#but again that will be a whole other post

[no-144444]

the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me. 

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday. 

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories. 

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married. 

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again. 

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff. 

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence. 

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.” 

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you?  He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too. 

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters. 

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him. 

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded. 

“Oh yeah.” 

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium. 

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.” 

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food. 

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying. 

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.” 

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were. 

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.” 

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were. 

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately. 

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.” 

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.” 

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek. 

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!” 

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person. 

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!” 

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding. 

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.” 

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you. 

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out. 

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

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navigation for my blog :)

[miaoua3]

Ghost of Your Dreams

Pairing: bf!scoups x f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), size kink, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy), dom!scoups, spanking, choking, spitting, degradation(slight), praise, cosplay! ghost

Description: all it took was one comment of your and here he was, embarrassed and shy but ready to commit to the fullest in order for him to fulfil your fantasy

Note: everyone went berserk last year when i posted on my tiktok as what characters id like to see svt as for halloween and put coups as ghost from cod so naturally i had to bring even more chaos and write a whole fanfic about it…enjoy hehe (post writing edit of the notes: i passionately hate this my bad guys i suck so bad. and again, not proof read so…yeah lmao)

you knew what you were getting into the very minute you first stepped a foot into your boyfriend’s s home and saw a whole professional pc set-up, with headphones and the kind of keyboard that lights up in rainbow light every time you press any key on it. you knew what to expect from him-late night gaming sessions between him and his friends, him yelling whenever he got annoyed, and a whole lot of cursing.

these are just some of the things you knew to expect.

cheol, on the other hand, never even thought what kind of an effect his hobby could have on you. he knew you would be supportive, and that you would probably use his gaming time to do and practice your own hobbies.

but now, several years into the relationship, he never even expected for you to take any special interest in his hobby, never mind for you to make such an…out-of-character comment like you did two weeks ago.

he was just starting a new game, concentrating on the plot and character dialogue so he knew what to do, when he felt you approach him from behind, carefully watching the screen right beside him.

after a few seconds, cheol sees your pretty pointer finger point at one of the characters from the screen and hears your sweet voice ask “who is that?”

cheol looks up at you with his pretty and big boba eyes, a bit of confusion visible in the way his eyebrows furrow.

“his name is simon riley, but they call him ‘ghost’.”

you only hum in response, tilting your head to the side as you carefully watch the character move around the screen. after a few seconds, you deliver a comment that will forever change seungcheol and who he is as a person.

“he’s hot.”

cheol looks at you, both in confusion and in offence, totally blindsided by the two words that have just left your mouth.

“what- why? how? you can’t even see his face because of the mask. plus, you have a boyfriend, miss. how dare you find another man other than me attractive?”

you finally look at the boyfriend in question, only to see his big cherry lips set in pout, making you smile in amusement. you bend down to hug him around his neck, softly kissing his cheek to comfort him. after you see the corner of his mouth twitch in weakness, you answer his questions.

“i don’t know, something about him is attractive, maybe the way he carries himself and the mysteriousness because of the whole mask thing.”, you muse as you go back to watching ghost on the screen.

cheol does the same, the pout still present as he looks at his favourite character, now with a bit of disdain due to your newfound attraction to him.

after a few seconds of silence, you chuckle before you add another comment that will play a big part in both your futures.

“plus, he kind of reminds me of you, baby. with all the dominance, confidence and that deep voice.”, letting another chuckle, you look him directly in the eyes, you faces only inches apart so he can see your eyes clearly as you add “who knows, maybe you should cosplay him sometime. i know i would love to see that.”

you smile at him before you let a brief kiss land on his lips before you part your body away from his and go back to laying on the bed.

you may have said it in the joking manner, but cheol knew. he saw that look in your eyes, the way your pupils were dilated, the way your smile hid something a bit darker, a bit more sinister in the corners of your lips.

he knew that you weren’t joking.

so here he is, two weeks later, on a saturday night, in the full cosplay, waiting for you to get back from work, his blushing and red face hidden behind the balaclava and mask.

he fondles with all the little belts around his body, namely his waist, chest and thighs. a bit uncomfortable, but nothing cheol couldn’t handle.

hey, anything for love, right?

cheol looks around the apartment as if it will give him an answer as to what he should do, what the plan to surprising you is, but to no avail. the nervousness and sort of excitement is getting more and more unbearable the closer your arrival is getting.

finally, he settles on hiding in the bathroom, knowing that your first move will be to check your shared bedroom to see if he’s there, making the bathroom the perfect place to hide, as it is directly across the bedroom and he can then quietly sneak up behind you.

just like he planned, cheol skilfully hides behind the bathroom door, leaving the light off and the door slightly open as to make you think he isn’t inside. he stills his movements the moment he hears the keys jingling behind the entrance door before the door click open.

you drop your keys into the little dish beside the door before hanging your bag and coat on the hanger right beside it. he hears you sigh deeply, probably meaning that you have had a long day and that you need some relaxation.

perfect.

after you take your shoes off, he hears you still for a moment, carefully listening to the sounds in your own home. after a second, he hears you call out “cheol? are you there? i’m home!”

but to no avail. because he doesn’t answer.

right in that moment, cheol's belief that he knows you better than anyone else was solidified.

because just like he predicted, he hears you take a few steps before you lightly open the door of your bedroom, peaking inside to see if your boyfriend is inside.

showtime.

ever so quietly, cheol moves until he’s standing right behind you, his eyes looking at the top of your head. he just had to smirk at your cluelessness, how you are so cutely looking for him while he’s standing directly behind you.

not being able to resist the temptation, cheol leans in until his covered lips are right by your ear before he utters in his deepest voice possible.

“looking for something, m’love?”

you gasp in shock, eyes wide as you quickly turn towards him, stumbling back so much that if it weren’t for his hand catching your arm, you would’ve fallen right onto your ass.

you gape at his tall and darkly clothed silhouette, being somewhere between shocked and in awe of your beautiful muscle-y boyfriend standing in front of you in a costume you never could’ve imagined seeing him in.

the shock lasts all but 5 seconds before the widest smile he has ever seen on you takes over your features, your pupils blown out, so much so that they appear almost completely black.

with excitement you start word-vomiting “oh my god, i can’t believe you really did this. i think this is the best day of my life. oh my god, are you gonna spank me and say that i’ve been a bad girl? or maybe-“

something about the way you look little too excited, like a kid on a christmas morning that can’t wait to open their presents, the way you smiled so wide, maybe even too widely. like cheol just walked right into your trap.

it rubbed him the wrong way, blood boiling slightly.

although that just might be the multiple layers of clothes that he’s wearing.

oh well.

wasting no time, seungcheol suddenly grabs you by your neck and pulls you towards him, making whatever words you wanted to say die on your tongue and a gasp slip out instead.

the moment your body collides with his, he uses his big and broad body to push you against the wall by your bedroom door, harshly.

your body slams against the cold white wall, and cheol has the oh shit- thought for all of half second that he might’ve pushed you too hard and that he might’ve hurt you.

that is before he hears you moan loudly at the action, throwing your head back.

little masochist.

cheol then immediately comes closer to you, crowding your space so much, until the only thing left to focus on is the mask that covers his face. his chest pushes into yours, making it that harder to breathe, and his knee finds its home right between your legs, pushing upwards until he can feel the warmth between your legs on his thigh.

your beautiful and cute eyes are already teary as you look upwards at him, desperation forming on your waterline in the form of tears.

you don’t have to see it to know that cheol is smirking at the effect he has on you, smugness dripping in his voice as he says.

