#and also like in a sport that is so like what happened one second ago | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themultifanshipper · 4 months ago

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Do you think you could do something like this

https://www.tumblr.com/themultifanshipper/759431110157631488/quiet-innocent-reader-x-lando-like-lando-finds

Maybe with Oscar ( love your writing)

If Oscar had to describe your sex life in one word : Vanilla.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! God knows how much the two of you enjoyed the sex you had. You weren’t very experienced when you met Oscar, and you were quite a shy person.

Which is why Oscar was so shocked when he found what appeared to be a list of your kinks just sitting there when he got up to make his morning coffee.

Fun fact, this request was sent over a month ago, and i only have a couple more to do before i can get to my own stuff lmao

Warnings: innocent reader, Smut, PinV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, mention of lots of kinks n stuff

Part 2

He hadn’t meant to get a glimpse into the inner workings of your sexual psyche, but really, who leaves something like that on the kitchen counter???

As he read it over and over again, his cock twitched in interest and got progressively harder until he put it down, the words seared onto his brain forever.

He tried to have a cold shower but just ended up jerking off furiously to completion imagining doing all the things from your list.

But as soon as he got out of the shower and dried off, he realized he was still achingly hard. He decided to put on a pair of his loosest joggers and go about his day while he waited for you to come back from work.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed to answer a whole two emails, internally debating the moral implications of communicating with his bosses while sporting an erection.

Then he jerked off again.

It did take the edge off for a bit, but every time he thought about it during the day he couldn’t help but fist his cock at the thought of all your filthy fantasies.

When you got home, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and you did your usual routine: shower, skincare, dinner with a glass of wine, followed by watching something with Oscar, the two of you huddled up together on the couch.

That’s when you started noticing Oscar’s behaviour.

It was very subtle, but you could tell he wasn’t at all focused on the movie, periodically fidgeting around uncharacteristically. Oscar was usually very settled, and tonight it was like he couldn’t keep still for more than 30 seconds. You also noticed his breathing was irregular, often getting shallower as he fidgeted.

Oscar couldn’t care less about what was happening on the screen, his brain was focused on the same thing it had been all day, that damn list.

And he’d been hard all day, which certainly didn’t help his internal crisis.

“Oscar” you sighed, pausing the movie “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you tonight”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would there be something wrong?” his mouth said, but his flushed cheeks were proof that he was hiding something.

If looks could kill, the one you gave him would have certainly done the trick.

“I… full honesty?” he asked quietly.

You nodded “Full honesty”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, but you can’t get mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That’s not a promise I can make, but I’ll do my best”

He bit his lip before taking your hands in his.

“I uh… I found your list”

You just stared at him. “What list?”

“This one…” he took the piece of paper out of his pocket where it had been burning a metaphorical hole in his hip ever since he’d found it.

He handed it to you, but you didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. I was a bright pink piece of paper that had been ripped out of your diary the night before.

You completely froze, panic overtaking you.

“Oh my god. Oscar…” You couldn’t look him in the eyes as you tried to explain “you weren’t meant to find that I’m so sorry! I was going to throw it away this morning and I guess I put it down and completely forgot about it. Fuck- please don’t think I’m weird or whatever and just forget about it, okay? Please?”

You put your head in your hands and whined in distress. This couldn’t be happening. Your loving boyfriend had just learned about your depraved fantasies, and he was never going to see you the same way again.

“I can’t forget about it baby, I spent the entire day jerking off about it”

You head snapped up to finally look into his eyes, your jaw hanging in disbelief. You could tell he was dead serious and your gaze slowly trailed downwards towards his pants, where you could tell he was hard, then back up to his face to find him biting his lip so hard it was turning white.

“you- what?”

“Sweetheart, I got so hard when I read it, I almost got in my car to come and get you from work. I want to do every thing on that list with you” he leaned closer to you and whispered “Every. Single. Thing.”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, lips coming to brush against your neck. “especially number 3…”

You glanced at the list, seeing what he was referring to and gasped.

“Oscar!”

He chuckled into the crook of your neck.

“Who knew you were so dirty, hmm? Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I- I didn’t know how to ask” you stuttered as he nipped at the skin of your shoulder.

“That right? Well ask me now, then” he said and you frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“Ask me. Go down the list, and ask me to do those things to you…”

His lips trailed down your body and his hands pushed you to lay down on the sofa as you spluttered in confusion. “I don’t- what?”

“What’s the first thing on the list?” he asked, he knew of course, but he needed to hear you say it.

You blushed, checking the list.

“Choking…”

“Then ask me to choke you”

You shuddered as his mouth continued downwards and his hands spread your legs, one of them pushing your flimsy pyjama shorts to the side to expose you to him.

“Oscar what-“

“I want to see how wet you get just from saying it, go on then.” He ordered and you keened as a finger dipped through your barely moist folds.

“I want you… to uhm” your blush deepened and Oscar smiled at you condescendingly.

“Go on baby, you can do it”

You gulped.

“I want you to choke me” you squeezed your eyes shut at the admission, but Oscar was having none of it.

“Now fucking look at me and ask me again”

You gasped and your eyes flew open to look at him.

“I want you to choke me!”

“Good girl” he stroked your thigh “Next thing?”

You glanced at the list still clutched tightly in you hands.

“Spanking.”

Oscar cocked his head to the side. “What about spanking?”

Your jaw clenched, the fucker knew how to get what he wanted.

“I want you to spank me”

He smiled and nodded for you to continue.

“I want you to fuck me over the balcony for everyone to see” you said, and Oscar’s pupils dilated as he used his fingers to spread you open for him.

“Yeah? Want everyone to see how fucking filthy you actually are?” You whined as his thumb came to dip inside you briefly before rubbing it in slow circles over your clit.

“I want you to degrade and praise me…”

He felt like he was barely holding on to his sanity at this point.

“That’s so hot, fuck.” He palmed himself through his sweats “You want to be my good girl yeah? Want to be my good little slut? Only thing you’re good for anyway…”

You whimpered, his words making your whole body heat up, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I want you to fuck my mouth”

He had to grip himself through his pants to ground himself, your words having an enormous effect on his composure.

Where had his sweet little innocent girlfriend gone?

“I’ll fuck your mouth baby, make you fucking drool for it, god you’d look so pretty taking me down your throat”

You were definitely wet now, and he took the liberty of sliding a finger inside you and hooking it upwards just to watch you squirm as he rubbed that special spot inside you.

“I want you to tie me up and force me to take it” you said breathlessly.

The noise he let out at that was animalistic as his wide eyes found yours and his jaw went slack as he pulled his pants down just enough to get a hand around himself.

“You have no idea how hot you’d look all tied up and helpless under me baby, it’s making me so hard just thinking about it..”

You moaned as he added a second finger inside you.

“I want, fuck- I want you to use me, and fill me up with your cum whenever you want”

“Shit.” He hissed “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up so good, you'll see…”

“Please”

You hadn’t realised how close you were getting, but Oscar’s expert fingers were making you delirious as you continued.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, want to cry from how good you feel inside me, wanna beg for your cock”

Oscar growled and pulled his fingers out.

“Then beg”

He settled over you, putting his weight on you, his dick resting against your folds as he panted into your mouth.

“Beg for my cock, slut”

You were so fucking turned on. Dominant Oscar was something new, but so, so incredibly hot you would have done absolutely anything to have him inside you at that moment.

“Please, please Osc, I need it. I need your cock so bad, please!”

He growled and slid in to the hilt without warning, making you moan into the heated kiss he was currently giving you to distract you. He was thick and the stretch was delicious as his cock dragged along your walls, making you see stars.

He started a deep, hard pace and his hips slapped against yours, obscene sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. This what you wanted all along? For me to fucking ruin you on my cock?”

“Yes, Oscar, fuck!”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s a good girl, so fucking tight, You’re getting close aren’t you? I can sweet your sweet pussy clenching around me, trying to keep me inside...”

He gripped your hips harder and angled his thrusts upwards, nailing your g-spot, and you were a goner. White spots danced in your vision as the pleasure overcame you, cunt spasming around Oscar.

“Perfect, perfect cunt. And it’s all fucking mine” he growled as he finally spilled inside you, filling you to the brim and forcing a pathetic whimper out of you at the new feeling.

Oscar had never come inside you before, and it was insanely hot. The feeling of your slick, hot walls pulsing around him was pure heaven and he couldn’t wait to test everything on that list.

After you’d regained your breath, you chuckled silently to yourself while stroking Oscar's back.

If this is what you got for leaving your list out, maybe you should tell Oscar about your box of toys in the in the back of your closet…

#my thots #oscar thots #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #ask #request

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azsazz · 5 months ago

Text

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

��Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

#rhys x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acotar au #rhysand hockey au #over ice

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emo-batboy · 1 year ago

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Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

#cryptid Bruce Wayne #college au #does this count if op is the au #fully nocturnal unhinged madman Bruce but make him like 17 and full of crippling separation anxiety and autism #bruce would rather die than inconvenience a professor but hE KNOWS HIS DINOSAURS #Dino class was my fav one in uni hands down #yes i am insane thank you for asking #originally this was just going to be a normal list but I kept taking from my own experience then said “fuck it I'm the captain now”#one of these was a lie tho...the murder wall was third year :/#battinson #bruce wayne #batman #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #the batman #battinson needs a hug #dc universe #gotham #autistic bruce wayne

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awandapologist · 8 months ago

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Kiss It Better

warnings: mentions of a black eye, minor injuries, a tiny bit suggestive, but mainly just some fluff :)

nika x uconn!reader

You had been working on assignments all day; your fingers were cramping up from typing notes and you were exhausted. Midterms were coming up for spring semester and with it, the NCAA women's basketball tournament. But even with all the chaos on campus and in your personal life keeping you busy, your mind still wandered to a certain 5'10 brunette.

You had met Nika Mühl at a party your friend dragged you to at the end of the previous semester. You bumped into the taller girl while trying to get a drink, desperately needing something to relieve your bubbling anxiety from the social event. When her big brown eyes met yours, you swear your stomach flipped. You immediately noticed the small smile playing on her full, pink lips and had to forcefully pull your eyes away from them.

After a night of talking and getting to know Nika, you were practically smitten. The way she maintained undivided eye contact with you throughout your conversation, and how passionately she talked about her love for her sport completely charmed you. You knew she was a special person, and one you definitely wanted to see again, which is why you had to hold back a huge grin when she asked you for your phone number at the end of the night.

Since that night a few months ago, you and Nika had become close friends. Close, yes.... but not exactly in the way you wanted. Your romantic feelings for Nika had only grown with time, falling more and more for the Croatian everyday. You wondered what her lips would feel like on yours and what it would be like to hold her hand as you walked around campus. You swore that sometimes you thought she felt the same, but you were too nervous to make the first move, worried about tarnishing the friendship you shared.

Before you could torture yourself any further, a loud and very persistent knock on your door pulled you out of your stressful thoughts.

"What the hell-" you muttered. "One second!" you yelled, quickly leaving your bedroom as you wondered who could be banging on your door at this time of night. In hindsight, you should have known who it was by the insistent knocks that wouldn't let up.

As if by magic, the same girl plaguing your thoughts was standing on the other side of the door- except she was sporting a big black eye.

"Nika, what the hell??" you exclaimed, as you pulled the taller girl in by her arm. You quickly took her face in your hands, examining the injured area surrounding her eye. She looked down at her feet, avoiding your intent gaze.

"Are you okay? How did this happen?" you asked, concerned for your friend. You knew Nika was tough and could sustain a lot on the court, but this looked like it hurt. Badly.

When her eyes met yours, you saw so much emotion swimming in them.

"It was an accident at practice. Coach said I can still play in the upcoming game, but I'm just so pissed at myself for letting it happen."

Her large hands left her side to place on your waist. You tried to push down the damn immediate butterflies you felt at the simple action.

"I didn't even go to the trainer- I came straight here. I'm gonna get so much shit from coach tomorrow, but I don't care." Your breath hitched in your throat at the confession, but annoyance also rose at the girl's carelessness.

"Just wanted to see you," she said quietly, her lips forming the cutest unconscious pout.

"Nika!" you swatted her arm, immediately taking her by the hand to lead her to the bathroom. You rummaged through your medicine cabinet, immediately cleaning the wound on Nika's face before grabbing some ice.

The Croatian towered over you, wincing a little as you applied pressure on the freshly formed black and blue. "So..." you began. "Are you going to tell me more about how this actually happened?" you gently inquired.

Nika's brown eyes met yours again. "I was.... distracted, I guess. Paige ended up completely elbowing me in the face," she laughed meekly.

"Distracted? During basketball?" you asked, brow quirking up. "That doesn't sound like you at all," you said. You knew how passionate Nika got during practices- always giving her best effort no matter the time or place.

"Got a lot on my mind lately I guess" she said under her breath. Her eyes darted down to your lips discreetly and back up to your eyes.

The close proximity and the way Nika was staring you down began to make you nervous, and Nika could tell. You cleared your throat before you began speaking again,

"Oh? Like what kinda stuff?" you asked, now avoiding the other girl's line of sight. You pretended to seem disinterested and unsurprised, but Nika wasn't buying what you were selling. She knew you better than you knew yourself.

With a small smile, she removed your hand that was holding the bag of ice from her face, placing it on the bathroom counter. Her now free hand grabbed your waist, pulling you closer into her, while the other brushed a fallen piece of hair to rest behind your ear.

"Well, you see..." she started. "There's this one girl that has just not left my mind. No matter how hard I try, I just keep thinking about her." Her hand began to rub small circles on your hip, soothing both herself and you. "So much so that I got a black eye for it," she said. That same small smile you loved so much adorning her plush lips.

You felt like your heart could burst at her words and the way she was holding you. The realization that your friend felt the same was still sinking in, but Nika was done waiting.

