#being in the same room as him like shouting and acting and running around and giving like 110%

[twofoxes]

The one, the only... Lt. Croy <3

What a freaking scene-stealer this one. We were really not expecting to board the Halcyon and immediately fall in love with a First Order officer and all start regretting our decisions to support the Resistance. Next cruise (and there WILL be a next cruise) I’m ABSOLUTELY going to try to do the First Order questline, as... morally... as I can? We’ll see, I guess lol

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back on Track

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: After a fight with Lando, you’re nowhere to be found when he leaves for Austin, making him fear the relationship is over. But when you arrive at the track with Max, he gets a second chance to make things right, and the two of you reconcile.

Word count: 2061

Even though we're going through it And it makes you feel alone Just know that I would die for you Baby, I would die for you, yeah

You and Lando rarely fought. You’d been together since his final season in Formula 2, a bloody long time, and you could count the big fights on one hand. But this one was different. This was the worst of them all.

It was his last day at home before flying to Austin, and somehow everything went down.

"You're being clingy!" He shouted, running a hand through his messy curls, frustration etched on his face.

You stared at him, stunned. "I’m being clingy? Me? Lando, we’ve been together for years, and I have never asked you for anything. The one time I do, and this is what you say? Wow."

"Yeah, well, you’ve never acted like this before!" His face hardened, eyes sparking with irritation you weren’t used to. "Seriously, if you suddenly want some boyfriend who’ll sit around every night, watching dumb TV shows and cuddling you to sleep, maybe you should find someone else."

You shook your head, disbelief morphing into something different, something more hurt. "Maybe I should do that!"

He was beyond pissed. "Then please, do! I'm going out and I'll do the same." He turned, grabbing his jacket without a second glance. and strode out, slamming the door shut behind him.

You flinched at the echo, the silence crashing down around you as tears started to well up. "I hate you, Lando Norris." You whispered into the emptiness of the apartment.

Lando sat in the VIP section of his favorite Monaco club, gazing blankly over the crowded dance floor. The music pulsed, people laughed and danced, but his thoughts were miles away, thinking of you.

Max leaned in, breaking Lando’s trance. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Lando shrugged. "Was it that bad?"

Lando sighed, his gaze distant. "It was! It was the worst fight we’ve ever had." He swallowed, the words bitter. "She probably thinks I’m cheating on her right now."

Max’s eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about? Why would she think that?"

"Because, I pretty much said that." Lando muttered lound enough for Max to hear over the music.

Max looked at him, incredulous. "Why the hell would you say that, you absolute idiot? You love her."

Lando exhaled heavily. "I was angry! I didn’t even think. I just… said it. I realized how bad it sounded the second I left."

Max shook his head, staring at him with a mix of pity and frustration. "Well, congratulations: you’re an idiot!"

"Thanks for the information."

It was late when Lando finally got home. The apartment was dark, and silence filled the rooms. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, his mind caught between whether he should crash on the sofa or swallow his pride, apologize, and lie beside you.

He waked to the closed bedroom door, standing there for a long moment, nerves filling his body. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he stopped himself. He stepped back and with the sting of guilt he fell down on the sofa.

You were deep asleep when a hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you opened your eyes to see your best friend sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes barely open, hair rumpled from sleep.

"What?"

She yawned, rubbing her eyes before looking at you. "Your phone won’t stop ringing."

Blinking, you glanced at the empty nightstand, remembering you’d left your phone in the living room. "What time is it?" You muttered. "It’s probably Lando. We were supposed to leave for Austin early."

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her head and laying down next to you. "Then answer it or turn it off. It’s too early for this, and I’m exhausted."

"She rejected my call!" Lando exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the apartment.

Max raised an eyebrow. "That’s good news."

"How is that good?"

"At least we know she’s okay." He said. "And still mad at you, which is probably deserved."

"I don’t even know if she was still here when I got home last night. The bedroom door was closed, and I just… crashed on the sofa. I only realized she was gone this morning."

Max nodded thoughtfully. "So, what’s the plan now?"

“I don’t know,” Lando groaned, slumping into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. "The team’s going to kill me if I miss this flight."

"So go!" Max said firmly.

Lando looked up, shaking his head. "No way. I’m not leaving without her."

Max rolled his eyes. "Look, she knows you have to leave, Lando. Sooner or later, she’s coming back, and when she does, I’ll bring her to Austin myself. Just go."

"What if she refuses to go?"

"She loves you. She'll want t make things right. Trust me!"

Lando hesitated. "You promise?"

"I promise."

You slipped into the apartment two hours later, knowing Lando would be gone by now. The silence felt heavy as you shut the door, but before you could make it to the kitchen, Max appeared, stepping out from Lando’s streaming room.

You jumped, clutching your chest. "Max! What the hell? You scared me!"

"Sorry!" He said, raising his hands in apology.

"What are you doing here? Is Lando still here?" You glanced around, half expecting him to walk out from somewhere.

"He left. Had to, or he’d have missed his flight."

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and taking a long sip. "I thought you were going with him."

"I am. I was just waiting for you."

You looked at him, understanding dawning slowly. "Max, I don’t think going with you is a good idea." You sank into a chair at the small dining table, and Max sat across from you.

"That’s not true."

"Max, you don’t know how he treated me, the things he said…" You swallowed, voice shaking. "He told me I should find someone else. And said he would, too."

Max leaned forward, shaking his head. "Look, he was furious and stupid. Belive me, I know what he said, and he regrets every word. He didn’t even want to leave. I practically had to drag him onto the helicopter."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Max, I don't know."

"He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot in love with you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone, Y/N. He’s been calling you non-stop, hoping you’d pick up, and he’s completely torn up about it. So please, come with me. Let’s go to Austin."

Lando had been unusually quiet all day. Practice had gone well, but not well enough; the Ferraris were ahead, and so was Verstappen. His mind should’ve been on the upcoming sprint qualifying, but all he could think about was you and the fight. He could only hope that Max was somehow convincing you to come to Austin.

"Everything alright? You’ve been quiet, which is… not like you." Oscar asked, glancing over at Lando as they wrapped up filming a video for McLaren’s social media.

"Just tired." Lando muttered.

Oscar hesitated, then asked gently. "Where’s Y/N? Lily told me she was coming."

Lando’s jaw tensed, his eyes flicking up to meet Oscar’s. "I… don’t think she’s coming." He admitted, his voice low. "I messed things up pretty badly."

Oscar raised his eyebrows. "Want to talk about it?"

Lando shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Not really. Just… hoping I haven’t lost her." He said, more to himself than to Oscar.

Lando was suiting up, pulling on his gloves and securing his helmet, trying to lock his focus onto the upcoming sprint qualifying. But the knot of anxiety in his stomach hadn’t eased since he arrived, knowing he might have to go through this entire weekend without you there.

Just then, Max appeared in front of him, grinning. "Hey, mate. Just came by to wish you luck. And, by the way…" Max lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder. "She’s here."

"Fuck... thank you for bringing her."

There, standing quietly near the corner, arms crossed and headphones on, was you. You looked a little nervous, a shy expression on your face and when your eyes met, you quickly looked away.

A wave of relief fell over him, and he instinctively took a step forward, desperate to close the space between you. But Max put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Not now." Max warned. "You’ve got a sprint to think about. You can talk to her after."

"But—" Lando began, his eyes darting back to you, a urge to apologize.

A couple of mechanics also intercepted him, nudging him toward the car with hurried reminders. "We’re starting in a few, Lando."

Lando clenched his jaw, glancing back at you. Taking a deep breath, Lando slipped into the car, his heart beating a little steadier, his mind clearing. For the first time all day, he felt ready. You were here and that was everything.

You watched the qualifying from the garage, heart pounding with every lap. It was always like this: nerve-wracking, pride and fear as you watched him push himself and the car to the limit. But today, your chest felt even tighter, knowing the tension lingering between you.

When the session ended, Lando finished fourth. Relief mixed with a bit of pride washed over you as you clapped, your gaze fixed on him as he came into the garage.

The moment he spotted you, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and without a word, he reached for your hand, gently but firmly, and led you out of the garage toward his driver’s room, ignoring the curious glances around you.

Once inside, he closed the door. "Y/N… Babe, I’m so sorry."

You looked down, your arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me, Lando. You didn’t just walk away, you made me feel like I was… too much."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand again. "I was an idiot. I don’t even know why I said those things. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. None of it was true. You’re not ‘too much.’ You’re… everything to me."

"I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper. "That could never be true. I can’t imagine any of this, my life, racing, anything, without you." He brushed a stray tear from your cheek. "I was terrified you wouldn’t come. That I’d ruined everything."

You took a shaky breath. "Max convinced me… told me you didn’t want to leave, that you were just… scared of losing me."

"More than you know." He said, his hand holding yours firmly. "Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you."

"I don't want you to give up anything, Lando."

"I know. I know. That's not what you asked me."

After a long moment, you squeezed his hand. "I’m here now." You said softly. "Let’s just start with that."

Relief flooded his face as he wrapped you in his arms, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. "I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m grateful you’re here. I don’t want to mess this up ever again."

You gave him a gentle smile, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "I didn’t come all this way to hold onto what happened. Let’s just… move forward. Together."

He smiled. "Together."

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. "Lando?" A team member called from the hallway. "They need you back in the garage in five!"

Lando glanced back toward the door, then returned his gaze to you, clearly torn. "Go!" You murmured. "I’ll be here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere."

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You melted into it, letting the last of the hurt dissolve in his warmth.

When he pulled back, he looked at you with a smile . "I’ll be quick." He said, squeezing your hand before reluctantly letting it go and heading toward the door. Just as he opened it, he paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time. "I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered.

[joelsrose]

jealousy breeds contempt

warnings smut proceed with caution lile this kinda lewd asff joel is a major meanie like so mean, also pls practice safe sex omg im the worst at warnings - also sorry tess i promise i dont hate u xx

The heat was oppressive, the kind that made your skin sticky and tempers short. You dragged your feet behind them, eyes squinting against the sunlight as Joel and Tess moved ahead of you through the QZ’s crowded streets.

They walked close, too close, shoulders brushing as they murmured in voices low enough to be swallowed by the commotion around you. A muscle in your jaw ticked. Their connection—whatever it was—always grated on you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Joel turned abruptly, his sharp brown eyes slicing through the haze. “Keep up,” he barked, his voice rough, worn down by years of shouting orders and never being questioned. Tess glanced over her shoulder, her lips curving into a smirk that was as condescending as it was victorious, like she’d won some silent competition you weren’t even playing.

You hated Tess. She didn’t like you either; she never had. But the thing that really bugged you, that gnawed at the edges of your thoughts like a stray dog on a bone, was her relationship with Joel.

It felt... strange. Intimate in ways you didn’t understand, or maybe didn’t want to understand. You liked Joel—though God only knew why. He wasn’t nice to you. Not really. But he had his ways. He looked out for you when no one else did, fixed your messes, patched you up when things went south. It wasn’t soft, but it was something, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

The walk felt endless, the sun beating down relentlessly until you finally reached the run-down building they used to stash their contraband. Inside, it was cooler, the peeling wallpaper and damp air making it feel like a tomb. Tess disappeared into the grimy excuse for a kitchen, and Joel dropped onto the sagging couch beside you. His presence was heavy, commanding, like he could fill a room without trying.

“Here,” he grunted, shoving a sandwich into your hand. It was rough around the edges, hastily made, but it was the kind of thing Joel did.

“I don’t want it,” you snapped, pushing it back toward him. The bite in your tone surprised even you, sharp and ungrateful. You didn’t know why you were acting like this.

Or maybe you did.

The tension had been simmering all day, coiling low in your stomach like a knot of barbed wire. It wasn’t just anger—it was something else. Neediness, frustration, something primal that made your skin feel too tight.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand freezing mid-air as he processed your rejection. “’Scuse me?” His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the kind of weight that made you want to shrink under it.

“Don’t be a brat,” Tess called from the kitchen, her tone dripping with disdain. You clenched your fists, heat crawling up your spine as the familiar burn of shame and anger flared to life.

“Stay out of it,” you snapped at Tess, the words cutting through the tense air like a whip. For a moment, everything stilled. Tess froze mid-step in the kitchen, her hand gripping the edge of the counter as her jaw clenched. The heat of her glare burned into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not today.

You looked at Joel, his eyebrows lifting, just for a split second. A flicker of something almost playful, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed or impressed. Amusement, maybe, though it was gone before you could be sure. His lips pressed into a hard line, but the corner twitched like he was fighting the urge to smirk.

“You ungrateful little—” Tess started, her voice sharp and venomous.

“Stop.” Joel’s voice cut through hers, low and commanding. Tess turned her glare on him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, locked on you with that same unreadable intensity that made your stomach twist. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone carried no softness, no reassurance. “She can go to bed hungry.”

The words stung, and your throat tightened. Joel turned, grabbing his pack from the floor and slinging it over his broad shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said to Tess, already heading for the door.

Tess huffed, her irritation radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t argue. She shot you one last icy look before following Joel out, her boots heavy against the worn floorboards. The door slammed behind them, leaving the room eerily quiet.

Your eyes drifted to the counter, where the sandwich sat untouched.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the cracked blinds. You lay on the mattress in the corner, curled on your side, the silence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

The muffled sound of boots on the hardwood floor broke through the stillness, steady and deliberate, before stopping just outside the doorway. You knew it was him before he even spoke.

“You eat the sandwich?” Joel’s voice was low, rough with exhaustion. He stepped into the room, the faint creak of the floorboards following him as he settled down beside the wall. He slid down until he was sitting, one knee bent, his broad shoulders resting against the peeling plaster.

You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “Where’s Tess?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Outside,” he said simply, nodding toward the living area. “Cleaning up.”

You rolled onto your side, looking at him in the dim light. His head was tipped back against the wall, his eyes half-closed.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat, but the day’s tension—weeks of it, really—forced them out. “I hate her,” you said, your voice flat, but the edges of your words were jagged.

Joel’s head turned, his gaze locking on you. His eyes flicked over your face, searching, reading you in that way he always did—like you were a puzzle he didn’t quite know how to put together. He let out a breath, the kind that wasn’t quite a sigh but close, and scratched at the scruff along his jaw.

“She’s not so bad,” he said finally, though his tone wasn’t convincing. He looked away, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. “She’s just... Tess.”

You huffed, turning your face back to the wall. “She’s awful,” you muttered, the heat in your voice undeniable. “She’s bossy, mean, and she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Joel said, though the weight in his voice betrayed him. He sighed, long and slow, like he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, right,” you replied, the bitterness laced thick in your tone as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.

Joel shifted, his knee creaking as he adjusted against the wall. “Hey,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “Why are you actin’ like a brat?”

“I’m not,” you shot back, sitting up slightly, the mattress creaking beneath you. “She’s weird with me because of you,” you added, your voice sharpening, each word cutting like glass.

His head tilted slightly, eyebrows furrowing in that way he did when you said something he didn’t like or didn’t understand. “What?”

You huffed, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you leaned forward, staring him down. “She likes you, Joel. That’s why she’s always a bitch to me.”

Joel blinked, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. And then he laughed. It was dry, humorless, and sharp, like the idea was so ridiculous he couldn’t even begin to entertain it.

“You’re fuckin’ delusional,” he remarked, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall again, arms folding across his broad chest.

“I’m not,” you snapped, glaring at him. “She looks at me like I’m some kind of... threat or something. Like I don’t belong.”

Joel’s face tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he chewed on your words.

“Doesn’t matter,” Joel said gruffly, his tone sharp and edged with irritation. “You don’t gotta like her. Just don’t act like a brat about it.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, your temper flaring hot and unchecked. “You’re not my fucking dad, so don’t tell me what to do.”

That did it.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and in one swift motion, he pushed himself up from the floor, his boots scraping against the wood as he rose to his full height. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist firmly as he pulled you up from the mattress like you weighed nothing.

“What’d you just say to me?” he barked, his voice low and dangerous, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His presence was overwhelming, his body towering over yours, unrelenting as he waited for your answer.

“I said you’re not my dad, so fuck off,” you hissed, your eyes locking with his in defiance. But your voice wavered, trembling at the edges, betraying the confidence you were trying to project.

Joel’s nostrils flared, and in one swift movement, he pushed you down back into the mattress and leaned down over you, bracketing you in with his broad shoulders and forearms. His presence was overwhelming, his weight shifting slightly as he hovered above you, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

You froze, your breath hitching as his knee pressed into the mattress between your thighs, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against your core. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through you, sharp and unexpected. A sound escaped your lips before you could stop it—a soft, needy whimper that felt deafening in the tense silence between you.