“what do we have here, hm? your pussy already desperate for me, baby? but we haven’t even started.” he pauses for a second to press his covered forehead against yours before he continues “is this all it took to reduce you to what you really are? a desperate, cock-hungry little bitch? so hungry for my cock hm? can’t even wait for it to enter that little pussy of yours, already rubbing yourself on me.”

it is only when his glove-clothed hand suddenly runs over your front, right where your pussy is desperately rubbing on his thigh, that you even notice what you’ve unconsciously started doing, his fingertips digging until he finds the slit of your pussy lips, pressing hard until he reaches your clit, despite two layers of clothes being in his way.

you moan at the contact, hands grabbing at his wrist, somewhere between pushing his hand away and closer to where you need him the most.

seungcheol won’t let you have any control tonight, he wants you to completely surrender to him, to let him use you and move you however he wants, to just accept whatever he gives you with a fucked out smile on your face.

hence why he grabs both your hands into his before slamming them onto the wall above your head, quickly switching his hold onto your wrists.

with a purposefully made angry face, he looks into your teary eyes. something dark and far more sinister than he thought he could ever feel awakens inside of him, the feeling of giddiness overcoming him as he watches your eyelashes get wet by the tears gathering in your eyes, neediness and desperation swimming in them.

with a deep voice overflowing with warning, he says “no touching tonight, are we clear pretty girl? you are at my mercy tonight. everything i want to give you…”, he pause for a few seconds so he can remove the skull mask from his face and reveal the identical balaclava beneath it, before he pushes his face closer until his cloth-covered nose meets your own and continues “…you will take like a good girl i know you are. understood?”

you watch his dark eyes, purposefully covered in black paint, as you process his words. your mouth are agape, shaky breaths leaving the opening until the sound hits cheol’s ears. his free hand that isn’t holding your wrists comes to hold your cheek gently, a touch of love to show you that this isn’t real, that this is just a bit of a fun game to both of you, that he still loves you despite his harsh words.

with wide eyes, you slowly nod your head to his demand, showing him that you understand.

contrary to his tone just a few seconds ago, cheol gently whispers in the little space between you two “use your words baby, i need to hear you say ‘yes’ before we continue.”

you heart squeezes in love that you have for this man. the fact that he basically interrupted his own fantasy in the name of having you consent to him with your own words makes you love him that much more. sure, it may be the bare minimum to the rest of the world, but to you, who never experienced such gentle love by the previous partners? it means the whole world.

with hoarse voice, you whisper “yes. i understand.”

cheol looks at your eyes for a second, looking for doubt and fear, only to find excitement and trust instead. nodding his head, he pushes his balaclava until his lips are freed, and using the newfound freedom to lay a gentle and light kiss to your mouth, letting them linger just for a second before he pushes the balaclava back in place, now fully ready to push you to the point of tears of pleasure.

within a second, that old flame of desire returns to his eyes. for a second you could’ve sworn that his eyes had a tinge of redness in them, almost like they were literally set on fire.

his hand slowly but firmly wraps around your neck, the leather material making the squeaky sound as he repositions his hand so his fingers are only squeezing the sides of your slender neck. the last bit of air leaves your lungs as cheol squeezes your neck, making you feel lightheaded within seconds.

your boyfriend uses your distraction and hazy mind to just observe you-the way your eyes flutter shut and how tears gather at your water line, how your hands try to grasp onto something to no avail because he’s holding the hostage above your head, how your mouth can’t decide if you want to bite your lip and keep the gasps and moans from escaping or opening them as wide as possible and letting all those pretty sounds flow like a river straight out.

he watches how your hair is already messy, a complete opposite to how you usually style it for work. then to how your pretty neck bobs in an effort to take in more air. the way his black leather glove wraps prettily around it.

his eyes fall onto your chest, and the way your button up shirt gives him a peak of your cleavage, as well as the necklace with his initials engraved on the back of the pendant hanging from the chain. the way your chest raise and fall at rapid speed, the way your tits move with every exhale.

his pupils follow the curvature of your waist, and the way your pants hug your hips-the hips he loves to hold, grab, squeeze and use as his anchor while he’s fucking you from behind.

lastly, cheol observes the movement of your hips, how you slowly roll your hips in slow and small circles on his leg that is pushed between your legs in an effort to relieve the uncomfortable tingle on your clit, the warmth from between your legs making his mouth water in need to taste you, in need to have your tight pussy wrap around his cock.

fuck, he needs to fuck you. right now.

his head drops beside yours, a groan hitting the shell of your ear before he demands “take your pants off, need to have that needy pussy around my cock right now.”

no sooner than when his hand lets go of your hands that were hanging above your head that you immediately got to work, unzipping your pants and missing the zipper a few times. the minute it was unzipped enough, you pulled your pants down, along with your panties, before you kicked them to the side.

while you were preoccupied by taking your pants off, cheol did the same to his. well, he couldn’t really take them off due to insane amount of tiny belts hugging his big thighs. instead, he just unzipped them and pulled them down just enough to free his aching cock from his boxers, precum leaking from the tip the moment it bounces upon being taken out.

your eyes immediately get drawn to the sight, how big he looks, the tip the slight pinkish colour due to lack of stimulation.

but it’s not just his dick-cheol as a whole, right at this moment, looks like something straight out of your wet dreams, like a desire or a kink you can’t talk about, keeping it locked inside a box instead, hidden deeply inside your closet.

the black balaclava with the skull printed on it hugging his head and currently hiding his beautiful face, the black turtleneck that is covered with the fake black military vest, with tons of tiny pockets. the way his big biceps bulge out, protruding even with the longs sleeves trying to keep them hidden.

the black leather gloves that are trying to keep his pants below his cock, kind of frustratedly fumbling with the material because it’s not obeying to his orders. the black pants that hug his legs, the black boots-simply everything.

it makes your whole body feel hot, so hot like somebody poured hot lava all over it.

fuck, i need to suck him off dry right. now.

just as cheol was about to grab you, you let your knees drop, kind of painfully hitting the floor, and as gently as possible due to the hunger grabbing his dick.

cheol confusedly looks down at you, mouth open to say “wha-“ but gets cut off with a moan the moment your warm mouth wraps around his cock.

normally, you would go slow, paying attention to his tip for a minute or so before trying to swallow his whole length.

normally. but not now.

the moment you open your mouth and lean in towards his dick, you start bobbing your head up and down his cock, you hand working on the base that you can’t reach with your mouth just yet. you other hand pulls on his pants, trying to keep them in place while you suck his length.

feeling overwhelmed by your sudden actions, cheol gasps a moan and slams a hand onto the wall to keep him balanced, knees buckling due to the sheer force of your movements.

your mouth haven’t even been around his dick for a minute and he can already feel his balls ready to burst, breathing deep and looking towards to the ceiling (or the heavens, whichever way you want to interpret it), praying that he doesn’t cum so quickly.

