#RPF fanfiction

[stargiirl27]

I may not be the biggest mclennon fan, but as a beatles fan I can say that those bitches paved the way for modern rpf

[celestiamour]

₊˚✧ ❛[ every baby needs a da-da-daddy ]❜

ft. hugh jackman x f! reader — rpf

╰₊✧ some sweet softie who enjoys being home his baby little diamond toys┊1.2k words

song: every baby needs a da da daddy - marilyn monroe contains: no disrespect to hugh, this is purely fictional!! sugar daddy hugh & sugar baby reader, no smut, unspecified age gap, mentions of insecurity 

➤ author's note: happy late birthday to the daddiest of daddies & the dilfiest of dilfs! this is my first hit at writing rpf, so it might not be very good, but it was still fun to write! i’m not sure if rpf is something i’ll write again, but who knows!

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who you kept at arm’s length at first, resisting the charms and allure of an older man who promised to treat you right and seat you in his lap of luxury. you’ve never been in such a relationship before (although you’ve always entertained it), much less being with an actor with as much renown as he did, so you tried putting him off by insisting you would only accept princess treatment and wouldn’t take anything short of the best. being a little bit of a brat would either put him off because he’s too old to deal with that or entice him even more with the challenge, and he’s obviously the latter because he would be more than willing to buy you an entire castle if you wished for it. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who quickly figures out that everything you were saying before didn’t hold any weight as you’ll feel guilty if he does something as small as being a gentleman who pays for your half of the meal, so you’re just going to have to get used to being spoiled. he might even encourage you to quit your shitty underpaid day job with all the rude customers and pursue something you’re actually interested in, whether that’s becoming an artist of any sort or seeking out high education to get the qualifications for your dream job, he’s more than willing to provide for you while you work towards your goals and will reward you every time you accomplish one of them. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who often needs to leave early for work, so when you wake up in your shared bed, you’ll find a few notifications on your phone: the first being a few hundred dollars he sent for you to treat yourself while he’s gone, the second being a cute dad selfie of the place he’s at, and the third being a message wishing you a good morning with the reminder for you to take care of yourself and that he loves you. if he’s traveling for a press tour, then he’ll give you the option to go with him or not because he knows it can be exhausting, but he’s willing to fly you out to his location at the drop of a hat because he constantly misses you so much.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who likes to take you out for fancy dinners every now and then, but he really prefers to stay in and make home-cooked meals with you. he finds that making food together is more of a bonding experience than simply eating together, and loves to hug you from the back and guide your movements with his hands on top of yours as you chop vegetables or something. also he’ll only buy the highest-quality ingredients, ones that could give you an aneurysm from a glance of the receipt alone even though he thinks it’s worth the price for the better taste and health benefits. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who surprises you with expensive jewelry and beautiful custom-made dresses which cost more than what you usually would be able to make in a month. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, just drops a shopping bag filled with glittery tissue paper in front of you with a smile waiting for you to open it. feel free to gasp and smack him for making such an impulsive shopping decision just because he thought of you when he saw it, but expect him to pout and pretend to be offended. nothing is “too much” for his darling.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who acts as your personal chauffeur and drives you around in which car in his collection you want, taking you to the mall, to see a show, to an outing with friends, and wherever else you want to go. the passenger seats are perfectly adjusted to your preferences and have your things sticking out of the side compartments with his large hand being a comforting weight on your thigh, drawing circles into your skin while reminding you that you look perfect and don’t need to continuously fidget with your appearance. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who isn’t what you expected him to be considering his age. you thought he was just some old man who might have been a snob with his status, but he’s a genuine down-to-earth man. even with the salt peppering his hair, smile lines, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, and glasses, he still laughs like a young man and has a sharp mind with insightful knowledge that came with life’s experience. not to mention his godly body which you get the pleasure of watching him work on, cheering him on when he lifts weights while you stand on the sidelines or even join him. he sometimes says you help keep him young, but you know that he’s the most extraordinary man you’ve ever met.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who, although you struggle to admit it, makes you feel insecure at times. he’s hugh jackman, the wolverine, the greatest showman— someone who is larger than life while you’re just someone who met and caught his eye by chance. although he doesn’t seem to mind what others think about your relationship, you aren’t blind to it and worry constantly about ruining his image to the public eye as well as those around him who may not approve of your unconventional relationship. it seems like something built on money rather than love, and although you felt that way at first, it’s clearly grown into something more than that.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who can see right through you as soon as you start having these thoughts, don’t think you can hide it from him. he’s very perceptive and will ask what’s wrong immediately, giving you his full attention and taking any opportunity for you to run away from this confrontation. he’s an open book with you and would like it if you were with him as well, but if you aren’t ready to tell him yet, then he’s fine with giving you room to gather yourself.

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who feels his heart break into pieces when you tell him that you just don’t feel good enough to be with him. he’ll hold you and wipe away your tears which began to streak down your face once the words were out, assuring you it was never something that crossed his mind even once and how he wishes you could see how lovely you were in his eyes. anything he can do to change the way you think about this topic, he’ll do, and if you don’t think there is anything that can be done, he’ll compliment you even more frequently and put more time aside for you to show how much he really treasures you. 

sugar daddy! hugh jackman who becomes more open about your relationship when people ask about it, showing he isn’t ashamed about it and is very proud to call him yours. he’s fantastic at tearing down any negative rumors about you and deflecting criticism, protecting you by turning each question into a session praising how wonderful he thinks you are. there’s not much to it, he’s just some sweet softie who enjoys bringing home his baby little diamond toys and giving her the lavish life she deserves. 

[holylulusworld]

Aged Well

Summary: It’s your man’s birthday.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x fem!Reader

Warnings: a little angst, fluff, birthdays

Thanks to @buckys-wintersoldier for the brainstorming. :)

A/N: Happy Birthday to Sebastian Stan, our Romanian menace.

Another year older. Another year closer to getting old.

Sebastian knows he should be happy. His career is going great. He’s got a dedicated fanbase. And in the room next door, his girlfriend is waiting for him to celebrate his birthday.

Still, he stands in front of the mirror, looking for the first wrinkles. Sebastian steps closer to get a better look at the first grey hairs in his beard.

“No, not yet,” he gasps and runs his fingertips over his beard. Sebastian frowns deeply. This can’t be. He can’t handle grey in his beard today.

“Babe, are you ready?” You stop in your tracks to drink your boyfriend’s outfit in. He’s wearing a black Balenciaga tuxedo, a white suit shirt, and a black tie. His hair is neatly gelled back, but he kept his beard. He looks stunning, or rather like he is dressed to kill. “Baby?” Licking your lips you stare at him.

“I’ve got grey in my beard,” he complains while running his fingers over his beard. Sebastian turns his head to look at you. “Do you think I should shave it off to look younger?”

“What?” You were too engrossed in checking him out in his tuxedo to listen to him. “Did you say something about your beard?” You dreamily look at his beard.

“Do you think I should shave it to look younger?”

You violently shake your head. “No! I like your beard. It’s a nice beard,” you protest and immediately defend his beard. “I like the grey in your beard. It makes you look ever hotter.”

His eyes widen. “Did you see it too? Why didn’t you say something?”

You step closer to grab his face and press a chaste kiss on his lips. “I love the beard and how it feels when we kiss,” you snicker and kiss him again, “and more. I dare you to shave it off.”

He grins, eyes darkening at your words. “You like it? The grey too?”

“Very much,” you purr his name, hands still holding his face. “Let me try again.” You kiss him deeply and softly, earning a moan. “It makes you look like a hot silver fox.”

He laughs deep and rich. “You want me to be your silver fox, prinţesă (princess)? How bad do you want me to be your sexy silver fox?”

You giggle at his playfulness. He smiles widely and grabs you by your waist. “So bad, Sebby,” you peck his lips between murmured love confessions.

Sebastian grins. He looks at you, a twinkle in his eyes. “I guess we could skip the reservation and unpack my gifts. right now.”

You smile, not disappointed to skip dinner to have him all for yourself tonight. “I don’t mind. Let me get your gifts.”

“Oh, prinţesă,” he leans closer to purr your name. You giggle and squeal when he twirls you around to push you onto the bed.

“I was thinking about a different kind of gift...”

Tags in reblog.

[unknownperson246]

a/n: HEAR ME OUT. DUFF W/ A SIZE KINK BC THE READER’S SO MUCH SHORTER THAN HIM. ALSO YOURE SO FUKCJNG COOL HOW TF DO YOU GET MOTIVATION TO WRITE SO OFTEN ITS AMAZING DJDBSVHAABBAAKJABA

first of all, thank you!. I think the motivation is seeing people enjoying creativity not just in my fics but in other people's fics and that helps motivate me. Sometimes I may need a break but that’s rarely. I also really appreciate when people send me inbox requests which is also a factor of motivation for me.

also, I’m so sorry it’s late but I hope you enjoy it ❤️❤️

So Tall

Words: 431

warnings: *smut* *size kink* *fluff* *p in v* *praise kink* *pet names*

*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧

You were on the bed with Duff.  Duff was on top of you as he kept thrusting himself inside of you. Duff had both of your arms in his hands. His whispers of sweet nothings made you want to come. Hearing his deep and long breaths in your ear made you hook your teeth on his earlobe gently. His blonde wavy strands of hair were scattered all over his face. He was red and holding onto your small body. He knew you were delicate and fragile so he was always cautious of what moves he made. You had a thing called crepitus. You always heard all of your bones crack but it wasn't painful. Duff loved hearing those sounds. Sometimes he would hear your hips crack during sex.

“Such a good beautiful short girl.” He breathed into your neck.

“You're so small and so petite. I wish I could take you anywhere I went. I would love to put you in my pocket.” Duff moaned so loud. “Fuck! Duff your dick is so big. I wonder how you even manage to fit inside of me” You moan holding on to his shoulders. 

Your hands move to his chest while he is on top of you in a missionary position. His hips kept making contact with yours. You always loved when he would hold you because he was so much bigger than you. He was tall and slender and you were short but slender. You loved kissing him everywhere. Your lips would always kiss his hands whenever you had sex.

“You’re so tall Duff.” You moan as he keeps shoving his full length inside of you.

You loved feeling Duff's full length inside of you. You wanted him to fuck you so hard that it would be very difficult for you to walk. You wanted him to kiss your whole body while caressing you gently while you both made love. He was doing exactly what you wanted. He was so sweet and caring to you because he knew how much you deserved it. He loves you and you love him. You felt his orgasm traveling through you. He felt you come on his dick. He pulled out of you. “You’re so perfect darling,” You say kissing his shoulder. 

Duff grunted and moaned while his jets of come coated your insides. He kisses your lips. You both have to go to a red carpet event later with Guns n Roses and having sex with you made him less nervous and more focused on his work. You loved watching him interact with his fans.