"So... think you can kiss it better for me?" she said with a smirk, cupping your jaw before finally bringing her lips to yours.

#nika muhl #nika mühl #nika muhl x reader #uconn wbb

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oh-obrien · 2 months ago

Text

GRID ACE 0.5

GAMER READER x Lestappen SMAU

Summary: Reader is a Red Bull e-sports athlete who happens to catch the attention of two particular drivers with her streams.

All pictures are from Pinterest and reader has various face claims!!

Part five and I promised this one would be the last but I’m a slut for this pairing apparently and can keep going🤭

Look for one or two more parts!

Also look out for a Maxiel college SMAU!!

Comment to be tagged ☺️

Masterlist / Previous Part / Next Part (my links aren’t working right now I’ll be fixing it tonight 😊)

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Las Vegas, Nevada

Liked by Yourbestfriend, Landonorris, and 45,688 others

Xx.y/n.xX , @ yourbestfriend and the grid... not sold separately.

Yourbestfriend shop the package deal today!

-> Danielricciardo it's like those American stores that sell huge amounts of things!

-> Xx.y/n.xX today on @ Danielricciardo can't google the correct terms: Big Box Stores

-> Landonorris to be fair he isn't American and he's trying

-> Xx.y/n.xX hey, @ landonorris. Five. Seconds.

-> Oscarpiastri great now he's crying in the corner

-> Danielricciardo @ landonorris crying in the club (the hotel bathroom) because he just received the most devastating news ever (y/n was a bitch) even though it was expected (y/n is a bitch every day)

-> Yourbestfriend WOAH WOAH WOAH DANNY BOY. She might me a bitch but she's my bitch.

-> Maxverstappen1 my bitch.

-> Charles_leclerc ours*

User1 MY PARENTS ARE PARENTING IN THE COMMENTS

-> User2 sometimes I forget they're actually dating and then they whip out that

-> User3 no because Max and Charles will just say our girlfriend sometimes and my brain like factory resets

-> User4 NO LIKE Y/N LITERALLY SAID MY BOYFRIENDS ON STREAM THE OTHER DAY AND I WAS KICKING MY FEET GIGGLING

-> Landonorris imagine how tired we are of it.

->User1 LANDO NO

-> Georgerussell63 imagine how tired we are.

-> User5 I’m D E A D GEORGE TOO

f1 you all better be ready to race next weekend after this one

-> Redbullracing what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

-> McLaren we don’t want to hear wedding bells only car engines

-> Scuderiaferrari VROOOOOOOM

-> Xx.y/n.xX they’ll all be in tip top racing shape for next weekend 🫡

-> User1 EXCUSE ME WEDDING BELLS???

User6 I’m trying to tell who on the grid is out all together.

User7 I WANT TO KNOW WHOS FINGER HAS THAT FAT ROCK ON IT IN THE SECOND PICTURE.

-> User8 THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS TRYING TO FIGIRE OUT TOO. THERES TWO THOUGH SO LIKE???

-> User7 I feel like it can’t be Y/N she always has really fun nails and they just hard launched like a few weeks ago

-> User9 my boyfriend is a RB mechanic and says this has been going on for well over a year now

-> User10 it always makes me mildly uncomfy when people speculate about this stuff

-> User7 girl sit down they’re public figures

-> User10 it can really easily just be a friend out with them and one one of the drivers SO’s though

-> User11 Y/N in her gold digger era bagging two F1 drivers

-> Xx.y/n.xX my contract from professional gaming ensures I don’t need to “bag” anyone thank you very much. Sorry you can’t find one man to love you let alone two ☕️

-> User12 OH MY GOD THAT IS INSANE

-> User13 period Queen 👑

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Landonorris just added to their story

Story Replies:

DanielRicciardo : you’re going to be in trouble for this one

Landonorris : Danny boy, Max posted it with me while Charles and y/n were on their bathroom break.

Georgerussell63 : Today on Lando breaks the internet

Landonorris : it’s my duty 🫡

Xx.y/n.xX : If I wasn’t so hungover right now I’d be mad about this.

Landonorris : your lovely fiancé told me I should post it

Xx.y/n.xX : my lovely fiancé was almost as drunk as I was and his judgement was impaired

Landonorris : no, max was actually pretty in his right mind.

Xx.y/n.xX : if he wasn’t out getting me and Char coffee right now I’d be more mad about this

Yourbestfriend : best man 🤝🏻 maid of honor 🤝🏻 being menaces to society

Landonorris : you know it sweetheart

Yourbestfriend : sweetheart?

Landonorris : did I stutter ?

Yourbestfriend : 🫣

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

User1 E X C U S E M E?????? I know we all went FERAL over Lando’s post last night but WHAT??

-> User2 I just assumed it was one of his friends. I did not realize the rest of the grid was there

-> User3 I bartended for most of the event last night and I can tell you they brought out the club and if you KNEW who it was you’d go INSANE!

-> User1 GIRL YOU CANNOT JUST SAY THAT

-> User3 the couple was ALL OVER each other.

User4 REMBER Y/N’s INSTA THE OTHER DAY??? We NEED to figure out whose hand that ring was on!!!

-> User5 my vote is on Max, Charles and Y/N

-> User6 Y/N’s Val team was posting on their stories that they were in Vegas a couple days ago, why else would they be there?

-> User7 Y/N’s best friend has also been posting that she’s in Vegas.

-> User5 she’s been traveling with the grid also, I think there’s something else going on there with her and a driver as well.

F1forthegirls BREAKING : an unnamed source has confirmed that the party was for Y/N, Max and Charles. The source c confirms that Land and Yourbestfriend rented out the club, set up catering and tapped most of the grid to help decorate.

-> User8 NO FUCKING WAY THIS IS TRUE

-> User9 Until my mother confirms absolutely nothing is true!

-> User10 WHEN DID THEY GET TOGETHER THIS IS INSANE

-> User3 they were like a bunch of love drunk idiots last night it’s definitely real. Those boys WORSHIP her

-> User11 WE NEED MORE DETAILS @ user3

-> User3 nah they deserve to keep is mostly private! They haven’t even announced yet and this leaked!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Las Vegas, Nevada

Xx.y/n.xX Max and Charles have the best pit crews but I have the best “I Do” crew.

User14 I AM SO SORRY BUT W H A T THE ACTUAL FUCK

-> Xx.y/n.xX ahh you can’t say fuck, penalty.

-> User14 HELLO???

Danielricciardo I made a great pick with the last decorations

-> Xx.y/n.xX 🙄

-> Landonorris I HELPED

-> Xx.y/n.xX no boys allowed ✋🏻❌

Yourbestfriend girly really goes for it with the hard launches

-> Xx.y/n.xX it’s my specialty 🤭

User15 are we just not going to ask when this happened???

-> User16 so it was totally y/n in her last post with the MASSIVE engagement ring

-> User17 it looks like a stack my bet is she got two rings actually

-> User18 each boy would’ve definitely gotten her one

-> User19 I NEED THE DETAILS!!!

-> User20 I want to know when they ACTUALLY got together being that they’re apparently ENGAGED now??

Maxverstappen1 what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas

-> Charles_leclerc no you just party too hard to remember

-> Georgerussell63 actually @ oscarpiastri and I needed to drag you and Y/N out of the club, Max was perfectly fine.

-> Maxverstappen1 exactly.

-> User21 WHY AM I THINKING ABOUT LOVE DRUNK MAX GIGGLING WHILE HE FOLLOWS THEM BACK TO THE HOTEL

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Landonorris drop the vid!!!

Redbullgaming excuse me that’s OUR top frag we’d like to keep her!!!

-> Redbullracing actually she’s coming home with me

-> Scuderiaferrari I feel like we deserve a place in this conversation now also

Yourteammate1 THE BEST WEEKEND 🍾 🎊

-> Yourteammate2 THE BEST BRIDE TO BE

Valorantesports Whatever they’re doing I like it!

-> Xx.y/n.xX admin pulling out the Neon vocie lines 🥹🫶🏻

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Charles_leclerc just posted

Tagged @ Xx.y/n.xX, @ maxverstappen1

Comments on this post have been limited

Liked by Landonorris, yourbestfriend, and 1.23M others

Charles_leclerc Together is a wonderful place to be

Xx.y/n.xX Forever and ever and ever!!

Maxverstappen1 of course this is the picture you picked

-> Charles_leclerc it happens to be one of my favorites

-> Xx.y/n.xX they’re all my favorites

Landonorris ITS HAPPENING STAY CALM! STAY CALM!

-> Danielricciardo he is not calm

-> Oscarpiastri he’s definitely not calm

Scuderiaferrari CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR FUTURE FERRARI ROYALTY (and max too we guess)

-> Redbullracing truce?

-> Scuderiaferrari we’re still coming for that world championship

Carlossainz55 🍾🎊🥳 Congratulations!!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Maxverstappen1 just posted

Tagged @ Xx.y/n.xX, @ charles_leclerc

Comments on this post have been limited

Liked by redbullracing , georgerussell63 and 1.83M others

Maxverstappen1 My favorite place is next to you

-> Xx.y/n.xX and Char*

-> charles_leclerc AND CHAR!

DanielRicciardo let the festivities begin!

-> Xx.y/n.xX Danny’s in his wedding planner era

-> DanielRicciardo at your service m’lady

Redbullgaming Two world champions and a soon to be world champion? UNSTOPPABLE!

-> Maxverstappen1 Hell yeah! My crew delivers!

-> Valorantesports Max Verstappen three time world champion pulling out OUR voice lines? AHHHHH

-> Xx.y/n.xX you’re not ready for Max’s Geckko main arc.

Lewishamilton Congrats, mate! Lucky to have gotten a front row seat to your story.

-> Xx.y/n.xX 🫶🏻

Tag list : @that-one-little-soybean @menagerofmischief @delululeclerc @evermoreandroyalblue @tsnelf7 @dukeofjjune

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 smau #charles lecrelc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen #reader x lestappen #lestappen imagine #lestappen x reader

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rebelssvy · 2 months ago

Text

personal trainer ✧.* part two

ushijima x reader

part one link here!!! ੈ✩‧₊˚ part three link here!!!

LABELS: suggestive, hot make out sesh. not really smut. no sex.

- i really like this one, if you haven’t go read part one too pls!!!🤍🤍

he never left your mind. despite him saying he didn’t mind, you in fact did. and that shit was so embarrassing. it was effecting your job.

it was a couple days later, hoshiumi was the only one in your room. it was after practice, normally all the boys would come in and atleast get ice from you. you were curious as to why only one person was here. nonetheless you shrugged your shoulders and continued on.

practice ended at 7:30 it was now almost 8:15, and no one was here. you decided you would work on your emails. sending out tape jobs specific players needed to other trainers for away games.

you eyes landed on the famous ushijima wakatoshi.

your mind circled back to the moment you shared with him days ago. you hadn’t seen him since then. which was also scary because he is frequently getting treatment for you.

you heard your door open, and to your own surprise there he stood.

you pulled yourself up from your desk and walked over to him.

“why haven’t i seen you lately?” you joked with him. tilting your head, laughing enough for it to lighten the mood.

he stared back at you, uncertainty in his eyes.

“you will have to forgive me for saying this…” he said in a low monotone voice.. his face scrunched up into disgust.

every nerve in your body stood on end. waiting for his next words.

“after what happened acouple days ago… i haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…. and…” he continued on, seemingly just as nervous as you.

“and… how badly i think i want you.” you gasped at his words.

he wanted you… in what way? what does he mean by this...?

you took a second to respond, studying all his features. it looked like he had gone home and showered before coming back to the facility. he was sporting grew sweats, a basic white tee hiding under his black hoodie.

his cheeks were flushed crimson. he looked embarrassed to even be near you right now.

“how do you want me ushi..?” you said, cautiously. you didn’t want to assume the wrong thing.

he frowned, trying to pull the words out of his throat.

“can i… just show you?” he responded, looking away shyly.

“yes.” you said sternly, holding your position.

with a sharp and fast breath, he turned to face you. it seemed to all be in slow motion.

he lifted his hands up to your face. cupping your cheeks. he pulled you closer, you could feel his breath on your lips.

slow and uncontrolled, he mushed his lips against yours. it was innocent. you kissed him with passion. eyebrows jagged.

his hands slowly moved down from your cheeks. one finding your hand, holding it. the other finding the arch of your back. he pulled you flush against him.

pulling apart, unable to open your eyes. he let out a drugged breath. waiting for your response.

unable to conjure up words, you grabbed at his sharp jaw line and brought him in for another kiss.

unlike the last one this one was full of fire. it lost its innocence, it was hot and passionate.

you two connected, flush against eachother. you gasped when his hand found the fat of your ass.

pulling apart momentarily he asked,

“is this okay?” in a strained breath.

you responded “yes..” before diving back into his soft lips.

letting out a soft small moan against his lips. it could’ve even been missed by anyone else. but ushijima picked up on it.

he took the opportunity to brush his tongue against your bottom lip. you opened your mouth just enough for him to make way into yours.

his tongue was greeted by yours. he groaned into your mouth.

it was all to hot. all of it was to overwhelming. but you wanted more.

your thigh brushed up against his hard on, just momentarily.

enough contact for him to buffer, his knees going weak.

you pulled apart again. waiting on his next words.

“we can take it slow” he said face flushed, lips puffy.

“mmhm” you cooed, shaking your head, and licking your lips again.

his arms were still linked around you, you smiled up at him. he seemed to be taking in all your features.

he took in an anxious wobbly breath before proceeding,

“let me take you out.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨

taglist: @fwskullz @feiwelinchen @coffeeaddictedmay @juanasspirit @sporkslol

part three link here!!!!