Joel stilled, his brows knitting together as his dark eyes flicked to your face, searching for something. “The fuck was that?” he muttered, his voice low and sharp, more curious than angry.

Your cheeks burned, your breath catching as you tried to will your body under control. But then his knee shifted slightly, brushing against you again, and you couldn’t stop the way your body arched instinctively, a traitorous whimper slipping free once more.

His gaze hardened, his lips twisting into something between surprise and smugness as he looked down at you, reading every inch of your flushed face. “You just fuckin’ whimper?” he asked, his voice rough and almost disbelieving, like he didn’t trust his own ears.

“No,” you stammered, your cheeks burning as you squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away. “Get off me.”

Joel didn’t move. If anything, he seemed even more planted, his presence overwhelming as he leaned closer. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and something else—something darker, something that made your stomach churn and flip all at once. “Oh,” he drawled, his voice slow and dripping with condescension. “So that’s what this is about, huh?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. The way he looked at you, like he could see right through you, made it impossible to breathe.

“Poor little thing,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet, each word cutting deeper. “So wound up you don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” His thumb brushed lazily over your hip, the contact light but enough to make you squirm. “That’s why you’ve been actin’ like a goddamn brat all day, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t—” you started, your voice shaky, but Joel cut you off. His hand came up, rough and steady, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up toward his. The motion was firm, commanding, leaving no room for protest.

“Don’t even try to lie to me,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting and sharp, as if he could see right through you, peeling back every layer you tried to hide behind. “I’ve got you all figured out. You’ve been beggin’ for attention, haven’t you? Too damn stubborn to just ask for it, so you throw a tantrum instead.”

"Fuck off Joel," you said, but your words lacked conviction, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and something else—something darker. There was no fight in your tone, no real weight behind the demand.

Joel laughed, low and rough, the sound rolling from his chest like thunder. It wasn’t warm or comforting; it was sharp, mocking, cutting into you with ease. “I fuckin’ knew it,” he drawled, his tone thick with condescension. His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he leaned in closer. “Knew I could hear you at night. Moanin’ like a needy little thing. Horny as hell, weren’t you?”

“Joel!” you shrieked, mortified, your voice cracking as your face burned hot with embarrassment. You squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away, but his weight pinned you down, unyielding. “Stop it! Oh my God, stop—”

But Joel didn’t stop. If anything, his smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “That why you don’t like Tess?” he murmured, his voice laced with teasing cruelty.

“What?” you sputtered, whipping your head toward him, your voice high and defensive. “Of course not!”

“Thought maybe you were jealous,” he continued, his tone slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Thinkin’ I was fuckin’ her.”

Your glare sharpened, your hands balling into fists at your sides, but the heat crawling up your neck betrayed your frustration. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with her,” you spat, your voice laced with defiance.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he studied you, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Admit it,” he murmured, his tone coaxing but sharp enough to sting. “You’ve been wantin’ this—wantin’ me—for a long time. Haven’t you?”

“You’re a freak,” you snapped, twisting beneath him in what you tried to pass off as resistance. But it was half-hearted at best, your body betraying you completely.

The heat pooling low in your stomach, the electric buzz coursing through you—it all told the truth that you refused to say out loud. And you knew Joel could see it, could feel it.

His smirk widened, cruel and smug, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. Without warning, he stood up, dusting off his jeans with deliberate nonchalance, as though nothing had just happened. The sudden loss of his weight, his heat, left you reeling, your skin still burning where his touch had lingered.

“Alright,” he said, his voice casual, dismissive, as he turned toward the door. “Sleep well.” The words were thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought, his tone dripping with indifference, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“What?” you blurted, sitting up so fast the mattress shifted beneath you. Your voice was laced with panic, confusion. “Where are you going?”

Joel stopped in his tracks, turning his head just enough to look at you, his expression smug and infuriating. “Where am I goin’?” he repeated, his voice rich with mockery. “Thought you didn’t want me here, darlin’. Thought I was a ‘freak.’” He let the word roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate.

You opened your mouth, your pride fighting against the words clawing their way out. “Come back,” you said softly, barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your voice betraying you. It hung in the air, raw and desperate, and you hated yourself for how much you meant it.

Joel stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiffening before he turned his head just enough to look at you. His smirk returned, slow and lazy, as he pressed a hand to his ear in exaggerated mockery. “What was that?” he drawled, “Didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart. Magic word, maybe?”

“Please,” you bit out, your voice sharp, but the heat in your stomach betrayed the anger in your tone. When he didn’t move, you groaned, throwing your head back against the wall. “Fucking hell. Please, Joel.”

That did it. His smirk softened, his eyes darkening as he took a step back toward you, then another, his movements slow and deliberate. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he stood before you again, towering over you. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him.

"Alright, lay back," Joel said, his voice low and rough, a command, not a request.

You didn’t hesitate, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate you. You ripped the covers off and leaned back against the mattress, your body buzzing with anticipation. Joel settled beside you, one knee pressing into the bed as he took his time, his dark eyes trailing over you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you.

Excitement coursed through you, and you shifted, your legs falling open instinctively, one thigh brushing against his leg. It was bold, shameless, and you didn’t care. Not when he was this close, not when his gaze was this heavy.

“Jesus,” Joel muttered under his breath, shaking his head as his eyes flicked down to where your thighs parted. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Your face burned, the words cutting through you like a knife, sharp and cruel. “Don’t be mean,” you shot back, your voice trembling with a mix of indignation and need.

He snorted, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Mean?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “You were the one actin’ like a brat all day, weren’t you?” His hand reached out, rough and calloused as it slid up your thigh, his touch firm and unyielding. “So that’s how I’m gonna treat you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand moved higher, the warmth of his palm searing against your skin. His eyes locked on yours, dark and intense, daring you to argue. “You think you deserve nice?” he drawled, his voice soft but laced with a cruel edge. “After the way you’ve been runnin’ that mouth all day?”

“I didn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp laugh.

“Don’t even try,” he said, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh in a way that made your legs tremble. “You wanted attention, didn’t you? Well, now you’ve got it, darlin’. So be a good girl and take it.”

Joel’s thumb pressed firmly against you, the rough fabric of your clothes doing little to dull the sensation as he dragged it slowly over your aching, wet core. The friction sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t stop the soft, desperate sound that escaped your lips.

“Fucking hell,” Joel muttered, his voice low and thick with disbelief. His dark eyes flicked to your face, studying your side profile, your lips parted and your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “How’s it possible to be this wet?” he said, almost to himself, his tone rough, like he was mocking you for being so undone already.

You groaned, the heat in his voice igniting something primal in you. Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the pressure of his fingers, desperate for more. He chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through you like a current.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone mocking but laced with something darker, something hungrier. “Couldn’t even wait, huh? Drippin’ all over yourself like this. You really are just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your pride burning at his words but the ache between your thighs drowning out everything else. His thumb moved again, slower this time, teasing, torturous, as he watched you squirm beneath him. “Joel,” you breathed, his name slipping past your lips in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“Take ’em off,” Joel said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver straight through you.

Your hands moved instantly, no hesitation, hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs, clutching the flimsy fabric in your hands, your body buzzing with a mix of anticipation and shame.

“Give ’em to me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, just a second, before you placed them in his palm. He didn’t even look at them, just shoved them into his back pocket like it was nothing. The action, casual and deliberate, made your cheeks burn.

“Pervert,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him even as your stomach twisted in want.

“Hey,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Watch it. I can walk out that door right now. That what you want?”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “No,” you said quickly, your voice soft and desperate as you shook your head.

“Good,” he said simply, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly. “Sit back.”

The cool air hit you, and you flushed even hotter, knowing how exposed you were, how much of a mess you must look.

Joel’s gaze dropped between your thighs, his lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sneer. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re drippin’ all over yourself.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your core, not quite touching but close enough to make you squirm.

“You touch yourself?” he asked, his tone low and almost mocking, his fingertips brushing just barely against your slick skin.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your hips twitched toward his hand.

He hummed, nodding slowly. “How much?” he asked, his voice thick, his fingers still teasing, never giving you what you wanted.

“Every night,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You didn’t care how filthy you sounded, didn’t care how his lips curled into a smirk at your confession. You just needed him to touch you. “Every single night.”

“Christ,” Joel muttered, his fingers grazing you just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicked back up to your face, dark and intense. “What do you think about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest, before your gaze locked with his. “You,” you admitted, the word barely above a whisper. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He stiffened for half a second, the shock evident, but then he relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut as he let you kiss him. That alone surprised you—Joel wasn’t the type to give, not like this. His lips were warm, firm, and they lingered against yours, almost tender in a way that made your chest ache.

“Hm,” he hummed when you pulled back, his eyes still half-lidded. “Sweet,” he said, the word muttered so quietly it felt like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

A small smile tugged at your lips, the warmth spreading through you despite the tension still coiling in your stomach.

But Joel wasn’t one to stay soft for long. His smirk returned, sharp and teasing. “Still a fuckin’ brat,” he said, his voice low and rough. “And brats get punished.”

You groaned, the words sending a shiver through you as your hips lifted instinctively, begging for more of his touch. His dark laugh rumbled low in his chest, and he leaned back just enough to watch you squirm.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his tone dripping with condescension. “So desperate you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

Your brows furrowed as you glared at him, frustration boiling over. “Joel—”

“I’ll do you one better,” he interrupted, sitting back slightly, his legs spreading slightly. His smirk deepened as he saw the confusion flicker across your face.

“Take my pants off,” he said simply, his voice commanding, like he didn’t expect you to argue.

Your breath caught, the tension in the room growing impossibly thicker as his words sank in. His gaze never left yours, heavy and unwavering, daring you to hesitate. But you didn’t. Your hands moved almost on their own, reaching for the button of his jeans, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with it.

Joel chuckled low and dark, his hands resting lazily on his thighs as he watched you. “That’s it,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement. “Good girl.”

The praise made your heart stutter, your cheeks flushing as your hands trembled, tugging his jeans down slowly, the fabric dragging over his muscular thighs. Joel shifted slightly to help you, lifting his hips just enough, the casual dominance in the movement sending a thrill racing through you. He made it look effortless, like he was still in control even when you were the one undressing him.

Your hand moved instinctively to touch him, but his voice stopped you cold. “Nuh uh,” he said, his tone low and firm, a quiet command. His eyes darkened as he leaned back slightly, watching you. “Shirt off too,” he instructed, his voice steady but thick with anticipation.

Your breath hitched, and you hesitated for just a moment before obeying. Your shirt joined the pile of his clothes on the floor, leaving you bare before him. Joel’s eyes dragged over you slowly, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his teeth catching his bottom lip as his hands shot out, rough and deliberate. He grabbed your breasts, his large palms squeezing, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive nipples. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, his voice low and full of reverence, though his touch was anything but gentle.

Your back arched instinctively into his hands, a gasp escaping your lips as the roughness of his calloused fingers sent shocks of heat spiraling through you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, your entire body trembling under the weight of it all—the tension, the teasing, the slow build that had been driving you to the edge for what felt like hours.

“I need you,” you blurted, the words breaking free before you could stop them. Your voice cracked, raw with desperation. “I need you bad, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice rougher now, low and dangerous, like he was savoring every second of your unraveling. “You that needy, huh?” He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips. His hand slid lower, gripping your waist firmly as he smirked again, this time sharper, hungrier. “Gonna cry for it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to spill as you nodded, your hands clutching at the fabric of the mattress beneath you. “Please,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m—I’m begging you, Joel.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek as if he were testing you, seeing how far you could unravel before breaking completely. His eyes roamed your face, his gaze heavy and unrelenting. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. “So desperate you’re fallin’ apart.”

His thumb caught the edge of a tear sliding down your cheek, and his smirk returned—soft but laced with condescension, sharp enough to make your stomach twist. “You’re a mess, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement, though there was something deeper, darker beneath it.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest heaving as you tried—and failed—to hold back a sob. “Joel, please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking, trembling with need. You hated how small you sounded, but the ache inside you drowned out the embarrassment.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his thumb trailing down to press against your trembling bottom lip. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly, the words drawn out slowly, like he wanted to savor the sound of them. “I’ll take care of you. That what my baby wants?”

You nodded frantically, tears spilling over as relief and anticipation coursed through you, lighting up every nerve in your body. His thumb lingered on your lip for a moment longer, pressing gently, teasingly, before he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice so soft it sent a fresh shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against your temple, and the warmth of his words melted into you.

“You wanna see me?” Joel asked, his voice dropping even lower, thick with teasing. “Or you wanna be on your knees?”

“Wanna see you,” you answered quickly, the words spilling from your lips before you could stop them. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him, pleading, raw with need. “Please.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes dragging over you with that slow, deliberate intensity that made your skin burn. “Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still carrying that rough, gravelly edge. “Lay back for me.”

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking into the mattress as your legs fell open, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching out to roam over his chest, your fingertips brushing against the heat of his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch as you brought one hand lower, trailing down his abdomen to the back of his thighs, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more of him.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich as his hand caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Be patient,” he drawled, his tone thick with amusement, his grip firm but not cruel. His free hand slid down your thigh, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in slow, teasing strokes that sent shivers racing through you. “I know you’re eager, darlin’, but I gotta take my time. Don’t wanna break ya.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath his touch as his words settled over you, calm and confident in a way that made your heart pound even harder. The ache between your thighs was unbearable now, your body so wound up you couldn’t think straight. “Joel,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “I’m ready. Please.”

He raised a brow, his smirk twisting into something wicked as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I know you are,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart, I don’t even need any spit.” His words were filthy, teasing, and they sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

And then, with no warning, Joel sunk into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, a deep, guttural groan rumbling from his chest as he pressed flush against you. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him overwhelmed your senses, and a loud, unrestrained yelp tore from your throat. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” Joel said sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand away from your face. His dark eyes burned into yours, his voice low and rough, the command in his tone making your chest tighten. “Wanna hear those sweet noises, baby. Don’t you dare hide ’em from me.”

You whimpered, your mind spinning from the fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming intensity of him. “But… what about…” you stammered, your thoughts hazy and scattered, trying to cling to something, anything. What was her name? The thought flitted through your mind, faint and distant. It slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a whisper of a worry clinging to the back of your mind.

Joel stilled for half a second, his lips curling into a wicked grin, his amusement clear. “So cock drunk you forgot her fuckin’ name,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, each word a sharp tease that only heightened the heat flooding your body.

And then, without warning, he pulled out completely, leaving you empty, the sudden loss of him making you gasp. Before you could even register the thought, he slammed back into you with a force that had you screaming, your back arching off the mattress as your nails raked down his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing grounding you.

Joel laughed, low and dark, the sound vibrating through your chest as his breath fanned over your face. He leaned closer, his smirk sharp and cutting as his hips snapped against yours again, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. “Don’t you want her to hear ya?” he teased, his voice dripping with condescension and something darker, something possessive.

“Joel,” you gasped, the sound of his name raw and unrestrained as he drove into you, each thrust more intense than the last. His hands gripped your hips tightly, anchoring you to him as he chuckled at your reaction.

“Let her hear those pretty little screams, baby,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Let her know I’m in your pussy, not hers.” His tone was cruelly teasing, but the heat in his words, in his eyes, made your entire body tremble, completely at his mercy.

Your breath hitched, a potent mix of embarrassment and raw, unrelenting desire coursing through you. Joel’s words were filthy, taunting, cutting straight through your defenses, but instead of pushing you away, they only made you cling to him harder. Your nails dug into his back as your body arched into him, every nerve ignited, desperate for more. His pace quickened, each thrust harder, more deliberate, his movements rough and dripping with possession.

“Bet you like that, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, each word a teasing caress against your ear. His lips brushed the shell of it, his breath hot and ragged. “You want her to be jealous? Want her to hear and know exactly who you belong to?” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, rough fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, driving himself deeper inside you. “Say it,” he growled, his voice dark and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond him—his body, his voice, the way he consumed you completely. The tension in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. “Yours,” you gasped, your voice cracking, trembling. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Joel’s smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something primal. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gripping your jaw firmly. “Open,” he ordered, his tone rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

You obeyed without question, your lips parting as your gaze locked on his, wide and eager. His smirk turned wicked, his hand tilting your chin as he spat into your mouth, slow and deliberate.