[melancholicstation]

You heard my baby's back in town now! — controversially young!gf bobby kennedy one-shot

imagine... you are bobby kennedy's controversially young girlfriend who he met at a an oregon mall during his brother's campaign for president in 1959. fast forward a few months and you're finally taking the next step in your relationship: meeting the family.

taglist: @obsessedwithjohnjr @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @unmarlou @joansiesbeloved @jackiesgirl @acrowdedstreetin1944 @miumiumoods @yeuxdenina @its-esdras @jacobseresin @yspix7y @violetharmonsfavgf @vampyiricris @harajukub4rb1e @ironcowboycopnickel @valleyxdoll @angelitawings @monturi @starsprangledgirl

inspired by @unmarlou's age gap!bobby kennedy, go give this blog some ♥️ .

warnings: heavy mention of age-gap, multiple flashbacks, uses lyrics from Taco Truck x VB, use of terms of endearment, period typical sexism (not bobby)

words: 2,862

Most of the time you wouldn't say holding down a 9 to 5 at one of the biggest breakfast chains in middle America was an exciting career endeavour for a 22 year old woman but here you were. That was until you met him: your boyfriend of six months who'd shown himself to be a great lover and an even better giver, always draping you in the finest of mulberry silk and yellow diamond. You weren't shallow though, you would've loved him the same if all he had were the clothes on his back and that floppy hair of his.

However you wouldn't have to because he had the ultimate privilege or curse, many would go on to say, of being born into one of the richest families in America, and was the brother of the Democratic Party pick for president in 1960. Oh, and his name was Bobby Kennedy.

*Flashback to December 5th, 1959*

After working your job at Waffle house for about 2 weeks you knew it was hell, filled with grimy men hitting on you with their dirty pickup lines their dad probably taught them at age 15, that bitch of a co-worker, and a drab work attire that your boss, Susan, seemed to have affinity for catching any slight deviations of. Superficially it was mostly the outfit requirements that bothered you: I mean how were you ever supposed to leave this damned place if your own uniform made sure that no person, regardless of gender, would ever humanly find you attractive.

Despite this, you persevered and tried to work around it. If your boss told you to wear a plain blue top: you wore a lightly stripped blue button-up with featuring an embroidered, ruffled star motif on the chest. If your boss told you to wear heather grey bottoms: you wore an extremely short dark navy skort with built in shorts for the so called modesty striven for in the dress code. I mean for christ sakes this wasn't the White House now was it?

You often pared the dreary outfit with a pair of suede ballerina's in navy: a bit of an oxymoron where your mother was concerned due to the nearly perpetual state of wetness synonymous with Oregon lately. Adorning your neck with the one staple in your jewellery escapes: an antique scapular on black silk cord.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder defiantly: a bag so filled to the brim that it didn't look so much like a bag anymore and more like a rather large and rather worn sack. However you did attempt to beautify its exterior by applying randomised trinkets to it's complexion such as: a statement cross pendant held together with leather twine, a religious pocket book passed down from your grandmother on your Spanish side, and a stone rosary.

Departing from the trinkets adoring the handles of your bag, the once smooth leather of the bag was now covered in tiny hole marks from the pins of the buttons you so religiously adorned your bag with. Many—who were you kidding, all were of John F. Kennedy and his running mate Lyndon B. Johnson. Now you weren't so much of a fan of Johnson as you were of Kennedy but you were seldom able to find ones of Jack by himself. That's why the ones of jack stayed front and centre, with the ones of Johnson meandering in the background, wrapping around the sides of the leather.

It had been a couple hours of your shift before you granted yourself the masochistic reflex of checking the time: counting down the length of time until you were free.

Checking the clock you realise it had not in fact been hours, in reality it had only been an hour and three minutes. Boy time really just flies by when you're serving up cheesesteak melt has brown bowls at five-thirty in the morning: I mean seriously what kind of sicko does that?, and getting hit on by men who look like they could've been your father.

That was until you hear that disntict clink of the door chin: alerting you to a new customer. Exasperated with, well—life, you look up already annoyed. Annoyed until you meet the hilarious sight of a strange man crouched under a comically small umbrella, surrounding by some very self-important all dressed in suit and tie: a stark contrast to the typical male style expected of in Oregon.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the man he's herded into a booth far out of your range of sight. Despite being interested your attention is called for when a woman orders a hot coffee to-go. Y'know, it did always suck when you had to do your actual job and not just people watch for a living.

Out of nowhere two voices come within your earshot,

"No, Tim—I can do it myself. God damn it! You people treat me like a child, I can order my own food." a voice expressed that somehow towed that line between being intrinsically feminine and masculine at the same time.

The other voice begrudgingly backs off but continues,

"I know you're not a child Bob, but I'm trying to help you. Y'know that's kind of my job as advisor, to advise you on shit."

"Fine. You go do it, i'll wait over here like a dog." ,the voice says expressing a particular strain of annoyance you had yet to hear vocalised until that moment.

This man has an advisor? What the he—

"Hey-Uh, could I get a pecan waffle and a dark roast coffee."

Surprised for a moment, you compose yourself and reply "Sure, coming right up."

Shuffling into the back with the intention to tell the cook the order, and then maybe take a cheeky smoke from your bag in the meantime. Maybe.

After telling the cook, you find yourself b-lining for your bag. Getting to your bag, you start fiddling for a lighter that was until you hear a peculiar set of shuffling feet suspiciously close to you.

That's when you realise that you completely missed, on your mission for your bag, a real human man leaning his back against the bag rack.

"Oh-Mary and Joseph—you nearly gave me a heart attack."

The figure, and the face comes into your range of sight and your semi totally mortified. The president-to-be's brother had just seen you try to go for a smoke.

"Oh I'm sorry I just don't like the noises. Forks scraping on plates gives me the chills." the man chuckles.

In politeness you chuckle back, in order to get the elephant out of the room you say,

"Now you're Robert Kennedy aren't you?"

"In the flesh" he says with a quite sassy display of his hands, patting himself on the chest in an act to display his human quality.

"Well I have to say I'm enamoured by your brother's campaign, he's doing so wonderfully."

"Thank you, well I happen to think so too. But I'm a bit biased—y'know it's kind of in my job description. I pegged you for a jack supporter."

"How so?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the pins on that bag of yours gave me a bit of a clue."

Mortified you look away that was, until, he redirects your head movements with his hand turning your chin back to his with the divine authority of a man much older than you. Though you're not repulsed by that fact, in all reality it's quite the opposite.

"Hey-Hey hey don't be embarrassed. I think it's awfully cute of you, though I wish you didn't have so many of that Johnson and maybe one of me." ,he says in a tone that carries the passion of a thousand un-spoken grievances, peeking your curiosity.

Lifting his hand off your chin, he lightly pets your hair: much like you assume he would do to perhaps a Boston terrier or a bengal kitten. With that same tenderness.

"I better let you get back to work. I'm sure you don't want some old man like me keeping you from your job"

Bashfully you smile, subtly shaking your head in retort. However he does raise a good point, such a good point in fact that it has you turning your heels back in the direction of the front counter. But not before turning your head slightly back—subtly saying goodbye with a smile and a slight wave of the fingertips, to which he mirrors with a sheepish, smug grin.

By the time your shift ends your exhausted and love sick over that man, whom you had only had in your presence for a bijou length of time but had been pondering about for hours.

Reaching for your bag before officially clocking out, you notice a new edition to your bag. A bright white and navy blue pin labelled 'Robert F. Kennedy for Vice President' surprised enough already, you're positively baffled to find a small engraving of a number etched into the backside of the pin.

What was on it, you may ask? Well, Robert F. Kennedy's phone number no less,

And that's how it started.

*End of flashback*

There were moments when you were faced with the awkward societal magnifying glass put on your relationship, and increased ten fold because of your scandalous age gap. I mean come on, it was only twelve years. It wasn't that bad. Though there were times you were reminded every now and then of the twelve year generational divide between you two, like in the instance of when he found that pesky little shoe-box underneath your bed.

*Start of flashback*

"Look at me"

"No I simply cannot bear it, Bobby!" you muffle out, the sound muddled due to your mousy blonde curls interference.

"C'mon, sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed about, you're a grown young woman. I expected this from you, I'd be weirded out if you didn't partake in this sort of stuff. It's endearing, I promise." ,bobby teases, making a big show of his "promise" by dramatically holding out his arms in a prayer motion.

An action you find less than funny: ending with Bobby getting a pillow through straight towards his head, to which he dodges with ease.

What had caused this whole mess was that you'd tasked Bobby with the mission of finding that cotton camisole he'd so recklessly strewn across your bedroom in the throws of your shared passion. It was your belief that if he did it he should fix it.

However that adventure had led to bobby finding a particularly embarrassing set of erotic books hidden in a shoebox. Each with a more embarrassingly brazen title than it's former.

You had never seen him laugh so much than that day.

"Honey, I'm not laughing at you. It's just-y'know back in my day we never had this. We had to use our imagination, oh how times are changing. It's exciting really" he says adopting a semi sarcastic tone that borders on mocking.

His comments cause you to sulk even more, retreating into yourself perched at the foot of the bed, "Bobby don't be mad, I don't even read that stuff now! not with you. I was so in-experienced back then , I had no idea about anything."

"Oh baby, c'mere" he motions you to him, eventually gathering you up into a bundle and takes you into his lap.

Combing through your hair he explains "Baby of course I'm not made at you. How could I be? with such a pretty face like this. Y'know I'm glad you had those books, though I do like keeping you all to my self. And I certainly don't want to share you with any fictional man." he says in an order to lighten up the room, while dabbing slightly at your cheeks

"Don't cry pretty girl, I hate to see you cry, it hurts me, hurts me real bad. I know you don't wanna hurt me now do ya? Huh?"

Nodding, you compose yourself slightly and lay your head timidly on his chest: slightly hairy and stunk of an addictive sort of musk.

Your slightly moved when he moves his body trying to get something out of his pocket

"Princess, look what I found!"

And there it was your favourite cotton camisole, back in your possession. Sometimes you didn't know how he did it, he just did.

*End of flashback*

And that's how your relationship went for six months. Though it was hard to maintain a relationship being that he was in such a different life stage than you, and coupled with the fact that he was on a gruelling campaign trail with his brother. To be honest most days he would come and see you, you'd just lay in bed soaking up each other's presence. On the days you would venture outside as a couple you got more than a couple looks, and you had your fair share of unfavourable coverage in the media being that you were the controversially young girlfriend by the side of the man who's brother was on track to become president of the United States. But you both brush it off, you knew your truths.

You hadn't seen bobby in two whole weeks and you were beginning to get desperate. Though it wasn't like he was depriving you, he stuck to a strict schedule of calling you every day at seven in the evening: no matter rain or shine. Some times he would catch you eating a late dinner, for which he would scold you about adopting the tone he used in those senate meetings. And others where he would catch you in bed early, and one thing would lead to another. Thank god that you both had been smart enough to check for wiretapping, or else it would've made you two more of social piranhas than you already were...

And sure enough at seven pm, your phone rang off the hook,

"Hey baby, how are ya? Tell me all about what a sweet girl like you was doing all day? I wanna hear it all, leave no detail out." he says in a tone that reveals his true earnest nature that you've come to so cherish in your relationship.