- pls leave comments!! im taking recs as well now!!

should i make a nasty part three ????(no holds bar all smut) lmk

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littledeadling · 5 months ago

Text

You probably know by now that I’m quite taken with my DND character, Horatio. In this post I’m going to explain him (with pictures!!) so you can enjoy him too, and follow along with his story if you want!

~~~~

Let’s start with the man himself:

~Horatio Ignatius Heronwillow III~

Horatio is a human paladin knight following the Oath of Glory. Also, he’s a pompous bitch with an ego the size of a small country.

Horatio’s character arc is all about getting humbled over and over again. Maybe he’s not the best. He’s not even second best. Maybe he’s even…pathetic. Despite all his training? His many successful battles? His prestige? What does any of that matter if his Queen doesn’t trust him to be her champion? If the Queen doesn’t even like him?

Horatio is from the nation of Thrane. He introduces himself as “the gilded knight of Fort Light, first at her majesty’s royal table.” He’s an ardent follower of the Queen, even though she’s merely a figurehead—the Church of the Silver Flame holds all the power. He is considered weird for this. His family are all noble elitists, and their support for him is conditional. Even though he’s become such a high-ranking knight, he’s never good enough.

But we can’t truly discuss Horatio until we meet his nemesis/rival/best friend/worst enemy (who he’s totally obsessed with, and who happens to be a centaur). His name is Elethar Sigrún.

Elethar came to the castle when they were both young (for ~unknown reasons~), and they trained to be knights alongside each other. Despite being the only centaur in the kingdom and not of royal birth, Elethar immediately usurped Horatio as the Queen’s most promising young knight, thus beginning a lifelong rivalry.

Does Horatio have feelings for Elethar? Not that he’s aware of. This is because he is stupid. Does Elethar feel anything for Horatio (besides pity and disdain)? Unclear!

~The Dragonshard Derby~

Now that we’ve met our hero, lets turn to the story!

The players are all entrants in The Dragonshard Derby: a mounted cross-continent race hosted by a rich and famous duke. To the winner goes the spoils: a great dragon’s hoard, and glory for their chosen nation. Obviously, Horatio is racing for Thrane. One hundred contestants are participating, riding everything from regular horses to owlbears to dinosaurs (dinosaurs are normal in Eberron 😳).

Horatio’s mount is a golden Akhal-Teke horse named Marvellous Moondance. She’s the light of his life. Despite his competitive nature, he would never push her past her limits. He puts her safety above all else.

Much to his chagrin, Elethar is also running in the race. Apparently the Queen had a special, secret mission for him, which she didn’t tell Horatio about. He persuades Elethar to confide: there’s an artefact rumoured to be among the dragon’s hoard that the Queen desires. Neither of them are sure what it is. Horatio promises that if he encounters it, he will give it to Elethar.

~The World of Eberron~

The campaign is set in a world called Eberron. The road is dangerous! We’ll be journeying though many different terrains, including the Mournland, a desolate wasteland which was once a great nation. Less than five years ago, during the war, a white fog filled the nation of Cyre from border to border and killed everyone inside. The cause of this was unknown, but it led to a tenuous end to the fighting. Horatio and Elethar were both on the front lines when it happened. They witnessed people across the border dying in agony. Horatio still has nightmares.

The Dragonshard Derby is the first time since then that the other nations have come together to put the past behind them in friendly sport. Evaluators will be watching from airships to make sure there's no foul play, though their vision is limited whenever racers are passing through the woods. Any teleportation is strictly prohibited.

~The Race So Far~

Each leg of the race begins with a sprint. In the first sprint, Horatio finished first in his section, but 11th overall. Elethar placed actually first, and gave Horatio polite congratulations once the scores had been posted. Horatio was pissed. This was supposed to be his chance to prove himself to the Queen! Why did Elethar have to be here and show him up? He ruins everything! And he’s so effortless about it, too. He never loses his composure, ever. Horatio wishes he could be like that.

During the first leg (a multi-day ride through the forest and plains), two riders were murdered under mysterious circumstances. Both had placed within the top ten. Their belongings had been trashed, searched through. As frustrated as Horatio was with Elethar’s presence, he’s now more just worried for his well-being. After all, Elethar is racing alone.

Then, when Horatio’s party was still a day’s ride away from the second sprint, something strange happened.

While fighting off a band of raiders, the world suddenly froze for Horatio. A strange light appeared in the sky, drawing him towards it. The moment he touched it, he felt something write itself into the skin of his arm. A mysterious lantern appeared in his bag, glowing with ethereal purple light. It would later become clear that the lantern will always appear back in Horatio’s bag, no matter where he leaves it. And, he discovered, he now has access to new magics that he was previously incapable of. This was all VERY ALARMING.

Anyway, back to Horatio’s arm. Something important in Eberron is the concept of dragonmarks. There are twelve great Dragonmarked Houses (basically powerful mob families) which each share a unique dragonmark- a sigil that appears somewhere on the body at puberty and grants powerful magic. There are also aberrant dragonmarks, which is when a combination of two other sigils appears on someone not from a Dragonmarked House (usually when there have been mixed relations between Houses). There’s a lot of political baggage attached. And Horatio suddenly has one, at the ripe age of 35. To make matters worse, it’s not a normal dragonmark OR a known aberrant, but something entirely new.

He chose not to tell his party anything about this.

Then, it was time for the sprint to the next checkpoint. Horatio started strong, but again, Elethar swept in and beat him right at the finish line. He congratulated Horatio on the race. Embarrassing him further, Elethar presented Horatio with this letter he had just received from the queen:

Sir Elethar Sigrún, First Knight to Queen Diani ir’Wynarn My earnest congratulations on placing first on the primary leg of this great race. I would expect nothing less of my finest knight. Of course, you are missed at the castle, but I am honoured by the diligence with which you have chosen to pursue the purpose I have set out for you. I am sure that you will earn the respect of the kingdom, should you succeed, and I am pleased to hear of your success so far. It will be essential that you continue to maintain this position, else my favour lies elsewhere. Loyal Elethar, I wish you great fortune, and may the blessing of the Silver Flame be upon you. Her Majesty, Queen Diani ir’Wynarn PS. Please tell Sir Heronwillow I am being informed of his standing in the race as well.

…Crushing.

He’d been considering telling Elethar of his troubles, but after that he was too upset to broach the subject.

Now that they’ve made it to the checkpoint, there are official tents with beds for everyone (with sleeping arrangements decided by race standing), a small market, and a mess hall with dinner provided.

During the meal, a friendly fellow racer named Ash attempted to flirt with one of Horatio’s party members, offering him a strange glowing flower he’d found nearby. Horatio immediately recognized it as being similar to his lantern. When his teammate turned down the flower, Horatio asked if he could have it. Ash took this the wrong way. He let Horatio know he was really, super not his type, and would not be giving him the flower. Double ouch.

That night (in the dead of it), a pack of wild raptors invaded the tents where the racers were sleeping. The party managed to kill them before they hurt anyone, but Horatio detected that the animals were all under an enchantment. Their real purpose had been to attempt to steal the flower and take it... somewhere. To someone. Was this what the killers from the first leg had been seeking? None of it bodes very well for Horatio!

The next evening, Horatio dragged Elethar to the edge of the camp where they could not be overheard, and nervously confided in him. The dragonmark, the lantern—everything. He was a bundle of nerves, but… It went well! Elethar was very alarmed, and told Horatio not to let ANYONE else find out. Not even the Queen. Especially not the Queen. Horatio was equal parts thrilled by Elethar’s willingness to share a secret with him, and terrified to keep anything hidden from the woman who basically controls his life. I drew a comic about this conversation. It was too good of a scene not to draw. 🫣)

Well, that’s where we left off last session! Thanks so much for reading, and meeting my guy! I love him and I hope you like him too! 💖

Stay tuned for a little intro post about the rest of the party! :•) I’ll link that here as well!

To be continued! (Probably in a month or so)

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

#talk to me about him ALWAYS #Dragonshard derby #Horatio #my characters #dnd #dungeons & dragons #eberron

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sturnslutz · 9 days ago

Text

doomsday

tw: vomiting, mention of lacing, angst. def recommend listening to the song above on repeat while reading! the return of fratboy!chris and independent!reader 😇

it wasn't not normal for chris to distance himself from people. he didn't mean to, but sometimes everything just becomes too much.

sports, his schoolwork, you. it all became too much. he knew he didn't have feelings for you, of course not. but you distancing yourself from him after hookups changed something in him that he didn't know could be changed.

you heard from matt that chris wasn't doing too well, and you couldn't help but wonder just a bit. it wasn't like you were asking him if he was okay every second, but you texted him a couple times just checking in and all you got were a couple dry responses and sometimes just plain being left on read.

it didn't affect you too much though. why should it? you guys hooked up a couple times, that's it.

it was until it's been weeks since you heard from him that really affected you. the aching in between your legs caused you to go hookup with some old hookups, but chris lingered in your mind.

where had he gone?

matt had called you. "rosy, chris isn't okay. y'needa get to my place now."

that's all he had said before the line went flat. you quickly got ready, hopping into your car and driving to matt's building which was about 10 minutes away. you made your way upstairs, knocking on matt's door and it being opened with vey.

she had this look that made you uneasy. "what happened?" you quickly whispered to her as she took your hand and led you in. "he got laced."

your heart drops at the sight. chris and matt in the bathroom with chris hunched over the toilet, gagging heard throughout the dorm. matt was sitting next to him, noticing you got here and stood up and made his way next to you, leading you into the bathroom.

"chris? it's rosy." you sat down next to him, rubbing his back. he looked up, wiping his mouth. he had never looked like this. his eyebags were the worst you had ever seen, his face was pale, and he had clearly lost a ton of weight.

he had tears running down his face, and a tired look. he said nothing to you before closing the toilet lid, and flushing it, before standing up and washing his mouth out in the sink before walking past vey and matt and flopped down on matt's bed, all without a word.

you looked at matt with sadness in your eyes, but also a bit of confusion. matt and vey both walked into the bathroom, shutting it as you stood up and leaned against the sink. "what the fuck happened?" a voice no more than a whisper came out of your lips.

"he's been in a really bad place recently. he didn't tell me or nick why but he's been staying with a friend off campus these past couple days. and this guy is like a well known drug addict and he's the one who chris gets all his shit from. i guess chris smoked or took some stuff from him that had something in it, and he passed out in the guy's house. i tracked his phone because he wasn't calling me back or anything, got to the house, saw chris passed out on the ground in the living room. his guy was nowhere to be found, and i stayed with chris till he woke up, and took care of him until we drove back here."

matt explained everything and vey had gotten emotional at the thought of everything, her eyes welling up with tears as she sniffled, turning away from the both of you. you knew vey has had some experiences with lacing and drugs, all of that, from her family so the topic was sensitive to her.

matt rubbed her back and you stayed silent, just thinking. chris almost died. you knew chris obviously wasn't doing so good, but the thought of him passing out and just seeing how he looked made you distressed.

"when was this?" you asked softly as you looked up to matt's saddened face. "about 8 hours ago. he's been vomiting for the past 3. i'm thinking about taking him to the hospital if he doesn't stop. thankfully, the time periods in between his vomiting have gotten longer. i called nick and my parents already, and nick's on his way right now and my parents are heading over soon. i just hate knowing they're gonna see him like this."

your thoughts were quickly interrupted at the noise of someone banging on the dorm's door. matt opened the bathroom door, exiting it and opening the front to nick bursting in. "chris, oh my god." he said without another word as he walked over to chris who glanced up, sighing. "nick, i'm fine." his voice was almost nonexistent and came out raspy.

nick wrapped his arms around chris and sat down next to him. chris merely hugged him back, glancing over his shoulder, looking at you with distressed eyes. neither of you broke eye contact as tears welled up in your eyes. you hated crying in front of people.

you broke the eye contact as you coughed, looking up at the ceiling, blinking and trying to get rid of the blurry vision as you turned back into the bathroom. vey followed in after you, closing the door and rubbing your back as you covered your mouth, not being able to hold in the sobs anymore.

choked sobs and coughs bounced off the walls, and vey brought you into her arms, rubbing your back and hair, quietly reassuring you as you wrapped your arms around her, sobbing into her shoulder and neck. you were sure the triplets could hear you despite the meer piece of wood blocking you guys, but you didn't care.

you weren't one to cry for others but someone so close to you, chris more or less erupted more emotions from deep inside you that haven't been released in months.

you didn't know why you were crying like this over him. it's not like you guys were dating but the love in your heart, even if it's just a bit, overcame you.

after a couple minutes of vey whispering into your ear and rubbing your back, you had finally calmed down just a bit. "it's so fucking embarrassing i'm crying like this." you muttered into your hands as you broke your body away from vey's and sliding down the wall next to you, pulling your knees up to your chest.

she slipped down next to you, rubbing your knee. "it's not. at all. i need you to understand that what you're feeling is perfectly normal and it's a normal response to something as severe as this happening. hell, even i cried. and so did matt. he called me when he was lying next to chris, sobbing into the phone and praying that chris was going to wake up. we all understand how you're feeling, rosy. this isn't something small, this was serious. i'm happy you're allowing yourself to let these emotions out."

vey reassured you, making you feel a lot better. the thought of matt sobbing to her over the phone and praying for chris made your heart tighten with the ringing thought that chris had seriously almost died.

you took a couple moments to recollect yourself, before taking a deep breath. "it's gonna be so embarrassing when i walk out. the whole building probably just heard me crying." you laughed softly, and vey gave a sad smile, shrugging.

"probably. doesn't mean it was pointless though. c'mere." she stood up, taking your hand and bringing you up also. she ripped off a couple paper towels, wetting them and wiping your eyes and cheeks.

you had looked into the mirror, your face and eyes red and puffy, and dried mascara staining your cheeks before vey wiped it off. she rewet the towels before holding them against your eyes, instantly soothing your burning vision.