The act was filthy, raw, and utterly consuming, sending a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body. Humiliation and desire burned together, each feeding into the other until there was nothing left but the aching, desperate need for more.

“Fuck!” you screamed, your voice breaking, echoing through the room as your head fell back, your body trembling beneath him. Your eyes rolled with pleasure, the tension snapping in waves that left you gasping, completely at his mercy. Joel wasn’t satisfied with just having you; he wanted to take all of you. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, strong and commanding as he pushed your legs up to your chest, spreading you even wider.

“Thereee ya go,” Joel teased, his voice rough and dripping with mocking satisfaction. His lips twisted into a smug smirk, his dark eyes locked onto yours as his hips rolled, his pace faltering just enough to make you squirm. As he pulled back, slick and glistening with your arousal, he chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you like a current. “So damn wet, I can’t even stay in,” he muttered, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

Without warning, he guided himself back inside, filling you again in one smooth, deliberate motion that left you gasping. The stretch, the fullness, was overwhelming, and a desperate moan ripped from your throat as he set a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with relentless force.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, loud and obscene, mingling with your cries and Joel’s deep, gravelly grunts. His breath was hot and heavy against your ear, his chest pressing against yours as he drove into you, each thrust dragging you closer to the edge again.

“You feel me, baby?” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your neck. His scruff scratched against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine, your body arching beneath him as you clawed at his back. Your nails raked across his skin, leaving angry red trails in their wake, but Joel didn’t flinch. If anything, it only seemed to spur him on.

“All in here,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less commanding as his hand slid down your stomach. His palm pressed firmly against you, his dark eyes flicking between your flushed face and the place where your bodies met. “Feel that?” he muttered, his tone thick with pride and hunger. “That’s me, baby. All of me, deep inside you.”

You whimpered, your hips lifting desperately to meet his thrusts, each movement of his body sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Joel braced himself on one elbow, his chest brushing against yours as his free hand moved between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, and he began rubbing harshly, no hesitation, no regard for how sensitive you were. The intensity made you scream, your vision going white as your body jerked beneath him.

“Joel,” you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a trembling plea, the sensation overwhelming you, consuming you whole.

Your thoughts scattered like ash in the wind as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, his relentless touch unraveling you piece by piece. His rough hands anchored you, grounding you to the bed even as his gruff voice pulled you further under his control. You were pliant, trembling, utterly at his mercy, and all you could do was hold on as he drove you past every limit you thought you had.

“I—I’m gonna cum,” you screamed, your voice cracking, trembling with the weight of it. Your body tightened around him, the pleasure building higher and higher, unbearably close to breaking.

Joel’s lips curled into a wicked smirk, his thrusts becoming even more relentless, faster, deeper, like he was chasing his own edge just as much as he was pushing you toward yours. “Good,” he growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear like a promise. “Go on, baby. Cum for me. And make sure she hears you.”

“There you go, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. “Cum on my cock. Fuck, milk my cock, baby. That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

The filthy words broke you completely. “Joel,” you cried, your voice cracking as the tension snapped, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your body arched off the bed, your nails biting into his skin as your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained. Every nerve in your body was alight, the sensation so intense it bordered on too much, yet you couldn’t get enough.

Joel moved quickly, rolling onto his back with a fluid motion, his chest heaving as he looked up at you. His hand reached for yours, pulling it toward him with a firm, commanding grip. “Stroke me,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, rough from the strain of holding back. His dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’m close.”

Your body was still trembling from your release, weak and unsteady, but you obeyed him without hesitation. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth, his hips jerking upward at the first touch, the reaction sending a thrill through you.

You started slow, dragging your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over the head with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. Joel’s grunts and muttered curses filled the room, spurring you on as you quickened your pace. His head tipped back slightly, his neck exposed, his lips parted as he let out a low, drawn-out moan that made your thighs clench.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, surprising yourself—and him. For a moment, he froze, his eyes flicking open. But then he gave in, his mouth moving against yours in a kiss that was hot and sensual, his lips rough but responsive. The taste of him, the way he let you take control, sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

Your strokes quickened, your hand moving with more purpose now, your fingers tightening around him. Joel’s hips jerked in time with your movements, his groans growing louder, deeper, until his head fell back against the pillow. His jaw clenched, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his body tensed.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his voice rough and raw, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him as he let go. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath uneven as he sat up suddenly, shifting onto his knees. With one final moan—your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—he came, his release painting your stomach in warm, messy streaks.

Joel stayed there for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath. His eyes remained closed, his lips slightly parted, and for once, he looked completely undone—vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. It was mesmerizing, the way his defenses slipped, the way he seemed to let himself just feel.

You smiled at him, tender despite the heat still coursing through you. Joel’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze locking on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might soften. But instead, he leaned forward, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kissed you roughly. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that hadn’t waned, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he pulled you closer. It wasn’t sweet or soft—it was commanding, possessive, like he was staking his claim all over again.

You started to lean back, your chest heaving, ready to catch your breath. But Joel wasn’t done with you.

“Nuh uh,” he said suddenly, his voice steady and firm, a sharp contrast to the rawness from moments before. His hand caught your wrist, his grip firm as he pulled you upright, drawing you back into his control. “Be a good girl for me,” he said, his voice low and rough, laced with authority. “Go out there and get us some water.”

You blinked at him, dazed and still catching up, confusion flooding your mind as you started to reach for your discarded clothes. “Okay,” you murmured, your hand brushing against your shirt. But before you could grab it, Joel’s hand shot out again, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you cold.

“No,” he said sharply, his voice low and commanding. His dark eyes gleamed with something wicked, a dangerous amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips curled into a smug, teasing smirk as he tilted his head toward the door. “You’re goin’ out there butt naked, baby, with my cum all over your tummy.”

Your eyes widened, heat flooding your cheeks as your stomach flipped with a potent mix of embarrassment and disbelief. “What?” you practically squeaked, your voice pitching higher. “Joel, are you serious?”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, his smirk widening, dripping with smug satisfaction as he spread his arms lazily, utterly at ease. He looked at you like you were a challenge he’d already conquered, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “You wanted her to know you’re mine, didn’t you?” he drawled, his voice slow, mocking, every word cutting into your resolve. “Well, go on, then. Let her see where I just came.”

The heat in your cheeks burned impossibly hotter, your body stiffening as his words sank in, settling heavy in your chest. Humiliation twisted inside you, curling around the raw, unrelenting need he’d left you drowning in. You wanted to argue, to snap back at him, to yell something defiant—but the way he looked at you, so commanding, so utterly unapologetic, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t ignore. His confidence was maddening, overwhelming, yet it drew you in like a magnet.

Your breath hitched as you stood there, frozen, your mind spinning with indecision. And yet, deep down, you already knew. You’d do it. Because he asked. Because it was Joel. Because the way his voice dropped, low and full of authority, sent shivers down your spine. And because, in the end, you wanted her to know just as much as he did.

You hesitated at the door, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Each beat felt like it might shake your body apart, your legs trembling as you fought to muster the courage to take the next step. Behind you, Joel leaned back further, watching you with that maddening, infuriating smirk, his gaze heavy, unrelenting, and impossibly smug. He was waiting, savoring the moment, dragging it out just to see you squirm.

“Go on, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low, honeyed drawl that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. “Let her see.”

His words were slow, deliberate, and they left no room for disobedience. Your breath caught, and despite the knot of humiliation twisting in your chest, you reached for the doorknob. The cool metal was grounding, but it did nothing to stop the heat crawling up your neck as you pushed the door open and stepped out.

Swallowing hard, you pushed the door open and stepped out, your skin flushing hot as the cool air of the main room hit your bare body. You prayed—begged—that Tess would be asleep, her usual scowl absent, but of course, the universe wasn’t that kind. She was right there, sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and her jaw set like she’d been expecting this exact moment. Her fiery eyes locked on you the second you stepped into view.

You could feel the weight of her glare, sharp enough to cut, as you walked toward the kitchen. Each step felt agonizingly slow, your bare feet padding against the floor as your tits bounced slightly with every movement. Joel’s release still slicked across your stomach, glinting faintly in the dim light, and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

Tess’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line, her nostrils flaring as she stared at you, her gaze flicking from your flushed face to your exposed chest to the mess on your skin. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, but you kept moving, refusing to meet her eyes. Your legs felt weak, your breath shallow, and every inch of your body burned under her scrutiny.

As you reached the kitchen, fumbling for a glass of water with trembling hands, you could feel Joel’s presence even from behind the closed door. He was enjoying this—every second of it.

You could practically hear Joel’s low chuckle echoing in your head, dripping with smug satisfaction. The weight of his gaze lingered on your bare back even from behind the closed door, the unspoken command still tethering you to him. He knew exactly what he was doing—forcing you to obey, knowing it would leave Tess seething with jealousy. It was all a game to him, and the thought only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

“You’re a whore,” Tess spat, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade.

You froze for half a second, your fingers tightening around the glass as your throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

But you didn’t look at her. You didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, you poured the water calmly, the sound of it filling the suffocating silence, and then turned on your heel, walking back toward the bedroom with your head held high.

Her eyes burned into your back as you left, the weight of her words pressing against you like a boulder. But all you could hear in your mind was Joel’s voice, smooth and commanding, telling you what to do, and you clung to it like a lifeline.

When you stepped back into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you, Joel was right where you left him—lounging on the mattress, his cock still out, his head tipped back like he had all the time in the world. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, his relaxed confidence utterly maddening and undeniably magnetic. His dark eyes flicked to the glass in your hand, and a slow, pleased smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good girl,” he drawled, his voice rough and full of pride. The praise made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t deny, even as your cheeks burned. He sat up slightly, one arm bracing him against the mattress as he watched you cross the room, his gaze trailing over every inch of your exposed skin. He took his time, his eyes heavy and unrelenting, like he was savoring the view.

“She say anything?” Joel asked, his tone casual, but his eyes gave him away—dark, sharp, with a glint of knowing amusement that made your stomach flip. He leaned back slightly, his broad shoulders relaxing against the headboard as if he had all the time in the world.

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the memory of Tess’s venomous words replayed in your head. Joel noticed, of course—he always did. His brow lifted, his smirk twisting into something sharper, darker. He reached for the glass in your hands, taking it from you with deliberate ease before guiding you down onto the mattress. The movement was firm yet unhurried, his grip on you steady.

“She call you somethin’?” he pressed, his voice dripping with mock curiosity, like he already knew the answer. He set the glass aside and grabbed an old rag, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped the remnants of his release from your stomach. The action, almost tender, sent shivers through you, your skin hypersensitive under his touch. His fingers tapped lazily against his thigh, waiting. “Lemme guess. A whore?”

Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down, unable to meet his gaze, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” you muttered.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rough, vibrating through the room and settling in your chest. It wasn’t a comforting sound; it was smug, knowing, dripping with the satisfaction of being right. “Course she did,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. His smirk deepened as his hands found your thighs, pulling you closer, his thumbs brushing over your skin. “Think she’s a bit jealous.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his grip tightened, grounding you. His smirk turned wicked, his eyes glinting with something darker, something possessive. “But she’s right about one thing,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, rougher, each word sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. “You’re my whore. Aren’t you?”

The weight of his gaze burned through you, setting every nerve in your body alight. Your chest tightened, the tension unraveling as you nodded, your body trembling under the force of his presence. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—there was only him. His smirk widened at your silent admission, his hands sliding further up your thighs, gripping you firmly.

“Good girl,” he hummed, his voice softer now, but no less commanding. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your lips as his fingers dug into your skin. “You ready for me again?”

The question made your breath hitch, your body already aching with anticipation. You nodded frantically, your lips parting as your heart pounded against your ribs. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking, raw with need.

Joel’s smirk deepened, his lips brushing against your jaw as he murmured, “That’s my girl. Let’s see just how much you can take.” And with that, he pushed you back onto the mattress, his hands pinning you down as he took control all over again, his dominance overwhelming and addictive.

[lixiesbrowniess]

WHAT'S WRONG OLD MAN?

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, SMUT, sexual content, blowjob, p n v, unprotected sex, rough sex, virginity loss, MAJOR SIZE KINK, deepthroating, dub con, soldier boy's in his 60s so its around 1980s, you called him a grandpa... I guess he proved you wrong.

| Jensen Masterlist |

One shot: Soldier Boy x Actress!Reader

Synopsis: You're starred in a new music video with non other than Soldier Boy. He's technically in his 60s, but damn was he fine as hell. You're in your 20s but the director still chose to give you the sluttiest role you've ever played with a man that literally could've been your grandpa. Yes. You play hard to get, won't last long buuut.

WAS LISTENING TO THIS WHILE WRITING THE SMUT PART PLS I WAS WHEEZING AT SOME POINT LIKE YES I'D BANG WITH HIM.

"Cuuut." the director shouted running towards you while you immediately tear yourself away from Soldier Boy's crotch with an annoyed frown, the director walked towards you looking somehow upset, about to scold you cause for the third time in a row you weren't drooling enough onto Soldier Boy's crotch or not being slutty enough.

You rolled your eyes, as expected the director was scolding you again. And grabbing your wrist and tossing you around "You might be the youngest but thay doesn't make you less of a slut!" The director was shouting in your face. You yanked your wrist back making the older man flinch "Not my fault I don't want to rub myself against a fucking grandpa." You bite back harshly.

You didn't say that out loud, did you? You didn't, right?

You feel your blood running cold watching the director's face going pale looking at you. No. Not quite at you. Behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know he was behind you. And you swear you could feel his blood boil. The scent of whiskey and musk had your head spinning.

You act like you didn't notice, in an instant you excuse yourself to your dressing room, who was surprisingly big, btw. You could feel his eyes on you, following your smaller figure, wrapped in that tight as shit dress that barely covered anything.

You slam the door closed and curse to yourself, letting your body fall onto the sofa and closing your eyes. That was damn close. You could sense he was about to pounce on you. Probably to choke you to death or something. But how could an old man like him look so hot gross. You meant gross.

He had a fucking erection on set and didn't even bother to hide it. He looked even proud of it. And having it against your cheek in front of a camera really didn't made your day. You were lost in your thoughts and you didn't hear the footsteps walking towards your closed door. And you completely forgot to lock it.

You jumped on your seat, yelping at the sound of the door slamming shut, your eyes wide as they focus on the man standing in the centre of the room. Soldier motherfucking Boy was right there towering over you. That sure was intimidating, but so arousing at the same time.

Probably the whole set knew what was gonna happen the instant they saw him walking towards your room. Your throat felt dry. You kept on swallowing, but nothing worked; you opened your mouth to speak, but not a single sound came out of it.

He eyed you up and down. You probably were gripping your dress so hard your knuckles went white. He was still in his suit, but the helmet was gone, letting his wild, brown hair fell onto his forehead. "Cat, got your tongue?" His raspy voice blessed your ears as you shifted in your seat, shaking your head.

"You were so bold a couple of minutes ago. What'd you say again?" He walked closer, his tall figure hovering over yours. "Ah yes. You called me a grandpa." His voice lower as he now was mere inches from you. You kept looking away, trying not to focus onto his visible bulge, which was literally in front of your face.

You swallowed again, clearing your throat "Y-yeah I didn't mean it for real..." You stammered, focusing onto the floor now. Noticing his boots on each side of your little heels. You felt your legs weak. You don't think you could stand right now.

He raised an eyebrow, watching your smaller figure squirm in silence under his gaze. His rough hand grasp your chin sharply, turning it up to make you look up at him "You lie to me again imma fucking slam you to the wall understood?" He was pissed you could sense it. His gaze was harsh as he tightened his grip onto your face, squeezing your cheeks not so lightly.

You groan, knowing they'll leave a bruise. But the way he was looking down at you made a spark spread in your eyes. He must've noticed cause he smirked as he let go of your face. You massaged your poor cheeks, a tingling sensation where his fingers squeezed.

"I see what you are. You think I didn't notice the amount of times you look my way during every single break?" His hands get to work unzipping the costume letting his hard cock slap against his stomach. "Undressing me with those doll eyes." You weren't even listening at that point. Your head was dizzy with his heavy scent.

Your eyes fixated onto his erection, cock standing proud and leaking precum, angry tip almost begging for you to kiss on it. "Little whore, I knew I wasn't wrong about you." He chuckled to himself, his hand slid back onto your chin eyes roaming over your body.

"Suck."