So, you indulge him, "Honey, I got up so early, and then, I got into the shower"

He hums attentively down the line, encouraging you to tell him what you did next: to which you inform him that you took a nap mid-day, "I was just able to go back to sleep for a hour and a half. So that rocked, um, anyway."

"Did ya dream of anything special?" he says while shifting in his leather chaise seat: you assumed he was halted up in his hotel in some nameless city along the trail.

"I had this dream where, um, I don't know-" you trail off sharing some half-baked dream that you weren't sure you comprehend yourself. Apologising you ask about his day,

"Oh sweetie, don't apologise I asked, I wanted to know. I did want to talk about something with you though. Y'know how Jack is coming back to Oregon before the primary. Well, I thought what better a time to introduce you to my family. They'll just adore you baby, I promise just like I do."

Blushing and taken by surprise you bashfully reply, of course agreeing.

"That's great, you'll do amazing. Though, I do have to warn you about their line of questioning. They have a penchant for sort of quizzing girls that I take home about world events, it's like a sport to them-my parents I mean, my siblings will be just fine to handle. I just want you to be prepared."

"Okay, well what kind of events. Like events in your times?" you say sarcastically.

"Okay, Miss Attitude. I'm not from the 1890s, y'know we're only a decade apart. But I'll quiz you when I visit you in a couple days. I'll make it real easy for you, put in some recent events that you know: though you're a smart cookie you'll get it in no time baby."

"Bob, you're making me very nervous. They're not going to go too hard on me right?"

"Oh my sweet, you'll get used to them. They make a big fuss but they're relatively harmless, they'll see how happy you make me and that'll be the end of it. Promise."

After his assurances, you were left unbridled with happiness after you hung up the phone. I mean how hard could it be to charm a family like the Kennedys, they seemed nice enough? You charmed one of their sons so how troublesome could it really be? Jackie looked warm and open in the newspaper, Joan looked a delight and Jack well I'm sure you could bate your eye at him and he would be sufficiently pleased at your presence. Though that left out the parents, which were often the hardest of the bunch when fulfilling the daunting duty of meeting the family, you were sure it would be Bobby assured you so.

And why would he ever need to lie to you?

signing off: bang, bang xx

[harrywavycurly]

Texting Boyfriend Harry Styles Part 13: Golf Puns

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @blckburd @styleswithaseaview

A/N: Harry doesn’t remember you telling him about girl’s night but it’s fine he still gets to cuddle you for five minutes, enjoy✨

[joeliz99]

A Taste of Italy- Joe Keery

Description: In a serendipitous turn of events, (Y/N) celebrates her birthday alone in Positano, only to find unexpected companionship and romance as she shares a day of cooking and exploring Positano's beauty with the charming Joe.

Warnings: None, Pure Fluff, Non-established relationship, RPF Fic

Word count: 2378

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

The small, intimate kitchen was filled with laughter as (Y/N) stood uncomfortably in front of her designated table. Usually, she considered herself a social butterfly, but today, it felt like her social skills had been drained. She was still trying to get over the fact that her friend had missed their flight to Positano, Italy, after planning this whole day for so long. Instead, she found herself alone in a cooking class she had refused to cancel at the last minute.

The instructor, with a thick Italian accent, provided an overview of the class. Almost every ingredient was laid out in front of her, and a glass of wine stood invitingly on the table. She stared at it for a moment before taking a sip, savoring the various flavor notes on her tongue. As she was about to go for a second try, someone stood next to her, removing his sunglasses and fixing his messy hair while muttering an out-of-breath hello.

"I'm sorry. Do you mind if I station here?" the guy asked, noticing her glance.

"Oh, not at all. Make yourself comfortable," she replied with a smile as he put on his apron.

"Thank you. I almost didn’t make it, you know? The streets are so confusing around here. I’m still sweating," he said. (Y/N) genuinely laughed. He was a bit of a mess, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

"You'll get used to it. Give it a day or two and you'll have them all memorized."

"Are you sure? I’ve been here for a week now. I think I'm past that point," he replied with a grin, his sunburned cheeks now making complete sense.

(Y/N) was about to respond when the instructor’s voice filled the space once again. It was time to learn about Italian cuisine. Soon, the small kitchen was filled with low lounge music and the aroma of homemade sauces mingled with aromatic herbs and light chatter. Joe and (Y/N) worked on their pasta, each having a different experience. While (Y/N) had a natural gift for cooking, Joe struggled to knead the flour and ingredients into a smooth ball. (Y/N) glanced over frequently, almost wanting to help, seeing him with flour on his face, his hair messier than before, and a funny frown of concentration.

"Um... Mind if I help?" she asked after a moment. He looked up, noticing she was about to cut her dough, and nodded sheepishly. "It’s easier if you use your knuckles and press down. I don't know the logistics, but it works." She moved closer and demonstrated. "See?"

"Uhh... Yeah. Let me try," he said, taking over the job again. "How do I keep it from being clumpy?"

"Just keep kneading. It’ll come together soon."

They continued working with concentration, engaging in constant chatter while flattening the pasta, cutting it, and spiraling it into balls to cook in the boiling water.

"I'm going to need another glass of wine at this rate," Joe exclaimed, placing his hands on his hips dramatically. (Y/N) laughed, shaking her head as she took both empty glasses and walked over to the counter to refill them. He smiled excitedly and thanked her as she handed him a glass, and she took a sip from hers.

"I'm Joe, by the way. Nice to meet you." He extended his hand for a formal greeting, regretting it almost immediately when he noticed his hand was covered in flour. However, (Y/N) smiled and shook his hand without hesitation, her own hand looking nearly as floury.

"(Y/N), pleasure to meet you."

Joe took a sip of his wine and leaned against the counter, glancing at the bubbling pot. "So, if I don’t mess this up, maybe I’ll actually be able to cook this at home. Though, I’ll probably end up with takeout pizza instead."

(Y/N) smiled, swirling her own glass. "Pasta’s easier than it looks. If you can navigate a new country solo, this should be a walk in the park."

"Who said I was traveling alone, though?" Joe's teasing made (Y/N) blink in surprise, feeling her face flush with embarrassment as his laugh and friendly tap on her arm made the situation worse. "I’m just joking. You’re right, though. But you’re giving me too much credit. I almost burned my kitchen down trying to make toast once."

"Toast? That’s impressive," she teased, trying to regain her composure. "I think you might be in the wrong class."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, everyone has their talents. That’s exactly why I’m here. My life motto is: When in Italy, be a new man."

"Oh my God," (Y/N) muttered, rolling her eyes with a smile as they noticed it was time to finish and assemble their first plate of pasta.

Everyone had the chance to plate their pasta, adding homemade sauces, grating some cheese, and sitting down to enjoy their creations while listening to local music and comedic stories from the chef.

Joe and (Y/N) sat together, savoring every bite of their simple yet satisfying meal. It felt like an explosion of flavors, enhanced by good company and an amazing ambiance. After such a delightful meal came (Y/N)’s most awaited part: Tiramisu.

Joe noticed the happiness on her face as she helped the chef assemble the dessert, having been pushed to volunteer. Tiramisu was her favorite dessert. After a fantastic demonstration, they all tasted the chef’s recipe, and Joe smiled widely seeing (Y/N) enjoy every bite with her eyes closed and muttering praises.

"Amazing, right?" he asked.

"Every time I come to Italy, I need to eat like a thousand of these. No questions asked," she replied with a satisfied grin.

"So, you're a regular traveler of these parts? Lucky girl."

"Not really," she said with a shrug. "I wish. But who has the money to come here often?" She laughed softly, unaware of Joe’s thoughtful expression. "It’s my second time, actually. Last time I spent two weeks traveling around Italy. One of the best experiences ever. This time is kind of different."

He leaned in slightly, intrigued. "Special occasion, or just a much-needed getaway?"

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, then sighed with a sheepish smile. "Well… It’s actually my birthday today."

Joe’s eyes widened. "Wait, what? Your birthday?" His voice was full of surprise and warmth. "And you’re spending it here, in a cooking class?"

"Yeah, well… I actually love cooking," she chuckled. "My friend was supposed to be here, but she missed her flight. So, I’m making the most of it on my own."

"Well, happy birthday!" Joe said, lifting his wine glass in an impromptu toast. "You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve made this a full-on celebration!"

(Y/N) laughed softly, clinking her glass against his. "It’s no big deal. Honestly, the day has been fun enough. And the food makes it worth it."

Joe looked at her with a lingering smile, as if something clicked in his mind. After the class finished, the two stood outside the small, rustic kitchen, the sun starting to dip behind the cliffs of Positano, casting golden hues across the town.

"Well, this was fun," (Y/N) said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Thanks for being such good company, Joe. I hope you have the best time for the rest of your stay."

"Yeah, same to you. Take care, (Y/N)..." he replied, but as she turned to leave, something tugged at him. He hesitated, watching her walk a few steps away, before suddenly calling out, "Hey, wait!"

She turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Joe took a deep breath, stepping closer to her. "I was just thinking… You shouldn’t have to spend your birthday alone. I mean, not if you don’t want to."

(Y/N) tilted her head, intrigued. "What are you suggesting?"

He smiled, a little shyly at first but then with more confidence. "Why don’t we spend the rest of the day together? I know a few places around here that will make this a day you won’t forget. We can grab drinks, maybe hit the beach, whatever you want." He paused, looking sincere. "I promise you won’t regret it."

(Y/N) blinked, taken aback by his offer but touched by his spontaneity. She felt her hesitation melt away as she smiled and nodded. "Okay, so... lead the way."

They began their afternoon by renting bikes to explore the charming streets of Positano. As they pedaled through the winding roads, the vibrant, stacked houses and stunning water views unfolded around them. The town’s narrow streets were a delightful maze, with antique cars parked along the curbs and locals strolling leisurely.

(Y/N) found herself wobbling a bit on the bike, struggling with the numerous curves and inclines. She tried to hide her clumsiness, but Joe noticed her occasional near-falls. “Having a bit of trouble there?” he teased with a grin.

“Not at all,” (Y/N) replied, though her tight grip on the handlebars gave away her struggle. “I’m having the best time of my life.”

Joe chuckled, adjusting his pace to stay beside her. “You’re doing great!”

Their banter continued as they cycled past picturesque scenes and lively street vendors. The vibrant energy of Positano made their exploration both exhilarating and memorable.

After a while, they parked their bikes and walked along the beach, where she eagerly began collecting seashells. Joe watched her with an amused smile, noting her focused effort. “Is this something you always do?” he asked.

(Y/N) looked up, a handful of colorful shells in her hands. “Only sometimes. I’m kind of amazed by everything that comes from the ocean. So... yeah. Something special to have with me.”

Joe nodded. “Let me help you then.”

They finally arrived at a beachside café, the sun beginning to dip, casting a warm, golden light over the scene. Joe and (Y/N) found a quaint spot where local musicians played lively tunes. They settled at a table with refreshing drinks, taking in the ambiance and the stunning view. As the music gradually picked up its tempo, Joe couldn’t resist doing what was on his mind.