once she was finished, she tossed them into the trash. "you ready?" she softly asked, her hand hovering over the knob and you gave a slight nod. she opened it, matt waiting next to the door before his eyes flickered up, looking at the both of you. "you guys okay?" he softly asked the both of you as she nodded and you shrugged.

you looked over to the bed, seeing nick and chris in the same position, but now nick was rubbing chris's back as chris cried into his hands. your heart dropped again, he was crying because he heard you sob.

he looked up, his red puffy face similar to yours. "i- am so sorry. i don't know why i ghosted everyone, i don't know why i left, i don't know why i took anything that fucking bitch gave me. you were the only thing in my mind when i was doing everything, and i just couldn't control anything i did. i was stressed out over fucking everything. rosy, and everyone, im so sorry." while he was talking, he stood up and got close to you, cupping your cheeks, looking down at you.

in other instances, this would've been so embarrassing for the both of you, this action being very unrecognizable for the both of you, but right now, no one cared. all everyone cared about was, chris's wellbeing.

some time had passed, and you and vey had left. the triplets' parents had come and the both of you decided to give the family some space. matt had insisted you to stay to meet them, but you declined almost immediately. it's not like you didn't want to, but it was a big step for you.

that night, nick and matt had made a groupchat with you and vey and had told you guys that their parents insisted on bringing chris to the hospital. they told you he vomited again, and passed out due to dehydration. he woke up and they're probably staying the night in the hospital to make sure chris's vitals were stable, and for now they were.

vey had decided to come over and take your mind off of everything. you had thought about smoking, but decided not to because of everything today. so, you both resorted to making slime, skincare, eating, and watching movies.

it felt like a weight off your shoulders knowing chris was okay.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer comment to be added or removed.

#Spotify #alexis talks #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturnslutz #angst #fb!chris #independent!reader

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cumulo-stratus · 8 months ago

Note

request- hanging out with your two best buds spencer and penelope and watching lady and the tramp

or could be just with spencer

i just love seeing them together and need to hang out with both of them. and i know they are both fans of Disney movies like c’mon it just makes sense

BEST BUDS [S.R]

Penelope, spencer, and you share a nice night at penelope’s watching Disney classics with spaghetti

spencer reid x gn!reader ][ fluff drabble ][ 0.6k ][ masterlist!!

a/n- MAY ILYSM FOR THIS REQUEST!! its a drabble not a full fic but oh well lol

“Spencer pass the cheese!” Penelope's many bracelets jingling on her wrist could be heard as she reached out for Spencer to hand the cheese to her.

When Spencer placed the bag in her hand she shook it onto her bowl of spaghetti. There was now a little pile of white parmesan cheese on top of her spaghetti.

Penelope leaned against one end of the couch wearing her Mickey headband while you and Spencer cuddled up on the other end for best buds night as Penelope so lovingly called it. The name hadn’t changed even when you and Spencer got together a few months ago.

They usually happened whenever there was the time for one, which wasn’t often. This made them special. Special meant Penelope often got very excited at the prospect of a best buds night.

Tonight she had decided to make spaghetti to go with their viewing of The Lady And The Tramp. Ever since you had discovered Spencer's secret love of old disney movies, both you and penelope insisted on watching his old favorites.

Penelope had heard about this from Spencer when she saw him blushing at texts, and being the guy who never normally even takes a second glance at his phone unless it's work related. Of course, Penelope being the lover of matchmaking insisted on knowing what Spencer was looking at.

Said previous events led to the three being cozied up on the couch with the light of the movie illuminating Penelope's otherwise dark apartment. The old style music and animations brought back memories from Spencer's childhood.

“You know my mom used to play this for me a lot” Spencer spoke with a fond smile, and you could almost see the memories flickering like old film behind his eyes. You smiled up at your boyfriend from his shoulder. You placed a small kiss on his growing stubble.

ever so often, either penelope, you, or Spencer would make a comment (though most of them were spencers). Spencer usually said something about how the animation was done, or a historical inaccuracy. “You know that architecture is quite unrealistic for supposedly the early 1900s- are you guys seeing this brickwork?” he would call out, only earning a giggle from the others.

When Penelope made a comment it was usually along the lines of “ahhhh!!! look at these two cutie pies!!” and other phrases in the same vein. Her excitement was at its peak in the classic spaghetti sharing scene. there had been lots of penelope screams/yelps of joy.

You preferred to stay quiet, leaving a sentence hanging in the air every once in a while. But you found more pleasure in listening to your two best friends.

The more the night wore on, the more the warm bowl of spaghetti in your stomach and the soft sound of Spencer's heartbeat lulled you into a drowsy state against his chest. His warmth radiated into your soul, allowing a blanket of peace to roll over you as the movie's credits started to play. ‘’

Spencer looked down to find you asleep on his chest, and his second thought after how adorable you were- was how was he going to bring himself to wake you up and go home for the night.

Then again, Spencer noticed someone asleep. Penelope had her head rested against the couch and an empty bowl still in her hands. She also sported a small squishmallow of a unicorn at her side. with her eyes closed you could see the eyeshadow she hadn’t had the thought to take off yet.

And as spencer looked at his two best friends, and then back to the tv with the credits still rolling, he wondered how he got so lucky.

spare a reblog?

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sungodsfav · 11 days ago

Text

just a stranger | t. fushiguro x f!reader

summary : honestly what did he expect was going to happen? you were a complete stranger to him three months ago. it’s not your fault he was an idiot for thinking any sane person would agree to getting married to anyone that soon.

genre : modern au, 18+, marriage of convenience, angst, fluff, smut,

warnings : MDNI, fem!reader, dilf toji, hitman!toji, stalking, mentions of masturbation, more to be added as I keep writing

prologue wc : 2.3k

masterlist

He feels like a damn pig staring at his current search history which consists of, single successful women in my area, and single young successful women in my city, lastly hot single young rich successful women in my city. That’s when he sees your name and photo at the top of a list of today's most powerful women in their twenties.

Toji blames Shiu for planting the idea in his head. What you need is to be under the protection of someone powerful. That way whoever left that threat will think again. He likes to blame Shiu even though it was Toji’s mind that jumped to the conclusion that a marriage was the only way.

So he clicks on your wikipedia page to learn more about you since you were age appropriate, hot, and ridiculously wealthy. He reads that you currently own one hospital, two in state law firms, three out of state law firms, four kids sports parks, and five playgrounds. Toji also reads that you are about to make it six playgrounds as the sixth is expected to have a grand opening in a month from today.

At first he doesn’t understand how you can have that amount of money and success at such a young age, that is until he sees that you’re a defense attorney. A really damn good one too. Toji digs further and clicks on a link showing him the long list of clients you have defended. Majority of it were a bunch of clan heads as well as some obnoxiously rich business men. You don’t take any pro bono cases, which explains how you afford to own everything. Toji actually knows all of the people you have defended from his line of work. Shit, you’ve even defended his boss, Sukuna, when all odds were against him. You would actually be perfect for him because this just means you are most likely protected by both sides. Since you are the only attorney that represents his kind of people. He decides in an instant that he needs to marry you, so that his son can fall under your umbrella of protection.

Toji Fushiguro begins to tail you for three weeks, and in those weeks he learns things about you.

First, is that you are for sure single, always ordering for one when getting take out or dining alone. Second, is that you are always working, you spend ten hours in the office and then continue working when you get home. Third, you do not have a life outside of work, you just work, eat, bathe, and sleep. Fourth, you enjoy spending the little amount of free time you have watching trashy tv while giving yourself a fresh manicure and a pedicure always with a full wine glass. Fifth, you hated socializing and kept all interactions minimal and brief unless it was work related. Sixth, you have a favorite place for everything, and you are a regular for each said place. You like routines and you stick to them. Seventh, you owned your house which wasn’t flashy like he had expected, it was an updated modern three bedroom one story home with a two car garage. Lastly, eighth, which is his favorite fact, is that within your modern home you pleasure yourself at least four times a week.

He was able to see it all with the help of your wall length windows and his binoculars. Poor Toji just couldn’t help himself, but to pull out his hard cock to join you in the fun all the way in his car down the street every single time. He only became a widow a year ago and being a single father he didn’t have any time to do anything outside of work and Megumi. With all the information he gathered from you, he finally felt that it was time to approach you and put his plan into action.

Toji decides to keep it simple and slow with his approach with you, not wanting to blow his chance with you. He’s a gentleman of course, so his first interaction with you is opening the door to your favorite coffee shop for you. “Thank you”. Is all you say to him with a small nod of your head and a gentle smile directed to Toji.

Your voice took him by surprise especially having heard you talk on the phone with colleagues and a few of your taped cases that were online. Your voice was always firm and overflowing with confidence, nothing like how you just sounded. Almost shy just now with a voice barely above a whisper. He stood behind you in line and began to realize just how much shorter you actually were despite wearing your tallest high heels. Barely reaching under his chin.

He listened to you order your usual obnoxiously long complicated drink. You paid, then stepped aside to allow whoever was behind to order which happened to be Toji. “I’ll just take a hot green tea to go.” He hands the employee extra cash, “keep the change kid.” He stood a few steps behind you and watched as you went through your emails, deleting some, flagging others, and reading a few.

Both the drinks were ready at the same time so Toji lets you grab your drink first by a second or two before he grabs his and rushes to hold the door open for you again. It isn’t until you both make it outside that Toji goes to engage in a conversation with you before you part ways.

He clears his throat to gain your attention. You don’t notice him at all and mindlessly adjust your scarf. “Excuse me-” You cut him off with your palm held up to pause him not even sparing him a glance.

“No sorry, I don't have any spare change.”

You turn and begin to walk toward your building as your heels click against the concrete and Toji can’t help but to smirk not expecting to be having to put in more effort in getting you to give in to him.

The green eyed man tries again the next day, on your commute home. He sits next to you on the bench as you wait for the subway to arrive. Toji tries to speak to you but you end up pulling out giant headphones from your purse and putting them on. He can't help but to chuckle with a shake of his head at just how unapproachable you actually are and your efforts to keep it that way. It was extremely clear to him now that you were single by choice, not allowing him or even other men to approach you.

That's how the rest of the week goes. You promptly put a stop to all of Toji’s advances without sparing him much of a glance his way. His favorite rejection from you was when he approached you in a pastry shop as you were scrolling on your phone and so Toji asked “can I get your number?” To which you responded without skipping a beat, “I don’t have a phone.” You didn’t even look at him while rejecting him. Because of you Toji realizes that he has absolutely no game when it comes to picking up women. All he really had going for him was his height, face, and god-like build. That was all he had going for him and that was all most women needed to give him their attention. He tells himself that he’s giving up and going to look for another potential bride if you continue to not acknowledge him. He’s desperate and willing to accept eye contact at this point as a sign to keep pursuing you.

He arrives at the grand opening of your sixth playground, Megumi clinging to his leg. Toji spots you quickly as you do interviews with the kids about the park. You look different than your usual appearance, long gone are your usual heels and slacks. Today you're in some straight jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, your hair neatly styled like always, but the expression on you is soft and kind. You smile encouragingly to the small kids.

“Hey brat, go talk to that lady over there.” Toji orders Megumi with a shake of his leg to get his son to release him. The two year old releases his fathers leg but just stares at the lady his dad pointed at before his attention drifts to the playground watching two other kids his age running and playing. Toji goes to squat to get to his son’s level but Megumi waddles away towards the two kids. He was only two years old so he couldn’t really blame his son for not being able to follow directions.

Toji lets out a frustrated groan before walking towards an empty bench to get a better view of you entertaining some random kids. You’re playful and happy interacting with them, some of the parents even coming up to you to give their appreciation for the new playground in their neighborhood.

It isn’t until he hears the familiar cries of his boy that his worried eyes leave your form to search for his son. Said son is in tears as he looks at the spot Toji previously stood, great, Megumi probably assumes that he was abandoned. “Dumb kid”. Toji relaxes with a scoff and is about to go get his crybaby of a son until Megumi turns and waddles over to you. Your face immediately fills with concern at the sight of the heartbroken boy. Maybe my son wasn’t completely useless. Toji smirks as Megumi holds his arms up to you seeking comfort and you act quick by bending down and lifting him into your embrace. He can’t make out what you ask Megumi and he definitely can’t hear what his son responds with but Toji takes it as his time to step in and make a move.

The closer he gets to you and his son he can hear that your soothing words are actually comforting Megumi. You rub his back as he rests his head against your shoulder and his tiny arms wrapped around your neck. Lucky bastard. “It’s okay baby, we’ll find your daddy, don’t worry.” You rock him gently in your arms as you look around the playground hoping to spot his father. You were a natural at this, the complete opposite of what Toji expects from someone so cold and out of reach.

Toji finally makes it in your line of sight and your movements falter, you physically grasp Megumi in a tighter hold, and shift your body so that your shoulder would shield the boy. As if you were attempting to protect him. “You trying to steal my boy?” Toji teases with a smirk stopping a few feet away not wanting to scare you into running away with his son. He isn’t an idiot, he knows that his appearance is intimidating.

Your eyes narrow at Toji before looking down at the boy in your arms who has stopped crying a while ago and is now playing with your necklace. “He’s your son?” Your cold tone has returned and your eyes flutter back to look at Toji. “He came to me crying looking for you.” Your body goes back to a more relaxed state and you turn to completely face Toji, he watches with a smirk as your eyes slowly trail up his form. “Sweetheart, is this your daddy?” Your gentle soft tone seems to only be reserved for kids, Toji notes.