You were brought back to reality hearing his request. No. It wasn't a request. It was an order. You didn't have much of a choice. But unlike your facade, you were for sure willing to do so. He stroked himself a couple of times while your brain was processing what was happening. He 'kindly' held his dick to your face, tip brushing onto your lips, leaving them glossy.

"C'mon, open up, sugar" he slightly presses onto the back of your head. You parted your lips, feeling him pushing himself into your mouth slowly but without any warning. He sighs in satisfaction while you find yourself holding to his thighs and choking onto his cock.

He looked down at you smiling "Oh I know that bratty mouth of yours can do better than this." You gasp, your throat was clenching around him as he pushed your head further, slowly and carefully. You let your jaw slack trying to accommodate his girth, tongue flattened as he shoved your head all the way to his crotch.

You fought your gag reflex as he bottomed out. Part of his lenght slid down your throat. Your nose brushed against his groin. "Oh fuck, that's right." He sighs throwing his head back. Tears prickled the sides of your eyes as he didn't even bother to move he just held you there. You tried to breathe through your nose, barely achieving the purpose.

He looked down at you, his hand onto your nape holding you still while you started to try and back away. "Not so cocky now, are we?" He held your hair in an arranged ponytail slowly, pulling you backwards, allowing you to take a breath before slamming his cock back into your warm cavern. Slowly thrusting to make sure you took him whole every single time.

Once he had enough he pulled your head away letting his cock slip out of your throat. You cough and suck in all the air you can, chest heaving with every breath. A string of saliva connected your lips to his tip, and you shamelessly groaned the view. His cock now glistening with your saliva, shimmering. You kind of missed the feeling of it down your throat already.

"Get up." Your legs moved on their own as you immediately stood in front of him. The authority in his voice makes you soak your panties even more than they already were. You desperately rubbed your thighs together. He lifted your chin, wiping the drip of saliva laying onto the corner of your lips. "So obedient when no one else is watching, huh? A fucking slut for me." He chuckles pushing his thumb past your lips.

You suck at his finger as if it was his cock, eyes fluttering slightly before he pulls his hand away. Soldier Boy pulls you flush against his body, you felt his hard cock against your stomach. He smiles, seeing the cock-drunk glance you gave him.

You yelp suddenly as he landed a slap onto your ass, the tingling feeling spreading as you were sure it was red all over. "Turn around, sweetheart." You face the couch now feeling his hand onto your back, lifting your dress slightly, before he decided to just rip it off.

Your arm moved to cover your breasts in reflex, which made him smirk wider. "How old did you say you were?" His voice deep and agaist the shell of your ear "22 sir." You manage to blurt out. He laughs, a rumble into his chest. "I could indeed be your grandfather." He lowly growled, his hand closes around your throat as you gasp.

"See? You're such a good girl, all wet and ready for me." He chuckles as his fingers play with the hem of your soaked panties before pulling them down. He positions a hand onto your back, pushing you forward, your hands stopping you from falling. You hold yourself up leaning to the headboard of the sofa.

He slightly kicked your legs, spreading them more. A blush spreading across your face as both his hands were onto your ass cheeks, spreading them, to allow himself to admire your glistening cunt, while you clenched under his gaze only. "Now, would you look at that." He groans at the sight. "Your pussy is begging me to split you in half"

You groaned, feeling his fingers ghost around your core and onto your clit. You buck your hips backwards, following his touch, which he quickly denies you. Teasing you and leaving you clenching around nothing "Such a needy whore" he murmurs smirking to himself before landing a firm slap onto your other ass cheek.

You squeal at the sudden tingling pain. His hand immediately rubs circles onto the red spot. You close your fists, squeezing the couch headboard. "What's wrong, old man? Can't find where to sink your cock into?" The words are full of need, you didn't even realize you've said them. You feel another spank, only this time it's directly onto your cunt making you cry out at the force, legs shivering.

He pushes your head onto the cushions, having your ass perfectly up in the air. He leans in, reaching close to your neck, his hard cock pressed against your thighs. "Oh darlin, I know exactly where to hit, don't you test me." He growls, getting back up and blowing onto your redden and swollen cunt. You hold back a moan as he does. He then grips your hips up and pulls them closer, he lines his cock up to your leaking hole, not wasting another instant he pushes inside you, barely half of it entering you.

He groans, feeling ur tightness, making it difficult to move, his hands rubbing your sides as he keeps pushing. "C'mon darlin relax, what are you a virgin?" He jokes, but as he can't manage to push further while you tense around him, and your little cries, he tilts your head back to face him. Your teary eyes meet his green irises. "Shit, you really are a virgin." He whispers, his hand slides between your legs as he leans over your back.

His fingers start to rub your clit causing your body to flinch against him, his other hand holding your hip against him. He kisses your neck and starts sucking onto your tender flesh. Your eyes flutter at the unexpected pleasure. As you finally start to loosen up around his cock, he starts to push inside you without stopping his moves onto your bud. His girth splitting you open, it felt so good, your cries slowly becoming shameless moans of his name.

He bottomed out, forming a bump onto your womb, your hand stroking it slightly. Your eyes roll back as he starts moving in and out of your soaked cunt, you moan loudly as his hips slam flush against yours. Your moans get whiny timing with his thrusts. He groans feeling your cunt clenching around him.

"Literal mentally a whore physically a virgin huh?" He chuckles holding your hips while you push back to meet his vigorous thrusts as your whimpers filled his ears. He kept his steady rhythm against your, making your body jolt forward every time his hips slammed against yours.

You felt heat pooling into your core as your cunt fluttered around his cock, you tightly gripped to the couch, burying your face into the cushion, your moans becoming high pitched "Ben I'm－" You feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he rolled his hips, his cock bruising your cervix deliciously.

"Yeah babe, cum for me, let go." With that you felt your overwhelming climax, you cum soaking his cock. He grunts, slamming against you as your velvety walls clench around him "F-fuck" You stutter as he keeps his hips snapping into yours, hitting deeper sliding with ease thanks to your juices.

Your moans become louder, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room while he grunts and groans against your skin "Fuck you're so damn tight." He groans as his thrusts start getting sloppy, you can feel his cock throbbing inside you. You feel yourself cumming again as he buries himself balls deep into you shifting a little upwards, the bulge forming onto your tummy. He finally feels his own orgasm approaching.

He pushes himself even deeper, bulging out onto your lower belly. After driving himself into you a couple more times he cums shooting thick ropes, painting your walls white, filling you to the brim "Oh fuck yes" he lowly grunts before pulling out watching your body tremble before falling onto the couch. He grinned at his nice work, having you full with his cum, some of it leaking out of your cunt.

He tucks himself back into the suit in a hurry. Much to your surprise, he's still pretty hard. He reaches to your body, you yelp as he picks you up, throwing you on his shoulder, spanking your tender flesh, he slowly walks out, frightening the director who was about to knock onto your door.

Your cunt on full view while he walked out. "S-Soldier Boy, we might need to do some more takes of the last sce-" the director started "No that's wrap. Send it away. I'll see you tomorrow." Soldier Boy interrupted him, walking towards his trailer with you hanging from his shoulder.

"Got more important things to do so piss off."

[sylusplushie]

mr crawling 𖹭 my headcanons

SFW/NSFW

𖹭˙ he loves it when you play with his hair, it's like therapy for him. when you decorate his hair, tie a bow and tell him he looks cute, he gets all wiggly inside

𖹭˙ he's obsessed with being close to you. he's always behind you wherever you go. sometimes you see him poking his head out of the bathroom door and giggling at you

𖹭˙ he must be in contact with you when he sleeps. if he can't feel you, he starts to get anxious and panic. you are what is good for him, not sleep

𖹭˙ he loves to watch you cook. especially when you make a cake, he can't wait to lick the icing off the spoon. he'll do anything to help you, even just leaning his head on the counter and watching you makes him happy

𖹭˙ he thinks of you more than himself, he always puts you first. he focuses entirely on giving you pleasure during sex. he does what you want without hesitation. your pleasure means his pleasure

𖹭˙ he's incredibly gentle with you. even when he touches you, it's as if he's touching porcelain. when he sees you chopping something with a knife, he panics around the room and feels the need to constantly check on you

𖹭˙ he loves to wash you, it's one of his favorite times with you. he washes your hair so beautifully and gently that you feel yourself melting under his hands. sometimes he places feather-light kisses on your wet skin, he tries to show how much he cares for you at every opportunity

𖹭˙ he never leaves your side during your period (as if he normally does), he takes care of whatever you need. he can't stand your cramps, he tries to comfort you by stroking your hair and stomach. he doesn't let you do anything during your period, he does everything for you

𖹭˙ he's even jealous of animals. once he saw how happy you were petting the cat's head. when you came home in the evening of the same day, he was waiting for you at home with cat ears. he begged for your attention, acting just like a cat

𖹭˙ aftercare is much more important to him than sex. he hugs you and caresses your naked and sweaty back in circles. he presses his nose to your neck and inhales your scent. he runs his fingers gently through your scalp. he massages your thighs. he kisses you all over your body. he likes to kiss your palms by smelling them. he cleans you well (with his tongue)

𖹭˙ he loves to take care of your hair as much as you love to take care of his hair. ever since he learned to braid, he can't stop braiding your hair. he decorates it with colorful barrettes, holds your cheeks and shouts “cute, cute!''

𖹭˙ sometimes he wakes up from sleep just because he needs to kiss you. you feel soft kisses on your cheek, forehead and chin while you sleep

[bayjaruchel]

Strawberry Blond

－－－

Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

－－－

You know that your relationship can never be normal. 

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company. 

Peeta lives alone in his. 

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes. 

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not. 

The way he looks at you is certainly real. 

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him. 

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him. 

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration? 

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting. 

You can dream. You can hope. 

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.  

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them. 

Instead, there's just fire. 

Tonight, you dream of fire. 

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? 

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough. 

A scream, crystal-clear. 

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help— 

There is so, so much blood— 

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone. 

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this. 

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore. 

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped. 

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself. 

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms. 

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory. 

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go. 

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch. 

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans. 

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest. 

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms. 

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors. 

You're still not sure if you like him or not. 

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing. 

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled. 

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.  

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves— 

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"Hello," he replies. 

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case. 

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat. 

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?" 

Peeta hesitates again. 

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?" 

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule. 

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine." 

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality. 

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand. 

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."  

Peeta audibly exhales. 

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually." 

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that. 

"What is it?" You ask, finally. 

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out. 

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now." 

Ah. 

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave—  his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain— 

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few." 

-- 

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted. 

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all. 

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else. 

"I'm here," you echo. 

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes. 

"Been baking?" You ask. 

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you. 

"Smells nice." 

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?" 

"If that's okay." 

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?" 

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask." 

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?" 

"It's called being polite, Peeta." 

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…" 

You let out a short sigh. 

"Just show me where they are." 

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is." 

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove. 

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow." 

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful. 

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—" 

His volume drops, and he pauses. 

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries. 

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak. 

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks. 

"Eat." 

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away. 

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again. 

So, you take a pastry. 

It's really, very good. 

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers. 

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away. 

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips. 

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension. 

 "Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—" 

He snorts. "Not this time." 

"More for me, then." 

"And your family, you mean?" 

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight. 

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same. 

-- 

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night. 

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always. 

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now. 

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks. 

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second. 

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all." 

You find your voice. 

"But you still tried?" 

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless. 

"Yeah, I tried." 

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions. 

"What happened?" You ask, quietly. 

 A beat. 

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—" 

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid." 

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that." 

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine." 

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache. 

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here." 

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!" 

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you. 

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant. 

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking. 

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries. 

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear. 

That you'll cease to exist. 

That you'll become not real.  

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first— 

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same. 

Peeta returns the gesture. 

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek. 

There's a moment. 

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that. 

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games. 

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do. 

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance— 

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic. 

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.  

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—  

It's real. 

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet. 

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop. 

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth. 

"Is this—" 

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you. 

"Please." 

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on. 

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—" 

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on: 

"Need you," he says. "Please." 

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed. 

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then. 

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can. 

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so. 

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants. 

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower. 

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too. 

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you. 

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open. 

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut. 

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in. 

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck. 

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still. 

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you. 

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most. 

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give. 

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak— 

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—" 

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body. 

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm. 

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet. 

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy. 

"I should get you a towel or something," you say. 

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?" 

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me." 

"So demanding." 

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—" 

"I'm getting up." And he does. 

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face. 

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing. 

You're comfortable. You're safe. 

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first. 

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness. 

"Of course." Without hesitation. 

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you," he breathes.  

The words are stuck in your throat. 

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable. 

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same. 

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off. 

You love him. 

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

THE OTHER WOMAN.

pairing. single dad tangerine x fem reader — angst word count. 1954 summary. you feel like the other woman in your relationship with tangerine, questioning whether he’ll ever see you in the same light as his past love. his daughters big feeling about the topic make the situation all the more challenging

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Unwanted. That’s the only feeling you could really identify around Tangerine’s daughter, Mandy. Her harsh, hateful eyes like that of a warning, a silent message to you and you only that you weren’t welcome. The expressions she wears are a spitting image of her father’s, stares and glares always seeming to scope you out of every room — making sure you know your place. Everything about Tangerine miniaturised into a ten-year-old girl.

The near eleven months of being in her and Tangerine’s life never seemed to get any easier. And with as much time as you’ve spent with her, you’d have thought she’d take to you by now. But still, she hasn’t.

You wanted to prove yourself to her without being fearful of the response, show her your fun and whimsy. Show the parts you hide around her. So today, you offered to pick her up from school — to save Tangerine another job between his forever extensive list of errands. 

And so you stood near the school gate, a mini bag of her favourite animal chocolate biscuits in your hand to surprise her — the fingers of your other hand fidgeting anxiously, waiting for the flood kids to exit their six-hour-imprisonment. And then you spot her, her smile bright and bold as he skips with her friends, their book bags swinging with their jumps. All personality dissipating the moment she locks eyes with you through the metal fencing.

She parts from her friends, her features straightening as she walks towards you. 

“Where’s my dad?” she asks, looking around.

“He got caught up with the food shop so I offered to get you,” you smile down to her, trying to ease her. “Hope that’s okay.”

She sighs, the sound disappointed. 

“I brought these for you,” you extend your hand, offering her the small purple packet. 

But she declines, her face like that of disgust as she stares at it. “I want my dad.”

“Of course,” you nod and shove the packet into your bag. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” you offer a weak smile, nodding her along to the car park.

The drive home is quiet, your questions going unanswered and ignored as she stares out the window – trying to pretend you weren’t there. Your attempts of offering friendship turned away like all your others over the last several months. You wanted to feel accepted, feel welcome. But the looks she’d give you were often similar to disappointment. Disappointment that you’re ‘the replacement.’

You pull onto the pebble drive of Tangerine’s house and park beside his car. As soon as it stills, Mandy is getting out, slamming the door behind her and running off towards the house. You give yourself a brief moment to collect yourself, trying to calm your breathing as not to cry. And so you follow after her, getting closer to shouting and screaming inside the house. 

The last you caught of the spat being from the very angry, very sad little girl. “I hate you. I hate her.” The sound of heavy footsteps following as they storm up the stairs. 

You poke your head into the front door, spotting Tangerine at the bottom of the stairs raking through his hair — trying to calm himself as he looks at a family photo frame on the wall. One with his wife and infant baby daughter. He swears under his breath and kicks at the pair of shoes in front of him, knocking them against the wall. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, watching him as you close the door behind you.

He turns to face you, startled. “God,” he utters, holding his heart.

“You okay?” you ask.

He inhales deeply and nods, the act like he’s trying to calm himself.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, features sympathetic as you gesture upstairs. 

“Ain’t your fault,” he shakes his head, trying to reassure you. “It’s just a lot for her, that’s all.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever like me,” you laugh weakly, the sound like that of discomfort rather than humour. “I’ve been around nearly a year,” you prompt, avoiding his eyes. 

He paces towards you and lays a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you through the very obvious hurt you’re both feeling. “To her, it just happened, you know?” he says, words soft as he presses a kiss to your temple. “I lost my mum young, too. It’s gonna take her a while to come around… and when she’s ready, we’ll be there,” he pauses to look at you. “Both of us.”

You lean into him, nuzzling your head against his briefly. “I know,” you exhale unsteadily, trying to ease yourself. “It’s just hard,” you murmur, eyes focused on a wedding photo portrait on the side table. “I feel like I’m inserting myself.”