With a playful grin, he extended his hand to (Y/N). “Care to join me?”

At first, (Y/N) hesitated, but his infectious enthusiasm and the cheerful music coaxed her into the small open space in front of the café. As they danced, the rhythm carried them into a joyful, carefree moment. Joe attempted to teach (Y/N) a few dance steps, and she couldn’t help but tease him about his “unique” moves. Their laughter and playful banter filled the air.

As the music slowed, they found themselves in a quieter, more intimate moment. They exchanged stares filled with unspoken understanding, their connection deepening in the soft glow of the setting sun. It was a silent acknowledgment of the bond they were forming.

After their dance, Joe suggested they head to a secluded restaurant he knew about. Tucked away from the bustling tourist spots, it offered a cozy atmosphere with a stunning view of Positano’s twinkling lights. They enjoyed a delectable meal, and their conversation flowed effortlessly. Their genuine interest and attentiveness created a deeper connection as they discussed favorite foods, travel experiences, and personal aspirations.

“So, what kind of cake would you like for your birthday?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

(Y/N) laughed softly, shaking her head. “Actually, I’m not much of a cake person. Gelato’s more my style.”

Joe’s face lit up with a bright grin. “Perfect! Then we’ll do gelato.”

Following dinner, he led (Y/N) to a charming gelato shop renowned for its rich and colorful flavors. As they entered, they both ordered their own cones with an assortment of flavors. With a playful flair, Joe thanked the cashier and turned to begin singing “Happy Birthday” in an endearingly off-key voice. Patrons in the shop glanced over with amused smiles as (Y/N) looked on, touched by the effort and attention.

With their gelato cones still in hand, they took a final, peaceful stroll along the same streets they had explored earlier. When they arrived at (Y/N)’s BnB, the moonlight bathed the entrance in a soft glow. They stood there, the tranquil night around them creating a serene backdrop. Joe took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on (Y/N) as he hesitated.

After a moment, he leaned in slightly, his eyes searching hers. The warmth of their shared day seemed to wrap around them like a blanket. Joe's hand gently grazed (Y/N)’s cheek, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her face. His touch was soft and tentative, savoring every second of their close proximity.

“I’ve really enjoyed today,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I know this will sound somewhat crazy, but... I was wondering...” He hesitated again, his hand moving to rest on her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.

(Y/N) could feel her heart racing as she looked up at him. The intensity in his eyes matched the tenderness of his touch. “Wondering about what?” she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe took another deep breath, his gaze roaming over her features—her eyes, her lips, the way the moonlight made her skin glow. “If maybe... we could do this again again sometime. Go out, explore more together.”

There was a charged silence as they both felt the weight of his words. Joe’s fingers lingered at her waist, his thumb gently brushing her hip. (Y/N) could see the hope and earnestness in his eyes, and she found herself drawn closer to him.

Finally, (Y/N) smiled, her eyes softening. “I’d like that very much.”

Joe’s smile widened, and he leaned in, closing the remaining distance between them. His hand gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her delicate jawline and placing finally his hand on her neck. Their kiss was soft and tender, an intimate connection heightened by the serene surroundings. The world seemed to fall away as they shared that perfect moment, each touch and caress magnified by the gentle moonlight.

As they pulled back, Joe looked at (Y/N) with a hopeful smile. “So, tomorrow sounds good?”

(Y/N) laughed softly, her heart full. “Yes, definitely.”

They parted with a warm, lingering hug, both feeling that this birthday had become a day to remember, filled with new beginnings and the promise of more to come.

[spicywhenspeaking]

I Dare You -> Noah x Reader

“You what?” Noah puffs out, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand what I meant.

“I said, I dare you.”

I repeat again and rise onto my tiptoes to crowd further into his space. I’m done playing our little game of cat and mouse. If he wants to make a move the ball is in court.

His lips quip up in an arrogant smirk. “Dare me? What are you 12?” He lets out a dark husky laugh and his eyes move down, glancing between my eyes and my lips.

I return his laugh softly, “I’m just giving you a chance to make your move” I purr out as my hands traces up and down his chest. “You think you’d be satisfied with just one kiss?” He asks tauntingly.

Teasing the corner of his mouth, brushing mine against his, “I don’t think it’s me that’s going to be begging for more after” I tease him back.

“Oh shut up,” he cracks out before slamming his lips down onto mine in a desperate kiss. His hands grasp under my chin in a tight grip as he other hand holds onto my pulled back hair. It’s not soft or romantic, it’s heavy and harsh and full of unsaid words and unexpressed feelings.

Noah is pouring everything into this kiss, licking into my mouth with ferocity. Sucking onto my bottom lip and then trailing kisses down to my neck. He breathes in my scent deeply and squeezes my hips and pulls us sharply together. “You’re right, it’s not enough.” He rasps put. “I need more, will you give me more?”

He asks and looks up into my eyes, his own twinkling with lust. I nod lost in his gaze and let out a pathetic sound, “mmhm” I hum and he’s on me again. Reaching around to pull my ass closer to him and latching onto my mouth again, quickly seeking entrance with his tongue.

Part 2

divider from here (X)

Taglist: @cookiesupplier @koskeepsake <3

[urnothere12]

Could you write something where Axl and Reader are childhood best friends and lovers. Total opposites. She leaves Lafayette with him but when he was starting to get famous he cheated on her.

she caught them in the act and instead of being angry she got sad because she had a feeling it would happen one day with the Rockstar life style. While the other woman rush out reader just stood there looking at him with a sad expression while he cried and begged for her forgiveness. She walked slowly, sat on the bed then asked him softly to go shower because he smells like her, he gets scared because he thinks she's gonna run away while he's in there but she promises to still be there when he gets back. When he finishes washing himself he finds her sitting up in bed, sheets, blankets and pillows changed looking down at her hands and he's speechless because he doesn't wanna say or do anything, he just wants to stop time right there. She looks up at him and pats to the spot beside her, so he hops into bed and she lays on his chest, knowing it'll be the last time she does it. He cries softly into her hair and she makes circles with her fingers on his chest. "You know I can't stay right? That wouldn't be fair, on both of us." She says and he just keeps apologizing. They both eventually fall asleep but when axl wakes up, she's gone.

Gnr goes onto be one of the biggest bands in the world, none of them have heard from reader since the incident, and none of them speak of her like she's a taboo topic, it's like they tricked themselves into thinking the sweetest human they'd ever met wasn't even apart of their lives. That was till axl speaks about her in an interview, keeping her name anonymous but telling their love story and how it ended, leaving a secret message at the end for her to hear. The next day his manager says he has a guest, as soon as he saw the back of her head he knew it was her, he picked up his pace and a smile lit up his face until she turned around and he saw a small diamond on her finger. They talk about they're lives, reader went to college and became a teacher, both of them avoiding the elephant in the room for as long as possible, knowing it'll hurt when it's spoken. "So you got married" axl says, secretly hoping it's just for decoration. "Yes" reader replies and his heart dropped. "He treating you right?" Axl asks with his fists clenched. "Oh Axl, he's the sweetest, maybe one day you'll meet him" she says with a slight smile looking down at her hands, but she knows they'll never be close enough to be in each other's lives again.

I cant think of a way to end this, but he's sad and she walks off feeling bitter sweet.

Hiiii I’m so sorry it’s late but it’s finally here! Hope you enjoy it!

Patience

words: 979

Warnings: *angst* *cussing* *heartbreak* *cheating*

You and Axl have a long sweet history. You were his best friend and you've been his girlfriend since you both were 16. You and Axl are total opposites that is what made your guy’s on-and-off relationship more compelling. You and Axl left Lafayette together in 1982. Around 1985 Guns n Roses started to get more well-known. Axl had cheated on you multiple times but you keep deciding to forgive him. When you finally feel that he would not cheat on you he does. You catch Axl fucking some other woman in your guys’s bed. You open the door and watch them making love. You enter the room. 

“I didn't know I swear, If I did know I never would have been here,” the woman says filled with shame and embarrassment. She gives Axl a hateful glare as she rushes to the bathroom. The other woman quickly rushes to the bathroom, puts her clothes on, and rushes out the door. You wait to speak until the other woman leaves.

“Oh Axl,” you say with a sting of disappointment and sadness in your face.

“Y/N no please forgive me I beg you Y/N please just forget this and we will start all over again,” Axl begs and cries. 

You slowly walk over to the bed without saying anything to him. You sit down.

“Axl please go take a shower you smell like her,” you say softly with tears welling in your eyes.

“Y/N if I go shower you're going to run away. I know you are” Axl says sadly.

“Axl I promise I'm not going to run away,” You say reassuringly to Axl.

Axl heads on into the bathroom and you hear the shower running. He takes 40 minutes to wash off the other woman's scent thoroughly. When he exits the bathroom with his wet red hair he finds you sitting on the bed that you changed everything about. You changed the sheets, you changed the pillows and you changed the blankets. He finds you looking at your hands. He doesn't want to say or do anything. He just wishes he could stop time right there. Axl's thoughts are interrupted when you look up at him and pat the spot beside you. You're inviting Axl on the bed and he accepts the invitation. Axl lets you lay on his chest. He knows that you have had enough of his cheating bullshit and it was the last time you would ever cuddle together. He starts to cry into your hair because of his realization. You slowly start to comfort Axl by making small circles on his chest.

“Axl you know I can't stay right? That wouldn't be fair on both of us” you say quietly.

“Y/N I am sorry that I hurt you,”  Axl says while crying.

You don't respond to him. After a couple of minutes, both of you fall asleep in each other's arms. It's now 7 a.m Axl is still asleep and you decide to grab your things and quietly slip out the door. 

It's now 9:06 and when Axl wakes up all your things are gone and you're nowhere to be seen in his sight. Axl is incredibly sad and he's hurting.

After 6 years go by it's now 1988 and this is when Guns n Roses got famous. None of them have heard from you after you left Axl. They never speak about you but still have internalized thoughts of you. They truly did believe that you were the kindest person they had ever met and they were sad that you weren't a part of their lives anymore. You watch an interview about guns.

“Do you have anyone that is special to you?” the interviewer asks Axl.

“Well, there was this special lady who I truly still care about. I’ve hurt plenty of times. Me and I were good friends in Lafayette and we met at school. We dated on and off for about 5 years. I eventually left Lafayette with her and it all ended after a couple of years.” Axl reminiscences.

 “Listen old lover of Lafayette, if you still want to meet, I'm here like the sun that never went away. All you need is a little patience.” Axl says into the screen with a hopeful glint in his softened eyes.

You immediately knew what he was talking about. He made the message for you the first time he got caught cheating on you. The next day the manager goes to Axl. 

“We have a guest,” the manager says.

Axl sees the back of your brown hair and he knows it's you. A smile lit up on his face as he watched you turn around. He spotted a small diamond on her finger. You go up to Axl and you start to conversate with him.

“Hi Axl,” you say, forcing a smile on your face.

“I missed you Y/N,” Axl says quietly.

“So what have you been up to?” you ask Axl.

“Well the band got famous and you know where I am now,” Axl says softly.