you continue with your movements, tongue wrapping around and licking his cock as you drag your mouth back before you suck his length back in, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

cheol watches you in awe and fascination, the way your eyebrows furrow not in concentration, but due to the neediness to have yourself choking on his big cock, moaning every few seconds in pure enjoyment.

never thought sucking a dick could be so good and so…sexually full filling.

you look up through your eyelashes at your boyfriend. even with the balaclava you can tell that his mouth is opened, letting those beautiful and loud moans flow freely out of them, that his eyebrows are furrowed because he’s trying to contain himself and not fuck your face.

which is exactly what you want.

you pull away, both to let yourself and himself breathe, though you keep the eye contact going.

and cheol sees it. that look in your eyes that is begging him to fuck your mouth.

how could he ever deny his baby anything?

just as you were about to go back to sucking his dick, cheol grabs your hair and pulls you away, and keeps pulling on it, making you move your body with it. he only stops once your whole body is back to leaning against the wall, legs kind of awkwardly bent before you readjust them.

your glossy eyes look up at him, needy and demanding for him to fuck your mouth, now.

tapping your cheek with two fingers, he's only able to rasp out "open your mouth."

your lips fall open without a second thought, poking your tongue out as you wait for him to give it to you hard and fast, just like how you like it.

cheol wishes that he could take a mental picture of you like this-eyes glossy, face littered with sweat and mouth calling his name. this right here, how you like right now.

this is everything cheol has ever dreamt about.

ever so slowly, cheol pushes his pelvis foward, his cock held tightly in his hand as he guides it straight to your mouth. he smears the head a bit on your tongue, letting you taste him yet again, but immediately pulling away once you try closing your mouth around it, a sound of disapprovement escaping his lips. once you look at him confusedly, eyebrows furrowed, he's adds "don't move. let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours like i know you want me to, like a good slut i know you are. just relax and enjoy, hm?"

you nod your head quickly before opening your mouth again, an amused chuckle echoing in cheol’s mouth.

very carefully, cheol pushes his cock back into your mouth. his eyes are fully trained to follow your every move, eyes cloudy with desire as he watches you close your mouth around his girth, pretty eyes looking right back into his. he continues pushing his pelvis until he feels the back of your throat close against the head, pearly precum falling down your throat, before he pulls back.

he continues repeatedly doing this a few times, getting you used to the motion and pace, before he speeds up slightly.

your fists are clenched against your thighs, desperate to touch him but resisting the urge to touch him, to pull him closer until you feel yourself choking on his thick cock. instead, you focus that energy to let all the little sounds that you know cheol definitely loves, your humming and moaning creating vibrations on his length.

cheol moans right back, throwing his head back every so often because it just feels so good. the warmth of your mouth as he rocks his hips, the way you try swirling your tongue around the head, the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only man ever for you.

it all messes with his head.

naturally, he loses himself in the pleasure, unconsciously speeding up his movement until his cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat, choking sounds hitting the shell of his ear every time he pushes his cock back in.

after another few minutes of him fucking your pretty mouth, of him letting little comments like “fuck, just like that pretty girl” and “yeah chock on my cock, just like that”, cheol feels himself being so so close, almost a second away from cumming. and although he would like nothing more to paint your pretty face with his cum, to smear it around, almost like he’s marking his territory, to see tears spill from your eyes and mix with his fluids, he would much rather cum inside of you. now.

harshly, he pulls all the way out, hissing once the cold air meets his wet length, before grabbing your jaw harshly with one hand. using that hold, he quickly picks you up, dragging you up to meet him.

you gasp at the action and the way it cuts your airway off, hands quickly grabbing his forearm as he drags you to your feet.

the moment you are close enough, he pulls his balaclava all the way off and clashes your mouths together, tongue swirling around your own, stealing yet another breath away from you.

just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls away, lips swollen from both the kiss and biting on his lips while fucking your mouth, eyes dark and cloudy like a stormy night.

you’re still gasping because he still has a hold on your cheeks with one hand, nails digging into your skin in a painful yet delicious way, your own hand squeezing his wrist in indecisiveness, unsure if you want him to squeeze it even more or to let you breathe.

pushing his forehead against your own, you can clearly see him struggling to control himself by the way he’s harshly breathing. in a dangerously low and warning tone, he just says “i’m gonna fuck you so hard, just like you want me to. gonna fuck you like a slut i know you are. gonna make you beg me to let you cum. now jump.” before he bends down and grabs you by your legs, picking you up like you weigh nothing and wrapping your legs around his waist.

your heart jumps to your throat in excitement, everything about this so new and so unfamiliar-the face fucking, the cosplay, the degradation. you previously told him it was something you’d like to try, just to see if you would like it more than when he praises you and worships you, and although you like how every time he called you ‘slut’ a shiver went down your back, his praise and calling you his love and baby while he’s fucking you will always be number one place.

cheol quickly grabs his dick and slaps it a few times against your clit before he pushes it inside of you, gliding much easier due to your arousal. you both moan loudly at the contact, cheols eyebrows furrowing almost like he’s in pain. his eyes focused entirely on how your pussy is swallowing his big cock.

you feel heat on your cheeks at the sound your cunt makes every time cheol pushes back inside you and pulls back, it’s all wet and loud, and it makes you want to hide your face in embarrassment. you can’t remember the last you were this aroused, so much so that the slick was staining cheol’s pants that were still just pushed right under his dick.

in the matter of seconds, cheol starts fucking you hard and fast, your loud moans echoing in the hallway, probably making it a show for the neighbours to hear. head thrown back against the wall, you focus on gripping cheol’s shoulders like your life depends on it.

his hands are harshly gripping your thighs, both to hold you up and keep you in place so you don’t slip due to sheer force of his movements, but also because he adores your thighs-if it were up to him, his face would be permanently squished between them while eating you out, all day, every day.

you can quickly tell that neither of you will last much longer, the long foreplay already getting you close to the finish line. for yourself you can tell by that funny feeling in your tummy and in the quiver of your legs that are wrapped around cheol’s hips. for cheol, you can tell by how his movements have lost the rhythm, only focusing on fucking you as fast as possible, desperate to cum inside of you and make you cum on his dick.

cheol presses his sweaty forehead against your own, his glassy eyes looking directly into your own. despite how dirty this all feels, you can still feel love pouring from his eyes into your own. you feel his adoration for you, you feel that his heart is beating for you and for you only. al of that is enough to make the knot inside of your tummy slowly start to unravel, your pussy squeezing around cheol’s dick stronger than ever before.

at the feeling of you milking him dry, he moans loudly, his movements sloppier than ever, holding out his orgasm and stopping himself from cumming just so you can cum together with him.