“You’re not,” he reassures, hand reaching for yours. “You’re not. I promise you’re not.”

You feel the cold brush of metal from his left hand and you glance down to your hand enveloped in his — looking at the wedding band he still wears even two years later. The ring an act of promise from his old love.

You shake your hand from his hold, retracting it from him. It all begins to feel like too much and you want to back up, but you’re already against the door as it is. 

“I think I should go home.”

“No,” Tangerine says softly, head shaking sternly as if to enforce his words.

“She doesn’t want me here,” your eyebrows sadly furrow, curving in the middle. “And I—”

“I do,” he interrupts, a downcast expression mirroring yours. “I want you here. I do,” he reaches for your hand again, and this time you don’t pull away. “She’s struggling, yeah, but so am I.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulsing him with a squeeze. “I know you are,” you release his hand and wrap your arms around him, pulling him for a hug. The embrace warm and safe, the act a physical testament of your support.

He rests his forehead in the crook of your neck, burying his face into your comfort. You hear a soft sniffle and you hold a hand over the back of his head, trying to protect him from his grief. You simultaneously run a line down his back, soothing and smoothing him — keeping him aware of your presence. 

The tender moment is cut short when the pair of you hear a loud clatter from upstairs, the sound coming from Mandy’s room. He parts from you and rushes up the steps and you follow closely behind. 

“Mand!” Tangerine shouts out, barging into his daughter's room. She’s on the floor, a bunch of books and toys scattered around her. “Fuckin’ hell,” he pants, making his way closer to his little girl. “What have I told you about climbing?” he shakes his head, clearly pissed by her rebelion. “Could’ve really hurt yourself. What are you playing at?”

“I was trying to get something,” she looks at the bookshelf ahead, gesturing to a box.

You follow her eyeline from your spot in the doorframe, noticing a tiny pink floral box. You step into her room cautiously and reach for the trinket, holding it carefully as you get closer to Mandy and Tangerine — kneeling beside them. 

“It’s so pretty,” you say quietly, marvelling at its detail.

“It’s mums,” she responds and takes the box from your hold, her far smaller hands brushing over yours. “It’s her favourite.”

You turn to look at Tangerine as he watches his daughter, his eyes glued to the box Mandy’s holding.

“It plays music,” she states, her face lighting up.

“It does?” you ask, features mirroring hers. “What does it sound like?”

Excitement. A newfound feeling you felt around Tangerine’s daughter.

“Am I allowed to play it, daddy?” Mandy asks, looking up at him.

“Of course, poppet,” he nods, smoothing over her curls that match his. “You can play it.”

She opens the little wooden box and twists the handle at the side, letting the gentle classical tune play. With Mandy’s attention captivated, you reach a hand to Tangerine behind her back, comforting him — the sound sure to flood his brain with past memories. He looks over to you, eyes soft and slightly red as he acknowledges you, trying to show his appreciation.

The music lowers to a quiet lull until it stops completely.

“I can see why it’s her favourite,” you say, looking down at her — watching her smile grow wider. “It’s beautiful.”

“She gave it to me, didn’t she, dad?”

He chuckles weakly as he leans forward to kiss her forehead, skimming her hair line. “She did, darlin’.”

“Daddy said it was hers when she was little like me,” she speaks to you, maintaining eye contact like she's never done before. 

“That’s right,” Tangerine smiles at his daughter. “She told you to keep it safe, didn’t she?” he rhetorically asks, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” she smiles, the expression spreading across her sweet, little face.

“Want me to pop it somewhere safe?” he asks, gesturing to the small keepsake.

Mandy nods and passes Tangerine the trinket, her hold gentle as she transfers it into her dad’s far larger hold. He lets go of your hand as he stands, getting up from his crouched position with a groan. Tangerine walks towards the bookshelf and turns around, like an idea suddenly arose in his mind. 

“Say,” he starts, meeting both of your gazes. “What would you say about having company for dinner, Mands?”

“It depends what we have,” she jokes, voice mischievous like that of a younger Tangerine — she really is her father’s daughter.

“How about,” you draw out as you twist to face her, tapping your chin like you were pretending to think. 

“Waffles,” she interrupts.

“Waffles?” you repeat, tone dramatised. “I was thinking more worms and ear wax.”

She laughs as she repeats your suggestion, shaking her head as she does so.

“Wanna know what I had in mind?” Tangerine chimes in, joining the pair of you on the floor. He waits a beat before continuing. “Toenail soup.”

Mandy turns to look at you and laughs. The noise genuine and sincere as she finds amusement in your company.

“Are you staying?” she questions, looking between you and her dad.

“Not if we’re having toenail soup,” you joke and shake your head. “Only if you want me here.”

She keeps her eyes on her father, nodding subtly at him as if she’s suddenly grown shy.

“She does,” Tangerine speaks for his girl, his arms opening up for her as she bashfully knocks her head into his chest. “I think she also wants to say something else, ain’t that right, Mands?” he prompts, patting her on the back. “Something beginning with ‘s’?”

She mumbles and groans faintly. “Sorry I was mean,” she mutters, hiding. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say softly, laying a gentle hand on her back below Tan’s. “Change isn’t easy— I struggle with it too. And what you’re going through is such a big thing— such a big change. But me and your dad are both here, okay? And I… and I love you both and I want to be there for each of you.”

Tangerine reaches for your hand with his spare, left one, giving it a squeeze as if to show his gratitude — his appreciation for your patience and support. You return the act with one of your own, pulsing his hand and interlocking with his fingers. You look down to your hand, noticing the absence of a gold band on his ring finger. 

He’s always been good at stashing things in his pockets.

There will still be space in his heart for his lost love, but now, he’s just making more room for you.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[wrystia]

unmistakable glances spencer agnew x fem!reader (fluff) wc: 800

   staring at the screen in front of you, your finger pushes ever so slightly at the left joystick. sitting beside spencer, your legs are propped up into your chair, an old sweatshirt acting as a protective shield around you. your character slowly walks into a parking garage, the dim lights partially obscuring the large alien figure. eyes wide, you look back at spencer, your lips pursed. 

  he peers over at you, giving you a short smile. clenching your jaw, you look back to the screen. moving the joystick once more, you slowly make your way through the parking garage. the alien slowly creeps above barriers and around cars, occasionally kicking a can that’s been left laying around. “this is the worst,” your whisper comes out low, trying to keep yourself from looking away again.

  “you’ve got this,” he whispers back, something your personal mic packs could pick up but the remote couldn’t.

  his voice echoes in your head, sounding somewhat soothing as you make your way around a car. and just as you’re starting to feel your heartbeat slow, you run into a crushed can. the sound of metal getting kicked carries throughout the parking garage. the alien makes a noise, one that indicates its awareness of you, immediately sending you to toss the controller into spencer’s hands, “shit!”

  it lands in his hands, the controller processing your speaking and alerting the alien right to where you are. spencer looks over at you with his mouth agape, watching the alien kill your character in his peripheral vision. “why’d you do that?!” he laughs a little, making sure you know he isn’t being serious with his attitude towards you.

  “that’s like asking a duck why it quacks.”

  “i feel like i go a little bit insane every time you make a weird analogy. could’ve said ‘that’s why a pig flies’ and i’d probably take it at face value,” spencer sets the remote down, bringing his hands up to bring up his cap and adjust his hair.

  looking back at him, you try to hide the smile that crosses your lips. he’s always had this effect on you, the way he does anything with a simple nature that makes your palms clammy. even just the way he casually rests his arm behind your chair, the heat of his body temperature leeching onto you. “okay, first off, i’d never say that. second, you need to start because we’re running out of time and i want out of this building…”

  “i feel so emotionally wounded, you don’t want to hang out with me and this amazing crew anymore?”

  “you know what i meant, and if you don’t start going soon i am going to… report you to hr,” you watch as he grabs a hold of the system’s controller, rolling his eyes as you make up some sort of threat to convince him to get moving. 

  starting the level back up, he keeps his eyes on the game in front of him, locking in. however, your gaze can’t seem to escape from his concentrated face. you know he can feel you looking to him and not to the computer screen. you also know that you want to play it off like simple fear of the game, clinging onto your cohost with only the purest of intentions. but, when his gaze shifts back to look at you, all you want to do is bring him closer.

  “watch me nail this,” he gives you this smug look, forcing you to move your eyes to the screen. 

  he moves your character in the same path that you had taken her, watching the alien slowly creep around the parking garage. staring at the screen, you don’t seem to notice as spencer hides back a laugh, walking right into nearly the same can that you walked into. “oh shit!” he yells, exasperated. 

  tossing the remote to you, you look back at him. “you fucker!” you listen as the alien quickly kills your character, once again attune to the sound of cans moving and the shouting of two very loud individuals. 

  “you are so evil, i need everyone to hear me now when i say that this is all just to torture me,” you look around the room, only to have your eyes land back onto spencer. 

  he stares back into yours, carrying a cheeky little smile that he seems to love to have around you. for a second, you almost forget that you’re filming. especially when he reaches down to grab the controller back from your hand. spencer’s fingers brush yours in a quick movement, static bridging from your hand to his. “fine, fine, we will finish this level out clean! just know that we have a lot more to go through. just a warning.”

  “oh goodness.”

[frost-queen]

The fall of a knight (Reader!Targaryen x Sir Criston Cole)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic  , @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve  , @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly   @denkisclown, @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23  , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr  , @swampthing07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat   , @rosecentury  ,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn  , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Summary: Reader dislikes Criston from how he acts towards your sister Rhaenyra. Constantly fighting with him and being sassy, till it starts attracting him. Years pass as Criston's attraction for you only grows. You still act the same towards him, not much changed over the years. When another starts flirting with you, it brings a bad jealousy over to Criston, taking you as his even though he can't have you. [R! has purple eyes just like in the books]

It was way too late when you got a sudden idea. The scenery taunting your dreams as it woke you up. Your thirst for knowledge needing to be lessened. Throwing the covers off you, you got out of bed, putting on your slippers. Your heritage of the Targaryen bloodline interesting you so much. Surely since you were the only Targaryen with lavender eyes. You had always wondered how it came.

Slightly opening the door to your chamber, you stuck your head out and peeked around. Seeing if there was anyone in the corridor.  Not being able to wait till morning, you just needed to get to the family library that withheld all of the Targaryen history. Perhaps there you might find answers to your questions. Perhaps there had been another with lavender eyes? Taking your chance, you ran out of your room, running through the corridors.

Sir Criston Cole was standing guard before your sister’s room. Making sure no one would disturb her sleep or come and harm her. Sir Criston furrowed his brows hearing rushed footsteps. Turning his head he saw you ran around the corner fast, making him tilt his head. It took him a few seconds before placing his hand on the top of his sword, coming to run after you. – “Princess!” – he said in a hushed tone to not alarm any others.

Clenching his jaw, he quickened up his pace. Sir Criston caught up with you, grabbing you to a stop. – “What are you doing out of bed?” – he questioned with a scolding voice. You were panting a bit, catching your breath. – “I need…I need to go to the library.” – you told him seeing his face change to anger. – “It’s the middle of the night!” – he shout-whispered to you.

“It can’t wait.” – you replied brushing his hand off you. Sir Criston took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. You crossed your arms, quirking your eyebrow up. – “Shouldn’t you be protecting my sister?” – you asked him. – “You need to be in bed!” – he countered crossing his arms as well.

 “Have you left her unattended?” – quirking your brow even more, just to taunt him. – “No.” – he groaned out. – “I don’t need saving. I’ll be quick.” – you said already turning round to head to the library as Sir Criston kept you in place by holding your wrist. Turning you back to him. – “Bed is where you are heading!” – he made clear, pulling you along with him.

You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but it was no use. Sir Criston led you back to your room, shoving you inside. – “Don’t get any funny idea’s princess!” – he scolded closing the door before him. You groaned annoyed. You hated that he had seen you. The thirst for knowledge still vivid. Unlike your sister, who was rather carefree, you were not.

You found her ignorant of her surroundings. She couldn’t even name any battle formations right. Rather spend her time with Alicent than prepare herself properly for her future on the iron throne. Kneeling down, you tried to look through the keyhole. You couldn’t see clearly, so you hoped Sir Criston Cole had left to guard your sister’s door once more. Taking the handle in your hand, you slowly opened the door, still crouched down. – “Going somewhere?” – Sir Criston commented, looking over his shoulder down to you.

A smirk on his lips. – “I hate you.” – you breathed out. Sir Criston positioned himself better in your view taking a dramatic bow at you. – “I’ll be here all night.” – he mocked just to taunt you more. Annoyed you shut the door again. He surely wasn’t going to let you pass now with him guarding your door. Pacing around, you hoped perhaps he’d fall asleep. Which was unlikely. The hours past as you felt yourself get exhausted. Eventually falling asleep sitting down, with your head down on the table.

The next day, your sister, Alicent and you were at the white tree. Rhaenyra and Alicent sitting down and gossiping. You sitting at the other end, as far away from them. You lifted your head up from your book, feeling a presence come from behind you. – “Had a good night rest?” – looking up, you saw Sir Criston Cole standing behind you. Making you roll your eyes at him. – “Should you not be watching my sister.” – you let out, focusing on your book once more. – “I am.” – he answered, still looking back at your sister.

“That the book you so desperately needed to read in the middle of the night?” – he teased with a smirk. His comment made you shut your book tight. – “Mockery, how elegant.” – you responded with a sneer while getting up. Giving him a sarcastic smile. Sir Criston Cole gave you a sarcastic smile back. – “Sir Criston!” – Rhaenyra called out to him. He lifted his head up to her, seeing her wave him over. Sir Criston jogged over to your sister to answer her plead. – “Jaos” dog you mumbled under your breath.

Sitting annoyed down, you watched how Rhaenyra wrapped him around her finger. Him doing all her bidding. Having enough, you got up, taking your leave. There was no room for you anyways. The three of them so caught up with each other, they hardly noticed you taking your leave. You made your way around the castle, ending up at the fighting court.

Soldiers practising as you stopped and stared. Observed their movement. Watched it with the upmost attention. Taking notice of their footwork. The way their muscles worked whilst handling the sword. It made you move your own foot to match their stand. Trying to get the right distance between your feet for a steady stand. Sir Criston found his way on the fighting court, seeing you watch the soldiers practise.

He got in motion heading over to you. Pausing briefly he noticed you swiping your feet over the ground setting it in a position. Making him furrow his brows. He then eyed the soldiers, making a link with what you were doing. Sir Criston made his way across towards you.

 “Found you!” – he said coming to be at your side. – “I didn’t need finding.” – you replied stoking some folds off your skirt. – “You left unattended.” – he answered making it clear to you. It made you scoff loud. – “You must’ve gotten an honour for observance.” – you mocked turning your head away from you. Criston grabbed you by your elbow a bit rudely. Turning you back to him.

“You do not leave unattended!” – he made clear, raising his voice a bit. – “Scared I’ll run?” – you replied with a teasing smile. – “Did I make myself clear?” – Criston called out pulling at your arm once more. You stared right back at him with your intriguing lavender eyes.

“Sir Criston, am I royalty?” – you asked him. – “Of course.” – he answered mesmerized by your gaze. – “Then stop bossing me around.” – you made clear giving him a little shove. Walking off, Criston kept staring at you. As you slowly started to attract him. Making him curl up a shy smile.

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

Sir Criston Cole entered the room, having searched everywhere for you. With a sigh of relief, he was glad to finally have found you. Asleep that was. With your head down on the table, a book underneath it. He approached you, nudging your shoulder to wake you. – “Princess.” – he said. – “Princess… Y/n wake up.” – he started to nudge you harder. – “Wake up Y/n.” – he said a bit louder.

You shot awake, hand shooting out as it him right in his nose. Criston groaned in pain, stumbling back. You got up apologizing. – “Oh sorry I thought you were someone else.” – you said until you could clearly see it was Criston. – “Oh it’s you, well that’s alright than.” – you continued with sass. Criston glared at you for the perhaps deliberate punch to the nose. Stretching out, you got up.

You saw him still cover up his nose, recovering from your little stomp. – “Oh please.” – you called out with a roll of your eyes. – “You hit me in the nose!” – Criston answered loudly. – “You’re a knight.” – you mocked that he should be used to it. Criston glared your way, as your attitude hadn’t changed over the years. – “The tournament, Y/n.” – Criston said changing the subject.