Axl reciprocates the question you asked him.

“I went to college back in Lafayette and I went back to California to become a teacher.” You say.

“So you got married?” Axl asks, hiding the pain on his face.

“Yes, I did,” you say smiling. 

“Is he treating you right?” Axl asks, forcing a smile on his face. His fists are clenched and it secretly hurts you but you want him to feel the hurt.

"Oh Axl, he's the sweetest, maybe one day you'll meet him," you say smiling while looking down at your hands.

You know that you and Axl won't be close in each other's lives again and that hurts you and him deeply. Axl is very hurt and starts to tear up and you walk off feeling bittersweet.

[drspleenmeister]

*Holding my smut!logistics head despairingly in my angry little hands*

Ugh.

Okay.

Girls, guys, whomever: I've said it before and I'm going to say it again now, because I've read more logistically implausible fics in the last few days than I dare to count on my grumpy little claws. The writing may be smoking, but if you can't get the logistics of sex right then you are just going to make your readers go, "Eh, what?!"

You cannot deepthroat someone while breathing through your nose. You can't. Unless you have gills. If you're writing smut for fish then by all means continue to have your characters comfortably taking in oxygen whilst choking on a cock. Otherwise, stop it.

Throat-fucking is hot, HOTTT, but again. Breathing is not possible simultaneously. Please. This type of breath-play is sexy. Use it.

Have you ever tried to hollow your cheeks with a cock jammed down between your tonsils? No? That's right: you can't. Your characters are either using their tongue and cheeks or they are using their throat; I guarantee they can't do both at the same time. Also, having a man able to feel the outline of his cock through the cheek of his partner while they are going down on him: only possible if he is JABBING his fingers into his partner's cheek and forcing the flesh between their teeth, or fucking the head of their cock into their partner's cheek-flesh. Either way is really not going to be comfortable for the partner who is doing the work.

Having your characters stop kissing because they can't breathe is fucking stupid. Have you ever kissed a human? You have a NOSE (which in this instance is NOT being blocked by a cock). It is perfectly possible for two humans to mack on one another for hours at a time without having to come up for air. Drawn-out snogging is hot; have you ever kissed someone so much that lube/prep is not even needed? Trust me, it's awesome.

Limbs. LIMBS. Block your smut scene out in your head, for the love of God. I can't count the number of times that a writer has led me to believe that a pairing are facing one another on a bed, only to find in the next sentence that one is actually behind the other up against a wall; or they're laying down; or one is seated and the other standing.

Get your names and pronouns straight (heh heh...), with m/m or f/f fiction it's so easy as the reader to lose track of who is doing what if you're only referring to the characters as him/her. Don't be afraid to use names, it's better to be too clear than not clear enough.

If you don't have the first-hand experience yourself to write about certain sexual experiences then LOOK. IT. UP. I am neither male nor queer, yet I adore m/m explicit fic and I've done my goddamn research; it drives me up the wall when a writer puts their men into a position that does not warrant easy access to the prostate, but then go ahead and try to write the act as if it's as natural as breathing. My dude, if you're making me - a straight female - shake my head at the logistical inaccuracies of one hot man fucking another hot man, then just imagine the fits of hilarity that you're sending an actually gay man into, who attempts to read your work!

I would say I'm sorry for ranting, but I'm not. I've been reading fanfic for a very very long time and it makes my cold, dead heart so happy when writers get it right, and so sad when they get it wrong.

[thinkingaboutfilm11]

Fic Masterlist

Everything that I've written for F1 in one place <3 It goes without saying, but please don't share any of these beyond this platform. I've archive locked them for this reason and also for AI reasons. :)

1- (Do You Dream About Being Interlinked?) Interlinked

Word Count: 45K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: A retelling of the 1988 season, focusing on how Alain's and Ayrton's relationship spiraled into something neither of them could resist, or control.

Link: Here

2- 'Twice As Many Stars As Usual'

Word Count: 18.3K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Imola 1994 and beyond.

Link: here

3- To Leave or Not to Leave (Mclaren)

Word Count: 15K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Alpha Ayrton has been on the grid now for a decade, he has seven championships under his belt, the unwavering love of the entire grid, and whatever omega he wants.

So, why is he so obsessed with Mclaren's new hire beta rookie- Alain Prost?

Link: Here

4- 'And I know You Hate That'

Word Count: 7.5K

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Ayrton Senna X Alain Prost

Summary: Alain wakes up hungover, ill and handcuffed to Ayrton Senna.

Not the best way to start his morning.

Or is it?

Link: Here

[filthyjoetini]

Stumblin' In

a/n: Hello loves! I'm back! And this time I've pre written 3/4 of a story...who is she?! I don't know her. Soooo...this little story will have four parts and is (very) loosely based on something that happened in Venice when I saw Joe...(still not over it tbh...heh). Thank you to my warrior editor and influence for this story @barfightzanddiscolightz. &lt;3

warnings: none

wordcount: 1.9k (she's short)

part 2 - part 3 - part 4

You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust your eyes to the brightness that suddenly overtook the previously dimly lit screening room of the cinema you were sitting in. Your brain just wasn't made for such quick changes, especially while it was still processing what had just happened on screen. The film you had chosen to watch was one of those arthouse indie productions that attracts all kinds of people from all walks of life.

Slowly you pushed yourself out of the plush seat and stretched your arms over your head. Your ever-weary limbs and joints popped, and you feared that one of the at least 50 other people in the room had heard it. 

Taking your time, you picked up your trusty leather jacket, which had once belonged to your father, and pulled it on. You shoved your hands into its pockets to retrieve your mobile phone. As you checked your unread messages, your eyes moved from the screen to your Dr. Martens-clad feet. You had undone the laces, wanting to be as comfortable as possible. Shrugging, you began to walk down the aisle, the laces whipping your jeans-covered calves, shins, and other seats along the way. You told yourself you would tie them once you had reached the atrium.

With your face almost buried in the screen of your phone, you stepped to the top of the stairs and began your descent. Not even three steps down, you stumbled over your now tangled shoelaces and instantly lost your footing. With a small yelp, you practically flew down the stairs, right into the back of someone's legs. The abrupt stop sent your phone flying down the hallway and past the curtain, as your head snapped back, slamming into the steps. The impact made your breath catch in your lungs and you let out a small whimper.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?"

With blurred vision and eyes refusing to cooperate, you tried to make out who was speaking to you. You knew it was a man from the voice, but his features were a mystery in the blur. Your eyes not working the way you wanted them to made you let out a frustrated sigh. You began slowly blinking your eyes, hoping for a clearer perspective, before giving up and closing them completely.

"Hey! No! Open your eyes!"

You sluggishly opened them again, your vision still as blurred as before. Lifting your arm, you tried to touch the man hovering above you. The movement sent a jolting pain through your arm, up your neck, and into the back of your head.

"Ouch.", you hissed.

"'Yeah, ouch.”, replied the still blurry man. "Please focus on me, can you do that for me?"

 "Yep.", you lied. You couldn't focus on shit, because in addition to your blurred vision, your head was throbbing like you'd been hit by a freight train.

"Okay. Cool. You hit your head pretty hard. Can you move your legs?"

You made slow, jerky movements with your legs, wiggling your toes in your boots, not realising he couldn't see them.

"Okay. They work. Good! That means, no spinal injury.”, the man said, obviously relieved. "I'm going to move you now, is that alright?"

You nodded and immediately regretted it. Your head hurt like hell. How could a carpeted step hurt so much?

Warm hands slowly pushed under your arms and knees and then suddenly, but slowly, strong arms lifted you up and close to an even warmer body. As gentle as he was, the movement of your body was still very uncomfortable and made you whimper again.

"I know. I'm sorry.”, the man who was now walking spoke softly. As you both passed through the curtain into the even brighter hallway, you turned your head towards the man's chest to avoid the glaring overhead lights. You pressed your face into the fabric of his top and inhaled deeply. He smelled damn good.

"...is there a room I can take her to? She hit her head on the stairs when she fell. Also, could you call the A&E, I think she has a concussion."

"Sure, follow me please.”, a new feminine voice said and then there was a static crackle. "Henry, can you please call A&E, we have an injured woman with a suspected concussion."

"Copy. A&E is being called.”, came back Henry's very staticky voice over what you assumed was a walkie-talkie.

A few moments later you heard a door open and were carried very carefully into a small, office-like room.

"You can put her on the sofa. The paramedics will be here any minute."

Gently you were lowered onto the sofa. Gone were the strong arms and the warmth, and you began to shiver. Your eyes slowly began to focus, and you could finally see, though still blurred, the man who had been helping you. He was tall and handsome. His dark blonde hair was curly, and his face had a very patchy five o'clock shadow. But the most striking thing about his face was his huge, baby cow eyes, which were currently wearing a worried expression. Your gaze moved slowly down his body. He was wearing brown trousers with black loafers and a beige cable-knit jumper, topped off with a very expensive looking black trench coat. Visually, he was the exact opposite of you. You had opted for your usual all-black autumn outfit.

With a small but noticeable smile, you closed your eyes for a second and another shiver ran through your body. Unexpectedly, you were suddenly covered by a blanket. Slowly you opened your eyes to see that it wasn't a blanket, but the man's trench coat.

"Thank you...", you whispered. You were surprised at how weak your voice sounded, but the drowsiness that was slowly creeping up on you made it difficult to speak. Your eyes closed again.

"You're welcome...hey! No! Don't fall asleep!"

"But I'm so sleepy."

"I know, but you can't."

The man's voice was very close now, and as you felt hands cupping your face, your eyes shot open again. You looked up at him with wide eyes, he was kneeling beside the sofa and his own eyes held yours in an equally steady gaze.

“You literally can’t fall asleep because you took quite the tumble there, Humpty Dumpty and I’m 99 percent sure you incurred a concussion.”, he explained with a grin. "Besides, you keep moving your head when you should be holding it still. If I have to hold your face to keep you awake and mostly still, I will gladly continue holding it."

You didn't respond to him. You just kept staring at him and he had the audacity to just stare back at you with his big, wet, brown puppy dog eyes. 

A few moments later there was a knock on the door and two paramedics with a stretcher made their way inside.

"Hello there! You must be our patient.”, one of the paramedics said as he made his way over to you. He then looked down at Mr. Baby-Cow-Puppy-Eyes and spoke again. "Sir, may I ask you to move so we can examine her?"

"Uh... sure.”, he replied, taking his hands off your face, slowly rising to his feet. You groaned weakly as his fingers lightly brushed your jaw and he let out a soft snort before turning to the medic. "I was just trying to keep her awake. She fell down the stairs and hit her head on one of the bottom steps."

"Thank you.”, the second paramedic said, moving in to examine your head and neck. Your rescuer stepped back and moved to the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest to wait. He was still in your line of sight, so you looked at him occasionally to make sure he was still there, and every time you did, he smiled sweetly at you.

"Ooookay.", the second paramedic said as soon as she concluded her examination. "You have a mild to moderate concussion and swelling on the back of your head. We need to take you to the hospital for a 24-hour observation."