“that’s it, baby, cum around me. take it, take what’s yours. lemme feel that pussy-“

the rest of his words don’t register in your brain because cheol lets go one of your thighs so he can rub your clit, thumb pressing harshly into it as he moves it side to side in quick movements, and in a few seconds you are cumming.

cheol moans as he feels you cumming around him, his own finish following your own immediately. he tries to ride your orgasms as long as possible, but then he feels liquid drench his pants, only to see you squirting on him, his brain short-circuiting at the sensation.

he successful holds you up through your orgasms despite his legs shaking like crazy from how hard he has come. using the fact that you are leaning on the wall, cheol pushes you further into it in the name of getting closer to you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he feels the last of your orgasm drenching him, his own dick pulsating almost painfully inside of you.

for a minute or so, you two just stand there, hugging each other as you breathe heavily, trying desperately to regain your vision. you pat his hair slowly, just like how he likes it. cheol, in return, hugs you impossibly close to himself, whispering beautiful nothings into your ear like “good girl” and “i love you so much baby”, just how you like it.

after another moment or so, he finally pulls back, his big brown eyes looking you over to see if everything is good, only to be met with your spent but satisfied expression, eyes unfocused as you try to look back into him.

he uses one hand to slowly move your hair away from your face, grimacing a little at the feeling of sweat that sticks to his hand as he wipes your forehead.

he watches you for a few seconds, eyes so gentle and full of love, he can’t resist kissing you slowly, his lips a bit chapped from continuously biting it, but still somehow so soft.

you close your eyes and just enjoy the feeling of his love, arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders, fingers twirling his hair at the back of his head.

he slowly pulls away, eyes searching your own. once he sees you finally being able to focus on him, the first thing he says to you is

“i love you so much baby.”

and for some reason, probably due to all the adrenaline and because of how gentle he is being, you feel your eyes prickling with tears, quickly hiding your face in his shoulder and hugging him closer than ever, seeking out his comfort.

cheol tries prying a bit worriedly, gently asking things like ‘what’s wrong baby? hm? tell me so i can make it better’ but all you have strength for is to whisper quietly to him “i love you too. so much…bedroom, please.”

cheol gets the hint, quickly pulling out of you so he can carry you to your bedroom so he can cuddle you and take care of you, lips kissing your temple as he kicks the door open and walks to your bed.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

you stir awake, eyes blurry as you try to find your boyfriend.

only to see his side of the bed empty.

you quickly get up in panic, still a bit needy and in need of his touch, looking around with furrowed eyebrows.

only to see the bathroom door open, cheol standing in front of the mirror as he’s trying to take off the black paint from his eye area, softly and quietly cursing at how stubborn the paint is, only smudging around instead of getting off his face.

you immediately stop panicking, observing his half naked form, his soft muscles and little tummy getting all of your attention.

he’s so effortlessly beautiful, it makes you wonder how he is even yours. he’s just standing there, only in his black towel, yet he looks like a god, wet hair falling into his eyes as he’s still trying to take the makeup off, pouting at how unsuccessful he is at getting it off.

slowly, you get out of the bed and walk towards him, arms immediately wrapping around his waist from behind the moment you are close enough to him, nuzzling your face into the soft skin of his back.

he smells fresh, like his body gel. luckily your boyfriend isn’t one of those people who uses 36 in 1 shower gels, instead of opting for the regular one, this time having grabbed the one that smells like…cucumbers maybe? nevertheless, he’s clean and smells great, and you enjoy every second of it.

cheol drops one hand across your own that are rubbing his tummy, still trying to take the paint off.

you watch him across his shoulder, smiling in amusement for a few second before you use your hands to slowly turn him around so he’s facing you.

he immediately starts pouting at you, hands quickly finding your waist under his shirt that is hanging from your frame.

in whiny voice, he starts complaining “it won’t come off baby. what am i supposed to do? i have an important meeting tomorrow morning.”

you smile as you take the cotton pad from his hand and take your own micellar water, dabbing the pad a bit with it before you gently start rubbing his eyes.

you feel his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hip bones in comfort, enjoying the sensation and his touch to the fullest.

“you need to use a micellar water that has some oil in it as well, so the oil can break off the paint particles. your micellar water isn’t strong enough for it apparently.”

cheol just hums in response, fully taking advantage of you taking care of him, eyes closed in enjoyment.

after a minute or so, you pull your hands away to see if everything has come off successfully, nodding your head as you see his open eyes clear of paint. you tell him that he can wash his face now, but before you can pull away and let him get back to it, cheol uses his hold on your hips to pull you into a hug. his lips immediately find yours, tongue slowly entering your mouth so he can deepen the kiss. you kiss him right back, melting in his arms because of how gently he’s kissing you.

your hands rub his chest as he’s kissing you, his own hands travelling up your back, pulling your (his) shirt with it, cold air greeting your ass that is only in a pair of panties.

slowly pulling away, cheol again looks at you with those eyes, making you feel something catch in your throat at the look he’s giving you.

smiling gently, he bends down a little so he can kiss your forehead, the whole action performed slowly and gently.

pulling away yet again, he smiles again as he uses one hand to cup your cheek, thumb slowly rubbing your skin as he looks at you.

seconds go buy as he just watches you before he lightly says in the little space between you “i am so in love with you. you don’t even know it but you own my whole being. i want to give you the world. i want to spend eternity with you, if you would let me.” he pauses so he can push his forehead against your own. almost inaudibly, he adds “in this world, it’s just you and me, love. i don’t need anybody else as long as i have you.”

and as you kiss him to shut him up before he says something else and makes you cry yet again, you think to yourself.

if only you knew, choi seungcheol. if only you knew.

[jo-com]

₊˚🍰₊ ⊹ ➛ Voicemails

Lando Noriss x Ex!Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A series of voicemails Lando left in the quiet aftermath of your breakup —

୨ৎ Genre: Post- Breakup, Angst

୨ৎ Note: Been wanting to write again so here it is! Not proof read and there are some grammatical errors. Hope y’all enjoyyy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Voicemail 1: Hey baby…i uhm just wanted to check up on you. I know that we agreed on not calling or texting each other but fuck i miss you so much, I regret ever hurting you like that.. please call me back, love you always.

Voicemail 2: Sooo, i was buying these snacks for me and then I saw your favorite food and just.. it reminded me on how much you like eating them and out of habit I picked it up and bought it hahaha… Just wanted to share this, sorry for disturbing you.

Voicemail 3: I know i promised to stop doing this and just move on, you've just been on my mind lately... [sigh] why am i doing this to myself.

Voicemail 4: Hey… I drove past your street today. I wasn’t planning to, it just… happened. Funny how everything reminds me of you, even when I’m trying not to look. Anyway… I hope you're okay. That’s all.

Voicemail 5: It’s late. I couldn’t sleep again. I keep reaching for you in my dreams, and waking up to nothing. I know this is selfish — I’m sorry. I just needed to feel like you were still out there, even if you’re not mine anymore.

...

A long and deep breath left pass your lips— hearing his voice and the things that came out of it made your heart ache even more. The hurt and feeling of loneliness was still evident from the way you've isolated yourself from everything.

You wanted nothing more than be freed from this torment of hearts and just block him all together but at the same time you were holding onto something that you knew was never going to be the same again.

The tears you never even noticed was now sliding down your cheeks, "Fucking hell" you mumbled under your breath.

You quickly wiped it away— not letting yourself show any vulnerability or any kind of weakness.

...

Voicemail 6: I saw your favorite movie on TV tonight. I almost texted you to tell you, like I used to. It’s stupid, I know. You’re not waiting for my messages anymore… but I guess some part of me still is.