Megumi lifts his head up to look over at Toji and he lets out a small sigh of relief. “Yea, my daddy.” However, sweet little Megumi goes back to resting his head against your chest.

Toji lets out a deep chuckle. “Here let me grab him, your arms are probably getting tired.” Toji steps closer to you to grab his son but again your body reacts instinctively as you tighten your hold on the small boy and subtly lean away.

“N-no! It’s okay, I’m okay holding him. I’ll let you know if I get tired.”

He couldn’t help but to smirk at the sight. So all it took for you to speak to him was his little brat. “You have any kids?” Toji asks even though he already knew the answer, standing right next to you. He observes you and notes that your small smile that is directed to Megumi falls.

With a shake of your head you look up at Toji. “No I don’t. How old is he?” Toji is slightly taken back at you actually giving him the time of day. There was a big chance that you still would have ignored him even while holding his kid like he expected.

“He’s two, just had a birthday recently. Honestly, it was sad since it was just us two, now I’m trying to take him to more parks so that he can make friends to hopefully make the next birthday not so lonely for him.” He easily lies to your face and your eyes soften a tiny bit.

Your eyes land on his chest as Toji crosses his arms, he grins glad that you were a tiny bit attracted to him. Makes things slightly easier. “Oh, what happened to his mother? Nevermind that’s personal, you don’t need to answer that I’m sorry!” You rush out slightly embarrassed.

He shrugs. “She passed away about a year ago.”

Your lips drop to a sympathetic smile looking down at Megumi who is slowly falling asleep. “I’m sorry, that must have been tough for you both. If you ever need help with him, please let me know.” Your tone dripped with kindness that Toji couldn’t help but to take advantage of. He chuckled with a glance down at the concrete before turning to look into your soft eyes before the scarred corner of his lips tilted up into a smirk.

“Ima need your number for that, doll.”

a/n : so this is just the prologue but I’m very excited to post more very soon! I’d love to know your thoughts and depending how well this chapter does I might make a taglist if you guys would be interested in that :)

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #toji au #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji fic #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro smut #toji series #toji fushiguro fic #toji smut #jjk smut #hitman toji

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sweetestcaptainhughes · 4 months ago

Text

cat got your tongue - Cole Caufield

Word Count - 3k

Requested - Yes a mutual dared me weeks ago to write a entire fic only about Cole Caufield's tongue.

Author's Note - thank you as always for reading. 💞🫶🏻 This literally took me forever to write because writers block is very real even when you love an idea, also I got this request back in the middle of July before anyone wants to come into my asks. I'm not sure if I like this ending, but that might just be me being my biggest critic.

Warnings - oral receiving but I think that's kind of obvious given the title of this fic. 🤣

Summary - Cole finally convinces you to come to one of his games, but what happens when all you can focus on is the way he sticks his tongue out during a celly.

Tonight was the first time that Cole has finally convinced you to come to one of his games. To be fair you did just meet the guy a month ago in a bar. Unlike Cole, you did not know everything when it came to hockey which could have been one of the reasons that you weren’t pressed on going as soon as Cole brought up the idea. But his constant insisting that turned into begging which was kind of hot finally got you here. In the back of a shared Uber with your friend who actually knows hockey and said she would tag along to explain what the fuck everyone is doing on the ice. At the end of the day trying to learn all the rules of a sport you never even watched was hard.

Just to mess with Cole a little, you did purchase one of his jerseys which granted a lot of money. But your friend who came along with you to the game, insisted to “do it for the plot.” So here you both are, you in his jersey, entering the arena. Due to the amount of time it took to get through security, you weren’t able to be in your seat until after warm ups had already started. Your seat was center ice but a few rows back purely because you told Cole if he thought your ass was sitting front row at your first ever NHL game, you would simply walk out because you didn’t wanna accidentally end up caught on TV looking like someone who had no idea what was happening around her.

As soon as Cole saw you, he skated over to the bench although you couldn’t see what he was doing talking to one of the trainers you assumed. He then skated over and started bouncing what looked like the nearest puck on his stick as many times as he could and then passing it over the glass. A fan tried to take it, but he shook his head no and pointed at you. Then he threw another one over for the little boy who was a couple seats down from you, before skating off continuing on with warmups.

“Why was that kind of hot?” you whispered to your friend.

“Wow who knew a basic white boy would have you down this bad?” she teased.

“Bitch shut up.” you said before you finally looked down at the puck. Cole must have asked the trainer for a marker and signed the puck before coming over.

You look hot with my name on you. Meet me in the tunnels after the game.

Deciding not to tell your friend about the message you look up to see Cole sitting on the bench now making direct eye contact with you as he watches you read his message. Nodding your head yes and mouthing ‘okay’, even from the other side of the arena the smile that spreads across his face is seen clearly from your seat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cole was literally playing like his life depended on it tonight. Now granted you might not understand all the little detailed rules when it comes to hockey. But you knew an assist was a good thing, in period one alone Cole had 2 assists and something about the way that he got one knee skating for a celly with his tongue slightly sticking out. Something that is so simple, made you feel your stomach drop, getting more and more turned the second time he did it.

During intermission, you and your friend went to the bathroom and maybe it was the 3 beers you consumed but somehow you both started joking around about what your friend calls “your new fetish Cole’s tongue.” Jokingly you stuck your tongue out ever so slightly. Not realizing in that millisecond your friend took a mirror selfie, your side to the mirror the famous ‘22’ on display with Caulfeild, sticking your tongue out ever so slightly with your butt teasingly pushed up. Honestly, you kind of looked hot in the picture and made a mental note to ask your friend to send the picture to you later.

As the first intermission was about to end you just made it back to your seat. Cole was able to pull off another assist during the second period. Your friend who has been a fan of the Hubs her entire life told you that you're never allowed to miss a game again because if this was how the rest of the season was gonna go they might make it to the playoffs. All you could do was chuckle at her superstitious behavior. But stopped when the fans around her were agreeing with her when she told them this was your first ever game, Cole invited you and this is how he was playing.

“Oh my god please stop. I don’t want my life to end on twitter. Y/B/F/N.” you begged, taking your hand and covering her mouth. She drunkenly agreed to stop and both of you turned your attention back to the game. Even when he wasn’t on the ice, your eyes couldn’t leave Cole. Every once in a while he would catch you staring at him and making a teasing face back at you, pecking his lips, or sticking his tongue out extra far in order to get an air sip of his water. Every time he did all you could think about was his tongue wrapping around the clit or lapping your pussy like it was on display right now for thousands to see. Every time he was on the bench and went to lick his lips you found yourself squirming in your seat. All your friend could do was roll her eyes at your behavior.

Somehow you made it to the third period, but that’s when Cole scored a goal. You swear it was just to tease you, he skated past your section sticking his tongue out and wiggling it. “Fuck” you mumble to yourself.

“Y/N there are children around. Stop ya nasty!” your friend says as she can’t help the laugh that escapes her. Your mind couldn’t stop thinking about sitting on top of Cole’s face or him on his knees with one of your legs over his shoulders. As you rolled your hips against his tongue dragged. -

Suddenly your brain was brought back to real time as the final buzzer went off. Everyone around you cheered as the HUBS won a shutout - which your friend just told you is what it’s called when the other team doesn’t score a single goal during a game. But to be perfectly honest you weren’t really paying attention to your friend explaining any more slang hockey terms, your eyes focused on Cole as he skated around the ice with his teammates celebrating. The crowd was going crazy as it was the only shutout in what seemed like a lifetime, you could feel the energy of the crowd as you felt your body slightly move with all the jumping fans around you. Cole finally looked over at you from center ice and smiled. He titled his head towards the tunnels slightly reminding you of the puck and the note written on it, you nodded your head yes as you felt your cheeks heat up slightly from anticipation.

Slowly the crowd started leaving once the boys were leaving the ice, finally there was enough room for you and your friend to make your way to the steps.

“Hey thanks for coming by the way.” as you stop at the top of the steps.

“It was fun. Are you ready to go?”

“Actually Cole told me to meet him in the tunnels after the game.” you admit a light blush still painting your cheeks.

“ooo okay have fun girly. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Text me when you get back to his place.” As she wraps her arms around you to hug you goodbye quickly.

A laugh escapes your lips at your friend's words. “What do you mean ‘his place'?” Making a quotation sign with your hand.

“Well we both know you aren’t going home tonight. You know you'll be busy with him, I’ll just check your location.”

Before you could open your mouth she turned around and was gone. All you could do is laugh as you stood there and watched her walk away. Quickly you turned around and started walking towards the other side of the arena where the tunnels were. Somehow managing to find your way around, you pulled your phone out to text Cole that you were waiting outside of the locker room for him after being stopped by security, but thankfully the pass Cole gave you just in case came in handy. Standing against the wall scrolling Twitter while you waited for Cole to be done.

Somehow the fan girls work faster than you could have ever imagined because someone made a gif of Cole’s tongue sticking out as he skated against the glass during his celly earlier tonight. Watching the gif over and over your breath caught in your throat as all your thoughts form earlier tonight just wanting to want Cole sink to his knees in front of you and eat you out came flooding back. Imagining your hand in his hair helping his face grind against using his tongue for nothing else except your own pleasure. Your mind was wandering and you could feel yourself dripping at the thought of making Cole sink to his knees, you refusing to pull his hair at first as punishment for teasing you all night.

Lost in your own thoughts you didn’t even hear Cole leaving the locker room or coming up to you. Cole knew you were lost in your own world and decided to scare you by running up to you from behind wrapping his arms around you and leaving a wet kiss on your cheek. All that could be heard in the mostly quiet hallway now since he was one of the last players out was his laugh as you squirmed in his arms. “Ew Cole let me down.” you shirked in a high pitch voice he laughed in response spinning you around one more time before setting you down.

“So how did you like watching me play?” he asked, finally facing you, still trying to hold you as close as possible.

“It was good. It was actually kind of hot watching you play.” you admit with a smirk on your lips.

Cole gives you a puzzling look as he questions, “oh yeah?” in a teasing tone.

All you do is flash him a cheeky grin as you admit, “yeah watching you do your little celly on the ice was so hot, but I just kept watching you stick your tongue out all night.” Leaning up to his ear despite no one being around you whispered, “all I could think about was getting you to sink to your knees so I could ride your face, one leg over your shoulder, my back against the wall and not let you touch yourself as punishment for teasing me all night. My hands in your hair pulling and tugging as much as I wanted. All while your tongue is busy, so you can’t even beg me to let you touch yourself to give your hard cock some relief.”

As you lean back only far away enough to see his face, his mouth is ajar in shock at your words. It’s as if he’s processing your words and for the first time in his life he’s quiet for more than a minute, you decide to further tease him while he stands there frozen. “What’s the matter baby boy, cat got your tongue?” A smirk on your lips as you watch him blink, as if his brain has finally caught up to the world around him.

“No, not yet.” His voice is an octave deeper than before filled with lust. Suddenly he’s pulling you down the hallway towards the parking garage. “But it will be.”

But just as you were about to exit the stadium to enter the connected parking garage, Cole made a sharp left turn down a separate hallway. “Where are we going?” you ask.

“Oh, we're making your words reality mamas.” As he opens a door and suddenly you find yourself in some type of equipment storage closet. In the corner is an extra medical bed, and there are sticks everywhere along another wall. But you don’t have too much time to examine the room before you feel Cole behind you after he locks the door. “ Kissing down your neck, blowing air into your ear and all you can do is compliment him by sighing at the feeling.

Quickly you regain your composure and turn around in his arms, finding his lips and kissing him hard. Fighting for dominance, and smirking when you slip your tongue into his mouth, he moans as a response and you can feel your underwear being damp from the sound he makes. Pushing him off of yourself quickly. You take a step back, you're against the wall now as you unbuckle your jeans. He says to you “have I told you how pretty you look with my name on your back.”

Holding your hand up against his chest to stop him from getting any closer to you.”naw ah ah. Let’s put that tongue to good use, less yapping yeah?” Even though you phrase it as a question, your tone is stern and demanding. Taking your left hand that wasn’t on Cole’s chest you move it to his shoulder slightly pushing him down so he’s on his knees. The way he glances up to you with his now darker blue eyes could have made you come right there. Trying to take a breath without showing him how much control he really does have over you at the moment. Pulling your jeans down the rest of the way and stepping out of them, slipping your shoes so you can slip your skinny jeans off the rest of the way.

Looking down at Cole in a full suit, suddenly deciding he’s in too much clothing as he kisses your exposed thighs in front of you. “Take. Off. Your. jacket.”

“Yes Momas.” he says, taking his suit jacket, refusing to lose eye contact with you. He tosses the jacket somewhere behind him joining your jeans. He sticks his tongue out to tease you more as you throw your right leg over his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about teasing Cole.” you grunt. He moves your underwear to the side swiping up and down your cunt in quick motions. “You wanna be a good boy right?” you ask as you tug slightly on his hair.

“Hmm.” he moans as a yes on your clit, closing your eyes at the taste. Taking your hands you tug hard on his hair.

“No, gotta keep your eyes open. I wanna see you while I grind on your face.” As you start to lightly roll your hips, Cole’s hands find the flesh of your ass and back of your thighs. He pulls you closer and starts kneading the soft flesh looking directly up to you as he moves his tongue down to your hole. Pushing in and out teasingly as his nose bumps his nose against your clit. “Fuck Cole.” you moan as you push your shoulders against the door, throwing your head back, closing your eyes at the feeling. Your hands go under the jersey finding your boobs squeezing them through your bra trying to play with your nipples. And then you feel Cole move his head so slightly causing a new angle as you roll your hips against his face even harder. “Fuck right there baby. Don’t stop.” you whine. So much for being in control but right now you couldn’t give a fuck with how good Cole was making you feel.