You frowned at her, and she smiled sympathetically. "Do you want your boyfriend to come with us?"

"Who?" you asked, a confused expression on your face.

"Him.”, she said, pointing to the corner where your knight in a cable-knit jumper was standing.

"I'm not her boyfriend. I'm the one she collided with.”, he chuckled and shook his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no.”, the paramedic grinned at him and then down at you. "Are you ready to be hoisted onto the stretcher?" 

"Um...", you started, then suddenly panicked as you softly patted your jacket and jeans pockets. Your mobile phone - you didn't have it on you. "Wait! My phone! It must have slipped out of my hand or pockets when I went all humanoid egg earlier..."

Your reference to the handsome man's earlier statement made him burst out into laughter.

"She hasn't lost her sense of humour. Good.”, the first paramedic said with a chuckle, and began to lift you up by your feet, while the other paramedic assisted him by simultaneously lifting you up by your torso. The coat that still covered you was about to slip off your body if you hadn't grabbed it as if it were your lifeline. In a way it was your lifeline, for you were still cold, and the weight of the fabric did an excellent job of keeping you warm.

"I'll go look for it. Just give me a second.”, expensive trench coat guy announced, and quickly slipped out of the room.

Not even five minutes later he returned, waving your mobile phone in the air.

"Here you go.”, he smiled, handing you the phone but not letting go of it. "Please keep me informed about your condition." Just as he started to remove his hand from your phone, he added: "And you can keep my coat for now, but I want it back at some point."

"OK. I will, and you'll get it back... at some point.”, you promised, as the two paramedics wheeled you out of the small room. Halfway down the hallway you suddenly realised that you didn't have his contact details. How were you going to let him know how you were?

"Wait! Stop!", you shouted, making yourself jump more than the two people you were addressing. "Can you please turn around?"

"All right, but just for a second. We really need to get you to the hospital.”, the male paramedic explained impatiently, and they both turned the stretcher around and were about to push you back when you saw him standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

"I don't have your number!", you called, waving your mobile.

"Check your contacts.”, he urged with a wink, before pushing himself away from the wall and walking the other way. "Keep me updated!"

"I will!"

The two paramedics turned the stretcher around again and began to push it hastily towards the cinema's delivery entrance where the ambulance was parked. All the while, you unlocked your phone to see if he had really left you his number. He had to have. How else would he get his coat back?

Quickly, you opened your contacts app and there it was: a new entry.

Next to the emoji with the bandage on its head was his name:

Joe.

Grinning to yourself, you locked your phone and put it to your chest as the ambulance sped off to the hospital...

Taglist:

@ohmeg @daleyeahson @lma1986 @palomahasenteredthechat @mandyjo8719 @aysheashea @eddiebaemunson @littledemon-lilith @freakymunson @sidthedollface2 @i-wont-run-this-time @plk-18 @miserybeans @kylakins88 @deadspellz @thehillzhaveeyez @kayleeelena97 @foreverjosephquinn @punctualhowell @icallhimjoey @ghostinthebackofyourhead @siriuslysmoking @cancankiki @definitionwanderlust @eriancrow @1paire2vans @theonewiththecrackedmind @captainonaboat @josephquinnsfreckles @emilyslutface @alessxaa

crossed out = couldn't tag

[phemestial]

Wusiala and jerseys: a drabble

Under the stadium lights, after the final whistle, Jamal and Flo drift toward each other, everything around them a blur. Players shaking hands, the harsh lights, the roaring of the crowd—it all fades, leaving just the two of them, caught in their quiet pocket of time.

Jamal fumbles, his fingers trembling as he pulls his jersey over his head, the cool night air prickling against his skin. He holds out his shirt, an offer to his god, his pulse hammering in his ears. A wiry hand reaches out to take it, brushing against his, and Jamal’s breath catches as Flo grins, watching him, eyes twinkling and teeth gleaming.

"Here," Jamal murmurs, his voice a bit rougher than he intends. He keeps his gaze steady, or tries to, but he can feel the warmth blooming in his cheeks, as he watches how easy joy washes over Flo's face, tugging at his lips and claiming his cheeks.

Flo’s smirk softens, and when their eyes meet, Jamal can't help but to smile in return, helplessly devoted. "Thanks," Flo says, pulling off his own shirt with that easy, confident motion, holding it out to Jamal. For a moment, they’re standing there, shirtless and unsure, each clutching the other’s jersey as though it’s something sacred.

Jamal can’t look away, his gaze tracing the strong lines of Flo’s shoulders, the way the stadium lights cast shadows across his ivory skin.

"Guess I’m officially part of Bayern now," Flo teases, holding Jamal’s jersey to his chest like he’s claimed a treasure, the fabric crumpling in his grip.

Jamal laughs, and Flo chuckles in return, a bit too loud, a bit too fast, and it echoes between them, filling the space with something that feels light and electric.

As he answers, Jamal's voice is softer, almost caught in his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not quite… but you wear that right, and maybe…"

They fall quiet again, eyes locked, neither daring to break the silence, as if a single word might shatter this fragile thing between them. Jamal’s fingers tighten around Flo’s shirt, feeling the warmth still lingering in the fabric, his pulse racing with longing so overwhelming Jamal drowns in it.

(Let me be yours again.)

[unknownperson246]

a/n: hii! love your work! could you do a smut about Nikki Sixx and Duff Mckagan? And maybee a part 2 (if u want ofc!) that the reader like gets asked out by duff bc he rlly likes her and she says yes? thanks!

hi I'm sorry I don't think I followed the whole request but I hope you enjoy it ❤️

Mötley x Roses:

Words: 420

warnings: *smut* *m receiving* *cussing* *mentions of a threesome*

✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙✮⋆˙ ☠︎︎ ★☠︎ ✮⋆˙

You and Nikki were married. Occasionally Nikki would share you with his bandmates but today was different because he shared you with Duff McKagan. All three of you were sitting in one room together. You had no idea what Nikki’s intentions were. Nikki moved you towards his lap. Nikki invited Duff to come over to the couch you both were on. Nikki slowly started to remove your skirt. You were flustered as you realized he wanted to fuck you in front of his friend Duff. You let him slide your skirt off. Duff saw your soaked panties and you were blushing with him seeing you almost all bare. You were used to Tommy Vince and Mick touching you with Nikki but since Duff was new you were embarrassed and shy. Duff picked you up and he put your hand to his swollen cock. You were into it. All your shyness had melted by now. You got down to please Duff. Nikki was getting jealous since you always used to fuck him first. 

“Not fair!” Nikki yelled. 

“How about we have a threesome then?” You looked over to Nikki.

“Sure! A threesome that sounds wonderful” Nikki said sarcastically. 

You got down and started to suck Duff's huge dick. You did it torturously slow to pleasure and to tease Nikki. You watched Duff's wet lips go apart while he let out small groans. He watched as your wet mouth went up and down his cock. Soon you started to go faster.

Soon you felt his salty seed that coated the sides of your mouth. It would drip down and out of your lips. Nikki’s jealousy just grew as he watched Duff come in your mouth. It was odd. He invited Duff in the first place. He could just be mad about you not listening to his idea of doing him first. Nikki had enough and pulled you away from Duff. He pushed you on your knees and he made you suck his dick. Your tongue swirled around and then it went up and down. The rims of your lips touched his wet and filthy cock. You kept feeling his tip touched the back of your throat. You wanted to gag but you knew the punishment for it. You kept going faster and faster until he came inside of your mouth. You were finally done. You plopped down on the couch with your skirt missing and your shirt still on. Later on, Duff asked you out behind Nikki’s back because he liked you. 

[melancholicstation]

god & monsters — bobby f. kennedy

taglist: @jackiesgirl @callmeaftersupper @astro-vibes-bro @lamperry4ever @darcyspirits @absurdlyvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @fortheloveofjos @superzealouscollectordetective @remotewatch @bleatngheart @obsessedwithjohnjr @starsprangledgirl @hisamericanmuse @kimcrystal123

summary: On an October eventide, you are invited to an ordinary Halloween eve soirée. You contract a horrible affliction, a yearning of the heart to end all those before it. All because of your serendipitous meeting with a certain camel haired mortal named Robert “bobby” Kennedy in the grass. For the only the birds and the bees bore witness to what lecherous things you both did with each other on the mead….

tags: 18+ but warning will be given ahead, tiny bit of blasphème sorryyy, rough s*x, fucking in the grasslands, cheating, explicit language, bee sting as repentance, infidelity, you are married but bobby is not.

words: 4,142

my linking should not serve as how you have to imagine this story/world if you do not wish to, these are simply just where I draw personal inspiration.

October 30th 1966

The solitary confines of the seventeen-century estate, all its Provençal grace stood tall unbothered by the many people going in and out of the homestead. Like a glamour queen it seemed entirely unfazed by the many important people within its walls: senators, governors, princesses of niche European constitutional monarchies just to name a few. Now you may be thinking what do all these people have in common? well each got the most coveted invitation to a halloween party hosted by America's very own royal family, or at least that's what The Life Magazine said in their glossy spreads, more specifically the forgotten american prince: Robert F. Kennedy.

And that's exactly how you got here as well. A short week ago you received that same invitation and shared it with your husband: Charles. Charles your husband has been, for years now, vehemently set on a career in politics. Though the farthest had gotten in terms of that had been holding a temporary assistant position at a republican running for state senate. But, turns out grab-handing and meandering around your fair-share of important people eventually you see the benefits. This invite, in Charles head was looking like a decadent, chocolate-covered benefit.

You cringe inside at the thought of chocolate, you've seemed to have a direct affliction to chocolate after a particular 1964 family Christmas in which your husband had had the marvellous idea of bringing his mistress, Kamila, over for Christmas Eve desert. Not like a total unmannered slob, as you would've much preferred, Kamila brought a milk chocolate and toasted hazelnuts bar engraved with a sentence "wishing wealth and prosperity". How gouge. Since then the mere thought of chocolate, or toasted hazelnuts for that matter has utterly repulsed you.

To you this invite was another hellish routine of domestic purgatory. In which you'd smile while dodging questions on why you and Charles hadn't started a family yet with a persistent yearning gnawing, clawing, burrowing in your chest.

"in the land of gods and monsters...

Now parties like the one stamped on the worn card stock weren't all bad. Once you'd met a particularly enticing couple looking to shake up their sex lives with a third. Quite a modern idea you'd thought for the sixties but hey it was eleven pm and the champagne was flowing, and more importantly free.

For the past few days you've been passively doing once, twice-overs on your closet trying to drum up what costume you could make out of the items you already had. High society halloweens were strange in a way. On one hand you would be looked down upon for not dressing up: with people assuming you think yourself to good for such things, on the other if you dressed up in a way unbeffiting of the status you'd be quietly heckled from across the ballroom. You inspected the address on the card more closely, surely there's no ballroom in—you squint your eyes—Château d'Estoublon. Okay, maybe it did have a ballroom if anything was to be indicated from the name. Château d'Estoublon was the creme da le creme of prime-time property in Massachusetts so you were passively excited to gawk at the beautiful exterior.