Voicemail 7: Do you ever miss me? Even for a second? I keep asking myself that, like the answer will change something. I don’t even know why I’m leaving this. I just— I miss who we were.

...

After hearing the last message he sent, every being in your whole body was screaming to just answer him, but like they say “The heart wants what it wants, but the mind knows what it needs.”

...

Voicemail 8: I saw this coffee place you would’ve loved — all moody lighting and weird art. I almost took a photo to send you. [chuckles] Old habits, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t. Just thought you’d find that funny. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

Voicemail 9: Do you ever feel like you made the right choice, but it still hurts like hell? That’s where I’m at. We ended for a reason... I just wish reason didn’t feel so empty.

...

You've contemplated for a while now and decided to call him back. With shaky hand you went to your contacts and saw his number that was pinned at the top— you forgot you ever did that, it was a long time ago but i guess you just got used to it and forgot along the way.

Every cell of your body was now filled with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, hands shaking abruptly and your chest heaving like crazy, as if you were but to explode with this overwhelming feeling.

The long silence filled your empty room, it was defining to say the least.

With a deep sigh, you finally gathered all your strength and pressed the call button. Your legs bouncing of the ground as you waited for him to pick up.

"Y/n?" he spoke— answering on the first ring.

You hesitated on speaking and was just focused on his voice that was calling out to you. You can practically hear the excitement and confusion on his tone.

You let out a lengthy cough that hid your shaking voice and finally answered him. "Hey..uhm I just called to say that you should stop with the voice messages."

Everything became silent for awhile, it was eating you up to say those words but you two needed to stop torturing one another and just move on.

Lando sighed deeply, "oh okay sorry to bother" and hanged up.

It left you broken— hearing his voice crack from your words. You never wanted this but was for the best.

Or so you thought.

You spent your whole day reliving the conversation, it just bugged you that it crushed him. You’ve decided to just go with the flow and fuck whatever your mind says— your heart clearly belonged with his so what the hell.

...

NOTIFICATION

1 Unheard Voice Message from My girl💞

"Hey Lan… I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I need to say this. I know we ended things, and maybe we both thought we were doing the right thing at the time. But looking back, it feels like we got caught up in something we didn’t fully understand. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. That was never the case. I’ve heard every voicemail you left. Every word. I couldn’t help it. I just needed to hear you, even if it was through all that distance between us. I miss you, Lando. I miss what we had. I don’t want this misunderstanding to be the end of us. If you’re willing, I want to try again. I want to fix this. I just need you to know that. Call me back, Okay?"

[joetastic2739]

Will you ever return to making Curlya videos?? Im sorry if somebody has asked this before and also considering all the drama that has happened recently over your ship posts. Im just curious if you think you'll ever get back to posting such content of curly and anya again.

Actually, I haven’t stopped making Curlya content at all. Some passionate fans have been commissioning me to make more of it this whole time ^^

While I’ve personally moved on to making more videos of Anya and my own OC, other people have definitely kept the Curlya ship alive through their commissions. Just recently, I finished two new Curly x Anya videos and a few renders, and even one featuring Curly with an OC!

[rcvcgers]

Batter Up!

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: xavier x reader

synopsis: xavier shen is a college baseball star. when he loses a championship game & notices an opposing player make a move on his girlfriend, well, he needs to let out his frustration the only way he knows how.

word count: 6.5k words

content warnings: it gets smutty! oral (m receiving), fingering, poor reader's puss gets slapped, spanking, reader's hands get tied, batting gloves as a gag, unprotected p in v sex (PLEASE WRAP IT UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD), cream pie, they almost get caught, xavier's lowkey a lil mean in this, semi-public sex lmk if i missed anything

author's note: hi! wow! so this is a thing i wrote! first time i'm posting a smut one shot so ......... go easy on me! i hope y'all enjoy !

main masterlist ~ ao3 link

The bases are loaded. Xavier Shen is up to bat. He stands off to the side, tightening his white baseball gloves. The crowd erupts into cheers when the stadium plays his walk up song, one that he chose specifically for you.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are in the bottom of the ninth inning! With two outs on the board and down by one run, how will the Philos Phantoms catch up?” the announcer’s voice booms throughout the stadium.

“Through Lumiere, of course!” the co-announcer proclaims. The stadium goes crazy. People chant his nickname from the crowd, everyone now standing from their seats.

Xavier casually walks up to the home plate. His metal bat, which is white in color with streaks of shimmering silvers and golds, swings around in the air. The tall baseball player nods his head at the umpire, ignoring the catcher’s ugly glare.

Xavier fixes his helmet on his head, pushing away the silver locks underneath the hardened plastic. He settles into the batter’s box, giving his sword a swing or two, hitting it against his dirtied cleats.

His blue eyes cut through the environment, scanning the crowd for you.

You stand behind his team’s dugout, always the closest seat to him with the best view of when he comes back to the dugout. Whenever he comes back from scoring a home run or striking out, you always smile and wave, blowing him an encouraging kiss.

Right now, though, you stand with your hands folded as if you are praying, eyes fixated on him. He smiles at you, a sense of warm flooding your bodies. His nerves slightly calm down. You take a deep breath, Xavier miming your actions, and remove your hands from your mouth.

Earlier in the day, Xavier kept you trapped in bed. He laid his head on your stomach, pressing gentle kisses to your skin. You ran your fingers through his silver hair and hummed along with the tune of a song.

“Are you nervous?” you ask him, gently pushing the hair off of his forehead. His blue eyes meet yours. Xavier shakes his head and buries his face back into your stomach, his nose pushing into your body. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I’m not,” his breath is hot against your skin and his voice is muffled. You roll your eyes and laugh. His head immediately pokes up, the man now sitting up on his knees. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re cute! That’s all,” you giggle some more.

Xavier lets out a ‘hmph’ and slowly lowers himself back down on top of your body. This time, he places his head on your chest, his ear right over your heart. He silently listens to your heartbeat. Each and every beat is like a melody that makes him feel whole again. You smooth his hair and sigh, lifting his head so he looks at you.

“It’s just like any other game, baby,” you coo and cup his cheek. He leans his cheek into your touch, “treat it as such. You’re going to do great.”

Your words ring true in his ears, his heartbeat finally slowing.

“You got this,” you mouth to him, “I love you!”

Xavier nods with a smile. Turning away from you, he settles into the batter’s box, fists tightly grasping his baseball bat. Xavier closes his eyes, the bat settling on his shoulder.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, hold, breathe out.

The man opens his eyes. He drowns out the crowd’s chants and cheers, his eyes focusing on the pitcher in front of him.

The pitcher winds up. He lifts his knee into the air, arm slowly swinging back before he launches the small white ball forward.

Xavier’s cleats nestle into the dirt, the spikes on the bottom of his shoes gripping into the red earth below him. His cheeks puff up as he releases a breath, his hands squeezing the small cylinder of the handle. He swings his arms from one side to the other. His metal bat slices through the air. The baseball connects with the center of the barrel; the metal bat dents in the process.

CRACK!

The baseball soars into the night sky. Xavier immediately drops the bat, his blue eyes never leaving the white dot, and begins to jog towards first base.

