve been back.”

You still didn’t know anything about the mission that had brought him back to Top Gun. That phone call you’d had with him the night before he’d shipped off had played in your mind on repeat until he’d texted you that he was back safely in San Diego. The only thing you had been able to glean is that not everything went according to plan, based on his newest additions to his collection of scars. They were the first thing you’d noticed when he’d picked you up at the airport. Still shiny, pink, and fresh.

“Well, with that Hawaiian shirt collection of yours, you’d certainly fit in.”

He chuckles at that as he takes a moment to sort through the collection of various nuts and fruit and chocolate bits, he plucks out the raisins and drops them back in the bag. You bite back a smile because some things never change. He’s always pulled out the raisins, usually to replace them with more chocolate chips. Back when you were teens, his infamous ‘Bradshaw Mix’ was basically a 3-1 ratio of chocolate chips to anything else.

“Wait a second. Hold up, ‘peckish’?” His hand pauses halfway to his mouth, “Was that a joke at the expense of my callsign, kid?”

You point at yourself like who me? blinking innocently at him, “I would never.” Then grabbing a few of the nuts from his open hand you pop them into your mouth, shooting him a sunny grin.

Now that everything was all situated you felt like you could finally relax. You were like this when you traveled too, never at ease until you were through security with your bag stowed above your head. That tightness in your chest only releases after you’re buckled into your seat with all your in-flight necessities tucked away in the seat pocket in front of you.

Maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice the shirt that he was wearing. Well, mostly wearing. The sleeves had been cut off with an overenthusiastic hand and neared nip slip territory with the amount of Rooster’s golden skin that was on display.

“The Hooters shirt, really? Of all the things you could have held onto from your glory days, you chose that? How gauche.” You slide your sunglasses back on your face with your pinky exaggeratedly pointed up to the sky for dramatic flair.

He clutches his chest, “She’s got that fancy degree and been living in a big city and now she thinks she’s too good for Hooters? My, my how times have changed.” Bradley whips his tank off and tosses at you the same way he had done hundreds of times when the two of you were growing up.  Except the overpowering smell of teen spirit and axe body spray was replaced with a subtle, rich woodsy smell.

Rooster laughs when you succumb to the urge and throw him your middle finger. 

“Your motley crew of teenaged horndogs only went there because you all had a crush on Danielle Batula’s older sister,” you shoot back, folding up his shirt and putting it on top of your things.

“Hey now, we also went for the Lots-a-Tots. I’ve always been a feminist, kid, if a woman feels empowered wearing those spandex shorts then I’m going to support her,” he says with a wink, “Far be it from me to tell a woman what to wear.” You reach up to flick his nose and he bats at your hand, grinning even wider.

“And what’s the excuse for the reason you’re wearing jorts at the beach?”

Not that any man should be able to pull them off, but he wore them well. You were pretty sure he could pull off most anything with the body he’d worked for over the years, but the fact of the matter was that denim had no place mixing with sand.

“These are my beach jeans,” he says like it’s the most logical thing in the world, as he strikes a pose with his hip cocked out.

“I can see that, Rooster. But why?”

“It’s because they get him laid,” Javy cuts in with a booming laugh, slapping Bradley on the back as he passes by on his way towards the coolers, “Isn’t that right, Bradshaw? How many numbers did you score the last time we all did this? Like five?”

He runs his against the back of his neck, looking more sheepish than you’ve ever known him to be, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. She doesn’t need to hear about all that.”

“Oh.” It sounds just as stupid coming out of your mouth as you feel, not entirely sure how to respond or what to do with yourself.

Objectively speaking, you know your best friend is attractive. Tall, broad, and tan. You’d seen him get hit on more than a few times at the Hard Deck in the short time you’ve been here. But Rooster’s sex life wasn’t something you really wanted to hear about- or think about- especially when yours is nonexistent at the moment. 

However, it was one thing to generally know Bradley had no problem finding someone to take home and a different thing to hear just how easy it was for him. 

But you couldn’t say it surprised you though. During your first night out with everyone, you’d overheard a girl in the bathroom talking to her friend about him in more detail than you ever wanted to know, right down to confirming there had been more to the story he’d told you about how he’d earned his callsign.

You pointedly ignore the turn in conversation in favor of digging through your woven beach bag. You hadn’t had the time to apply sunscreen with all your rushing around to get here, and knowing Rooster he most likely hadn’t put any on either. His shoulders aren’t pink yet, but they undoubtedly will be by the end of the day. Even with the SPF 65 you’d purchased with him in mind.

Grabbing the bottle, you smoothly lob it to him, “Here, put that on. ‘Lobster’ isn’t nearly as cool of a callsign, Rooster.” You have to turn away from the chaotically haphazard way he rubs it all over his face. 

Leaving him to his own devices, you pull out a battered paperback book and toss it into your chair, only slightly mortified to see that tipsy you had been in a grocery store bodice ripper mood. If only you had noticed it earlier, you would have swapped it out for something less incriminating.

How you’d taken the time to unpack your books, and not all your clothes was beyond you.

You’re about to step around to the front of your pink and white striped chair when you feel a firm tug on the belt loop of your shorts, making you stop to turn back towards your best friend.

“Woah, get back here. We can’t have you frying, kid.” He squeezes some sunscreen into his hand, “Turn around and I’ll get your back for you.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you say, adamantly shaking your head, “I trust you with a lot of things, but I am not trusting you to put the SPF on me. You haven’t even rubbed it all the way in on your face yet.” You thumb at the smear of white on his cheek to further emphasize the point.

“Hey, these hands handle a multimillion-dollar fighter jet, I’m more than capable of covering your back with sunscreen,” Rooster huffs, “Now, c’mere.”

Natasha laughs beside you as you dart out of his reach and around your chair to stand by her instead. She must have just walked up, because the last time you’d seen her she had been over on the other side of the group talking to Callie. But you had every confidence she would back you up with this since her friendship with Bradley was one that spanned years, and she’s undoubtedly seen him fried to a crisp before too.

“She makes a good point,” she says with a smirk, pinning him with a sharp raise of her eyebrow, “The last time I asked one of you guys, I ended up with the worst tan lines.”

The look of betrayal on his face is comical, “And here I thought we were friends.”

“I’ve decided to upgrade,” she says pointing to you. You beam in victory towards him and he just shakes his head at you before looking down at the large blob so sunscreen in the center of his large palm like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You take Natasha up on her offer to help you cover the spots you can’t reach. All the while, you can hear him grumbling to himself as he works on rubbing in the dollop that had been meant for you over his shoulders and chest. After she’s done with your back, you shimmy out of your shorts and work on getting your arms and legs covered.

As Nat pulls up her thick, shiny hair onto the top of her head- the reason she must have come over here in the first place- and reminds Rooster about the plan to play ‘Dogfight’ football a little later before setting off again. You’d heard of flag football, but that name was new for you. You’d seen enough football with your ex and you were suddenly very grateful you’d brought a book to keep yourself occupied, even if it was a bodice ripper. 

You double check your set up, ready to hunker down, when you feel Rooster’s eyes trained on you, “What?”

“Just looking for evidence of this tattoo you allegedly have,” he says, doubtfully, “Considering that I only found out about last night. Since when do we keep secrets?”

“I told you it’s not for the viewing public, so it’s none of your business. Now, stop hovering and go play with your friends. You’re annoying me,” you say without heat, shooing him away.

“Are you bossing me around, kid?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yep,” you say breezily, getting comfortable in your chair and opening your book, “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

“You’d think,” Rooster agrees with a laugh. He squeezes your shoulder before strutting off to go join where Coyote, Harvard, and Fanboy are already tossing a football back and forth not too far away.

Now that you’re on your own, you lose yourself in the words printed on the cheap paper of your smutty bargain book. You’re too engrossed in the tension and build-up of the story you’re reading to pay attention to anything else. And you’re reminded why this particular book has never made it into a donation box when you do your spring cleaning, it’s got the best combination of all your favorite tropes. By the fourth chapter you’re completely immersed in the story, and all the chatter happening around you becomes white noise.