“Right.” – you answered with a sigh. Criston came by your side, walking out with you. – “Aren’t you participating this year Criston?” – you asked not with the intention to be curious. – “Yes.” – he answered. – “Then you’ll get used being hit in the nose.” – you teased with a laugh. Criston laughed mockingly loud to make clear your joke wasn’t even funny.

Getting outside, you let Criston guide you to the box. Rhaenyra already sitting down. – “Criston!” – she called out, waving her handkerchief around. She threw it at him as it fell down in the dirt at his feet. He bend down to pick it up as you left his side, coming to sit by your sister.

When Criston looked back up, he was surprised to see you gone. Looking up at the seats, he saw you sit by your sister. Criston took his leave to prepare. Rhaenyra and you were chatting a bit till the tournament began. You watched several men joist. Not nearly as amusing as you liked it to be.

Then came the one on one combat. There were two men fighting as Sir Criston and another were up next. – “Criston!” – Rhaenyra called out to him. Criston neared the box you sat, looking up as his gaze fixated on you. The other contender joined his side, looking over at you as well. – “Y/n Targaryen!” – he called out making Criston look at him. – “May I receive your blessings? A kiss from you will still my beating heart and give me strength enough to win this tournament for you.” – he said moving his hand out to you.

Rhaenyra tapped your knee enthusiastically at the attention you were getting. Criston clenched his jaw with tension. Clenching his hand into a fist. – “Fairest Targaryen, may I drown in your lavender eyes and hold your tender hands in his. This battle shall be in devotion to you.” – he continued as you stared in shock at him. – “Go on give him a kiss.” – Rhaenyra teased, pushing you to do so.

She practically shoved you out of your seat. Sighing loud, you knew she wouldn’t stop pestering you about it. You got up, making your way down to the edge of the box. Sir Criston staring hard at you, eyes widening at what you were about to do.

You tapped your finger against your cheek to let the knight know what to do. The knight turned his cheek towards you. You grabbed a hold of the frame in front of you, leaning closer to give the knight a kiss on the cheek. Sir Criston staring at it with disgust and jealousy. Rhaenyra cheered loudly from her seat, getting up to clap. You felt a bit foolish as the knight pressed his hand against his cheek.

Your gaze fell upon Criston, seeing how angered he was. Clearly fighting off demons inside of him. A battle you weren’t sure which side would win. A horn got blown as it announced the start of the next battle. You returned to your seat watching the next round. Sir Criston and the other knight you had given a kiss on the cheek.

Sir Criston sniffed loud, looking up to the seating where you sat. Smiling a bit that you dared to taunt him so much with this. With showing affection to anyone. The knight readied himself as Criston drew his sword. He called it out, running up to the man to let out all his anger and jealousy out. He was brutal and hard. Hardly leaving the knight room to breathe.

Rhaenyra stared in shock at him. Criston kept slashing his sword down on the knight’s shield. He lost balance, falling down as Criston got on him. Punching him a few times, making sure to hit the cheek you kissed. Wanting to wipe your sweet lips off him. Criston was a savage, rampaging. He wasn’t going to stop till there was death. – “Criston!” – you shouted loud, seeing that the knight below was barely giving any reaction.

“Enough!” – you made clear wanting him to stop. Criston stopped, his knuckles full with blood as it hovered over the knight’s face. The knight sputtered out some blood as Criston got off him. Claiming his victory. Having enough of this manly show-off, you got up, leaving the seats. Criston cleaned his hand, noticing you take your leave.

Without another thought, he went after you, going away from the tournament. – “Y/n!” – he called out catching up with you. He grabbed you by your shoulder, turning you to him to push you up against a tree. When your back hit the bark, you let out a gasp.

“Don’t do this to me Y/n.” – he spoke keeping his hands on your waist. – “Do what.” – you teased him making him smirk. – “Kiss another man in front of me.” – he replied grabbing you forcefully by your chin. Tilting your head a bit back as he stared firm at your eyes. It made you weak on your knees by the way he was staring hungrily at you. Criston took a step closer to you, nearing you more.

He let his thumb go down your lip, parting your lips by pressing on your under lip. Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest as your cheeks flushed with heat. – “Criston…” – you whispered as he tilted your chin aside, kissing your jawline. His touch send a warmth over you like a tidal wave. He went down, kissing you in your neck. 

It made you wrap your arms around him, scratching faintly his back. He knew he shouldn’t, but he wanted anyways. He wanted you to be his. So he simply claimed you as his even though he wasn’t allowed. Criston’s gaze met up with yours, staring fiercely back at you.

Then he smacked his lips on yours. Kissing you roughly. He immediately felt you kiss him back, diving with him into the intimacy. Criston started kissing you harder, quicker. Panting with each grasp for breath between kisses. For you were his, and his alone.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[nightbutterfly09]

Stuck With me

-> Itoshi Sae x reader (Oneshot)

The stars shined brightly as some streetlamps lit up the dark streets. The atmosphere was quiet, you didn’t see a soul in sight. The air, however, felt lonely around you, because your boyfriend had a match today and since you felt a little sick, he didn’t let you go with him.

He was always so protective; you hated and loved it at the same time. Even if you swallowed your pride and begged him, he still wouldn’t agree. In his words, “You’d be next to a bunch of men, and what if you get worse in the middle of it? Who will you ask for help?” Maybe he was right, even if you liked being alone once in a while, this screeching feeling of loneliness destroyed your heart.

“I miss you Sae” You pouted as you leaned against the balcony bar. At this point the only one to confide in was the moon and the stars. This situation reminded you of all the times when you were still in Japan and Sae had to come here. He didn’t actually know back then that you liked him, but maybe he had a hunch. But your beautiful man doesn’t act on hunches.

The night sky grabbed its full power as the lamps turned off.  Your boyfriend still nowhere. You want to congratulate him already, he did so well, and everyone sitting on the bleachers shouted Sae’s name at the last moments. If you were there you were sure he’d have run straight to you and give you a passionate kiss that the media would hype up afterwards.

Now that you wonder, watching him on TV isn’t as fascinating as in person. If you watch him from up close your vision automatically drifts to him, but  television doesn’t really give that back. But it may occur like that to you because you hate soccer. You hate the ball. It always takes your loved one away, even your friends.

You were deep in thought and the only thing to jump you out of them was the key noises in the front door. You speed through the rooms and slide in to the door at the exact second when Sae opens it. He chuckled. “Was someone getting lonely?” you glare at him. “What exactly were you doing? The match ended two hours ago.” HE sighed and dropped his stuff down, pulling you closer. Still sulking you brought your hands to your back not reciprocating his touch. He couldn’t help but think you were being silly. “Miss don’t be mad” no reaction came from you. “Mi vida, cariño, mi amor, princesa~ don’t be like that.”

Oh, how he knew where to hit. At this you couldn’t stop blushing and even a little smile escaped your lips. “Shut it” You cough and look away. Sae smirks and shakes his head. “You look too tempting to bite you right now.” “That’s your problem, what are you? A wolf?” Sae chuckled. He pinned you to the wall. “Were you watching the match?” “No” You denied with a lie. Sae was falling for you deeper by the second, although he never would’ve thought he could still fall. “And after the match ended?” You looked at him and tilted your head.

What does he mean? After the match there are interviews, but he doesn’t like those, why would he talk about that? “I’m guessing no, come on, I’m sure it’s up on youtube or something” He almost let go when he turned back and leaned closer to you. “I didn’t forget” Sae whispered and kissed you passionately. He moved as if the world had stopped or slowed down.

Just for the two of you. “Still mad cariño?” He spoke against your lips. Your cheeks flushed again, and you grabbed his face. Your thumbs moved against his jaw, and you bit his lower lip. Your boyfriend licked it temptingly and leaned down to your neck. “Are you better now by the way?”  You mumbled a yes as you gave more access. “So why were you late?” “Because” he thought and started planting soft kisses on your neck.

“Because when I turned down an interview after my shower my manager stopped me” He kissed you again on the lips this time, slowly reaching under your shirt. “Then I was forced into one. They asked about you, so I didn’t mind answering.” “Also, if you watched the match, know, that I went for the last goal in your name. That goal, is yours, mi Vida.” As he spoke in whispers his lips travelled all around your upper body. “I don’t want that, I wanted you” “I know” he chuckled “and I am here now am I not?”

After your heavy make out session by the front door you went to the balcony and sat down on Sae’s lap. It was time to get clingy after not seeing him for a whole day. He forced you to watch the interview, so you did. He was in your hair as you watched him.

“I love her the most, no one has any business to tell us what we can or cannot do. She is mine and I plan to marry her, so stop pestering her in your gossip magazines or what the hell ever. She deserves none of that. And if I hear that she’s upset because you said something shit about her.” He looked no more like stared into the camera, or rather into the souls of the watchers. “I won’t hesitate to get back at you in her name.”

Your face was red once again. The sky wasn’t in favor of you because the moon directly lit up you two. “You are crazy, don’t do that again…” You looked away. “I wanted to, and there is not a single lie tonta.” If you could’ve gotten any redder, you would’ve but then your muscles would burst. “W-What does tonta mean?” “Dunno” he teased and turned you to face him. “Te quiero mi vida.” You lay against his chest and in a daze the only thing you were listening to, was his heartbeat. “Aren’t you going to say it back amor?” You giggle against him and shake your head.

“If I wouldn’t be head over heels for you, you’d get punished baby~” “Am I not gonna get punished now?” You smirked and looked up at him. Sae’s eyes darkened. “Cállate serás castigado por esto” “What?” “If you’ll live with me here you gotta step up your game Cariño” “But I’m lazy.. I’d rather be with you” “mmm Surely, then I’ll teach you Spanish. “ You giggled and nodded.

In one swoop he stood up and cradled you in his arms. “T-te quiero Sae” You spoke quietly. “I know, but your pronunciation needs work too.” “Idiot” You hit his chest lightly and he didn’t even budge. He smiled. “You are my beautiful thing- forever. You are stuck with me.” “Forever seems like a long while~” You giggled and reached up to him as he put you on the bed. Your fingers dangled in his hair. “You are right, does seem like a long time. Regardless, I don’t change my opinion.”

[kitixie]

Little Girl Gone

Little Girl Gone / T.S. (pt. 1)

part two: here

Synopsis: Having been several years since you’d last seen your favorite gangster family, you return to Small Heath a changed woman with a stronger attitude than you had when you left. 

information: this will be a multi part story! idk how many parts exactly, but there will be more!

warnings: none for this chapter!

please leave all comments and reccommendations below! thank you for reading!

“Aye, what does a woman have to do to get a whiskey around here?”, you shouted, rapping your hand on the bar counter. 

You were seated at The Garrison, it was your first stop back in town. You had lived in Small Heath most of your early life, but five years ago you were forced to leave due to your fathers death and your mothers general distrust (and dislike) of the Shelby family. Your mother had kicked you out a few days ago, claiming that you were old enough to be married now, and that she wouldn’t stand for you staying in her house if you weren’t going to look for a husband. 

“Calm down Lady, I’ll- Holy Shit! Y/N, what are you doin’ back!”, a man's voice rang out, making you and the rest of the bar look in his direction. 

Arthur Shelby had always been one of your favorite Shelby siblings, and for good reason. He was loud, funny, and typically a gentleman if you caught him on the right day. You leaned over the bar and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly bruising him in the process. You had hoped your whole journey here that he would be the first Shelby you saw, and luck had worked out for you this time. 

“Arth, I am sure glad to see you! It’s been a long time, aye?”, you spoke, removing your arms from him and sitting back on your barstool. 

“Hell, it’s been about, what, five years? You don’t show your face around these parts for five fuckin’ years and then you just come back?”, he said, staring you in the face, with a somewhat more serious look in his eye than you had expected. 

‘Yeah, had some family troubles, but I’m back for good now,” you swallowed, “how's all the Shelby’s doin’?” 

“Eh, the usual. Tommys about to run himself ragged, Pol acts like she owns us all, I’m workin’ here now, I actually own the place!” he said, spilling out most of that information in one breath. 

You took a quick survey of the bar, noticing how the decor and table setup had changed since you’d seen it last. The floor was still the same sticky, slimy feeling though. 

“Glad to see you doing well, Arth. Now, please get me a whiskey an i’ll be outta your way!” you spoke, glad to have reunited with Arthur, but not glad to have been out in public this long. 

“Ah, ah. If you think I’m letting you get out of here without seein’ Tom, you’re messed in the head!” He joked, but as you watched him move towards the window to the private room, you realized he wasn’t joking. 

You had not come prepared to see Thomas. He was the only one who never got a goodbye, even though the rest of them didn’t know they were goodbyes at the time. When you were being forced to leave, you managed to sneak over to Watery Lane and have one last conversation with all the Shelbys before you left, and you never told them you were leaving that night. Thomas had been on business, but got home a few minutes after you left. You had regretted not speaking to him then, but now that regret had turned into a fear after hearing about the man he had become while you were away. You had heard things about Thomas Shelby, and they were not things any girl would like to hear about her long-time crush.

‘Oy, that Tommy Shelby is a real whore’

‘I heard he gets around Small Heath like its a full time job’

‘He pays them ya know? Every girl he fucks gets paid, even if theyre not workin’ for it!’

Those were all just some of the things you had heard, and those weren’t even the things you had heard that were related to his newfound habit of murdering those who crossed him. You’ve had your eyes on Tommy Shelby ever since you were 16. Now aged 21, it had been a long enough time that you realized what kind of person you needed to settle with, and logically, he wasn’t it. 

While this entire catalog of thoughts was running through your head, your eyes watched as Arthur got closer and closer to that window. You knew you weren’t ready to see him yet, if you ever would be. So acting on those primal prey instincts, you ran. You hopped off the barstool, and started pushing your way through the crowd of bar patrons, finally having the door insight. You wrapped your hand around the handle, and pulled it open. Stepping into the cool air of the night, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you closed the bar door behind you. Just as you were stepping away from the door to begin your walk to the apartment you were renting, you bumped into something, or rather, someone. 

“Thought I’d let you run from me a second time, aye?”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“I-I-”, you stammered, not having any idea what to say, now that you were staring at the face of one Thomas Shelby. 

“It’s okay, I’d be nervous too if I ran into someone I left in the dust five years ago.”, he laughed, letting a puff of cigarette smoke roll out of his mouth. 

“Tommy, how did you even know I was out here? I watched Arthur and left before he even opened the window, I don’t underst-”

“Shh. I have my ways, ya know I have my ways.” he spoke, that cool, gravelly voice still hadn’t changed, even after all this time. 

You finally looked up at him, releasing the death stare you had on his chest. He was more handsome now, if that was even possible. His dark hair styled perfectly, like he had touched it up before meeting you outside. His hat was missing, which was a rare occurrence, but you were enjoying the unobstructed view of his face. He was lean, only muscle was visible through his white shirt, and his pants hugged his legs perfectly. He was beautiful, especially in the face. You could see more defined freckles in the glow of the street lamp, along with more defined lines carved into his forehead. You continued to study his face, while his studied yours. You had definitely matured in your time away, but not only on your face. Your lips had gotten fuller, cheek bones more pronounced, and hair longer; but you had also grown tits and an ass. You knew you had assets, and fully planned on using them to your advantage, just not on Tommy Shelby. 

“My God, Y/N, I’d say you grew up…”, he trailed off, eyes looking all over your face and body. 

“Yeah, that tends to happen to people as they age, Tom.” you laughed, feeling suddenly insecure as you stood under his microscope. 

“What are ya doin’ back in town? I imagined you ran off and got married or somethin’,” he spoke, “But, I don’t see a ring on that finger so either that can’t be right or you married a poor bastard.” 

“Not married Tom, never was. It’s part of the reason I’m back in town, but-” 

“What are ya doin’ tomorrow evening?”, he cut off, not even letting you finish explaining how you didn’t want to talk about it right now. 

“Nothing I know about, why?”, you asked, having no idea what was about to come out of that pretty mouth of his. 

“Join me for dinner, yeah? I’d love to sit down and have a chat with ya, but I got to go handle some business right now.”, he spoke, suddenly sounding strained. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll get dinner with ya, where at?” 

“My place, I’ll come pick you up tomorrow at 6, Goodnight, Y/N.” Tom spoke, brushing shoulders with you lightly as he passed by, heading back into The Garrison.