The crowd sucks in a breath. A low vibration fills the inside of the stadium, a slight rumble overtaking the crowd as the ball grows closer and closer to the edge of the fence.

Xavier is halfway to first base when the ball begins to descend in the air. The ball’s trajectory is like an optical illusion, teetering on being a home run or being caught by the outfielder chasing it. The baseball drops. It’s like it hit a wall and is now plummeting towards the outfielder.

Your heart drops in your chest. Xavier’s run slows, blue eyes tracking the ball before it is caught in the player’s glove. His foot connects with first base. He comes to a full stop and turns to look at you. Your eyes gloss over, hands covering the lower half of your face as the opposing team’s fans jump from all around the stadium.

“Xavier,” you breathe his name out as if he is able to hear it. A silent plea and comfort that it is going to be okay, that this year’s championship simply wasn’t meant to be.

He turns away from you, shame and embarrassment filling his body. His helmet slips off his head, running his gloved hand through his silver locks. Xavier slowly walks through the field, which is being flooded with reporters and parents. Girlfriends of the winning players brush past him with their arms wide open, a celebration that he was supposed to be having with you at this time.

Your eyes follow Xavier’s body. He doesn’t even look at you as he vanishes under the dugout’s ceiling. A slow, long sigh leaves your body. You sit back down in your chair, wiping away bittersweet tears from your boyfriend’s loss.

You cannot even imagine how much pain and anguish Xavier must feel right now. Sure, the Philos Phantoms have won the championship for the past three years so a loss was inevitable, but the sting doesn’t hurt any less.

Your heart aches for Xavier. Its pumps are slow, longing for him to be in your arms so you can console him, to hold him in your arms so he can fall asleep knowing that this one loss will not define who he is or the kind of player he is.

The stadium slowly seeps out its crowd. It is now an empty arena with only a few stragglers left behind. You have remained in your seat, unable to move until you see his head of hair exit the dugout. You smile at familiar faces; parents and friends of Xavier’s teammates comfort you before they leave on their own, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.

You sigh and stand up, grabbing your purse. Without thinking, you make your way down the steps and towards the entrance that leads to the field. The metal fence, once a place that you and Xavier have celebrated many victories at, feels solemn now. Melancholic.

“Hey,” Xavier’s voice soothes your body. You frown at him, slowly pushing through the gate. “I’m sorry if I—”

You immediately pull Xavier into your arms. His head drop, chin resting on your shoulder as your fingers slide into his hair. He lets out a tired sigh and places his hands on your hips. He squeezes your body and pulls you closer to him, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“You played great today, baby,” you coo into his ear. You gently rub circles into the number on his back. He shakes his head refuting your claim. “You did, Xavier. You played your heart out! I am so proud of you!”

Xavier pulls his head away from your neck. His eyes are red, irritated from holding back tears. You cup his cheek and sigh, the pad of your thumb grazing against his cheekbone.

“It’ll be okay,” you try your best to soothe his nerves, flattering out the wrinkles of his uniform and flicking away any leftover specks of dirt. Xavier nods, a small yet tired smile spreading across his face.

“Can you wait for me out here? I need to grab my things,” Xavier’s voice is soft and gentle. He squeezes your sides. You nod at him, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Take as long as you need to, baby, I will be here for you no matter what happens,” you respond, slowly allowing him to pull away from your body. You nod your head in the direction of the dugout, watching as he slowly sulks away and disappears once again.

A sigh leaves your mouth. You turn to face the field, always stunned by just how big of a playing field Xavier has been playing on. Even though his last hit of his collegiate career was an out, the amount of distance the ball went from his swing alone is nothing short of impressive.

Xavier took you to the college’s batting cages one time. You mentioned how you always wanted to learn how to hit after being to so many of his games and practices. He was more than happy to show you. He even let you use his bat, his hands on top of yours while he moves your body through the motions of a swing.

The memory still makes you giggle like the eighteen year old girl you once were. You’re now a senior in college, ready to graduate and take on the world with Xavier at your side. A small blush creeps up on your lips, a pool of heat gathering between your legs as the rest of the memory plays out in your head.

Xavier’s hands leave yours, placing themselves on your hips. He brings your body next to his. His hardened cock nestles into your ass, making itself at home through your thin clothes. You feel his calloused hands slide down your sides, leaning into you as you keep his baseball bat held up in the air.

“You’re perfect,” Xavier whispers into your ear. It sends chills down your spine. You turn to look at him, the bat wavering in your hands. “You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Xavier,” just you breathing out his name was enough of a push for him.

Xavier closes the distance, his lips crashing onto yours. The metal bat falls to the floor with a series of clangs. His breath intertwines with yours, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip, silently asking permission to go further. You nod and turn in his arms.

Xavier’s hunger and passion for you takes over his body. He picks you up with ease. His tongue slips into your mouth, the baseball player pressing you up against the wall.

You shudder at the thought, pressing your thighs together while your eyes are closed. Reaching up, you touch your lips and smile. You love Xavier so much. You would do anything for him.

“Hey, pretty lady,” an unfamiliar male voice takes you out of your thoughts. Chills run down your spine, the heat you once felt before immediately diminishing. You turn around and stare at a baseball player who was on the opposing team. His Skyhaven uniform makes you want to rip your hair out, hating how Xavier lost to a bunch of fucking losers. “Can I get your number?”

“Excuse me?” you ask, holding back a shocked laugh.

“Your number. I want it…please,” the player slowly inches his way closer to you. You take a step back and hug your arms around your chest, turning away from him.

The player doesn’t back off, though, and instead circles around you. He settles into the spot in front of you and clears his throat, hands on his hips.

“Leave me alone,” you groan with an eye roll. You avoid his beady eyes and look at the dark clouds in the sky, admiring the stars, quietly making a mental note to have Xavier look at them when he comes out.

“I can’t do that, sorry,” the player laughs, “not until I get you out of those colors and into mine.”

You raise an eyebrow and look down at your shirt. It’s Xavier’s away game jersey. The gray fabric is accented by a light blue color, his last name spread across your shoulder blades. It’s big on you, seeing how your boyfriend is an absolute beefcake, but you wear it as if his last name is your own.

And let’s be real…it practically is.

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. You take a step backwards, hugging Xavier’s jersey closer to your body, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. Just give me a chance!” the player continues to plead his case to you.

You shake your head and close your eyes, stepping backwards. One step follows another and the closer you get to Xavier’s dugout. The man persists while you remain an adamant no, trying to keep the distance between you two.

You gasp. Your back connects with something hard yet warm, something familiar. You open your eyes and notice a yellow star charm that hangs from the knob of a baseball bat. With one quick glance over your shoulder, you see Xavier’s darkened expression, his once bright blue eyes now shadowed from jealousy. 

His arm is outstretched over your shoulder, baseball bat in hand. The end of the metal bat is pressed against the opposing player’s chest. Xavier gives him a push and the gold star charm bounces back and forth.

“Get lost,” Xavier growls. The heat that you once felt between your legs forms once again. You lean into Xavier’s chest, feeling his free hand wrap around your body, resting itself over your jean shorts’ zipper. The tips of his fingers graze against the metal, teasing it and you at the same time.