The only signal of time passing is marked by the melted ice in your empty coffee cup, by the crinkle of swiftly turning of pages, and by the sun as it rises higher and higher in the sky.

What minimal marine layer there had been when you’d first arrived is long gone. You’re probably due for another layer of sunscreen by now, but you can’t be bothered when you’re in the middle of possibly one of the hottest sex scenes you’ve ever read.

It’s so well written, so incredibly vivid that you can almost feel greedy hands and wandering mouths along every inch of you. The blood thrumming in your ears has drowned out the sound of crashing waves. You’re so hyperaware of your body. It’s as if you can feel every individual grain of sand on your skin. Tucked between your fingers, on your shin, in the nook of your ankle bone. The high heat of the day has your hair sticking to the back of your neck and sweat collecting in the hollow of your collarbone. You’re too keenly aware of the prickling sensation on your shoulders and the tops of your thighs.

You thought living vicariously through the main character might help take the edge off. Instead, all it’s done is given fresh life to the ruined orgasm from the night before, like an echo of need reverberating throughout your whole body. A reminder of how untouched you’ve been over the last few months. You can’t help the way you’re shifting in your chair, trying to relieve the way your clit is throbbing in time with your heartbeat. The moment your cunt clenches around nothing, you close your book with a sharp snap. Not even bothering to mark the page you left off at.

You feel fidgety and keyed up. 

Needing something to do, you grab your tote looking for the lightweight linen coverup you assumed was packed. But digging around all you can find is Rooster’s Hooters shirt from earlier.

You’re more than a little irritated at yourself for not double-checking you had everything before you left for the day, and because your tipsy self had clearly fucked you over. You don’t know anyone else as well as you know Bradley to rummage through their things to look for some other form of sun protection, so with a huff you pull it on over your head. The cotton is soft and warm to the touch. You’re grateful for the way it covers your shoulders, but you’re already mentally preparing yourself for how smug he’ll be when he sees you in it, especially after all the shit you gave him earlier.

Still needing to keep yourself occupied from wanting to crawl out of your skin, you crack open the water bottle you’d grabbed earlier and swallow down a few large gulps. You’d heard when Natasha had rallied the group for their game, but you hadn’t taken a moment to find out what ‘Dogfight’ Football actually was.

You’re not even the slightest bit prepared for what you see playing out in front of you down by the water. You’d figured watching some of their football game would help your act together, but now you feel even more spun out of control than before at the sight of so much skin.

Fuck.

The sun is bouncing off of their hard, athletic bodies. Under the shiny sheen of sunscreen and sweat, their muscles look bigger and the divots and ridges more pronounced. You knew these were some of the best and brightest the Navy had to offer, but seeing them in action was something else entirely. The power of their legs was impressive as they ran and spun around their opponents. The precision of their aim as they threw the football to a teammate. Every single one of them was in peak shape. Those weren’t vanity muscles, those were earned and honed by hard work.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from any of it.

The lithe line of Natasha’s toned thighs. The full, defined pecs on Jake’s massive chest. The way Bob’s large hands easily wrapped around most of the curved football he’d just caught. The skin over the wide expanse of Javy’s back was pulled taut, his muscles flexing as he twists and bends. The way Mickey was breathing hard made his chiseled abs stand out even more than they already did.

It was a lot. Especially for someone who couldn’t remember the last time they’d been good and truly fucked.

And then there was Rooster.

There had been a few moments since moving here where you’d been struck by this version of him. It was almost like your brain couldn’t connect the tall, broad man in front of you racing across the beach with the long-limbed, gangly boy you’d known with the red and black braces. Or the one in the teal shirt who’d scooped ice cream for his first job. Or the one who’d helped you pass Algebra 2 when the math teacher cared more about coaching the basketball team than he did trying to make sure his students understood the material.

Seeing him now, like this? This version of him was new to you.

Rooster’s chest and face were flushed pink, those curls of his are an absolute riot. The sweat he’d worked up made it look like his golden skin was gleaming in the bright afternoon sun, even with the patches of gritty sand that were sticking to him. Power and control radiated off every inch of him, the embodiment of physical strength and agility. Every movement he made was purposeful and precise, like he knew exactly what he was capable of.

You knew he was built, but the casual perfection of his body still takes you by surprise.

The broadness of his shoulders, the definition of his biceps and arms, the jutting v-shaped muscle that ran diagonally from his hipbones towards the trail of fine hair below his belly button. The long tendon that ran along the side of his neck was on full display as he throws his head back to laugh at something one of his teammates says. It was impossible to miss the unapologetic confidence in his swagger or the way those ridiculous jorts were clinging to his thick thighs. They were absolutely soaked through, the light wash darkened by the Pacific, and the denim was molded to him in a way that left nothing to the imagination. 

When did Bradley get an ass like that?

The startling intrusive thought about your best friend has you shooting up from your chair in a flash, your book tumbling off your lap and into the warm sand.

Jesus Christ, you needed to get a grip.

Shade. You needed shade and to get out of the heat. And you definitely needed to get away from the overwhelming display of sunkissed sweaty skin and peak physical prowess playing out before you.

And then you’re off like a shot towards the Hard Deck.

The burst of cool air you’re hit with as soon as you’re pushing through the patio door that Penny left unlocked for the group is more than welcomed against your overheated skin, even as it makes goosebumps erupt along your body.

You sigh in relief once you flip the lock to the worn wooden door of the bathroom closed. Leaning against the cool surface that’s littered with faded stickers from all around the world, you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your racing heartbeat to slow down. You’re breathing hard like you’ve run a marathon, your lungs uncooperative to the point where you don’t feel like you can take a full breath. You’ve never felt this antsy before, it’s like there’s a live wire under your skin.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re more than a little windblown, but it’s the wild gleam in your eyes that surprises you the most, it’s a look on yourself that you’ve never seen before. Your thighs rub together as you shift your weight on your feet and it makes the pulsing of your clit impossible to ignore.

You weren’t. You shouldn’t.

But you have no idea how you’re going to make it through the rest of the afternoon and evening if you didn’t with how on edge you are.

Bringing your hand up to your chest, you press it there and let your thumb soothingly skim the side of your neck, trying to use whatever techniques you’d learned in those overpriced yoga classes you’d started taking before you’d left Boston to calm yourself down. But your fluttery pulse won’t be pacified.

Every part of you feels hypersensitive, you can feel every thread of Rooster’s shirt against your too tight skin. The desire to be touched is overwhelming. Your breasts feel heavy and you’re all too aware of your peaked nipples against the cups of your swimsuit. You’re craving hands other than your own.

It’s been so long since someone else has made you come. Even longer since you’ve had a back-arching, toe-curling, steal-your-breath kind of orgasm. You want to be pressed into the door, you want a firm, solid body fitted against yours. You want to be kissed and touched and fucked.

You keep telling yourself that you aren’t going to, even as your hand trails down the soft cotton between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach down even further. Your fingers sneak easily beneath the top of your bikini bottoms since you’d left without pulling your denim shorts back on. There are no thoughts left in your head, only the ringing in your ears. You need, you need.

There’s a small whimper that escapes you at the first touch of your fingertips against your slippery clit. The sensation has your hips jerking forward on their own, seeing out more. You’re so wet already.

There’s no finesse or slow build up. No gentle teasing or trying to draw this out. Your fingers are making quick, tight circles on that pulsing part of you. In the quiet of the bathroom, the rhythmic slick sounds you’re creating feel almost too loud.

You already know it’s not going to take you long to get there, but you still can’t help but let your mind wander. You think of big hands with thick fingers, ones that are calloused and rougher than your own touching you in just the way you like. The thought of a thick thigh pressed in between your own, on you could rock and grind against, has you rolling your hips harder against your fingertips. You can almost feel the ghosting of hot lips, a wet mouth, and a teasing tongue along your neck. All you want is a raspy voice in your ear whispering filthy words and murmuring pretty praise.

Couldn’t even wait until you got home. C’mon then, dirty girl, show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and no one’s watching.

Go on, give that needy clit the attention it deserves. Spread your thighs open further- yes, just like that- I want to see how wet you are for me.

Jesus, look how hard you’re working for it. You’re going to make yourself come, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard that everyone will know what we did in here. They’ll all know how desperate you were for this cock.