Cole goes back up with his tongue to do circles over your clit driving so crazy. You don’t even realize one of his hands leaves your ass and his fingers find your hole abusing it even more than his tongue was a minute ago. “Fuck Cole I’m close.” you warn and that’s all you have time to grunt out before your vision blurs and you feel your legs shake, if it hadn’t been for Cole holding you upright you would have fell. He continues to eat you lapping up all your juices until your legs stop shaking and your breathing isn’t so ragged.

Gently he removes his face from your pussy, careful to keep a steady grip on your legs so you stay up right. He slowly makes his way up to you, pulling you into a kiss so you can taste yourself and all you can do is moan in response. “Usually it takes more than a guy eating you out to feel this tired but holy shit Cole.” you mumble leaning your head on his shoulder closing your thighs.

“Come on, let's get you dressed.” he says, reaching down for your jeans that were thrown away earlier.

“No.” you whine. “ I’m not leaving you with this.” As you gently take one of your hands to slightly cup his bulge in his suit pants. He hisses in response. “See your in pain.” you complain.

“I’ll be fine. You just said your tired baby.” he argues. Looking back over at the medical examination bed in the corner of the room you get an idea. Slowly taking one of his hands you turn and walk backwards towards the bed guiding Cole with you. Letting go of his hand, you slip your underwear off the rest of the way and throw in his direction. He catches it on reflex sucking in a breath as feel the medical table behind you. Slowly you climb on and scoot all the way back.

“I’m not too tired for you. Take what you need. Be good for me, make me cum again baby boy.” you beg as you lay down and spread your legs for Cole to have a perfect few of your still dripping pussy from your first orgasim.

“Fuck. how did I get so lucky to get you.” he mumbles to himself as you watch him undress and make his way over to you.

#cole caufield smut #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield #cole caufield fic #cole caufield x y/n #cole caufield fanfiction #cole caufield blurb #montreal canadiens smut #montreal canadiens fanfic #schwritingscc13 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic

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leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver.

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are).

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases.

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.”

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max.

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest.

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed.

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving.

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?”

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm.

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck.

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up.

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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eveningepiphany · 2 years ago

Text

reconnect | h.s oneshot

my masterlist

summary: lockdown is tough on both you and harry. you miss the feeling of physical touch so much you start chasing to fill that void in one another.

warnings: sweet and dirty smut, unprotected sex, fingering (fem rec), spitting, deep conversation, lil bit emotional, touch starved harry & y/n, lockdown and covid mentions.

a/n: something hot and sweet for y’all ily!! highkey wish I had harry during my lockdown era writing this, my god.

———

You felt entirely numb as you heard the familiar news reporter say the words you had been dreading of hearing. Tahnee was was always on at this time of the day— you didn’t even know her name however many months ago.

Restrictions had been easing just a week or so ago.

Her voice continued to echo through the lounge room as you cupped your face in your hands with a sigh.

“—we understand the effect this news may have on viewers at home. In these unprecedented times we must stick together as much as we can. Look after yourself everyone… we’ll see you next with our sporting updates after the ad break.”

She sounded glum, like she hated being the one to deliver the news to people. In the end, she too has to go home and cope with the numerous amounts of restrictions on her life.

You reached for the remote, turning off the tv and throwing it back into the duvet that now permanently lived on the couch, good for the cold nights and binge watching TV shows because you had nothing better to do.

Other than ignore your upcoming college assignments. Which you’re going to continue to do. And procrastinate finishing them and how much you hate the pressure of online schooling.

You had other shit to dwell on too.

You miss your family. You miss your friends.

You’re sick of living out birthdays and your college life on video calls.

You missed being hugged, and kissed and touched.

You were so grateful to have your best friend of all people stuck with you. But you still craved so many kinds of social interaction.

Now you just wanted to cry.

You stood up, knowing harry wouldn’t know yet. Probably in bed on his phone, and you just needed his company.

You quickly went to escape the silence of the lounge room, padding down the hallway in your sweatpants and a baggy tshirt you know for a fact you stole from your dad.

His door was only half shut, and you gently said his name.

“Harry…?” Your voice wavers.

“Yea, love?” His voice is soft, welcoming as it always is.

You push through the door to see him laying in bed, also in sweatpants and a rolled up long sleeve.

He looks at you and tears immediately start to spill over your waterline without you even realising.

He props himself up, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

You invite yourself over to his bed, and his arms pull you into his chest the moment you’re close enough.

A gesture that is just too much given the circumstances, and although the sweetest, it tips you over the edge.

You feel the tightness in your throat as his hands move to caress your back. Before you know it, your chest is rattled with a sob. You felt so dramatic but you needed to let it out.

He waited no time to wrap you straight into his tightest hug, trailing his hands up to your the back of your neck, stroking the skin there with his thumb.

“Darling.” He whispered, concerned of what had happened, but not wanting to push you to tell him. Just letting you cry.

Eventually it wracked out of you,

“We’re— we’re going back into stage four restrictions.” Your reasoning came out with a shaky voice.

You felt his intake of breath once you’d said it, and it got held in his chest for a few seconds before getting let go all at once.

“Fuck.” He cursed out defeatedly.

You sit in silence, but not once does his grasp on you loosen.

“I just want to see my family outside of a fucking FaceTime.” You whisper.

“I do too…” he closes his eyes, “I wish there was something I could do to make it better, y/n. I’m sorry.”

He grabs your hand, amending what he said before.

“I know this is shit, but we’ll get through it. We get through everything together.” He smiles, it doesn’t quite crinkle the corners of his eyes like it usually does, but it’s an attempt at the least.

“I’m so sick of feeling so alone, Harry. I’m glad i have you here, but it’s so lonely at the same time with just us.” You say quietly, hoping not to offend him.

He nods against your head, which is tucked into his shoulder, letting you vent without interruption.

“We can’t do anything. We can’t see anyone. I havent felt another persons touch outside of yours in weeks.”

He doesn’t get offended, he understands exactly where you’re coming from and you’re so grateful for that.

He just plays with your hair as you talk.

“Same here, baby.”

“I don’t mean it in a rude way, you’re very affectionate given our circumstances, but I just…”

Your sentences falls off short, and you shrug. You missed romantic touch too.

“Y’miss being touched.” He enunciates the word in a more suggestive way.

You nod, “not to sound… gross or anything. But I do miss being touched, and held, and kissed.”

He pulls you in a little closer as you speak, almost without realising he was doing it. Absentmindedly ready to do any thing to make you feel a bit better. A bit more connected.

“It’s not gross. It’s normal.” He frowns, “We have gone months without seeing our own family. I can only guess neither of us have had anything romantic going for us. Nothing wrong with missing that.”

“It seems kind of— i don’t know— weird to miss in comparison to the other things.”

“Y/n, tell me you’re not feeling guilty for missing getting kissed. Or laid.”

“I’m…” you sigh as you realise you can’t even pretend you’re not, and he rolls his eyes lightly.

“Jesus.” He let’s out a breathy laugh.

“It’s not just that, atleast, that I miss.” You shake your head, still feeling a little embarrassed.

“I miss the connection. The feeling of it.”

His facial expressions quickly get more serious as you talk. All of the words coming from your mouth can be interpreted in varying ways, but his mind can’t help but veer towards the more sexual aspect of it. Especially since you didn’t deny you missed getting laid.

“I get it. I miss having the opportunity to want someone.” He nods again, watching your reaction to what he says like a hawk.

You look away, almost shy, “To really want it.”

“Yea…” he glances at your lips without realising he’s doing it, and the feeling you’re both discussing at this very moment is welling in the pit of his stomach.

His hands reach out to wipe away the damp glaze on your cheeks from your tears.

“I’m proud of you.” He sighs.

“What— Why?”

“Because. You may think you’re not, but you’re doing so well.” He looks utterly sincere as he says it.

“Harry…” you shake your head as his name slips past your tongue, and you bury your face further into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent, lips accidentally brushing the base of his neck.

This has him tingling, your soft mouth so close to his pulse point, he wonders if you can feel it racing.

“Y/n.” He squeezes your hip, “If you want me to kiss you, just know all you have to do is say the words.”

He swallows as you still, processing the offer he’s just put on the table.

“But—“

“I miss it too. The really wanting it.” He caresses the soft skin of your waist with the hand that’s now slid underneath your shirt.

You go quiet, suddenly the air so thick with tension you couldn’t breathe.

“If you want anything from me, I’ll give it to you.” He whispers, so softly. Like he wants you to hear him, but also not at the same time.

You’re not sure how to even react.

You’re horny. Emotional. And frankly a little bit too infatuated with his lips to breach into the territory of being able to touch them with your own.

“Harry.” You repeat, sounding unsure.

“Baby, if you wanted it, I would do it.”

He scratches his fingers down your spine, noting the absence of a bra strap.

You shudder at the sensation. Realising no one has made you feel like this in so long.

“Very sudden.” You blurt, trying not to push forward with you hips whatsoever, despite the ache that’s quickly conjured between your legs.

You fear that if you feel him, all sense of rationality will be gone.

“I know.” He says, lips dragging down your temple.

“M’beginning to realise, y/n, that i would do just about anything to keep you happy.”

Your heart pangs and you indulge a little, hands coming up to weave through his hair and pull on it gently.

And he groans, sounding so pretty.

“You deserve this too.” You carefully say. You’re not even sure where the line is between the two of you. But you continue talking anyway,

“Always so sweet… so giving. Who would I be to not make you feel loved on too.”

“Christ.” He whispers as you tug on his brown curls again, which slide against your fingers like silk.

“How far is this gonna go, H.” You ask, needing clarification before you go insane.

“Far as you want it.”

“I need specifications.” Your hands come to his cheeks, “I don’t want to be making any assumptions here.”

“Angel, If you asked me for my mouth on your pussy, I would give it. Want my cock? It’s yours. Use me, touch me, anything you want you already have.”

You feel yourself melt at the words.

You cave, leaning forward and capture his perfect lips, feeling their shape slot against yours like an art piece.

His lips feel heavenly, and you nearly black out at the sensation that overtakes your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good love.” Harry says against your mouth, his tongue jutting out to swipe over your bottom lip.

You hum in the back of your throat, and he tugs your hips so you’re properly seated into his lap.

You can’t miss his erection underneath your core. His clothed length is pressing into you and a moan slips out of you before you can even stop it.

“Need it. Please.” You start to beg, no matter how desperate it comes across.

His hand comes to your waistband, “you’re sure you want me to touch you?”

“Yes, yes.”

It dips underneath the fabric, finding you without underwear and almost dripping you were that wet.

The thing is, going so long with just your hand and a vibrator, the second any kind of prospect of getting dicked down is there— you’re immediately slick with arousal.

“Jesus fuck, y/n.” He drags his middle finger through your cunt, feeling the wetness along his finger tip. “You’re soaked.”

“Harry— oh my god—“ he slid it back down, teasing your entrance with his fingertip.

“Been that long huh. Just the thought of it works you up this much?” He chuckles.

Your hands fly to the collar of his shirt, tugging at the soft material, gripping it in your fists.

You hum in agreement. “More, please.”

“Mm, so glad you’re letting me do this.”

He pushes in further, and just his one long finger is touching places that has you clenching around him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Praise is spilling from your lips as he curls his digit in you.

You slouch into his strong frame, hand slipping down between the two of you, palming over his erection.

He peppers your neck in open mouthed kisses, moaning at the feeling of you squeezing his clothed cock.

“Can I— fuck— get you out.” You ask, reaching to dip under his sweatpants.

“Yes. Don’t even have t’ask, pretty.”

You flush, hand moving underneath his waistband, finding him also without underwear.

Relief flooded you as you got your hands on the smooth skin of his cock.

He moaned at the contact, “Shittt. That feels amazing. S’much better than my own hand…”

He slides another finger into as you begin stroking along his length.

You both begin to move in sync with one another, the sound of your pleasure beginning to echo around the room.

“Can hear how wet you are.” Harry grunts, fingers curling inside you.

Your hand squeezes around his cock as he does that, causing you both to moan.

“Harry. I need you inside me… please.” His fingers were already close enough to making you come and you weren’t sure how he’d react if you came before he even got close to being in you.

“Can I make you come first? Want you to feel good, baby. If you can handle more than one orgasm, please?”

He wants you to feel good.

Before himself.

You realise this man in genuinely a saint. Like more than you ever could have imagined.

“Seriously?” You still don’t even believe he means it. Maybe he’s just saying it to be nice, and actually wants you to say no?

“What do you mean?” He looks a little confused, slowing down the kisses he was placing along your neck.

“I— sorry. I’m just not used to being so… looked after, I guess?”

“Have other guys not made you come first…?” He looks shocked.

“No… not usually? Occasionally, if I’m really horny and it wouldn’t take long.”

“I know there’s some scumbags out there, but with a pussy like yours… they should be begging to please you.” He shakes his head, not finished talking.

“For the record, lovie, if you weren’t so adamant in getting filled with my cock, I’d be making you come atleast twice before I fuck you.”

He pulls his hand entirely away from your cunt, allowing you to feel his absence as he talks. “Then I’d edge you with my fingers to the brink of your third. Until you’re begging me to stretch you out.”

He delivers a gentle slap over the hood of your clit once he’s done talking. Sliding his middle and pointer finger back down into your entrance to gather the arousal there, and slip it up to your clit.

“Oh.” You breathed out. A whiney noise following from your throat shortly after.

You were surprised. Not because it was Harry, if anyone would be like this it would be him. But you’re used to being a second thought sometimes. Just an aid to an end goal.