[melosliving]

can you write a proposal? — for either aaron or kelvin

Let me cook for my boy kelvin bc I feel like there’s not enough light on him 💔 hope you’ll like it !

kelvin harrison jr x soon-to-be-wife!reader

boyfriend!kelvin who realize he was in love when you called him out on never letting you hold the aux in the car. He tried to act unbothered, but the way you went from R&B classics to afrobeats without skipping a beat ? Yeah, you had him wrapped.

boyfriend!Kelvin who saved the movie ticket stub from your first date and still keeps it in his wallet. not because he’s sentimental (or so he claims)—but because he remembers you saying, “This was fun, we should do it again,” and it was the first time he knew he wanted a future with you

boyfriend!kelvin who really knew you were the one the first time he saw you rolling your eyes at him in the middle of an argument over something dumb he said. He didn’t even care what the argument was about anymore ; all he could think was how good you looked when you weren’t afraid to check him.

"Kelvin, you’re being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I’m just saying—"

You cut him off with a sharp, exaggerated sigh, hands on your hips, eyes rolling so hard he thought they’d get stuck. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

boyfriend!Kelvin who always goes the extra mile to take care of you. Like the time you called him late at night, exhausted from a long day, and said you didn’t feel like cooking. He showed up an hour later with your favorite takeout, no questions asked.

"You didn’t have to do this," you said, already halfway through a bite.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, watching you with that soft smile he always saved just for you. “But I wanted to.”

boyfriend!kelvin who started thinking about proposing the night you stayed up late to braid his hair after his hairstylist canceled last minute. 

It wasn’t just the way your fingers worked through his hair so gently, or how you teased him about being tender-headed—it was the way you stayed even though you were tired, the way you hummed under your breath, the way you kissed his forehead when you were done and said, “Alright, you’re handsome again now, babe.” That night, as you dozed off on his chest, it hit him : you weren’t just his girlfriend. You were home.

boyfriend!kelvin who spent months secretly planning the proposal, even though you always told him you didn’t need anything “extra.” He wanted it to be perfect. So he ran through ideas—rooftop dinners, big family surprises, even hiring a photographer—but nothing felt right. nothing felt like you. It wasn’t until he remembered how much you loved watching the sunset that it clicked.

boyfriend!kelvin who practiced what he was going to say in front of the mirror for weeks.

"Alright, so… 'You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine a life without you'—nah, too corny."

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

"baby, you good?" you shouted from the other room.

"Yeah, just… talking to myself !" he yelled back, quickly shoving the ring box into his pocket.

boyfriend!kelvin who spent the whole day of the proposal lowkey freaking out. He kept pacing around the house, double-checking the ring in his pocket, texting Aaron for emotional support. But when he saw you getting ready for your little “date by the beach,” looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that only you could, he calmed down.

girlfriend!reader who side-eyed him the entire day because something was off. Why was he acting so weird ? Why was he being so extra sweet and nervous at the same time ? And why did he keep checking his watch like y’all were late for something ? But even as you clocked him, you didn’t push too hard. kelvin always had a way of surprising you.

"kelvin it’s either you tell me what’s wrong or I’m going crazy. I don’t like it when you’re like this, baby."

"girl can you wait for a second ? Damn."

boyfriend!kelvin who almost forgot what he planned to say when he dropped to one knee and saw your face—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, your whole energy shifting in a way that made his heart skip. But then he remembered why he was doing this. He remembered all the quiet moments, all the laughs, all the times you had his back without him having to ask.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice steady even as his hands shook. “It’s always been you and I want that to be forever. Will you marry me ?”

girlfriend!reader who frozes for a second, your mind racing. But when you looked down at him—his smile nervous but sure, his eyes locked on yours like you were the only person who mattered—you knew your answer before the words even left your mouth.

“Yes,” you whispered, then louder said : “i wanted to be your wife the moment you took me back home on our second date.”

boyfriend!Kelvin who slid the ring onto your finger with a grin so wide it almost made you blush, then pulled you into his arms like he couldn’t believe you were really his.

fiancé!Kelvin who won’t stop saying, “You stuck with me now,” every time you try to tease him about how nervous he was that day.

@ melosliving 2025

[mack-devereaux]

Hiii i wanna ask if ya can write something with Vince? Maybe him getting into a fight (so hot i love it) and hin hurting his wrist are something? And reader taking care of him afterwards. Plleeaassee

Vince Dunn

Omg this is my first request!! I’m so sorry it took so long! Also check out my other fic about Vince. I think they have a similar vibe. But This has no relation to that one. I had so much fun writing this. Just a reminder this is a work of fiction and my imagination, this is not based on true events. Thank you to the anon who requested!

Picture is from Pinterest, no triggers except for cursing and mentions of blood. I think that’s it! Enjoy!

When Vince first moved to Seattle he was excited. This was a brand new team and he had more opportunities to make a name for himself as one of the more aggressive defensemen in the NHL. He had always had a temper on the ice, even in his early days in high school and in the OHL, and he was good at running his mouth. He was always respectful to the medical training staff and the coaching staff, he never took his anger or frustration out on the people who helped him get back on the ice.

Did he cause the fights on purpose? Maybe.

Was he mad about being hauled into the cute medical trainers office to get patched up? Absolutely not. He enjoyed talking with y/n and getting to know her a bit better.

Did he cause fights just to see her? No, he truly has a passion for the sport, he just sometimes got a little too involved with the banter sometimes. However a perk to all this was those few minutes alone with y/n. Although she never really spoke to him much outside of work and was always very quiet he knew how passionate she was about her job. No matter what she was always so attentive to the injury and informative about what she was doing to help said injured player.

Y/n loved the energy of the home games, she typically didn’t get to travel very much with the team, only to close games, but something about the atmosphere of home games had her just buzzing with energy. Most of the time she got to watch the game from the tunnels, it was the perfect spot to see most of the game and it was easy to drag injured players back to the locker room to tend to the injuries. Tonight’s game was a home game against the Colorado Avalanche again, a team known to get the Kraken a little riled up. Just the week prior Vince had gotten himself into quite the scrum and ended up with a cut on his nose while playing against the Avalanche.

*flashback to a week prior*

Y/n was sitting in the medical room at Ball Arena, going through the medical kits organizing some of the supplies. She had heard the roar of the crowd and immediately knew there was a fight that happened. Shortly after that, the third period had ended. Hearing the players stomping down the tunnel shouting and cheering she already knew who was headed her direction.

“Vince..” y/n sighed pulling all her medical supplies back out.

“Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me” Vince chirped at the girl.

“You’re gonna have some serious damage to your nose if you don’t stop” y/n said as she was washing her hands and throwing her gloves on “I’m surprised you don’t have a permanent scar from how many times I’ve seen it busted”.

“That just means you are doing a great job babe. I’ve got you to thank for keeping me looking good” Vince smiles.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around trying to hide her blush. Knowing this was the exact reason as to why she fell for him. He was just so charming. He knew exactly what to say and that’s why she could never date him. That and the fact that she technically worked for the same organization as him. Were they coworkers? No, but surely it was still frowned upon. At least that’s what she told herself anyway. As she was cleaning off the blood from his nose she caught herself admiring him. He truly was one of the most beautiful people she’s ever laid eyes on. Once the bleeding stopped she checked for other injuries, and sent him to be with the rest of the team.

“Promise me you’ll keep out of trouble for at least the next week” she called to him as he walked away.

“For you? Never.” He added with a wink.

*present*

Five minutes left in the third period and y/n had gotten to watch maybe 10 minutes total of the game. Partially because she didn’t like seeing Vince fight much, and because the players definitely kept her busy. This was probably the most bloody noses and knuckles she had tended to in her entire career. Normally the crowd goes crazy and encourages fights, and she definitely enjoyed that. But for some reason she couldn’t stomach seeing Vince getting hurt. I guess she had Cupids arrow to thank for that. After a few more minutes gloves went flying, curse words were being yelled and the crowd went wild. Reluctantly she looked over in front of the players bench and Vince had thrown a Colorado player on his back.

“Oh for fucks sake Vince” she muttered under her breath.

“You got him or do you want me to take care of him this time” the head medical trainer asked y/n chuckling and shaking his head.

Y/n looked across the ice as Vince and the Avalanche player got tossed in their respective sin bins, she sees that Vince has his helmet off and is holding his wrist.

“I think he hurt his wrist, do you see him messing with it?” y/n points to Vince.

“I’ll take a look when we get back there but I’m sure he’s fine. I think you can handle it after that” the trainer says as they walk back to the locker room.

After the game y/n was in her office waiting for Vince, it had been nearly 40 minutes since the game ended. What was taking him so long? She knew Coach had told him to stop by after their after game meetings and interviews. While she was waiting she decided to tidy up and clean a bit. As she was cleaning her desk she found the puck that Vince had signed and gave to her earlier that year.

*flashback to late last season*

Y/n was standing behind the players bench. It was the last home game for the season, then they were headed into playoffs. Looking onto the ice she watched the players warm up and interact with fans. Vince was watching y/n as he was skating in circles, getting a boost of confidence he picked up a puck and signed it with a note. Smirking he passed by and shouted “hey y/n! Catch!”

Panicking y/n shot both of her hands in front of her face as the head medical trainer caught the puck before it smacked her in the face.

“Really Dunn?!” Y/n shouted.

Vince grinned and skated off, shaking her head she looked at the puck she noticed it said “hey pretty girl” with his signature. Blushing she shoved it in her pocket before she could get scolded.

“Oh he’s so got it bad for you” the trainer said.

“Leave the chirping to the players would you” y/n muttered “besides it’s not like I can date him anyway.”

“Technically…”

“Don’t tempt me” y/n sighed “my heart can’t handle the heartbreak that comes with that one.” She continued to watch him skate around and talk to his teammates with a huge smile on his face.

*back to present*

Y/n smiled at the memory. Not knowing she wasn’t alone, because of course Vince would walk in at that very moment. Leaning up against the doorframe Vince coughed snapping her back to reality.

“My God Vince, now you choose to be quiet? You scared me” y/n shoved the puck back into the drawer.

“I’ll make sure to knock next time” he softly smiled. He totally saw that she still had the puck and it definitely boosted his ego.

“Let me see your wrist” y/n said.

“It’s fine” he muttered.

“If it’s fine let me double check then” y/n challenged.

Vince walked over and sat down on the bench in her office, while reluctantly holding his wrist out. He watched her face as she examined his wrist.

“I think if we wrap it for tonight and tomorrow you should be fine, but the swelling needs to go down significantly before you play again. I’ll clear you for practice but you have to be easy on your arm for the next few days” y/n said as she was grabbing the necessary supplies.

“Thank you for taking care of me y/n, I’m sorry for fighting” Vince whispered.

She smiled at him as she sat down and started wrapping his wrist. Knowing full well that he was watching her face closely the entire time.

“I’ll walk you to your car” Vince said.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you” y/n said as she turned back to him after putting the supplies away. With yet another boost of confidence Vince grabbed her by the waist and pulled her face to his and kissed her, she immediately kissed him back. The kiss was short and sweet. Electricity shot through her body and she felt as if she was on fire. After pulling away y/n whispered “we should go.” Neither of them saying anything as they left the arena. Vince was feeling defeated for the first time in a long time, why hadn’t she said anything? Did he over step? Did he make her uncomfortable? A million more discouraging thoughts ran through his head. Him not knowing she was in shock and on cloud nine all at once. Y/n unlocked her car and opened the door. Before she got in she turned to Vince and pulled his face to hers and slammed her lips onto his. Vince cockily smiled into he kiss and pulled her into him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. After a few minutes they both pulled away, breathing heavy and trying to get as close as possible to each other.

“Thank you for walking me to my car Vince.”

“Let me know when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[ilovefictionalcuntymen]

✦ Calcharo - Stay ✦

A/N: You were acting reckless out on a mission and Calcharo is furious with you. He wants you to understand why he is so worried and it’s frustrating to him that you see everything so lacklustre.

Contains: Nsfw maybe a bit of angst idk?

It was quiet in the room, the only sound was coming from the old wooden door that creaked every few seconds. “You… don’t seem happy.” You said. You were sat on the bed, just having woken up from getting knocked out on the battlefield. You have a pretty deep wound, going from your shoulder across your collarbone. The attacker had aimed for your neck, however you had managed to dodge just in time to avoid a lethal wound. You were confused on why he had that stern expression on his face. You were fine. Shouldn’t he be happy you made it out without major injuries? Sure the wound would leave a nasty scar, but things like that happened.

“You don’t get it do you?” “Get what?” He huffed at your oblivious response, walking around in the room as his hand went through his hair. “Do you have any idea what could have happened after you pulled that stunt? I told you to stay back. Not only did you go against my orders, but you also almost got yourself killed.” He tried to remain composed. His voice was louder than usual and his tone very straight to the point. He was really holding back from shouting at you.

“I’m not a kid, I can take care-“ “You can take care of yourself, huh? Look where that got you! I told you to stay back and wait for my orders, but you decided run in, without my signal, almost getting yourself killed!” You flinched as he shouted at you. Your eyes went wide and you slightly pulled back, your back pressed tightly against the wall behind you. He had never shouted at you. He was always calm and composed, he tried to be as understanding as possible and never got visibly mad at you. But this time was different. His breath was ragged, his eyes wide and his fist clenched while he looked at you. “Do you have any idea how stupid what you did was?!”

“H-He was weakened! I saw a chance and I decided to-“ “Decided to what?! To ignore my command and blindly charge in?! I knew he had something up his sleeve, that’s why I told you to stay back!” He came closer, steps echoing in the almost empty and run down ‘hospital room’ of your hide out. “You always do this!” He said his hands shooting forward to count down on his fingers. “You never listen to my orders! You get yourself injured! You act reckless! You don’t pay attention to your surroundings! Name me one reason why I should still bring you with me when you’re such a danger to yourself!”

Your eyes widened further and your lip started to tremble. He was mad at you. Like really mad at you. Him shouting at you, completely enraged and disappointed in you made you tear up. You never could handle people shouting at you. Now that it especially came from Calcharo, it hurt even more. “I-I’m sorry… I o-only wanted to help, I-I only wanted to help….” You sniffled out between whimpers as you tried to wipe the snot that was starting to come from your nose.

His hard expression softened and that. Noticing that he had hurt you, he went to kneel down beside the bed you sat in, taking your face in his Hand after taking off his glove, wiping away a tear from your cheek. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He was just so frustrated that you kept being so stubborn and didn’t understand where he was coming from. “Hey… don’t cry, please.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disappoint you…” You kept sniffling. He sighed, resting his head against your shoulder. “I’m not disappointed.” He said. “I’m worried. Don’t you understand? I’ve already lost so many people on the battlefield, people that were dear to me. I don’t want you to meet the same fate as them, I can’t let you die on me. I know you can protect yourself, but sometimes that just isn’t enough. You tend to not think things through and end up making reckless decisions.” He lifted his head, looking into your teary eyes. “Just leave the decision making to me, please? Just listen to me. I have a reason for doing things the way I do. All I want you is to understand is that I’m scared of losing you. When I saw you get cut up by that bastard, I was scared shitless. You just laid on the floor with gallons of blood gushing out of you, I thought you would die.” He whispered the last part, not wanting to imagine what he would do if that actually were the case.

Seeing Calcharo open up like that was a rare occurrence. He rarely showed how he felt and liked to keep things inside, not wanting to show his vulnerability to others. Your eyes searched through his, seeing how genuine he was being. Maybe he was right. You did get hurt often and maybe this occasion, one where you could have easily died, just was the last straw for him. Could you blame him? You too, had lost many people and were afraid of loss. You would have been equally scared if the roles were switched. “Cal… I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” You sniffled a few more times, the tears having stopped now. “Promise?“ “I promise.”

He exhaled at that, turning your face more towards him, your forehead’s bumping together. “I’m sorry I upset you, flower. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Were you scared?” “A little…” You admitted. “But it’s fine now.“ He scoffed. “No it’s not. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me. Ever…” He whispered, leaning in to kiss you. When your lips connected, all the pain from your wound and the argument was long forgotten. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

He slowly pushed you down, not separating from you until you were in a lying position with him hovering halfway above you. When your lips disconnected, you looked up to him with half lidded eyes. Seeing you splayed out underneath him, your hair all messy and your expression so tired, tugged at his heart. He had such a weak spot for you and he knew he couldn’t deny that. “I should go…” He whispered, the bed lifting as he shifted. He had to leave before he would act on his impulses, doing something that might make your state worse.