You decided on recreating Empress Elisabeth of Austria's, or as she'd began to be commonly called 'Empress Sissi', court wedding gown when she married Emperor Franz Joseph. In your eyes it fit the bill, the costume was still playful in its callback to a glamorous Hungarian empress but not so out there that you would look out of place in a billowing cream gown. No doubt many would overshadow you with their elaborate gowns but you didn't mind going understated for the night, you never really felt comfortable 'peak-cocking' like the rest of high society woman did. Though sometimes you wish you did.

,i was an angel looking to get fucked hard...

As you placed the delicate undergarments over your body: a white chiffon one piece - with knickers, linked by satin ribbons and floating chiffon back panels, a gift from a quite eager French man in the fifties. You used to be so encumbered by sexual need and carnal desire, catching the eyes of many: you missed that feeling and you desperately wanted it back. Cutting through the bullshit and to be quite frank you hadn't been truly screwed in about 7 years. Initially the desires of you and Charles had been unendingly compatible, but that compatibility had wavered after marriage and deteriorated like a good piece of cashmere out in the hay bales. Now up until 1964 Christmas you were under the impression that Charles was going through a dry spell and that you would come together soon enough. What you didn't realise was that in fact your husband was not going through a dry spell, no, no quite the opposite. It seemed he was drowning in the orgasmic sap of any woman he could find on his office floor.

If someone had asked you questions on the topic of infidently 10 years ago you might've said some sanctimonious crap on its moral qualms. But now after being routinely cheated on, you finally started to play his game, not often, but play his game all the same when you did.

,like a groupie incognito, posing as a real singer...

Looking at yourself in the baroque gold mirror, an audacious housewarming gift from Charles older brother, you surveyed yourself from the top. Your skin was perfection: slightly unnervingly pore less like those haunted 18th century dolls, your under eyes amazingly betrayed no defining clue that you barely get fours hours of sleep a day. Moving to your décolletage: it was well nourished after a sebum upper body mask wrap last week, beautifully reflecting the breastplate Galliano necklace. Speaking of spa's, funnily enough as a last-ditch effort you had booked a couple spa appointment for you and Charles. Unsurprisingly he didn't show but as fate would have it, another young woman of the name Catherine had done the same with her husband and he hadn't shown either. Incidentally you both wanted to make the most of it and decided to step in for each others husband's. By the strange hand of luck, Kit and her husband had to been invited to the Kennedy Halloween party. Hey, at least you'd have an ally. Moving down your body you'd picked an ivory, red, and gold embellished haute Dior gown as the base of your dress, and billowed it out using a tiered satin padded chemise to mimic Sissi's grand wedding gown. Matched with simple white pumps passed down from your mother.

Despite your pitiful nagging for him to dress as Franz Joseph I so you'd match, Charles decided not to and instead dressed in the polite yet deeply boring combination of a: twill bow tie, vest, backstrap trousers and wool tipping jacket. With a swift look up to you, nothing but a polite smile and a hand on the small of your back, you were both out of the door and into the car.

The first hour of the party proved to be exactly how you expected... pretty boring, vainly you caught the sight of your reflection in the many mirror of the chateau just to keep yourself occupied. You applied a thin, balmy layer of pink blush via a colour stick and applied a hint of lilac hue across the span of your fluttering eyelids, combing your brows back into submission with a pencil. Counting the creeping in wrinkles and frown lines, despite you only being 31, maybe it was all in your head. You looked down at your costume, how sadly fitting. You'd chosen this costume based on a book you'd read on the empresses life during her marriage to Joseph, you'd read her undying battle with an obsession with beauty. And in that way you related to her, in a dying marriage you grapple with anything to have control over. As said as it was you looked forward to the beauty regimes you scheduled and the sacred-rituals you performed on your hair, because it was something entirely your own.

,Life imitates art...

Just as you were about to entire a self pitying comparison between you: an upper-class sixties socialite and the empress of Austria, you see a saving grace in the form of a face. Catherine, finally you thought, what was taking her so long?

Catherine, a woman of striking features and long black-hole like dark hair, "Hey Stranger" she says while brushing an unruly curl from the perimeter of my face with a motherlike tenderness. Speaking of mothers, Catherine brought her 9 month old baby along to the halloween festivities, whom I already known was coming as she'd been complaining to me about how hard it was to find a babysitter to stay after 6pm!

After fussing over Catherine's beautiful velvet tea-length gown and her impossibly adorable babe with wiggling feet and grabby, powdered limbs who had throughly enjoyed your 5 minute game of hide and seek with your manicured fingers in Chanel's shade phénix. Surely enough the guests, including you and Catherine, were all herded like a cattle of sheep into the expansive dining room, suffocated by eighteenth-century French tapestries covering each wall.

First, pisanelli served over friselle crisp bread. Then, a cabbage soup and chou farci. Canned fish and tomato for a side. For desert, pavlova with strawberries, créme anglais and fig-leaf whipped cream. As you took in the delicious aromas, checking in Catherine's baby only to see the bottom of her face beaming with a smile and absolutely covered in the fig-leaf whipped cream.

I don't really wanna know what's good for me...

What was odd however, was not the delicious food, but the absence of the host of the halloween party, Robert F. Kennedy. You had seen some of this family members around, seen Teddy and even the mysterious Jacqueline Kennedy.

Though maybe he was a recluse, hosting parties to keep up the Kennedy name. You didn't pay much mind to it and continued to eat your food.

Hours later, moonlight had descended over the chateau and you, Catherine and her babe had moved under an outside pergola. It was due for the babes feed and Catherine, justifiably, felt uncomfortable revealing herself to a bunch of snobby strangers so the outside it was. In camaraderie you had chosen to forgo the alcoholic beverages on offer and instead bode for a glass of non-alcoholic punch. But looking back down at the punch, after a long chat with your friend, the cup had been drained.

"I'm gonna go over and fill me up another one of these, do you too want anything while I'm up?" gesturing to the smiling mother and babe.

Catherine politely declines and fakes her babe waving to me as I depart the table by waving the sweetlings tiny arms back and fro, to which you childishly giggle in return.

As you traipse through the beautiful grasslands of the estate you come across a large set of oak tables, reminiscent of old-school desks. But instead of notebooks and pens, the tables were now used to display freshly baked breads with individual ribbons on them. A parting gift for the evening no doubt.

God's dead, I said, "Baby, that's alright with me"...

Rounding a stone arch you see a man shrowed in the most beautiful darkness. A kind of darkness that makes you swear of light and go nocturnal simply to marvel at his beauty. His beauty rivalled that of the Gods. His beauty shall live forevermore. His movements are strange until you realise the purpose behind his actions. His large hands peeling open a tuna can, and patiently beckoning a black cat his way. A cat that seemed to be very familiar with the figure as it immediately came and sat at the feet of the man: sapping up the canned tuna.

Though the man has his back to you, you faintly recognised the puffs of smoke coming from his delicate fingertips, could be a hand model this guy! you joke with yourself to starve off the reflex to call out to the mysterious figure. You stare for a creepy amount of time, fitting for the date you guess.

"Sissi right? Empress of Austria" the man calls out in the dark, now his body has turned to your direct attention. And to your surprise it's not just another Harvard graduate with a good back profile, it's the host of the evening: Robert fucking Kennedy.

You stammer out a "Yes-yes, well I've gotta make use of these dresses somehow." An awkward silence grows, as Bobby looks to the moon-cast sky as if he's pondering what to say next

"Sorry I'm very, very rude to not have introduced myself--I'm Robert Kennedy"

"Oh I know who you are"

"You do?"

"Yes sir, quite intimately if reading the New York Times is any metric of intimacy" you halfheartedly chuckle.

"Funny girl. Now funny girl can I get your name perhaps?"

"Y/n"

When you talk, it's like a movie...

"Ravishing" he says in a tone that you can only comprehend as a little teasing but yet kind.

Moments pass as you chit chat about the nights festivities, with him asking you how you felt about the 3-course meal provided, and ask about why Kennedy as a devout catholic decides to throw a halloween party. You politely compliment his choices--

"Oh I didn't choose them. It's all my secretary she's the real brains of this party anyway--she should be here somewhere" bobby states as he looks towards the periphery of the garden.

"Well she has lovely taste, speaking do you know where I could find a bottle of coke? Y'know I saw them about in one those iced buckets but it's location has completely passed me by."

And you're making me crazy...

"I know exactly what your talking about follow me Mon bébé"

The French term of endearment makes your heart flutter, but you simply assume that for these Kennedy men endearment is given out dime a dozen.

You follow him like an obedient cattle dog, catching the stare of bobby as he turns his head to look at you every few moments to make sure you're still there. Some would find that creepy, that you're sure of, but to you it seemed be an unconscious thing for Robert--seemingly not believing in himself to make someone stay.

On the walk you began to become curious on how Robert got your costume so lightening quick "You read up about Emperors and Empresses of Austria or what? How'd you get it so fast"

'Cause life imitates art...

Robert chuckles, looking down slightly "No--Nah, I-I did some reading on them during the Vienna summit. Y'know cause jack wouldn't let me into the meeting, he thought I'd embarrass him or something, so I just had to wait outside. And I don't really like waiting all that much so I went down to the local bookstore and rented a few, took them back in the morning."

You nod and feel slightly taken aback at the mention of his brother, he discussed his brother with nearly no one. No one in the press at least. The last time you could remember bobby talking about his brother directly was that Democratic National Convention in 1964, looking like a wounded deer.

You aren't able to sit in that stupor for too long because you've come to arrive at the coke's, all the bottles laid beautifully in a bucket of decadent, some would say over the top amounts of crushed ice.

While Robert grabs the drinks, you fumble inside the pockets of your dress to find your compact, opening it to inspect the state of affairs on your face.

Robert grabs two: one for you and one for him, you don't miss that he grabs yours before ever thinking of himself.

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?...

"Shoot!" you say under you're breath: you'd just realised in that moment that you would one hundred percent smudge your lipstick if you drank that coke, and then you'd have to continue the party looking like an absolute idiot because you'd forgotten to pack the lipstick in your clutch.

"What's the matter?" Robert says with a father figure-like concern, despite not having any children: at least to your knowledge.

"Oh it's nothing really I just realised I can't drink this 'cause of my lipstick"

"O-oh okay" Robert stumbles out as he looks up at the sky again, seemingly deep in thought. He does that a lot you think.

Bobby bumbles out "Well if it wouldn't make you to-to uncomfortable. I could Y'know feed you the drink so you don't mess up your lipstick--if you want of course"

You tell me, "Life isn't that hard"...

Taken aback slightly, due to the intimacy of the offer, you freeze for a few seconds but ultimately agree to his proposition. You trust him, a man you've just met today and formally only seen on the news stands, for some bovine reason.

Before you knew it he delicately placed curling, like a willow tree in the string, finger and cupped your chin: pouring the kola nut coloured drink down your oesophagus. Despite the strangeness of the position you two were in it felt right. It felt like what you'd imagined married life to be: the person you love more than anything filling you, and you filling them in return, both metaphorically and literally.