A soft whine makes its way out of you, and with your free hand you pull up the collar of the shirt you’re wearing over your mouth to try and muffle your sounds as you tremble all over.

You’re hit with the scent of clean laundry and the warm, woodsy scent of expensive cologne. It’s rich and cozy, it reminds you of the trees that grow everywhere in your hometown. And underneath that, there’s a smell that you’d know anywhere, one you’ve always been familiar with. It smells like Br--

You come open-mouthed with stars blooming behind your eyelids, the force of it hitting you so hard that your knees nearly give out beneath you. The hand that had been covering your mouth slaps against the door for support. Your hips writhe against your fingertips as you chase those last shimmery moments of your release.

In your post-orgasm satisfaction, you feel like you can finally breathe again, now that all your antsy, unsettled energy has been freed from your body.

When you can feel your legs again, you go wash your hands once and then again for good measure. Like somehow it’ll erase the last few minutes from the Hard Deck’s history books, even though you’re sure it’s seen much worse. You chance a peek at yourself in the mirror, you look more relaxed than you did when you’d arrived.

Unlocking the door, you leave the sanctuary of the quiet bathroom. The only thing on your mind is the glass of ice water that’s calling your name. You’re about to round the corner out of the hallway when you collide into someone’s chest. A firm, sweaty, shirtless chest.

“Oh hey, there you are,” Rooster says, his big hand steadying you at the waist. “You ok? You look overheated, kid.”

Your face heats up immediately. You’re too flustered by what just occurred barely five minutes ago to look him in the eye. You feel embarrassment trying to bubble its way to the surface, but you push it back down in the name of self-care. Plus, you could always blame it on sunstroke if you had to, not that you were ever planning on telling anyone about it.

“Probably just dehydrated,” you ramble, trying to sound unaffected. Your eyes are trained on a spot just under his ear. “But you’re one to talk. You’re fried, Rooster.” With a finger you press lightly on his bright pink shoulder. His hisses and knocks your hand away.

“Nah, I’m just working on my base tan.” You don’t see as much as you feel the moment he notices what you’re wearing. Smugness rolling off of him in waves, “Not too good for Hooters now, are you?”

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“C’mon, let’s get you some water.” Tucking you under his arm as he steers you back towards the bar. “So what did you think of Dogfight football? Did you catch any of it or did your highbrow literary choice have your full, undivided attention?”

Your mind starts to whirl, unable to think of a reply. Thankfully you’re spared giving him an answer as the rest of the clamorous team spills in through the open patio door. The commotion is a godsend, because it’s almost like he forgot he even asked the question in the first place in the all the activity. The real answer will forever be a secret between you and the Hard Deck.

The late afternoon melts into evening like hand-churned ice cream, smooth and silky.

Eventually, the beach set up is packed away into trunks of cars as the party moves inside the bar. You end up back in your denim shorts, the Hooters shirt is the crowning glory to your ensemble for the rest of the night. You don’t even feel guilty getting people to call Rooster ‘Flamingo’ after the third time someone asks you about being out of uniform regulation. But he isn’t faring much better in the too-tight shirt he was borrowing, since it turns out that out of everyone in the group only Bob had been the one with enough common sense to pack a spare one.

As predicted, the pink hue of Rooster’s skin deepens with every passing hour until he’s bribing you into leaving early with the promise of burgers and milkshakes in exchange for putting on aloe for him back at his place.

He’s sprawled face down on his couch in a pair of loose sweatpants with his eyes closed, contentedly humming as you work on applying a second coat of the cool, soothing gel to his hot-to-the-touch skin. One of the movies the two of you use to watch all the time plays on in the background, the crumpled wrappers and empty cups of your dinner sitting out still on his coffee table. Every time you come here you can’t help but seek out any little touches that look like him, but much like yours, his condo seems to be a work in progress.

“It’s nice having you around, kid,” Rooster says with a sigh. “I’ve missed you.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, Bradshaw, I’ll put one more layer on for you before I leave,” you tease, as your hand follows the freckles along his back.

He squeezes your knee, “No, seriously. I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but I’m really happy you’re here.” And you know that if you were to look in his brown eyes, you’d see nothing but fondness reflected in them.

You give him a soft smile, “I’m happy I’m here too.”

It’s late by the time you get back to your place.

It seems pointless with the cardboard boxes still scattered around your apartment, but you still go through the motion of putting all your things away. Like wiping out your cooler bag and throwing your clothes in the washing machine, including the well-worn Hooters shirt. You’ve already decided to spend the rest of your weekend trying to unpack your things, you’re ready to make your space feel more like your home.

It’s a slow sinking feeling that settles over you as you wash the sand and sea salt from your skin in the shower. Your day has been so filled with chatter and laughter, that it feels uncomfortably quiet. It was different from the peaceful quiet you’d had at Rooster’s place, this was the empty kind of quiet. 

You turn the tv on in your room and crawl into bed, savoring the way the cool cotton of your sheets feels against your legs. Checking your phone, you see that Nat has sent you some pictures that she must have taken during the day. Scrolling through them you like the windblown, carefree girl you see in them.

For as good as the day you’ve had, you can’t quite shake off how lonely you’re feeling now. You can’t help but think about how nice it would be to come home and have someone here to laugh and relax with. Someone just to be with.

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as you click into the app store feature on your phone. Taking a few moments to skim the options, you download the dating app with the highest rating and best reviews, deciding that it can’t hurt to try.

Not everyone got to have a fresh start in a new city, and you wanted to make the most of it. A new city with new places to go and new people to meet.

And you are ready to embrace every bit of it with open arms and a hopeful heart.

California was going to look good on you.

Bradley Bradshaw, you liked that lavender latte and you're not fooling any of us!

Many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse and @callsignspark for being the best babes to swoon over pretty pilots with!

If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!

You can read more of my stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[wheneclipsefalls]

Grovel: Part 1

Pairing: Aged Up Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Summary: Lo'ak broke your heart all those years ago. If he plans to woo you once more it is going to take a lot more than a debonair grin.

Warnings: angst, aged up Lo'ak, future NSFW, broken hearts, cheating, swearing, etc.

A/N: I wrote the majority of this in a couple hours so.....it's rough.

You prayed to Eywa it would fit. Getting Lo’ak’s measurements without him becoming suspicious had been a job in and of itself, but now it was sure to pay off. With your relationship being kept on the down low there were truly only a few ways you could publicly show your affection for the youngest Sully brother. Creating this arm band for him had been a delight and had set butterflies off in your stomach. 

There was something about the notion of forbidden love that had your heart racing at every moment the two of you stole together. It was new and exciting but even more than that it was a risk that made you feel alive. 

It was hard to believe that the two of you had gone from lifelong frenemies to lovers in only a few months. Of course the greatest level of intimacy you had shared were a few tender kisses and snuggling embraces. Lo’ak had  been your first kiss, sweeping you off your feet until every other ignorant young male had paled in comparison. 

Since then there had been no hope for your young heart to resist. It was everything and more that you had dreamed of since you were a child hearing of your parent’s own love story. Love had been found in the most unexpected of people but it was true. You could no longer deny how hard and fast you had fallen for the male. And tonight you were finally going to tell him. 

With a courting gift worthy for the mightiest of warriors your love would be proclaimed and hopefully his own would be there to reciprocate. 

A jittering tingle raced down your arms and legs, pushing you to run faster through the forest. It was a miracle you didn’t throw up from the motion after the way your own nerves had tied your stomach into knots. However, running gave your pent up energy somewhere to go and now more than ever you needed a release. Lo’ak didn’t know the two of you were meeting today.

That’s what made it all the better.

A perfect surprise the trickster himself would never see coming. 

He would be under the Tree of Souls as he always was in the afternoons, the place where he claimed to have his best thoughts. Someday he would surely tell you what those thoughts were but today you prayed his mind would be full of you. Just the way the bastard always managed to cram himself into every nook and cranny of your mind. It seemed only fair that he suffered the same. 

Light still prevailed but new colors painted the sky as Eclipse came inched closer.The tendrils of Vitraya Ramunong were already beginning to shimmer from where they hung. 