“Alright, man, chill out,” the player rolls his eyes, holding his hands in the air, “I’ll be nice and not let you lose twice today.” He turns on his heel and heads for the gate where his friends wait for him, laughing and pointing at his poor attempt to get your number.

Something inside Xavier’s head snaps. He glares at his opponent, fire and bloodlust hidden behind his eyes. His lips twitch, a sudden wave of possessiveness and dominance crashing over him.

You turn in Xavier’s arm, his hand now resting on your ass. He’s out of his uniform and wears his tight training shirt and a pair of joggers. You press your hands against his chest, leaving in. The material of his shirt is so thin that you can feel his muscles flexing and then relaxing under your touch. His dark blue eyes focus on you right as the other man leaves his sight. He moves his hand around in circles, caressing your obnoxiously short jean shorts.

“Xavier,” you breathe out, anticipation budding from within you.

Xavier has always been so jealous, even when you deny the person who tries to ask you out. He knows that you are forever his, something that he wishes to make permanent soon, and that you will never leave him for anybody else.

“Come,” Xavier’s voice is sharp. His hand moves from your ass to your wrist, tightly squeezing it.

Without another word, he pulls you towards the dugout. You stumble from behind, unable to keep up with his lightning fast pace. Dirt and dust kick up from your combined steps. Xavier drops down the steps, quickly turning before you can step down.

He quickly grabs you in his arms, tossing you over his shoulder with ease. You gasp. With one arm wrapped around the back of your legs, keeping you in place. His other hand slides up and down the back of your thighs, moving up to your ass, his open palm sending shocks directly to your core.

Xavier carries you inside the empty locker room. A few lights remain on while the others are shut off, a few straggling people who stayed behind too distracted to notice Xavier carry you inside. He closes the door to the locker room behind him, a low grunt leaving his throat.

Xavier’s hand leaves your body, his warmth now leaving your body feeling ice cold. You begin to whine but instead squeal when Xavier’s hand roughly connects with your ass. He sits down at the bench in front of his locker, adjusting you so you’re leaned over his lap.

“Hands,” Xavier’s voice is low. You nod, body trembling from anticipation. Slowly, you move your hands behind your back. They are immediately brought together, Xavier’s hand moving quick as light as he fastens his belt around your wrists.

“X-Xav,” you shudder. Your panties are already soaked, his fingers gliding up and down your clothed entrance. “What if someone finds us?”

“Then they’ll know,” he slaps your ass again, the sound echoing inside the locker room, “that you’re mine.”

Your body trembles against his. His movements are so sure, determined in each and every move. He takes his time with you, feeling the now damp fabric that shields your entrance. You can barely nod, arousal overtaking your body. His dick hardens beneath you, your squirming around making him feel restless, unable to control himself.

“Say it,” Xavier leans down and growls into your ear. He brings his hand down once again, the stinging feeling seeping into your skin. 

“I-I’m yours!” you gasp when his hand connects with your backside again, unable to stile the moan that leaves your mouth.

The palm of Xavier’s hand is calloused from years of playing baseball. His slender fingers graze the back of your thigh and they leave goosebumps in their path. You close your eyes. You shudder beneath his touch, holding in a breath, waiting for his next spank.

But it doesn’t come.

Xavier’s fingers draw back up your legs, dipping between your thighs and behind the fabric of your soaked shorts. The light blue color is damp and it’s a sight for sore eyes. His fingertips slide up and down your clothed entrance, quiet whimpers leaving your mouth.

“Xav…baby please…” you breathe out, fighting against his belt, desperately wanting to touch and tease him as much as he is doing to you.

A gasp flies from your lips. Xavier brings you up and places you on your feet in front of him, hands still tied behind your back. He remains seated, his last name and jersey number painted into the wood of the locker. You clench your legs together. Xavier shakes his head and he taps your ankle with his foot. Knowing exactly what he wants, you spread your feet apart, legs already shaking from anticipation, watching as he removes his shirt from his body.

You salivate at the sight of his chiseled abs and toned body. His chest rises and falls with precise breaths, controlling his building lust towards you.

Xavier leans forward. He places his hand on the side of your thigh. He gently caresses your skin, being gentle as he takes his time with you. His blue eyes look up at you, connecting with a fiery gaze as his finger hooks into one of the loops on your shorts, pulling you closer to him. He hums to himself and tugs your shorts down your legs with ease. You kick them to the side and shudder when his fingers connect with the damp spot on your panties.

“I’ve had a long day today,” Xavier licks his lips. He presses into your clothed core, teasing you as your wetness coats his fingertips. You let out quiet whiners and bite your lip, trying to be as quiet as possible so nobody comes and finds you. “On your knees.”

You gulp and nod, immediately obeying his command. You kneel before him, trying to fight against the tight knot of his belt, and watch as he pushes down his gray joggers and boxers. His cock springs out, his tip already leaking and aching for you. You salivate at the sight. He kicks away the fabric and spreads his legs open.

His cock is big in his hand. He slowly strokes himself and you inch closer to him, a fire burning between your legs, trying so hard not to squeeze them together to give yourself some friction to make you feel good. Xavier reaches out and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you towards his aching cock.

He removes his hand from his length and lets out a groan while he watches you take in every inch of his dick. The tip of his cock presses the back of your throat and your nose touches his body. You look up at him with teary eyes. He slowly draws your head back, air finally returning to your lungs, before moving your head right back down his length.

Your tongue massages the underside of his dick. Your saliva spreads across his skin, your mouth feeling empty as you pull your head back. Xavier groans and his grip on your hair tightens. Your tongue swirls over his throbbing tip, sucking on it before he slams your head back down onto him.

You begin to hum and the vibrations make Xavier lose his grip on your head. He rolls his head back and the room is filled with his breathy groans and grunts. You bob your head back and forth, taking your time with Xavier, making sure to lick and suck his sensitive tip before taking the entirety of his cock back into your mouth and throat. Your tongue memorizes the veins, sucking in when his tip is left in your mouth. You quicken your pace, wrists tugging against his leather belt, and look up at him with big doe eyes, knowing that it’ll drive him crazy. 

“Just like that baby,” his sweet praises fill the room. He looks down you, his cheeks a light pink color. A knot begins to form in his stomach, his release imminent. He grabs the back of your head, fingers gripping your hair. He pulls his dick out of your mouth with a pop and you’re left kneeling before him, breathless, ready for more.

Xavier helps you up and is quick to pull your panties off of your body. He tosses them into his locker where his backpack sits and turns you around. You sit on his lap, your legs sat between his, feeling his cock slide across your entrance, making himself at home.

Just not inside you.

Xavier reaches around your waist, hand dropping to your clit. He begins to rub slow and demanding circles into your clit. You moan and roll your head back, feeling Xavier attach his lips to the side of your neck. He bites down against your skin and unapologetically sucks, leaving dark purple and red marks in his wake.

You squirm on his lap and roll your hips back and forth, your entrance gliding back and forth along the length of his cock. Xavier grunts against your skin, hissing whenever you slide over his tip.

“Look at the door,” his voice is low and gravelly in your ear. You nod and open your eyes, hips jerking against his touch as his fingers grind into your clit. “You’re going to have to be a good girl for me and be quiet, okay?”