You’d become accustomed to it. Now there’s a man in front of you, who wants to please you because it seems to make him happy.

He reaffirms that thought, “I don’t think you’re aware how happy I’m gonna feel when your cunt is pulsating around my fingers in a few minutes.”

With saying that, he pinches and rolls your clit between his fingers and you struggle to find words to respond to what he said.

“Fuck— I— thank you.” You’re shaking a little as he increases the speed as he works over your clit.

“Nono. Thank you. You’re so nice under my fingers. So wet and warm.” He hums as you begin to squirm against his touch.

Your hand movements around his hard cock have gone to a lax and languid stroke, and almost stop all together when he dives his fingers back into your hole.

“Mhm— Harry!” You gasp, quickly starting to lose all your sense of self as he plays with you.

“That’s it, Y/n. Let me take care of you.”

He works you expertly, and your cunt is so unprepared for the attention from someone other than yourself. Its making it hard to hold yourself together.

You’re clenching around his fingers, and the tension in your stomach is quickly building.

“I’m gonna… fuck I’m gonna come soon, H.” You moan, followed by another curse of his name as he flicks your clit with his thumb.

Your pushing your hips against his hand, grinding into every movement. Chasing that explosion of pleasure in your abdomen.

“Wanna feel it. Come on, let it all go f’me.” He coos, keeping a hard and fast pace with his hand.

You cry out his name, nails scraping down his skin as you beg for the final push, which comes quickly.

A curl of his thrusting fingers and your movement lapses immediately, jaw going slack as you come around his hand.

It’s better than he could ever imagine, the noises coming from your lips are sinful, and you lean forward, open mouth panting over his cheek.

Hot breath fanning across his face while you’re still clenching around him.

He moves to bite your bottom lip, earning a jerk of your hips and another moan from you.

After your heart rate slows, he gently removes his fingers out of you.

“Good girl. Took it so well.” He pecks your nose with his lips.

“Can take your cock better.” You let out a breathy laugh.

He smiles, dimples popping out.

“Little minx. C’mere.”

He draws you into a hug, pulling your middle flush to his chest.

“D’ya need a minute, or no?” He asks gently, voice close to you ear.

“No, I’m ok, I’m good.” You blush.

“S’it too much to ask to take your shirt off?” His hand pulls at the hem of your tshirt.

“Can yours come off too?” You chuckle, leaning back to settle your eyes on the long sleeve covering his chest.

He nods, still smiling as he lets you take his off first. Revealing his toned chest and inked skin.

You run your hands along the ridges of his abs as he reaches for to pull off your own shirt.

Lifting your arms, you hear his little intake of breath as he remembers you don’t have a bra on.

The shirt gets tossed elsewhere as he is focused solely on your chest.

He looks transfixed as he trails a hand up to ghost over the skin on the side of your breast.

“Fuckin’ hell. Look at you, Angel. Got the prettiest tits.” He says it with such endearment.

You squirm with pleasure as he cups you in his hand, bringing your nipple to his mouth. His hot, velvety tongue slicking over the sensitive skin there.

Your back arches immediately, a moan sounding from you.

“Fuckkk…” you drawl out, letting him suck it into his mouth.

The sensation is enough to have you a mess in his hands again. The way he works his mouth over you like it’s nothing.

You take his cock back into your grip— having momentarily let go during the haze of your orgasm— and run the head of him through your folds.

His mouth falls open around you, moaning, letting his breath fan over your sensitive nipple.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.” He groans against you.

“So hard…” you whisper, rubbing his tip over your clit.

He lifts his head away from your chest, glancing down to see the connection between the two of you.

And he moves a hand down, lacing it over the top of yours.

You felt so connected with him. Just with his hand now over yours, and his length pressed into your clit.

You can’t even imagine the state you’ll be put in when he’s inside of you.

“Harry… need you.” You plead again, without care of if he’s sick of hearing it.

You need him. Need him so bad it’s consuming you. All you can think about is him. Not even in the sense that all you want his cock.

You just need to feel like you’re close as you possible can be to him.

“I know baby, I know.” He kisses your cheek, “Y’want me to use a condom?”

“Only if you want to. I’m clean and still on the pill.”

“I trust you. If that’s what you want.” He reaffirms with you.

“H, I have to feel you. Just need to be close to you.” You lean into his neck, kissing the skin there.

“And s’this position comfortable for you?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll take you anyway, any position. Whether you want me on top, under you, bent over… don’t care. Just want you.”

“God, you’re such a good girl. So amazing f’me.”

You let him guide your hand to the base of his length. And then slowly, with his hand interlocked over yours, drag his tip to your entrance.

Your already letting out whines, free arm coming to lace into the hair at the nape of his neck.

You lower your hips down on him, feeling the head of his cock slip up into you.

You both let out a moan at the sensation, whispers of each others names falling from your lips. Gently you keep sliding him in further, soaking in every second you feel him stretch you out.

This was what you missed. The feeling of connecting with someone. Not necessarily with just the sex. But feeling intertwined. Like you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his begun.

“You’re better than I could’ve dreamed, lovely.” He praised, earning a clench of your cunt. One he wasn’t expecting, that had him moaning into the shell of your ear.

He sounded perfect. Like an Angel. And you melted further into him at the sound.

“This is perfect, Harry. Needed it so bad.” You stroked his hair as you spoke.

He removed his hand from over yours, coming to rest both of them on your hips, guiding you down further.

Once you moved your own, you could let him slide you all the way. Your clit brushing over his pubic bone once you reached the base.

“Clenching ‘round me like that—“ he hisses, “gon’ make me come too fast, darling.”

“Let me feel you for a second.” He holds you in place, letting you sit still over his thick cock.

“So wet, so warm. Made to fit my cock, hm?” He squeezes the skin of your waist.

He bucks his pelvis up to you after you moan out an agreement, “Made just for you, Harry.”

And he’s starting to thrust slowly in and out, guiding your hips through the movements.

“Lay on me.” He rearranges himself so you can lay your chest onto his, and rest your head next to his cheek.

Your breasts press up against him, and clit is now being stimulated even more by his front.

“Need you close to me.” He whispers, and you start to bounce onto his cock gently. Bum slapping on the strength of his thighs.

“Me too, H. Have to feel every part of you.” You moaned, circling yourself on him. Each rotation hitting your clit, causing you to moan.

He also is in shock at the sensation of being inside of you. It almost like a surprise to his entire nervous system.

He draws his fern-adorning hips back, only to snap them back upwards. Skin slapping at the movement.

Not to mention the sound of your wetness gliding along his cock each time you got thrusted into, which was echoing through the room.

“Listen to how wet you are. All for me.” He groans, picking up the pace.

Your lips find a spot to suck below his ear as he talks, nipping at the skin.

“I’m so… you make me so wet.” You agree, pussy pulsating around his bare cock.

“Love it. Don’t you? Us using each other like this.”

He says it, knowing the dirty talk in turning you on even more. But you both know it goes beyond getting a quick fuck.

This is everything to you both. Feeling like, for the first time in so long, you are truly not alone.

“Want you to use me, Harry.” You roll your cunt, pushing your clit onto any part of him it reaches, still clenching at the contact.

“Dirty Girl. So fucking desperate.” He laughs, kissing your hair.

“Who would I be to talk, though.” He grabs at your ass, “I’d beg you for this everyday. This sweet cunt around me. For you to touch me. Anything.”

He admits it with a moan following after it, your pussy fluttering.

You feel it building it inside the pit of your stomach.

“Want you to fill me up.” You state, panting as your thighs start to shake, and you realise in a few minutes your going to come. And hard.

“With my come, huh? Want me to put it deep inside y’baby?” He asks you, hips bucking excitedly at the prospect.

“Yes! Fill me with your warm come, Harry.” You’re starting to go delusional.

Filthy fucking words flying from your mouth as your arousal overtakes every rational part of your brain.

“Shit—“ He is pressing you flush to his body, holding you as close as he possibly can. The pace of his cock slapping into you increasing by the second.

“I wanna see it drip out of you, Y/N.” He groans, fucking into you hard and fast.

You feel amazing, your heart racing in your chest, and your whole body vibrating. You’re being stimulated in so many places. Your nipples pressed up to his toned chest, clit being rubbed by his pubic bone, god— and his cock fucking you.

“Thankyouthankyou—“ your mind is quickly turning to a mess with him swallowing you up like this.

You feel your orgasm approaching with a tension in the pit of your stomach. It’s quickly becoming the only sensation you can feel outside of the harsh thrusts Harry is giving you.

“Good little slut.” He grabs your face, lust taking over the both of you like you’re teenagers.

His pace doesn’t let up, and he stares at you with half lidded eyes.

“Spit in my mouth.” You beg, not even sure where the fucking thought was from before it came out of your lips.

“God… fuck— open your mouth.” He grunts, tilting his head to angle his lips to yours.

You open it, sticking your tongue out a little past your bottom lip, ready to catch anything that would drip given the fact you’re still on top of him.

He purses his lips, gathering up his saliva and dropping it down onto your tongue.

It was fucking feral, and you loved every second of it.

It tasted of him, and you swallowed it without even being asked.

Just watching that happen had him fucking you like it was his sole purpose in life. His thrusts became despeate for you.

You shook with anticipation, “I’m— I’m gonna come!”

“Yes… fuck yes. Come on, baby, finish all over my cock.”

His words were your breaking point, your cunt clenching so hard around him that he groaned aloud.

“Fuckfuckfuck— make me come, Y/N.” before he started to pulsate in you, putting his load deep into your pussy.

Having it happen almost all at once prolonged your orgasm, making you continue to moan and writhe in his grip for what felt like forever. Squeezing him until he had nothing left to give you.

Once you slowly both regained your awarenesses, you stayed on top of him. Sweaty and sticky, but you stayed close as possible to him.

You couldn’t fathom that just happened.

“Harry…” you whispered, and he hummed to the quiet chant of his name.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Stop thanking me baby. You did just as much for me.” He smiles into your cheek.

He brought his arms up to cage you to his chest, “and it’s so nice to be holding you.”

You move to kiss his lips, gently sucking his bottom one into your mouth. Lulling your tongue over it, letting it go with a pop.

“I haven’t felt this present in… in months.” You say quietly.

“Neither have I. Y’make me feel safe. Which might sound odd, but s’true.” He glances at you, watching you smile at his words.

“Im so glad we did that.” You make sure he knows you don’t have a single regret in following through with everything.

“Once we’re showered, gonna have a serious conversation about the fact you asked me to spit in your mouth.” He chuckles.

You flushed, not sure whether to be embarrassed about it or not.

“Got a little uhm.. carried away.” You tried to justify.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he laughs, indicating he was just teasing, “thought it was so hot. Just never would have expected it.”

“I wanna know what else you’re into, yknow.” He licks his lips.

“What other dirty little secrets your hiding up in that head of yours.”

You shake your head, “shut up.”

“M’serious. We’ve got a lot of time to kill.” He’s still chuckling, hand coming to stroke through your hair.

“And I loved that. Loved feeling you so close. You’re a dream.” He pecks your cheek again.

“Make me some of your good cooking and I’ll think about it.” You joke.

“But really…” you pause, “thank you too, H. That meant everything to me.”

He didn’t reply with words, they wouldn’t be enough, so he just kissed you. Kissed you with every ounce of his being.

———

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harrys house #harry styles writing #soft harry #harry styles one shot

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dreamsteddie · 24 days ago

Note

steddie fic idea (in any form you'd like; drabble, short story, etc) if you take requests 😁💚:

Rockstar Eddie x Steve (whatever profession you think fits/is necessary to mention) where someone has a social media account called "Eyes on Eddie" and it's one of those accounts who posts when Eddie is spotted somewhere in public. it turns out to be Steve in disguise because he wants to posts the pretty "paparazzi" pictures he's taken of his boyfriend. all fun and games, nothing super personal or invasive, just him in a subway and Steve making some excuse to leave and snap a pic from outside before coming back in to enjoy lunch with his bf

It starts as a joke.

Steve and Eddie have had their home base here in Chicago for about 14 years, but now that Eddie and the CC boys have had their fun touring around the world had decided to venture into the wild world of both creating and producing music through their own, relatively small, music lable.

When he's home, Eddie spends a lot of time on the Blue Line going back and forth between their recording studio, their house, and the various other places that demand his attention as a rock star/record label owner. Since the boys have decided to focus more of their time on the label, slowing their own music production from one album a year to one every two or three, him and Steve have slipped into easy, well-worn routines that bring comfort to their everyday lives.

That being said, they don't always have tabs on each other, so when Steve wakes up half an hour late for work, already hearing Robin chewing him out in his head for making her open the store on her own, he's not expecting to spot his husband.

Eddie is leaning up on a post, looking every bit like the rock star he is with tastefully ripped jeans, a heavy leather jacket, and the same rings he's worn for as long as they've known each other (plus the one Steve put there himself four years ago). Without thinking, Steve pulls out his phone and aims it at his unsuspecting partner.

Steve has always enjoyed photography, or at least iPhone photography. He takes a second to get the right angle, trying not to draw too much attention to himself as he makes sure the little bit of sun shining from the windows behind Eddie hits him just right. He means to send it to Eddie right away. Means to send him a cryptic message saying something like "I'm watching you" along with the picture and watch for his reaction.

But then the train announces itself and he's rushing for the platform to get on the Pink Line while Eddie stays to wait for the Blue and then he's too focused on finding a place to stand, getting off at the right stop, and getting chewed out by Robin and it all slips his mind.

That is until it happens again...and again...and one more time. Opportunities he just can't pass up to take pictures of his perfect, handsome, oblivious partner. One at the park, another on the L, and one not far outside the studio.

He never means to do anything with them, but he also can't stop pulling out his phone to scroll through his slowly growing album of candid Eddie photos, even when he knows Robin is lurking about waiting to make fun of him at any moment.

Which is exactly what happens. It's their monthly Boy's Night Out where they go to the sports bar that plays women's soccer and have a pitcher of cheap beer and end the night with greasy takeout on Robin's couch. They stay up all night painting their nails, doing face masks, and talking about their partners even though it always ends up with both of them feeling weepy about how in love they are and how happy they are for each other.