Your cheeks hurt from smiling when you spotted his slim form, even as your own knees trembled with anticipation. 

Just play it cool, you reminded yourself. There was no reason to worry so long as you managed to get out three little words. The intricate beads of the arm band started to create imprints in your palm from how tight you held it. 

One last steadying breath before you scaled down the tree trunk. A giggle almost escaped your throat when you had the brilliant idea to sneak up on him. Last week he had given you quite the scare while you were weaving a basket. Now would be the perfect time for payback.

“It’s so beautiful!”

Your feet scraped against the bark into a halt. 

“I told you this is the best time to come here.” Lo’ak responded and he wasn’t alone. From this new vantage point you could now see a smaller female figure behind him, her eyes casted upwards at the enchanting view of the Tree of Soul’s increasing glow. 

“Yes but I thought that was only your way of getting me alone.” Those long lashes fluttered back at him, a playful smile sweeping over her lips. Lo’ak shrugged, an ever familiar smirk lacing his own. 

“So what if it was? I didn’t see you putting up much of a fight.” 

“The best predators know the importance of giving their prey a false sense of security.” Her eyes danced with a maturity so beyond her years it was almost vulgar. Lo’ak’s tail whipped back and forth, eating up every taunting seduction from the palm of her hand. 

“Well I only let the prettiest girls catch me in their webs.” 

The distance was closed between them with only a few steps before she was reaching up on her toes and dragging him into a sinful kiss. One oh so different from the type you two had shared. A sensual kiss that you had only heard of but never experienced. And that was one thing you could tell from this other female, she wielded so much more power and experience than you ever could. 

Still that wasn’t what mattered because when they finally pulled apart for gasps of air it was sweet promises of affection and future mating that poured from Lo’ak’s lips. 

The same vows that had been clutching your heart over the past few months.

The same lullabies that filled your dreams with fantasies of your lives together. 

Today, they sang for her instead. 

You were foolish to think they ever belonged to you, nothing more than a beautiful mirage your first love had woven to snatch you up. 

A small sob alerted them to your presence. Eyes wide you only stared back at him for a moment before bolting to the trees.

The crafted armband abandoned on the ground. 

Lo’ak had always been a pain in the ass. There was no better way to describe him. Not when he was your childhood nuisance turned to first love to then first heartbreak. The day his family left for Awa'atlu you tried to stay strong. At that point things had already been ruined between you. His player nature had been exposed and the male had only a week of trying to explain himself before the incident happened and the Sully family left the Omatikaya for good. 

Or at least, what you thought was for good. 

Their return had been something that many had hoped for but one that you had never allowed yourself to believe. Even when you were still in the mourning stages of your relationship and their disappearance you had fortified one single idea in your mind. Lo’ak leaving was for the best. It would allow you to move on.

And so you had. Taking much longer than you would have liked but slowly your hammock dried of tears and you began to focus on other things outside of the youngest Sully boy. Your foolish young heart had grown strong in wisdom and might. Your skills as a healer had become more polished with every day you spent under Mo’at’s instruction. Adulthood came and fell upon you in a way that suited your new talents and attitude. Not a day passed where you weren’t seeking to support the clan and People in one way or another. 

Tarsem was a wonderful Olo’eyktan. He led the People with the necessary vision and courage it took to keep the Sky People out of your lands. Some days came with great losses, exposing you to more curious injuries by their machines than you could have imagined in the healer’s tent. However, those days you took with pride too. The Omatikaya never lost heart. They never gave up on protecting their home. 

You weren’t the only ones either. Stories of battling demon ships traveled overseas, ingraining the memory of mighty Metkayina defending their lands and conquering against all odds. Each time those stories found their way to the fire’s circle you had tried not to envision Lo’ak’s part in all of it. Some days were easier than others. And yet some you couldn’t shake the visual of the warrior that you patched up in front of you being a certain Sully boy and not another Omatikaya warrior. It frustrated you to no end the lengths of your care for him but over time you made peace with the fact that his death was never announced.

And that was good enough.

Because that fact was the only one he had deserved for you to care about and nothing more.  

It had taken years, the battle shaping so much of your shift from adolescence into adulthood. When all was said and done, however, the Sky People burned the forest with their demon ships one last time and then they too became nothing more than a star in the night sky. A celebration unlike any other had immediately gone underway. Your older sister, Talu, could hardly breathe with how many beaded and feathered tops she had been commissioned to construct for various men and women in the clan. 

Your own work had graciously slowed down and for the first time since perhaps the day those demons invaded Pandora, you relaxed. 

Peace was not yours to be had, however. 

You had been halfway through washing in the hot springs when the news had come. The Sully family was set to return by the night of the celebration. And not to visit but to reclaim the throne and be herded back as one of the Omatikaya once more and forever. The shrieking females that had run to tell their other friends didn’t seem to notice when you accidentally swallowed and choked on a mouthful of spring water. 

They were too busy hypothesizing what the Sully brothers would look like now. Some even made bets on whether or not they would be returning home unmated. The conversation had been the opposite of peace, prompting you to sneak away and have your panic attack in the privacy of your own home. 

“Will you stop squirming for one minute?” Talu reprimanded but an amused giggle laced her voice. 

“Ma Talu, please tell me you are almost done.” Another pearl was carefully strung through your long wavy hair. 

“Art takes time.” She smiled softly. “And that’s what you are. A magnificent piece of art.” 

Talu had not necessarily been wrong in her statement. After the countless hours she had put into constructing your curved top out of rare gems and strung your hair with bioluminescent pearls, you had transformed into something of ethereal beauty. And yet, the last thing you wanted was to stand out. What had started as a celebration to be anticipated had for you turned into a nightmare just waiting to happen. 

Eywa had given you three days to prepare for tonight. Three whole days where you had solidified your resolve and reminded yourself that Lo’ak Sully was no longer anyone but another clan member to you. You were going to be cordial and respectful like you would another clan brother but no flicker of even remembering your past with him. Not a single mention of how he had shattered your young heart into a million pieces and left you there to weave it back together for years. 

The old you was dead and with that so was your relation to him. 

It still didn’t ease your dread however. As Na’vi of all ages gathered around hometree and looked to the skies, you had scrambled to look for an excuse to be elsewhere. The air buzzed with excitement and every yip and call in anticipation felt like the chiming of a clock to you. One second closer to facing a part of your past you had buried too deep. 

Talu had been immersed in the excitement with everyone else. You had never told her of Lo’ak’s betrayal. Even on the night you found him kissing another girl under Vitraya Ramunong you had fled to cry alone in the woods. Truth be told you had never even told her of the relationship in the first place. It had been something of a secret between the two of you and one that Lo’ak had insisted upon. Of course the truth of why that was important to him had eventually come to light. 

Talu yelled and jumped with the others as the far ikrans dotted the horizon. Perhaps she would ask where you had wandered off to later but you had time to think of an excuse. No one had even noticed your absence as you seeked refuge in the depths of Eywa’s forest. The clan had burst into such a ruckus that it took a good distance to turn that shrieking into a distant rumble. 

You had escaped in just the knick of time. 

The small glowing river fish had swirled around the branch you glided through the water for what felt like hours. It was calming, spending time with creatures that knew nothing of your demise. Still, you couldn’t hide forever. Talu was sure to be looking for you and it was customary to take part in clan events, especially ones as momentous as this. 

So many years had already passed and your growth had been profound. Lo’ak had no right to make you scatter and hide like a timid prey. Besides, he most likely would not remember you in the first place. So with that perspective he did not deserve to be remembered either. 

Na’vi of all ages bounded and danced with such fervent zeal it could only be described as instinctual. Joy radiated from every pore and each movement was honored as another prayer of gratitude to the Great Mother. Naer [Alcohol] of the finest quality was freely passed and taken until laughter bounced from the trees. Of course the most elaborate and breathtaking attire was worn by clan members, especially those who remained unmated. 

Surely post war would be a time for many such pairings to come about and furthermore the ideal moment to start a family. 

You shook your head at the thought. It was a charming idea and you had been with more than your fair share of men intimately since reaching maturity but now was not the right time for you. Even then, the right male had not deigned to present himself yet. 