You felt a pang of loneliness as you saw him get up to leave. “Hey…” you said, holding onto his sleeve and tugging on it. “Don’t leave… please.” You pleaded with glazed eyes, still a bit teary from crying. “Don’t look at me like that, flower… you make it hard to resist.” “Then don’t.” You whispered. He sighed, hand going through his hair again. “You don’t understand.” He said hand cupping your cheek. “I want you. I want to feel you so bad, flower. The image of losing you alone causes me unimaginable pain. After almost loosing you I want nothing more but to feel you all around me. I want to drown in your scent.”

You felt your face heat up at that confession. He usually wasn’t that good with words. Hell, he was the most unromantic person you had dated yet. Perhaps this event did weigh more on him than you thought. You didn’t even know for how long you were passed out. This time it was you who took his face in your palms, connecting your lips and forcing him on top of you once more. This kiss was more passionate, it held more meaning and carried a certain desperation with it.

‘Don’t leave. Stay. Please stay. I need you.’

Calcharo knew what you wanted. He was still worried about your injury, but seeing how moving seemed just fine for you and the neediness you displayed, he decided to give in. Settling between your legs and taking off his jacket, he separated from you, kneeling while his eyes gazed at you like you were a precious artefact to be worshipped. When he was shirtless, he leaned down to kiss you again. The kiss was sloppy and needy, both of you clinging to the other. He pulled your shirt off, the light ragged pants following shortly after. You were mercenaries, you only had limited resources, thus you had to use old clothes for the injured.

Since your wound was close to your chest area, you weren’t covered there to not mess with the bandage and your chest was completely exposed. Your nipples immediately hardened upon meeting the cold air, making you gasp quietly. Without an ounce of hesitation, Calcharos mouth connected with your left nipple, sucking and nibbling on it while he caressed the other side of your chest with his thumb. He could never get enough of you. No matter how many times you made love, no matter how many times he’s been inside of you, it’ll always make him feel like he’s on cloud nine.

You let out high pitched squeaks and hoarse moans. Your nipples were so sensitive, immediately reacting to the slightest temperature change or friction. While he sensually kneading your chest, his tongue teasing your nipple, you roughly held onto his hair. You tugged at his roots which earned you a low growl. He hated it when people touched his hair, but when you did it? This man craved it. He would let you braid it, brush it, wash it, whatever you liked. But he especially loved it when you tugged on his hair while he was making you squirm under his touch.

He placed hickeys all over your chest, the whole area covered in purple reddish spots now. He pulled away, admiring his work and how flustered you looked. “Cal…” You whined out, tugging at his pants and making him chuckle. “Eager aren’t we?” He wasn’t making fun of you, he just loved teasing you, his tone always soft and deep, turning the space between your legs into a swimming pool. A swimming pool he loved diving into. He unbuckled his belt pulling his pants down to his thighs. You could already see how he was semi hard, the outline of his dick very visible. “Come here…” you whispered. It was more a plea than an order, but he complied regardless, placing his arm beside your head and the other on your thigh, pulling it closer against his hip and squeezing the flesh. While holding eye contact your hand went south, striving over his bulge and making him grunt while closing his eyes. You caressed him like that for a while until you got impatient. He went to connect your lips again and in the mean time your hand slipped underneath his underwear, wrapping itself around him and stroking him slowly. He groaned again and you continued with slow lazy strokes, feeling his dick become harder in your hand. His tongue roamed your mouth and you let out a moan, squeezing him in the process. He let out a strangled moan and pulled away, looking at you with furrowed brows and squint eyes. “Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me…” He said burying his head in the pillow next to your head. His nose nuzzled the crook of your neck along with his huffs that he couldn’t hold in from your tortious strokes.

He lifted your lower body with one hand while striving your panty off with the other, discarding it somewhere on the bed. “You smell so nice.” He mumbled as he buried his nose deeper into your neck. “I do?” “Yeah…” he admitted as he softly took your hand by your wrist, stopping you from stroking him further. “If you go on like this I’m going to finish without us starting.” He said with a scoff. You let out a small giggle at that, he really doesn’t last long. His stamina in combat was unmatched, but when it came to bed he for some reason could barely make it through the foreplay.

He pushed himself up, shifting and aligning himself in front of your aching core. “You have to tell me when it becomes too much… I don’t want to hurt you.” He softly let his fingers strive over your bandaged wound, making your breath hitch. You nodded and he smiled. His left hand wrapped around your thigh, rubbing comforting circles while the other cupped your cheek as he pushed inside you, making sure to watch your expression for any signs of discomfort.

However there weren’t any, all he saw was your eyes closing and your brows furrowing ever so slightly. Your lips parted, a small noise escaping you as his base hit your folds, all of his inches fully inside. He found it fascinating how you always to him so well, never complaining as his length disappeared behind your warm and soft walls. He let out a hiss as he started moving, his thrusts slow and gentle for now, wanting to build up to how much you were able to take in your state.

With a whine your hand reached out to him, wanting him to come closer again. “It’s cold…” You whined. “You feeling cold, flower?” He asked, finding the way you whined endearing. He laid himself on top of you again, making sure his weight wasn’t on you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he hugged you close, kissing from your chest up to your neck and then your jaw, making sure to avoid your injury. He was around you like a living blanket and it instantly made you feel warmer, wrapping your arms around his broad back. “Better?” He asked as he kissed you on your forehead. “Y-Yeah…” You breathed out, his movement starting to rile you up. His pace sped up and he started to hit deeper spots, making you whimper and clench onto his back. A thin layer of sweat started to coat his forehead and you could see the baby hairs that framed his face become damp.

His hair was splayed around the two of you like a curtain, the occasional strand falling from his back over his shoulder from his thrusts. You tugged one side of his hair behind his ear to get a better look at his face, nuzzling his cheek while you were at it. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as he let out a grunt, your gummy walls squeezing around him like you would never let him go. “Flower… stop teasing me.” He said between grunts. “I’m not doing anything.” You innocently said, a little smirk making its way to your lips. “You little tease.” He said as he pulled himself up again, removing his warmth from your body and making you whine. “That’s what you get for messing with me.” He said as he took your legs by the back of your knees, pressing the all the way up to your shoulders as he started thrusting deeper. You let out a loud moan, feeling him reach all your nice places this way as your head got foggy, moaning over and over again like a broken record with your fingers grabbing onto the sheets.

Seeing you like this, had him get lost in the act. Eyes glazed, boobs rocking with his rhythm and your tear stained cheeks, still covered in your dried tears from the argument before. You looked like the most seductive thing on earth to him. “Fuck… don’t look at me like that.” He said as his dick twitched inside of you, barely able to keep himself from coming. “Wanna enjoy this with you a little longer…” He kept groaning and huffing, his movement becoming more sloppy.

After a few minutes he couldn’t hold it in anymore, the tension between his brows disappeared and his eyes closed as he came, his load nestling itself inside of your womb as he lazily rode out his orgasm. The sight of you was just too much for him.

As he finished he opened his eyes, looking into your fucked out ones. Of course he wasn’t done yet. After all you still had some way to go until you released. With a chuckle he hoisted up your legs over his shoulders, trapping you between him and the bed.

“Don’t worry flower, I can go for a round two.”

———————————————————————

The way this man got me feeling ain’t normal. Like I can barely play the game because I just look at him too much? Idc what boss I’m fighting, he can go electro against electro resistance, my mans never going to get switched out.

You can request any time you like I also do other characters. (Especially if they serve cunt)

Love y’all stay safe <3

[dazedvivenne]

Okay I got this one from the ice breaker book but could you write something of Drew Starkey and reader where Drew gets home after a long day and strips reader and then walking over to the bed and lying down and when reader asks what he is doing he says something like “I’m waiting for you to come over and sit on my face. What does it look like I’m doing?” AHHHH THANK YOUUU!!!!

DREW STARKEY - PLEASURABLE TASTE

Short summary: Drew gets home and wants you ontop of him.

Trigger warning: cussing, mentions of cum, lots of oral, typical smut.

Drew walked into the apartment tired from running around all day while acting, it always got him very exhausted at the end of the day.

Drew unties his shoes and kicks them off, tossing his jacket on the coat rack. Walking into the living room of the house, you were sat on the couch watching a random movie with Justin Long casted in it.

Drew walked straight to the bedroom you both owned, leaving the door open on purpose. Slipping out of his grey joggers, pulling his shirt off of his body. Jumping onto his bed with a sigh.

You curiously walked into the bedroom, wondering why Drew didn’t greet you with a kiss and a hug as he usually does. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning on the door frame.

Rafe was laying on his back in the middle of his bed with a hard-on. He was fantasying about you all day, the curves of your body left a dent in his mind, wanting your perfect body on top of his. He felt hungry for you.

“Honey what’s wrong?” You asked with care, getting closer to the bed, Drew sits up, smirking at you.

Drew pulls your waist close to him, ripping your shirt over your head, pulling your pyjama bottoms down, leaving you not your lacy underwear. Drew’s fingers wrapped around the waist band of your underwear, slowly pulling them down.

You kicked them off, once you were fully nude Drew just laid back down. This left you feeling even more confused. “What’s your problem?” You ask softly, your nude body having the cold air hitting it, your nipples getting hard.

“My problem is you’re not sitting on my face.” Drew groans, “What else would my problem be?” Drew asked with a hushed tone.

You crawled on top of Drew, sitting on his chest. Looking down at him with a smile, “I said my fucking face baby.” Drew’s husky voice turning you on.

You slowly got closer to his face, shying a bit out. You and Drew had never done this before so you didn’t want to push any limits or suffocate Drew of anything.

Drew’s muscular arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling you on top of his face. His arms pulling you down so you were sat on top of him.

You felt Drew’s nose against your buzzing clit, Drew’s arms tightened around you as he started to eat you out like a mad man. A loud moan echoing out of your mouth.

“I love you.” Drew mumbled into your heat, his tongue licking your hole as his nose rubbed your clit. Drew’s hands travelled up to your breast, massaging them while always toying with your nipples.

“I love you too.” You whimpered, slapping a hand over your mouth when you realized you were being to loud. You back arched.

Drew’s hand left your breast and suddenly gripped at your wrist, pulling it away from your face. “Let me hear all your pretty moans.” Drew demanded, his hand letting go of your wrist and grabbing onto your hip.

You nodded your head, more moans and whimpers escaping your mouth. You felt your hips start to buck into Drew’s face as you felt your climax build up, “M’close.” Your voice was mumbled now, focusing on reaching the height of your climax.

Drew’s nose rubs your fast but his tongue stays at the same pace. Licking all of your juices up, his hand gently slapping your ass.

You moan loudly, feeling the butterflies in your stomach go loose, riding Drew’s face as you came all over his mouth. “Fuck.” You shouted, your chest heaving.

Once your high was over you got off of Drew, your hair slightly messy now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t apologize, I fucking loved that.” Drew chuckled, licking his lips for the last taste of your juices. Drew’s hand running down to his hard-on, rubbing himself through his boxers.

You giggle a bit, crawling in front of Drew, slowly pulling his boxers down. His member springs out of the thin fabric underwear, you saw the glossy tip, knowing that was pre-cum.

“Fuck-“ a groan escapes Drew’s mouth, “You don’t have to do this honey.” Drew grumbled, watching as you grabbed onto his member and pumped it into your mouth.

Licking his pink tip, tugging the skin down then letting it fall back up only for you to tug it down again. Sucking on Drew’s tip.

Drew’s hand goes to your head, running his fingers through your hair, forcing your head a bit further down. “I’m close.” Drew groans, his hand pulling and pushing on your head.

Your mouth bouncing up and down on Drew’s dick, feeling his penis twitch in your mouth then you felt shots hit the back of your throat, you stroked it a little slower so Drew could ride out of his high.

You sucked all of his cum into your mouth, you took his penis out of your mouth with a pop. You smile at Drew. “Now we’re even.”

[luv4georgie]

ooohh a number 16 and 18 angst with lando omggg pls.

(your writing is so amazing )

the scientist.

Lando Norris x fem!reader

in which formula one star, Lando Norris, and “girlfriend”, Y/n L/n, go through some complications after Y/n finds a-few things out.

warnings: toxicasf!Lando, cheating, allusions to death, mental death, crying, a-lot of swearing, FLASHBACKS IN ITALICS

prompt list

prompts 16 and 18 for angst- “it was a dare” and “why am i always your last option?”

“tell me you love me, come back and haunt me.”

i was sad. not even sad. more than that. Lando had broken up with me. 2 years gone to waste. 2 years of me loving him. 2 years all a lie. nobody said it was easy, fair enough, but no-one ever said it would be so hard. i could never fall in love again. i just couldn’t. it hurt so much. it still does. every-time i think of it, it feels like a dagger goes through my heart. was it me? was i the problem? why was i so hard to love?

it was a Saturday night when Lando decided to confess. confess the biggest lie of my and maybe, just maybe, his life. “it was a lie.” Lando said. me, still laughing and oblivious to what was happening, responded. “what?” i said still laughing, not turning to face the ‘love of my life’ yet. “everything Y/n/n” i turned to face him, a smile still on my face which quickly dropped seeing his overly serious expression. he had tears in his eyes and looked like he was cowering. “what’s everything Lan?” i questioned again. tears fell from his eyes, then i knew it was bad. “our relationship. my love for you.”

then it happened my stomach did 100 flips, my heart beat 1000x faster. some odd taste popped up in my mouth and before i knew it i was running to my bathroom, throwing up. Lando hadn’t moved from where he was standing. he was crying, letting his head hang low. once i finished being sick. i washed my mouth out and slowly made my way to the living room which looked into my kitchen, where Lando was. on wobbly legs i walked up to him around 3 feet away from him. now i get it. now i get why he never wanted to move in with me. i get why he acted weird and always rejected my love around his stupid friends.

me and Lando was at the club with a few of his friends. he had cheated. i know he did. i didn’t leave though i stayed there. he didn’t bother touching me around his friends. he never has really. i watched Lando dance, grind and kiss on another girl. i was shocked but to drunk to care. i was upset nonetheless but just couldn’t wrap my head around it. i watched as he did the same with 3 other beautiful girls. that’s when i had enough. “Lando!” i shouted. i grabbed his wrist, told him he’s had a-lot of drinks and that he should slow down but he waved me off. offended i scoffed and ignored him. “a bit clingy, ay” i heard Max shout. “yeah, she’s always all over me it’s weird” Lando responded. my eyes widened and i shoved him out of my way and made my way to the the exit. “fucking move” some random man said. “shut up dumbass” i retorted.

“what did you just fucking say?” he said, pushing me really aggressively into another girl, one of the girls Lando was dancing with, who gave me the dirtiest look ever. i tried to say sorry but she slapped me. all i heard was one word getting chanted around ‘fight’. a circle formed around us both. i kept dodging her punches but still took a few. i didn’t hit her back. i didn’t want to. i couldn’t. suddenly i saw a familiar pair of arms wrap around the girls waist, who i found out to be called Chelsea. it was Lando. grabbing onto her waist and carrying her out of the exit. i scoffed again. tears pricked my eyes and i was so annoyed. i was that angry and pissed off i cried. i ran out of the exit and accidentally bumped into a wall-like chest. Lando. “where are you going?” he asked. i didn’t answer just wriggled out of his grasp and ran to the corner of some steps i saw earlier. he followed me. “why am i always your last option Lando? why? i’m your girlfriend, yet you help someone you met 10 minutes ago and comfort them. i don’t get it”. Lando being Lando told me i was overreacting, called an uber and took us both home.

“why are you fucking crying Lando?” i whispered. “you don’t get to fucking cry!” i shouted this time. tears stung my eyes and more fell from his. he dropped to his knees and cried pathetically. i just stared at him in disgust. “you’re fucking sick Lando” i said, my voice broken and wrecked. “sick. i can’t believe it. am i a joke? why am i so fucking hard to love?” i cried. “please baby, i’m sorry, it was a stupid dare and i laughed and did it” he begged. “you laughed at me? you fucking laughed at the idea of asking me to be your girlfriend. you knock me fucking sick Lando. fucking sick.” i cried and cried. he wouldn’t shut up, even after i told him to get out, he didn’t. he just kept saying sorry and please. i didn’t get it. am i that fucking hard to love. that’s when my life ended. everything inside of me died that night, even if i was physically there, i died.

-

AUTHORS NOTE: sorry this is really short, i’m literally just reflecting on my last relationship with this because most of this is a true story in my life but a-lot less worse, that ex hurt me in every-way possible and as we know Lando would never do something like that so please don’t say i have said he would. thank you. and thank you for all your support recently ❤️❤️