It's at that point in the night that he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through his small collection of now-familiar photos. Robin, heavily leaning into his shoulder as she is, immediately sees what he's doing and starts cooing at him and ribbing him in equal measure. Somewhere along the line, she convinces him that they need to make an account right now immediately. She insists that it should be a thirst account, but Steve is quick to shut that down. He's always become particularly stroppy when anyone besides himself lusts after his husband, even if he knows his status as a high-profile rock star means it happens every day. He insists he won't be "that guy" to which Robin rolls her eyes and calls him dramatic.

In the end, they decide on an "appreciation" account. To their surprise, the handle EyesonEddie isn't already in use and they take it as a sign that it was meant to be. They giggle as they put the whole thing together, making their first post with a simple 👀 emoji as the caption which, in the moment, feels like the funniest thing anyone has ever done.

In the morning, he wakes up sore and hungover, unable to deny that he's no longer in his 20s to find over 200 likes on his post already. He groans, waking up Robin in the process, and contemplates taking it all down. In the end, he leaves it be, content to let it all fade into obscurity on its own.

Only it doesn't.

He doesn't want to stop taking his pictures. It's fun and he likes trying to find ways to sneak them in without Eddie knowing. It's like a fun little game he plays with himself. That first picture does moderately well, but it's the comments that keep him going. It's fun, somehow, to talk to people who appreciate his husband even a fraction of the amount that he does. As jealous as he can feel when Eddie is away on tour, there's a certain joy in sharing his love for his husband in this silly little way.

So, a couple times a month he posts a picture of his husband. The most flattering, in public pictures he has and watches as the love floods in. He tries not to post too often, doesn't want anyone to think he's a stalker, and every now and then he puts one up with a comment about an "anonymous submission" which really means Robin taking pictures of Eddie and Steve at the grocery store or on the way to the studio.

It builds and builds and before he knows it he has one of the top Eddie Munson fan accounts on the internet. Robin thinks it's the funniest thing in the world, especially the first time Eddie shows him a picture he took of Eddie on the train telling him he didn't even notice his shoe was untied that day. She delights in reading the most outlandish comments in her Miss Piggy voice whenever there's downtime at the store, which is always good for a few laughs.

There's a part of him that feels a little guilty. They've struggled with invasive people in the past. People who try to get too close, take too many pictures, try to hunt down Eddie at bars after shows trying to get their taste of fame. It's not as bad as with major celebrities since the guys don't go out of their way to be public figures. No brand deals or movies or TV cameos, but they're still members of an extremely successful band with a number of die-hard fans.

He thinks it's probably going to be time to tell Eddie what he's been up to soon. Not only to squash whatever minor feelings of guilt have bloomed with the account's success but also because it's getting harder to get original pictures of Eddie the more time goes on. For a rockstar, he sure doesn't lead a predictable life.

God, Steve loves him so much.

Little does Steve know, Eddie has been well aware of who has been running the infamous EyesonEddie account since that very first post. What Steve doesn't know about that first picture is that Eddie saw him that day at the train station too. He'd looked up at the announcement, making sure it wasn't his own, and caught sight of Steve's favorite yellow knit sweater and leather messenger bag disappearing into the sea of people clamoring into the train car. He would recognize that famous head of hair from 100 yards with one eye closed.

He forgot to mention it when he got home that night, lost in the chaos of his everyday life until Gareth forwarded him that picture. He thinks about telling Steve right away, but ultimately it's funnier to watch him squirm a little bit. He flips his phone around to show Steve the candid "some stranger" look of him on the train with his shoe untied, complaining that it's pretty much the same as being caught with his pants down in public. It's fun putting his drama skills to good use, lamenting about his "uncouth appearance" with over-the-top theatrics to stop himself from laughing at the way Steve avoids his eyes and his ears turn pink while Robin tries her best not to bust out laughing.

He'll tell Steve eventually, put him out of his misery, but for now he's going to try and time this sneeze just right so Steve has to come up with a really good excuse for why he's 15 minutes late for their lunch date. He must get it right because he can see Steve curse a little from the reflection of him in the restaurant window.

God, Eddie loves him so much.

------

LMAO I was not expecting anyone to send me prompts but it was a lot of fun to bring this to life. Thanks @lumoschildextra for sending it to me 😊

As you can see I made them husbands instead of boyfriends. I just couldn't help it!

Also, not explicitly stated but Steve works with Robin at her bookstore. She opened it a couple years after she graduated. She went through a really difficult breakup after supporting her girlfriend through the last half of college and the first two years after graduation. When they broke up she felt like she's wasted years focusing on someone else's dreams. She stayed with Steve and Eddie for a while, and during that time Eddie offered to help her financially if she wanted to start building something of her own. At first, Robin refused. She didn't want to be that friend that uses their famous friend for their own gain. It became the source of their biggest argument but in the end, Eddie got her to accept the money as a loan that she could pay back, with no interest, when she started making money. She decided to open a small, specialty bookstore focusing on international literature and rare books. Steve works the cash register after three years of being a stay-at-home boyfriend/husband when Eddie started making bank since he was starting to get bored. He's mostly there to look pretty, draw in customers, and keep Robin sane.

#steddie #ask #eddie munson #steve harrington #dreamer speaks #fanfiction #stranger things #I could right an entire story about Robin's book store #There's an au I think about almost every night #that centers on it in fact #but this is about the sillies 😡

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fandom-lover2 · 10 days ago

Text

Hope To Stay A While, Just Till The Rain Stops

Chapter Four - Pajama Parties Are More Fun When You're Invited

Word Count - 1865

-image not mine-

Chapter Three - This Is Why We Don't Have Knives At The Table

My eyes snapped open, my body jolting as something let off a loud bang.

What the hell was happening?

Then, it sounded like thunder, or something some form of stomping at least. And voices, angry voices. Loud, angry voices.

I rolled over, squinting at my digital clock on my desk.

2.05 am glared back at me in red.

I rolled over again, trying to get comfortable on my preferred side of sleeping.

Thunder again, and the voices were louder this time. Why was I cursed to live in a house of only men?

Screw this shit. I had an exam tomorrow.

Yanking my sheet off myself, I slipped out of bed and stormed to my bedroom door, yanking it open and marching towards the voices.

After Bruce had, without my consent, enrolled me into Gotham Academy, the pressure was on. Even under the guise of a visiting relative of Alfred’s, because I refused to be involved in the Gotham elite society, the expectation to achieve perfect grades and be involved in rich people sports was one I had to shoulder.

Etiquette Monday and Thursday, tennis on Tuesday, horse riding on Wednesday and Friday, archery Saturday. And I still needed to study, do homework and assignments, and attend parties to keep up appearances.

I was running on fumes and about 5 seconds away from running back to Central City. Now, I had to deal with this?!

Oh no. No no no no. I was getting another 4 hours of sleep, if I had to kill whoever the hell was screaming to get it.

The voices were getting louder and louder as I headed to the main floor, the kitchen specifically.

An odd place for a domestic screaming match but hey, this family was fucking weird.

I’m 80% sure Tim died last week, his combination of Red Bull and black coffee that he chugged in 30 seconds flat no doubt doing some damage.

Not to mention Damian, who was literally a little psychopath. I walked in on him waving around a sword last week. And not a fencing sword, a real ass Japanese sword.

Jason was never around, other than to sneak into the library or have screaming matches with Bruce when he was caught. He always looked like he was in deep physical pain, and avoided me like I had some disease. He would literally walk out of a room if I entered it.

And Dick, dude was just a mess. He was crying about an elephant the other day, and last month did a whole circus trapeze routine in the living room, using the chandelier.

And Bruce doesn’t even blink at any of it! He and Alfred act like this is normal!

Well, I was over this family thinking they were a functional system. It ended today, with a good night’s sleep.

If I wasn’t so fueled by the rage, the volume at which Bruce and Jason were yelling would have probably stopped me from entering the kitchen, but I was seeing red and nearing sleep deprivation.

“Can you all shut the fuck up!” I rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Alfred, my father, Jason and Dick stood in the kitchen, Alfred and my oldest brother looking like they were trying to break something up before it turned physical.

Now, either I was too tired, or something was very wrong with my vision, because my father was dressed as Batman.

I looked at them, they looked at me. Tim and Damian stuck their heads around the other doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, both dressed up in vigilant attire I’d seen Red Robin and Robin wore. Dick and Jason were also dressed, Nightwing and Red Hood respectfully.

Suddenly, everything made so much more sense. Bruce’s constant state of looking exhausted despite only ever working and then going to bed before me. Damian’s limp from two weeks ago, Tim falling out of bed and spraining his wrist, the gash Dick got on his forehead despite having two days off from work.

They were running around at night playing heroes.

I stared at them, and they stared back at me, each looking like I’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Even Alfred seemed slightly alarmed, and the dude didn’t flinch at anything.

“I’m too tired for this shit. Go argue outside.” Spinning on my heels, I sped back to my bedroom and shut the door.

That whatever-the-hell-just-happened was tomorrow morning’s problem. Tonight, I was sleeping. Deeply, peacefully. Ignorantly.

Climbing back into bed, I pulled the cover over myself and closed my eyes. For someone who’s entire perception of their family just got flipped upside down, I managed to fall asleep pretty quickly.

When I awoke, it was to my alarm set on my phone.

For a while, I forgot what happened the previous night. I stumbled out of bed with a groan, stood somewhat straight in the shower, and managed to get my scratchy uniform on. And then, I opened my bedroom door and Damian was on the other side.

He eyed me up and down, arms crossed over his chest. “Father requests your presence at breakfast.”

“Well I’m not gonna miss it.” I mumbled back, shouldering past it.

It was as I tried to shove passed him and was met with an impressive amount of resistance for someone so small that I remembered what I’d seen last night. Who I had seen.

Oh my god, Bruce was Batman!

Mr Billionaire, life handed to him on a golden spoon, was the madman who dressed up in all black at night and ran around the city terrorizing Gotham’s criminals.

Why? What the hell even made him go down this path?

I turned around to look at my little brother.

The latest Robin, if the whispering around school was to be taken truthfully. So far considered the most violent of the masked crusader’s group.

Well, they got the violent part down.

But he was freaking 13 years old. Why the hell would Bruce let a 13 year old face armed murderers?

Shit, why the hell was Bruce letting a 13 year old stay up all night?

I thought he was just a distant parent, but this was straight up child endangerment.

Would I be arrested if it turned out I knew he was allowing Damian to do this? Would I be arrested for knowing he’d Batman and not handing him over?

Was what I saw even real?

Sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations.

Yeah, that’s all it was. A hallucination. This was all just some big misunderstanding. I was over tired, Bruce had dark pajamas, everyone had rainbow pajamas, Alfred was still just Alfred. All was good.

My summons for breakfast was just to wish me luck for my exam, or to tell me about an event that was coming up.

Nothing was wrong, my life was still normal-ish. Everything would be fine.

I made my way to the breakfast room, because yes this house was so big we had a room for eating breakfast and a room for dinner, and found Bruce seated at the head of the table.

He was reading a newspaper, Alfred seated beside him. To his left, Dick and Tim.

I was surprised to see that Jason was actually here. Had he stayed the night? Judging by the fact that he was not seated at the table but rather leaning against the wall and had his arms crossed, I guessed it wasn’t voluntary.

“Men.” I greeted, walking to take a seat next to Alfred, Damian following behind me and sitting next to Dick.

On my plate, a wonderful stack of vegan pancakes.

One of the few things Damian and I had in common, we were both vegan. Or, I tried to be as vegan as possible. At times, ice-cream and pizza were too strong to resist. You’d think it’d bring us closer together but nope, still got glared at for simply being alive.

My only sanctuary away from it was weeks at my mom’s, since they’d decided to have a one week, one week custody deal.

I hated weeks at Bruce’s for two reasons. One, Damian. Two, I had to wake up earlier cause it took forever to drive into the city from here. The apartment with Mom was so close to school I walked. At Bruce’s, I had to endure a 40 minute drive with Damian.

Bruce never took us, always having to leave either before or after. Sometimes Tim took us, or Dick. It was mostly Alfred, in the Rolls Royce.

Picking up my knife and fork, I prepared to dig in.

“Y/n,” Bruce tried to start, but I cut him off by pointing my knife at him. In hindsight, not the best idea considering who he was. My father or not, I didn’t doubt he’d kick my ass.

“Breakfast first.”

And I left no room for discussion as I cut into my pancakes and took a huge bite, and then another and another.

Everyone else followed my lead, silently beginning to eat their breakfast. Jason left his spot of brooding eventually and joined me, actually sitting beside me. This was the closest we’d ever been to one another.

I tried to not make too big a deal of that fact, keeping my eyes forward when they so desperately wanted to take in all his scars.

I guess now it made sense where they came from, but it didn’t make it right.

How young had he been when Bruce had let him loose on the streets? Had he even wanted to do it, or was he forced into this life?

Were any of them in it by choice?

I glanced over and Bruce and found him staring at me.

Yesterday, he’d look at me with a smile, and his eyes seemed warm. Now, there was no familiarity. There wasn’t even care.

Had these last 3 months all been fake? Did he love me at all? Was I here because he wanted me or because he wanted another sidekick?

“I won’t tell anyone.” I spoke, barely louder than a whisper.

Bruce didn’t say anything, didn’t blink. Just watched me, analyzed me. I almost jumped when he finally spoke.

“You have an exam to get to. We’ll discuss this tonight.”

And that seemed to be the magic words. Everyone stood up, all done with their breakfasts and ready to start the day.

I still had half my plate left and rushed to shovel it all in, charging to the garage when Alfred called that it was time to go.

I hopped in the back, beside Damian, and intended to get my textbook out for some last-minute studying before school, but the little shit spoke up.

“You tell anyone about us, make one tiny slip up or remark, and I will sever your voice box.”

For once, I actually understood the gravity behind the threat. It wasn’t just siblings bickering, it was a promise.

And given how Bruce had looked at me this morning, I doubted he’d do anything to stop it.

Nobody knew Batman’s identity. Nobody had ever figured it out.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

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