Color drained from your cheeks when you finally spotted Talu. Her eyes sparkled with happiness in the moonlight and cheeks ached from smiling so much but she was not alone. A tall figure faced her, leaned against a tree trunk with crossed ankles. Immediately you recognized the specific pattern of jagged stripes that covered his skin. 

However, that was perhaps the only thing you recognized from Lo’ak. He had grown. Grown oh so much and you knew he would have, but not like this. Somehow a part of you had still expected the same beanpole of a fourteen year old to show up. Now…Lo’ak had grown in stature in a way that only a Metkayina could. His build was accentuated with thick biceps and broad shoulders that only further brought out the contrast of his tapered waist. 

It was as if your eyes were playing tricks on you, searching to find where that lanky boy had gone to leave behind this sculpted male. 

His skin was different too. Those stripes you had come to adore during adolescence had now been joined by dark ink. Curious designs lined his side before traveling into swirling patterns that danced over his hips and even outer thighs. Squinting in the fire’s light you could just make out how that ink traveled straight to the band of his loincloth before slipping under. 

No.

Nope. 

That was dangerous territory and simply none of your business. 

Trying to distract your over curious brain you find yourself observing his hair instead. Those two signature braids still hung over his forehead but they were adorned with various objects and shells that you did not recognize. Even more surprising, his decorated braids were tied together as a top knot. It brought out the shape of his jawline and cheekbones, chiseled until they could cut like a knife. 

Life was unfair. If you didn’t know it before you surely knew it now because how else could this traitor grow to be so impeccably handsome? Such an enchanting mix of two cultures swirled into one male at his prime. 

Your teeth grinding was cut short by a firm hand around your bicep.

“Come, child.” Mo’at sternly directed. She didn’t offer an explanation as you were led to the front of the celebration but you knew better than to ask for one. 

Mo’at lined up every healer in front of the ravenous crowd. All it took was one hand in the air to silence the commotion. All eyes turned to their Tsahik. 

“My People,” She called in a boisterous voice. “We gather together tonight in thanks of our Great Mother. By her will, we have prevailed as a People with strong hearts. By her mercy, the balance of life has been restored.” The crowd broke out into a chorus of calls and yips that rumbled the forest. 

“In gratitude we must not grow weary. Our hearts forever imprinted with the memory of what has been sacrificed. To this I call upon you to look at your brothers and sisters and rejoice! See all that they have given.” The yelling increased tenfold and you swallowed that lump in your throat. You are not about to cry in front of the entire clan. 

“I thank those especially who stand before us.” The focus shifted to fall upon you and the other handful of healers to your left and right. Even with the attention born between the group of you, it still weighed heavy. “Those who have stitched our wounds and lightened our sorrows. As Eywa herself has taught us, there is nothing that can not be mended by gentle hands.” 

Mo’at stood now between you and another healer, one hand placed on her shoulder and the other on yours. As the cheers bellowed into the sky, you caught a glimpse of Talu pointing you out as Lo’ak leaned forward. She said something you could neither understand nor wanted to know. Gaze forced away by pure will, you barely escaped seeing when Lo’ak’s gaze finally pinned you down. 

It didn’t matter, though.

Not when those golden orbs burned like liquid fire through your veins.

There were so many people you could occupy your time with. At this point you were willing to talk to Neteyam if it meant avoiding his younger brother. Pushing through the crowd was more difficult than you anticipated but you prayed that it would be enough to keep Talu and her new friend at bay too. 

“Ma Neteyam,” You hastily greeted, signing ‘I see you’ as he turned to face you. It was a miracle you had even been able to recognize the eldest Sully in the first place with his new tattoos and metkayina clothing. 

“Ma Y/N.” Although surprised, he returned the gesture with a polite smile. “You look well, sister.” 

His voice was so much lower than you remembered. 

“As do you.” An awkward silence threatened to settle between you and if you wanted to ward off potential advances you needed this to appear as enthralling as possible. “That is a charming necklace. What is it made of?” Your dainty fingers shakily came to thumb over the obscure object. To Neteyam’s credit, he only barely flinched at your unexpected touch. 

“A special sea glass from Awa’atlu. Some beaches are littered with them.” 

“Wow, that is fascinating.” It wasn’t. Any other day it might have been but you couldn’t focus enough to appreciate it fully. 

“That little piece is truly nothing once you’ve seen the whole beach.” This voice rumbled at your back, just close enough to feel his body heat prickle your skin. Your composure was not easily won over but it was forced into place just as you were forced to finally face him.

“Sister, we have been looking all over for you. Such a busy body.” Talu nervously laughed but one look told you that she knew about your earlier ditching of festivities. 

“Y/N.” Lo’ak gave you the same gesture of respect, voice gravely and low in a way that had chills racing up your spine. His eyes made contact with your own  for only a second as you returned the polite formalities, eyes shifting to his right shoulder as to feign looking at him properly. 

“Lo’ak.” It came out snippier than you intended, evident in the way his eyebrows turned down at the edges. 

“I apologize for my absence. I was…caught up.” Lo’ak’s tail flickered at the last part but a charming grin still stretched across his lips. Stepping out of his line of fire you divulged a distraction by initiating Talu and Neteyam’s greetings. This way you were able to take some much needed steps away from Lo’ak and focus primarily on the other members present. 

Neteyam and Talu filled the conversation easily, only requiring a few additions from you upon occasion. Even when it waned into subjects you were far from interested in, your body remained braced and alert as if you were swallowing every word said. The perfect defense against meeting Lo’ak’s gaze again. Even a protection against drooling over his muscular physique that had surely been carved by Eywa. 

“Well I shouldn’t leave my sister.” That snapped you out of your daze immediately. 

“She can dance with Lo’ak.” Neteyam smiled, as if he hadn’t just granted your worst nightmare come true. And to him he hadn’t because when you stuttered to find a response that reaction was only seen as adorable nerves. One that Lo’ak quickly stepped in to charm away. 

“Do not worry, tanhi. I’ve learned to not trip over my feet now.” And he grinned. That bastard had the audacity to jest and tease like the two of you had been old friends. Talu sent you a pleading look, one that said you would never hear the end of this if you didn’t play a good wingwoman right now. There was little that could be done about it now as he led you into the crowd. 

Lo’ak was true to his word. He had become quite the dancer, enough so that your own actions could easily follow his lead. When your hands occasionally brushed you tried to sweep them away as soon as possible. 

“You’ve grown.” 

“What?” You shouted back over the banging drums and he laughed in response.

“I said you have grown up, tanhi. Can’t believe it.” His fangs peeked out as he grinned, so carefree and genuine it sent your mind racing. Who the hell did he think he was?

“Well that happens.” You answered shortly, strategically choosing now to swerve into a spin. Anything to avoid his gleeful expression. 

“I mean yes of course but I just didn’t think it was possible for you to become even more beautiful.” 

The spin grinded to a halt. Lo’ak stopped dancing too but where his expression flitted with flirtatious amusement your own was nothing but pure ice. It cut through him until that smirk was wavering. 

“Are you fucking serious?!” The heaving drumming was a welcomed source of privacy, distracting the others from your rage. Everyone besides Lo’ak, whose brows knitted before letting out a short laugh. 

“Um yes? I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t put it past you.” Bitter and harsh like the look in your eyes, Lo’ak was taken aback. 

You didn’t give him time to recover, however as you slipped past the other dancing Na’vi. Lo’ak caught up easily, long legs keeping him right on your heels. 

“Woah woah hey, y/n. Where are you going?” 

“Away from you. I don’t have time for this.” 

He caught your arm when the two of you had just reached the outskirts of the celebration. Hois hand was slapped away but that didn't stop him from blocking your escape. 

“Time for what? I’ve just missed you is all.” 

“Missed me?” His words were so infuriating that you found your own sputtering to form sentences. Was it possible he suffered a brain condition? Memory loss? How else could he stand before you now and pretend that the last note the two of you had left off on had not been him shattering your heart. “You….” Another steadying deep breath in. “You think that after what you put me through that you could come back in and sweep me up for a hook up?”