18+ AFTER THIS POINT

There was a certain erotic substance of being feed you'd learned in these past moments. I felt thirsty for him, for his hands, for this chest barely concealed by the Japanese cotton sweater he donned, for his musk that was like if tuberose had been carried on by the sea breeze, for anything and everything you'd be so lucky to receive from him.

I had someone who was hungry for me. I could see it in his eyes, robin's egg blue coloured eyes, as he feed me the coke.

And I was equally, if not more, much more hungry for him. Starved.

He paused the flow of the drink, in order to stop me from completely choking: at least one of us had kept our whits about us.

The hand on your chin never leaves, it lingers and lingers and lingers. My god you are such a fool for a man you've didn't know 12 hours ago.

He catches your eye, looking ever so pensive.

"Do you wanna go messin' around with me, cause I can take you back it's no pressure. I assure you there's no need to give the host any favours" he says in a timid tone expecting, almost wanting to be proven right: that'd you leave. That you'd desert.

"I think we should fuck. Do you think we should fuck?" you say in an incredulous tone, you'd never assumed this kind of attitude but his being had brought it out in you. This carnal, caged animal, woman scorned desire bubbling inside you like a pot of Turkish tea over the stove.

"Yes-yes well I think it's a great idea to fuck actually. It seems like a very good idea in my opinion. Y'know as a U.S senator." his slight arrogance, drunk with power disposition could've scared you. But it really didn't at all, in fact it enticed you to him even more.

All of a sudden, he grabs the skin of your neck and kisses you almost punishably: trying to communicate where have you been hiding for all these years? why didn't we find each other sooner? why have you left me alone?

Messy top lip kisses turn into feverish French and soon you're traipsing further into the countryside of the chateau. He seems to know his way around here: you don't even want to think of the rendezvous he probably has had here.

He leads you to a short alcove in the forrest with tree stumps and a billowing willow tree shielding it from the cruelness of the outside world. A cocoon of sorts.

"Is that a bee's nest"

"No, it used to be but it's been barren after they migrated in the summer. Relax, no one with be able to see not even the bee's. Promise."

You get situated on the ground when Robert drops a bombshell question out of complete left field

"You married?"

"No, are you?"

"No--well not in the real sense, not how marriage is supposed to" Hey maybe that was a bend of the truth but it wasn't a lie, I mean really was it?

From that assurance he immediately pounces on you like a Burmese tiger. His wandering, yearning hands scour your body looking for something you're not quite sure of yourself.

He seemed to like to assume a more dominant position so you let him have his way with you, for so long you had had to hard-shelled around men. But with Robert he had this aroma that just made you want to show your soft underbelly to him, wanted him to care for it like he cared for you.

He manoeuvred both himself and you to be on your sides, your back to his chest. And slowly dipped it in. At first it was only the start, almost knocking at your door: begging to be let in, to get at whatever was inside. And so you welcomed him in the only way you knew how. He wasn't aborally big but he fit like those perfect pair of white tennis shoes that have been worn out just the right amount. His being felt like a return.

"Fuck yeah, give it to me you braves mädchen (good girl in German)"

"I'm giving it. Want to give everything to you, take it from me. Robert, take it all from me now."

His hips moved at a pace that showed a man who aimed to please. A man who aimed to please you, beyond the confines your physical existence.

"This is heaven. This is what they meant" I finally got what made people so devout. They found something to believe in, and in that moment I had to. In that fallen angel taking the form of Robert Kennedy.

Just before his climax, Robert switched positions hoisting your body to now be facing him. A sweetness to the fact that he wanted to share this moment with you, to make sure you didn't feel alone. As he climaxed he reached pitifully at you, pawing but with the determination that he wasn't done until you had gone over that wonderful edge as well.

Soon came your time, and went it came it was the epitome of that beautiful fall from grace. In your bliss you hadn't noticed that Bobby did not share the look he donned just a minute ago. He looked quite concerned, gazing upon the valley of your breasts.

God he's such a man, you thought. But once you looked down you saw a pretty nasty wasp bite right between your two breasts. You weren't all too bothered as you'd experienced stings before: Bobby however looked abjectly terrified. Fumbling through the pockets of the little clothes he kept on to see if he could aid the pain of the sting.

"Bobby It's just a wasp sting. Don't mind it"

"Well I should mind it, You're hurt. Plus now i'm gonna have to explain to the John Jr's night nurse why in the hell I need bee sting supplies at 12pm"

"It's fine, it'll pass" your face betrays that it's not quite fine in the moment. As your post-orgasmic bliss fades and the pain pentrates you.

"No-no, that just won't do. Tell you what we're going to do: we're going to go hop in my car and drive to the clinic and see what they say. It looks pretty nasty honig." (honey in German)

"There's that German again when did you learn that?"

"About five or six, truth be told I stole the language books from Eunice room. She never used them anyway."

Bobbys moves to gather his things and looks at you expectantly.

"Y'know it's kind of funny. Those bee's haven't been seen for months around the likes of here."

"Maybe they wanted to punish me"

"Now what would a girl like you ever do that needs punishing, huh?"

"Nothing" you say innocently. Bending the truth be damned.

"Damn straight." Bobby says with a killer smirk, responding to your held up hands by hoist up and over his shoulder. Crassly patting the flesh of your bum.

"Hey shouldn't the host stay till the end of the party?"

"Nuh-uh. Not tonight they shouldn't." bobby says still carrying you upside down.

The blood rushes to your head. You've never felt so alive in your life.

It's innocence lost Innocence lost

the end.

[harrywavycurly]

Just to soothe my need for fratty daddy Harry could I tempt you with a forehead kiss to maybe write him and a southern belle meeting? Doesn’t have to be our SC girlie but just another sassy southern to put him in his place?🩷

Hiiii lovey!! Okay because I love a forehead kiss and also frat Harry I will give you a little something!😂💖

*keep in mind this isn’t the Southern Comfort universe, this is just Frat!Harry meeting a sassy Southern!Reader*

A/N: Harry doesn’t have time for autographs but you just need help reaching a jar of sauce, enjoy✨

Harry is exhausted, he just wants to grab some things to make for dinner and head home with causing as little of a scene as possible. He tugs at the beanie he wore to help tame his curls and possibly make it a little harder for someone to recognize him as his eyes scan the selection of pasta in front of him, when he makes the decision to just go with a simple spaghetti he feels someone gently tap on his shoulder. He lets out a small sigh and is quick to put on a smile before he turns to see who it is that tapped him on the shoulder.

“M’sorry I don’t really have time for any autographs right now.” He tries his best to come off as polite as possible in hopes the woman staring up at him will understand that not every situation is an appropriate time to ask for him to sign something or pose for a photo.

“Well you see now sugar that’s actually perfect,” Harry’s eyes go a bit wide as your thick country accent fills his ears taking him off guard. “because I wasn’t gonna ask you for one anyway.” You watch as the smile on his face slowly morphs into a frown of sorts as his brows pinch together. “I just wanted to see if I could borrow a few of your inches and have you grab a jar of pasta sauce for me?” Harry’s eyes follow your finger as you turn your head and point towards a jar that’s on the top shelf of the aisle the two of you are on.

“Sure you can uhm,” Harry fights a smirk as he looks back at you making you raise your eyebrow at him. “Borrow a few of my inches.” You don’t miss the way his eyes quickly glance down to the crotch of his jeans before he looks back to you and shoots you a wink. Harry can’t help himself as he bites his bottom lip as he notices just how cute you are in your cut off shorts and t shirt that says “not my first rodeo” and the way you have to take a slight step backwards to look up at him as you place a hand on your hip.

“Oh well you know what they say don’t you honey?” Harry’s eyes travel back up to yours as you give him a sly smile while your hand reaches out and gently lands on his arm. “It’s not the size of the ship but it’s the motion of the ocean so it’s okay that you only have a few inches for someone to borrow.” You give his arm a light pat before you turn around and head back towards your cart that’s right in front of the pasta sauce section of the aisle leaving Harry standing there with a slight scowl on his face as a scoff leaves his lips.

“I have a nice sized ship thank you very much.” You know he’s offended by the sharp tone of his voice as he follows you towards your cart, his box of spaghetti still in his hands. “And I know how to work the ocean.” He adds as he watches as you point to the jar you want from the top shelf so he can grab it for you.

“Oh so you’re a sailor?” You ask with a smile as he hands you the jar, this earns you an eye roll from him before he looks down at you with a glare.

“A sailor? No I’m Harry Styles.” He waits for the realization of what he just said to sink in and for you to react in the way he’s used to which often includes a scream or at the very least a gasp of some sort and rushing to hug him.

“That’s not a career sugar that’s just a name.” Harry doesn’t know what to do when you just place the jar of pasta sauce into your basket and reach towards the front of it where you have your grocery list so you can cross the item off. “Don’t get me wrong now honey it’s a nice name but it’s just a name.” You explain as you look back at him and see the same slight frown on his face as when you told him you didn’t want an autograph.

“You don’t know who I am do you?” He asks with raised brows and when you just start pushing your cart down the aisle he has no choice but to follow behind you.

“Of course I do,” Harry gets hit with what he feels is a sense of relief as you stop to grab a box of spaghetti from the shelf, the same kind that he has in his hand. “You’re Harry Styles who’s not a sailor and doesn’t have time for autographs right now.” Your response makes Harry run his free hand over his face as he lets out what you swear sounds like a groan while you cross pasta off your list.

Harry opens his mouth to respond but before he can he finds himself looking at the back of your head as you continue down the aisle. His grip on the box of pasta in his hand tightens as he takes two long strides so he’s once again standing behind you as you turn the corner and head down the baking aisle. He doesn’t know why your lack of reaction to finding out who he is bothers him so much but it does.

“What’s your name then? Since you now know mine it’s only polite that you give me yours.” You laugh and shake your head as you stop a few feet down the aisle in front of the sacks of sugar.

“Sorry honey I don’t give my name to strange British men who follow me around but if you’d like to make yourself useful do you mind grabbing that sugar for me? They switched shelves it used to be on the bottom and now it’s all the way up there.” He doesn’t know what it is about you that makes him just do whatever it is that you’re asking. Maybe it’s the way your eyes go all soft and round as you look up at him mixed with your accent that thickens when you’re explaining the way the sugar is now on the top shelf instead of the bottom but either way he finds himself reaching up effortlessly and grabbing the sack of sugar you asked for and handing it to you.

“I’m not following you around.” He argues making you just laugh as you place the sugar in your cart and cross it off your list before continuing down the aisle.

“Whatever you say sugar plum.” Your voice is teasing as Harry stands there chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watches you get further away from him and he has to remind himself why he even came to the store in the first place as he looks down at the pasta in his hands. “Have a good rest of your night honey.” His head shoots up and he sees you give him a smile and a wave before you turn and go to the next aisle and as much as he wants to fight it he can’t help the small smile that forms on his face as he turns on his heels and heads back to the pasta aisle to grab a jar of sauce so he can finally be on his way home.