Lo’ak shuffled backwards slightly, away from your accusing finger. 

“Tha-”

“Or maybe you have already forgotten what happened. I’m sure it would be easier to ignore how you acted like the clan’s whore while spewing promises to me.” 

His jaw dropped, all evidence of that confidence swept away.

“Well in case you’ve forgotten, you’ve already screwed over this girl so cross me off your list.” 

It seemed that his brain was lagging because this time when you shuffled around him you weren’t immediately cut off. Still, it appeared he had maintained his forest legs because he didn’t struggle to make up for lost ground. 

“Y/n, I didn’t….” He sighed through his nose. “It’s just that….that was so long ago. I didn’t even know how much of that you remembered.” 

“Excuse me?” You wheeled back on him, taking secret pleasure in the way Lo’ak did in fact trip over his feet this time. He recovered quickly but there was a frazzled energy to his movements. 

“No, no! Shit I…. that came out wrong.”

You save him the trouble of trying to string together an explanation. It was worth neither of your times not to mention how silly you felt for bringing it up in the first place. What did it matter after all these years? Nothing. That is what you had always told yourself and his appearance was not going to change that. 

“Lo’ak, mawey. You’re right it was a long time ago so let’s just put it behind us and make one thing clear.” His ears perked, eyes rounded as it appeared the very breath in his lungs became stagnant. “We are not friends. I’m happy for you and your family but only in the way everyone else is happy for your return. You stay in your lane and I will stay in mine. That way, everyone is happy.” 

“Not everyone.” He murmured, ears pressed flat against his braids. 

There was a flicker of hope present in his eyes, as if waiting for you to spontaneously forget the past and welcome him with open arms. You hoped your speedy exit was enough to blow that flame out.

This is my random little story I've been working on to keep my mind off the break up. If you like it, please let me know and I will continue to work on and post the next parts:)

unofficial tag list: @pandoraslxna @pandoraslovesworld @faintfill @rivatar @neteyamssyulang

[blue-hail]

I finally realized what specific brand of resentment izzy has for Ed and Stede …

It’s watching your ex be a better person for someone else.

Izzy has given Ed his everything for decades. He stood by Ed’s side, he supported him, he killed for him, he undoubtedly went through so much pain and suffering for him. And all Ed ever gave him in return was roughness and cruelty, which Izzy didn’t have any problem with, he loved ed and he was willing to take what he can get.

but suddenly there’s Stede.

Stede does essentially nothing to win over Ed, no blood, sweat, or tears, actually Stede does things that could be considered disrespectful, so Izzy waits patiently for Ed’s wrath, the only thing he’s always been able to count on.

… but it doesn’t come. Instead Izzy watches Ed fall in love with Stede. All the soft touches and quick glances, the laughers and kindness that has never reached the light of Izzy and Ed’s relationship.

Izzy has to watch Ed become a better person for stede.

It reminds me a lot of the good place scene where Eleanor watched her mom being a good parent to another kid and she refuses to believe it.

“Izzy why can’t you believe that Edward is a good person. That he’s a kind and loving partner, who genuinely cares about Stede”

“Because I wanted that Ed. I wanted the captain who thanked me after I almost died on a mission for him, instead of being told ‘to stop whining cuz it’s your job’. I wanted the Edward that was willing to make room in his life to for someone to be his equal, to co-captain with someone who deserves it. why does bonnet deserve it??

If Edward has really changed for stede bonnet, that means he was always capable of change. I just wasn’t worth changing for.”

So anyways that’s why Izzy sets off Ed at the end of season 1, he wants to prove to himself that Ed didn’t actually change, because admitting that Ed changed was admitting that he wasn’t worthy of Ed changing after all that time.

Also here is that good place scene for anyone who wants to watch it

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Killing Wanda

Summary: You, Nat and Yelena are successful assassins, damn good at your jobs but there was one woman you couldn’t stay away from, and when you get a job that tells you to kill her, well you needed to be around Wanda all the time now, and she wasn’t getting away from you, no one would get on your way to have her

Words: a lot, like over 3,000 I think

Warnings: Minors DNI 18+ suggestive themes, swearing and adult themes

A/n: God I’m on fire with releasing fics, hopefully my writing drought is over now and I’ll be writing more now

Also this is long so I’m hoping there’s no mistakes but if there is I’m sorry

The door was open when Wanda came downstairs and she started to panic, she closed the door she was sure of it, what could have happened?

A noise from the kitchen broke Wanda out of her thoughts and she stepped quietly towards the kitchen where the noise was, finally seeing someone digging through the kitchen drawers “you really should learn to organise your utensils you know, it’s a mess in here, if you brought a woman home and she looked in here I don’t think she’d want to do the tongue tango with you would she? A disordered drawer isn’t impressive to people Wanda”

You had yet to turn around and face Wanda, content to keep sorting out the scrambled mess “Y/n why are you in my house?” Wanda whispered and you finally turned around smiling at the scared woman “oh my darling you look tired, have you been sleeping well?”

Wanda didn’t answer instead just moving around the table to sit down still holding your gaze “I’ll ask again, why are you in my house?”

You bit your lip holding in a laugh “oooooh we’re feeling grumpy tonight aren’t we? Maybe you need to relax, I can call Yelena to make us Mac n cheese and I’ll send Natasha to get some wine-

Wanda slammed her fist down on the table cutting you off “don’t fucking play with me Y/n, tell me why you’re here!”

While you were slightly caught off guard you pulled yourself together and reached for a dagger on your person and pointed it at Wanda giving her a warning “I wasn’t finished talking, you’re a grown woman and therefore should know better, it is very rude to do that detka” Wanda’s bravado flew out the window when you rounded the table and held your hand around her throat

“I am here because I was asked to be here, someone paid me a lot of money to kill you slowly and painfully, whoever you pissed off really wants you to suffer and I mean really suffer, the list of things they want me to do is endless”

You eased off the tension on her neck and lent forward kissing her cheek “I like your face, such a shame I have to cut it up, they want picture proof of your death”

Wanda was wavering she was scared, she knew what you did and she knew you did it damn well and left no trace “okay Y/n let’s just calm down, please tell me who put the hit out on me”

Your lips stayed close to her and moved towards her neck kissing her there smiling at the shaky breath she released “I can’t disclose client information Wanda, but it’s someone you know, and from how they speak, someone who’s seen your body in a way that I can only dream of and trust me I do dream of it”

You pushed Wanda gently into the counter leaning into her “how do you dream of me?”

“Oh? I dream of you in the filthiest and most depraved ways, none that I’m willing to discuss here of course but just know that I everytime I kill someone and their blood spills onto me I imagine it’s yours”

“That…that doesn’t sound very sexy”

You smirked letting your hand rest on her hip and the other next to her head “it is when I’m imagining I’m buried deep inside of you cutting up your pretty body-

“Y/n! Have you done yet? We are needed back” Yelena casually walked into the house disturbing your clearly romantic moment with Wanda “I’m in the middle of something Yel”

The blonde scoffed looking at Wanda “yes I can see, she looks terrified, or aroused maybe both”

You glanced down at Wanda “aroused, I can feel how wet she is- Wanda quickly pushed you away at that and you laughed “aw princess are you embarrassed? Its okay I’m glad my intimidation tactics get you this aroused”

Just then Natasha entered angry as ever “Davayte zhe teper'!” She didn’t care what was happening just that you three needed to leave before people started to turn up for them

“Yeah yeah whatever Nat we’re coming” you kissed Wanda on the nose leaving her speechless and still “lovely time we’ve had here princess but I’m needed elsewhere, enjoy your dinner and I’ll see you soon”

The trio left without another word and Wanda sank to the floor controlling her breathing “why is she obsessed with me”

**************************************************

“Why are you obsessed with Wanda?” Yelena poked at you while in the car “she’s hot” you said but the blonde just laughed “I’ve seen you with women you find “hot” and it wasn’t that with Wanda, I think you really like her and want to make babies”

You scrunched up your nose and slapped Yel on the arm “we’re two women idiot, and no matter how hard I’d try I don’t think I could get Wanda pregnant, but god I’d give it a damn good go”

You looked out of the car window admiring the views that Nat drove past, actually you didn’t recognise where you were, weren’t you going back to the house?

“Natty I don’t know if you hit your head back there but I don’t recognise where we are”

The redhead shrugged in the front seat “you need to lie low for a while, you’ve been too careless”

You scoffed “don’t be so fucking ridiculous Natalia I’m good at my job and I’ve never let any personal feelings affect it” you defended

Nat slammed on the breaks sending you near enough through the seat and beyond “fucking hell Nat are you on your period or something?”

“You know we don’t get our periods der'mo” Yelena piped up but you both ignored her “last week you spent 4 hours watching Wanda, you watched her eat dinner, watched her drink wine and then even watched her sleep with a man”

You rolled your eyes at that “yeah all of 4 minutes of that man basically humping poor Wanda and her faking an orgasm”

Yelena was intrigued “wait, how do you know she faked an orgasm?”

You patted poor young innocent Yelena on the back “oh my sweet little Yelena, it was in the way she only shuddered slightly when the man whispered he’s close and then immediately said she came afterwords, he left soon after then she picked out her favourite red vibrator placed it against her sweet-

“Stop! I’ve had enough Y/n let’s just go home and sleep okay, I’m sorry I was so angry but it’s been a rough day”

You kissed Nat on the cheek “it’s okay detka you’re our favourite little black widow, very spicy and dangerous”

Nat sighed and gave a small smile “okay let’s not get all mushy, just stay away from Wanda okay?”

You shrugged “well someone still gave a hit out on her, so I’ll have to see her sooner or later again”

*************************************************

You said you’d stay away from Wanda for a little bit but you couldn’t help it, you found yourself back at Wanda’s house waiting for her in her bedroom, an open window offered you a perfect entry to the room

Wanda jumped back when she entered her bedroom obviously not expecting you “Y/n what the fuck?!”

You smiled wide “hi Wanda, I’m sorry I couldn’t stay away, I still technically need to kill you you know”

Her face fell and she started to step back but you stopped her holding her wrist and pulling her close “don’t worry Wanda I don’t want to kill you yet, I want to enjoy you”

Wanda let herself be pulled into a hug, you wrapped both arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder “you’re so tense my love, did that man not make you cum again?”

Wanda pulled her head back looking at you “what do you mean?”

“I had to make sure you were being safe and when I saw that man humping you like a dog in heat it was heartbreaking, you deserve so much better”

Wanda pushed you away sitting on her bed with her head in her hands “I cannot believe you’ve been watching me have sex, that’s so fucking weird”

You shook your head sitting next to the redhead “no honey it’s not, I needed to watch you to make sure you were okay and as I said that man didn’t look after you, he didn’t treat you well enough, didn’t do any foreplay, didn’t even kiss you, how ridiculous!”

Wanda stood up from the bed and started pacing around the room “what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you obsessed me why do you watch me? And don’t say it’s because someone wants me dead, if you actually did your job I’d be dead already!”

Your eyes darkened, no one’s ever questioned your job before “I am successful in my work Wanda, I have never ever messed up a job and don’t you ever assume otherwise, I will kill you one day Wanda and when I do it’ll be so quick you won’t even realise until you’re stood in front god himself”

Wanda had backed up against the wall with you following her every step, you ended up pressed chest to chest with Wanda and loved every minute of it “well this is a nice position isn’t it?” You smiled, your demeanour changed from angry to soft way too quick for Wanda’s liking, but she was still slightly nervous

“Okay Y/n I’m sorry just, I’m just stressed that’s all”

“Stressed? Why is my pretty girl stressed?” You ran your fingers across her face and on her stress lines “don’t give yourself winkles my love, why are you stressed?”

Wanda sighed heavily giving in and just decided to tell you “the man-the one you’ve watched in my house, like a weirdo, he keeps texting me and stalking me at work, I didn’t call him back after the last time he came over and I think he’s mad about it”

You nodded along listening loosely while studying her face, she was gorgeous

“I see, he’s a bitch then, doesn’t deserve you, don’t worry Wanda I’ll deal with him” you pushed yourself away from Wanda who instantly missed your comfort surprisingly

“Wait where are you going?” She tried following you across the room to the door but you stopped her “I’ll be back later I promise”

“Are you going to hurt him?” She asked and you just smiled “I’ll be back pretty girl”

You left without another word and Wanda was sure she wouldn’t be hearing from Vision again.

********************************************

You decided to bring Yelena on your little trip, she was like a puppy, she needed to be taken out to kill at least 3 times a day or she’d starting biting the furniture and peeing on the carpet

“Are you sure this is okay? We’re assassins for hire not free killers”

“Not free killers? Didn’t you attack a guy because he tried touching that Kate girl?”

Yelena stopped in her tracks and widened her eyes “how do you know about that?!”

“You got drunk and told Nat and I when we were playing uno”

She rolled her eyes “anyway that was because she didn’t deserve to be treated like that”

“And that’s why I’m doing this for Wanda, she deserves better and that’s me clearly so by killing this guy I’m one step closer to that”

“Aren’t you meant to kill her?” You finally found the house you were looking for and saw the man with yet another woman he was sure to disappoint “I am but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun, plus there’s no time limit on the request so I can take my time”

You and Yelena stood outside the front door deciding on how to approach the situation “so, sneak in or knock the door down and start shooting?”

You only responded with pulling your gun out and shooting the lock and kicking the door open

“Daddy’s home!” You stormed through the house and held the surprised man at gunpoint

Yelena walked through the door following you “just full on craziness then, okay”

“What the hell are you doing in my house?! Who are you??!” The moustached man was scared and you could tell, he was trying to act tough though in front of his lady friend, it’s okay though she isn’t the one you were here for

“White widow can you take this lovely lady out of here and make sure she gets home safely Spasibo”

Yelena nodded and offered the lady her hand which she took “we are quite sorry about the intrusion, I hope you forgive us”

The lady nodded taking Yelena’s hand “okay” you were glad she wasn’t in the mood for an argument, you didn’t want to kill two people “thank you Miss”

When the two women left you looked back at Vision “so why do you think I’m here?” You asked casually while still pointing the gun at him

“How the hell should I know?? Who are you?!” He was stressed and it nearly made you laugh “you’ve tried sleeping with Wanda maximoff twice, and both times you’ve never made her cum, you don’t deserve her”

The man was perplexed, how the hell did you know what he did with Wanda “how do you know I’ve slept with Wanda, did she tell you? And why do you care??”

You stepped close enough to him to press the gun against his chest “Wanda belongs to me, and watching you try and pathetically fail to fuck her was horrendous, and then for her to tell me you’ve been stalking her, what a pathetic excuse of a man you are”

He tried moving away but your gun pressed harder into his chest “you’re crazy, I’m pretty sure Wanda doesn’t belong to you”

You smiled “she does, she doesn’t know it yet but she definitely belongs to me, and you being a prick is slowing that process down so I do apologise but I have to kill you”

His face went white, all bravado flown out of the window and it made you giddy, you loved when they got like this, all scared, some wet themselves too but you hated that, totally killed the mood when that happened

“You can’t kill me! The police will find you” he was scrambling

“Well it’s been 10 years and I’ve yet to be caught yet so I don’t believe they’ll catch me for this”

“Okay but the gun will make a loud sound and the neighbours will get suspicious!”

“I’ve got a silencer dipshit, as I said I’ve done it for 10 years, I’m no amateur”

You pulled the trigger refusing to let him continue, the bullet went straight through his heart killing him instantly, you didn’t waste time standing around admiring your work instead calling a clean up crew

“Bucky, follow my location and clean up quickly and quietly” you hung up and left the house heading back to Wanda like you promised, she was going to be so happy you were sure of it.

[kinda-super-hot]

I Want More. (1)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Summary: This will be a series! Part 1: (Y/n) and Harvey were 'together' during their time at Harvard, but Harvey couldn't commit to an actual relationship. They 'break-up', or whatever you do to end a situationship, and split on bad terms. Years later, after they become successful lawyers, their paths collide once again when (Y/n) takes a job at Pearson Hardman.

Warnings: commitment issues, angst, arguing - I think that's it but if you noticed something I missed, please let me know.

Word Count: 1784

A/N: I haven't written in a WHILE. Please, please, please constructive criticism. Also, there's, like, no Harvey fanfics. I think I read literally all of them soooooo... that's why there's this thing. Anyways, lemme know if you're interested in part 2 (I already started writing lol).

Harvey and I didn’t used to be so distant. Once upon a time, while we were both attending Harvard, I was the person he went to practice flash cards to study for the bar. While I sat against my bed frame asking him questions off the cards, he’d lay on his stomach with his feet in the air. Seeing as we were both quick witted, we’d often get distracted and end with a battle of lighthearted jabs.

               And likewise, he was there for me when I had been stood up on a date with some frat boy. He ordered in some Chinese food and pulled a big tub of ice-cream out of my freezer. We sat on my goodwill couch picking apart the guy and making up some dumb unfathomable story as to why he hadn’t texted.

               “I can’t wait to hear the headline in the morning: Duke, whatever the hell his last name was, found having been thrown from his car in a head on collision right into a semi-truck loaded with rubber ducks.” He did a news reporter voice that didn’t sound far off from how he normally talked. “Luckily, the ducks cushioned his fall, so he only suffered having lost his phone and missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime with the (Y/N) (L/N).” I repress my giggle but can’t stop the goofy smile on my face. “What a loss.”

               “I mean,” I spoon more ice-cream into my mouth, “Who would name their son Duke? You can tell they wanted a dog.” He nodded along to that and all the other ridiculous things we talked about that night.

               But some friendships don’t last forever. Especially, when you want more.

               We grew closer and had fleeting kisses often. Some borderline dates, but never anything serious. Never anything real. Not to him.

               “Harv.” I called his name from the couch after I heard the door to his apartment open and close. He walked through the door with a smile on his face. “How was your day?” I asked, but I already knew the answer just by looking at his face. He had a mock trial set that day and absolutely crushed it. He was assigned the husband’s attorney and was in charge of making sure that the wife got the minimum of what she was entitled to without having signed a prenup.

               After he boasted about his triumph, I applauded him. But he wasn’t finished running his big mouth. And his next, one little comment, threw our relationship through a loop. “One of the stupidest things a person can do is get married.” He smirked as he took of his jacket and started on his tie.

               I froze in my place on the couch. He continued getting comfortable and taking off his restricting clothes with his back facing me. My throat was tight, but I persevered, I had to make sure that I had heard him right. “You think marriage is stupid?”

               I eyed his back feeling distraught. Every fiber in my being hoped and pleaded that he was joking, but my gut knew better. Moreso, it knew Harvey better.

               “Marriage, in my eyes, is an irrational vulnerability. There’s no point other than, I don’t know, taxes?” He rambles on with his back still facing me. My heart clenches. “And even then, it’s not worth it. Divorce can ruin everything. A man, his family, hell, it can run an entire business into the ground.”

               My head was throbbing, and I couldn’t help the hot tears that brim my eyes. “Huh.” I acknowledge. My voice feels raw already from holding back letting out any noises. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

               My voice must have given me away because Harvey flicks his head over his shoulder to spare me a glance before double taking. His eyes widen and his body tenses. He turned his body to me and takes a step in my direction before stopping in his tracks. A tear falls down my cheek and I feel burning hot embarrassment in my chest.

               “Honey…” He gently grabs me by my biceps and looks into my eyes. “What’s wrong.” His voice is smooth as he caresses my cheek and pulls my face into his chest. I let out a choked cry and he rocks me back and forth for a few moments.

               I feel ridiculous. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I can tell I’m not being convincing when Harvey pulls my face from his chest and gives that knowing look before putting it right back where it belongs.

               I had no idea what to say. How do you tell your kind-of-but-not-really-boyfriend that you had already planned what the centerpieces at your wedding would look like? That this was it. This was everything you wanted. He was everything you wanted.

               “Even if it was me?” I blurted it out before I could really think about what I was saying. He looked confused for a second but then his face went stern.

               “Y/N.” All of a sudden, his delicate touch is a little heavier. “We’re not even-…” He cuts himself off and looks to the corner of the room. My mouth opened as I processed what he was too scared to say.    

               “You don’t want me.” My expression turned icy and I looked down. He let out a frustrated noise and pulled away from me. Though, I felt empty before he could even begin to move from my embrace.

               “That’s not it.” His brows were furrowed, and he wouldn’t look at me. That’s exactly it. I read his face and could feel he was holding something back. I was at a loss for words. I removed my body from the bed and let out an emotional scoff.

               I speedily walked into the bathroom, trying to make a plan. Any plan that won’t leave me anymore heartbroken than I already was.

Leave.

               It was my only option. I eyed the unused, small garbage bag next to the toilet and ripped it from its basket. “Y’know,” I suddenly felt his presence behind me. “I know you’re studying to be a lawyer and their whole schtick is lying and-” I started tossing my deodorant and face wash and every other thing I bought for his place into the bag. “-and withholding the truth.” I ranted in a demeaning voice. “But I didn’t think you would do that to me-”

               “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was raised and his hands were out to his side in an exasperated way. “I didn’t lie!” I didn’t stop tossing things in, in fact I’d finished my bathroom segment and moved on to his closet.

               “You’re right- you didn’t lie, you just kissed me, went on dates, and cuddled me! But, oh no, you’re right. We’re not anything.” I growled as I tossed my spare shirts and pants from his closet onto the bed before stuffing them in my already bulging, see-through bag.

               He didn’t yell, but he did have an icy tone when saying, “It’s not my fault if you convinced yourself there was something here when there wasn’t.” I stopped trying to make everything fit into the bag. The next few seconds were silent as I let his words sink in. My heart had to have gotten heavier because it felt like it was in my gut. Either that, or I was about to vomit.

               All I could think was ‘get out’. I couldn’t look at him, fuck, my heart hurts so bad. I tie off the bag and walked from his bedroom into the living room and finally, slam his front door. I couldn’t help but stop outside of it to try and listen for footsteps… but I heard none.

               So, I left. For the next few days, I spent my hours crying, sleeping, crying again and completely and utterly alone.

               I hardly saw Harvey again whilst I was at Harvard, thank God we were in different law classes. Of course, with an ego as big as his, it was impossible not to at least hear about him every once and a while. During graduation, I grimaced knowing that he was a few feet away with that million-dollar smile on his face. Never the matter, I put a smile on my face too and high-tailed it when the picture was over.

I moved back to the city I was born and raised, not too far from New York. I practiced as an associate for a while, but quickly climbed the ranks and made Junior Partner at the firm. I had mind blowing reviews and an amazing success rate that assured a job offer at whatever firm would have me. In fact, I worked so hard at my firm, that I reached the capacity of what they could pay me as a Junior Partner. I could either become Senior Partner or go somewhere else if I wanted to continue to grow my paycheck.

               And if I learned anything from Harvey Douchebag Specter, it’s that I should never settle. I set my eyes on the most successful firm in New York: Pearson Hardman. One over the phone interview and a quick glance at my numerous 5-star reviews, recommendations, and success rate-and I was welcomed to the Pearson Hardman family.

I rented an apartment not too far from the firm and began unpacking the few things I had. After paying off my student debt, I went on a spending spree, and I wound up with more than I could manage. After being knees deep in Dior, I had to offload some stuff. I packed everything I couldn’t part with and donated everything else to be distributed to a few women’s shelter. They couldn’t contain their excitement and now I’m a part of the state-wide organization. Funny enough how those things happen!

Either way, it was a fresh start, through and through. I had the bare necessities, and I was content. A shopping spree for some Ikea furniture was calling my name, though. The apartment was a literal husk up and would remain that way until I could find the time to go shopping.

Being in the city where I studied law and had some of the toughest years of my life made me emotional, but in the best way. Now I’m back, and at least 3 times as kick-ass as before.

Of course, since Harvard, I’d heard a comment or two about Harvey and what he’s been up to, but I tended to butt my head out, far away from his business. I’m sure he’s somewhere still in New York, I mean, he loved this city- but New York’s huge! There’s no way I’ll be seeing him anytime soon.