Xavier pushes your legs open, placing your heels on the sides of the bench. You fully lean into him, your pretty pussy now exposed to the room. He slips two fingers inside of you, curling them when they’re deep inside. You involuntarily clench around him, a sigh of ecstasy leaving your lips.

Without wasting another second, Xavier pumps his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. Your mouth opens into an ‘o’ shape and no sounds come out of your mouth. His fingers hit all of the right spots. You whine when his fingers leave your core but are immediately overtaken by a surge of bliss when he begins to ruthlessly rub your clit. You moan his name and roll your hips back and forth, earning grunts from him as your ass slides back and forth over his cock.

Warm sensations take over your body. You hum and moan, slipping into a state of blossoming ecstasy. Xavier’s fingers feel so goos inside of you. Your hips roll to meet the heel of his hand, needy and desperate for more.

“Stay still,” he demands in your ear, sticking his fingers back inside of you. You gasp and a loud, breathy moan flees your mouth. Xavier bites down on your neck, marking the exposed skin while you squirm on his lap.

Your hips jerk against his touch, begging for more, but his fingers slip out of you. You whine, opening your mouth to complain when he shoves his fingers inside of your mouth. You taste your juices on his fingers, swirling your tongue around, lapping up every last bit while Xavier adjusts your body.

“I told you to stay still,” he growls into your ear.

You clench around nothing, your swollen clit aching against the cold air. Xavier removes his fingers from your mouth. His hand drops to your pussy, giving it a slap as punishment. You swallow a shriek, the sound getting trapped in your throat. You’re breathless, cheeks a bright pink color as rationality comes back into your mind for a split second.

He lines himself with your entrance and lowers you onto him. You take his cock so well, the stretch making you gasp and lean backwards and into his chest, head rolling onto his shoulder. He captures your lips in a fiery kiss. You moan into his mouth, feeling his tongue swipe over your bottom lip before pushing inside.

Your lips break when his fingers dig into your hips, slowly rising your body before pulling you back down onto him. His cock feels so good inside of your cunt. He fills you up perfectly, making sure to touch every crevice inside you. You bite your lip, trembling as you take over the responsibility of riding him.

His hands leave your waist and move to the buttons of his jersey. He unbuttons them one by one, revealing your covered chest to the room. Your heart skips a beat, the fear of being caught becoming more and more real by the second. He gropes your chest, the sound of your quiet moans and your bodies colliding filling in the room. He pushes your bra down your body. Your nipples immediately pebble against the cool AC, his thumbs pinching the sweet buds, rolling them between his thumb and index fingers.

Your tied up hands remain at the low of your back. You flex your fingers as your brain slowly becomes fried, the heat in your stomach now burning. Xavier leaves open mouthed kisses along your neck. He stares at his last name on the back of his jersey, groaning at the sight. An intensity forms inside his head, something snapping. He removes his hands from your breasts and plants them on your hips, lifting you off of him.

“X-Xav, please!” you whine, feeling so empty without him buried deep inside you. He turns you around and licks his lips, sitting back as far as he can while lowering you on his lap once again. Your knees sit on either side of his legs. Slowly, you sink onto his length with ease, the feeling of being stuffed making you happy.

“You’re mine,” his eyes latch onto yours, “no one else’s.”

You nod and lick your lips. His hands remain on your waist, slowly raising you up before you come crashing down on him. Xavier leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate and sloppy kiss. Your breaths and moans mingle together as you begin to bounce up and down on his lap.

The tip of his cock hits your sweet spot perfectly. Xavier’s lips leave yours, trailing kisses down your neck before making his way to your breasts. They’re oh so perfect to him, the way they bounce so beautifully. He takes one of his nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting on your flesh. The combination of his dick and mouth makes you see stars.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Xavier’s breath is hot against your sensitive nipple, making you cry out from pure pleasure.

Your cunt clenches around him, legs feeling tired as you continue your movements. You roll your head back, staring at the ceiling as the knot in your stomach feels like it is about to snap. He drags his tongue around your hardened nipple, looking up at you with a smirk as you slowly begin to fall apart on him.

One of Xavier’s hands move to your shoulders and fixes his jersey, making sure that is someone comes inside, they see his last name on your body, not theirs.

Your legs tremble, your body begging for a release. You try your best to stay quiet, your hushed curse words falling into Xavier’s ear. His hand snakes around to your back where your tied hands sit. With a few tugs, the belt falls to the ground. Your hands immediately attach to his shoulders, toned muscles flexing under your touch.

“Please, Xav, I-I’m so close,” you push the words out of your mouth, nails digging into Xavier’s skin. Your hands drop to his back. Your fingernails scrape his skin, leaving bright red lines down his back. He hisses and smacks your ass, making you cry out his name once again.

“Cum for me, love,” he grunts.

The blistering heat in your lower stomach bursts, overtaking your body as you cry out his name. Your head falls onto his shoulder, your moans and cries being absorbed into his skin. As you slow, Xavier pushes his hips up into yours. His movement is jerky, desperate to meet you in pure bliss. After a few more upward thrusts, Xavier coming right inside that pretty cunt of yours.

You take a deep breath, trying to regain some of your composure, and fully sink onto him, body limp as you lean into him. Thinking that your time with him is over, you lazily press kisses onto his neck and skin, praising him while he pumps you full of his semen.

Xavier lifts you off of him, his cock covered in your combined juices. You whine, allowing him to pick up your body with ease. You feel his cum drip out of your cunt, slowly rolling down the inside of your thighs.

He stands you on your feet, hands clasped around your wrists. He places your hands on the borders of his locker, your legs twitching as his semi-hard shaft grazes against the crevice of your ass. You draw in a breath, staring at the taped pictures of the two of you on the inside of his open locker.

You lean forward, knees pressed against the wooden bench that runs along the perimeter of the room. Xavier strokes his cock, staring at his name on your back. A smirk spreads across his lips. He closes the distance and opens your legs for him, dragging his swollen head across your puffy lips. He groans, dipping inside of your cunt. You let out a guttural moan, feeling the stretching sensations, Xavier’s dick finding places it hasn’t before.

“Gonna make for sure you get every last drop,” Xavier whispers into your ear, sending chills straight to your pussy, “gonna fuck it back into you.”

His thrusts are slow yet agonizingly deep. He pushes up his jersey so he can see your ass, dragging his calloused hands across the gentle and soft skin. He slaps it and you cry out, louder than you intended it to be. You freeze while he slams his hips into you, hitting your sweet spot.

“What did I say about being quiet? Hm?” Xavier’s tone is sharp.

He snaps his fingers at you, pointing to his batting gloves, a pair that you bought for him, that sit just on the inside of his backpack. You reach down, plucking them from their place and hand it to your boyfriend. He thrusts into you again. Tingling sensations overtake your skin and the inside of your body. He takes the gloves and balls them up, shoving them in your mouth as a makeshift gag.

You can taste remnants of the dirt from the field, the leftover sweat from the championship game. Your moans and whines are muffled by the fabric. Xavier’s hands move back to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. His touch is hard, dominating. You’ll probably have a few bruises there by the time you’re done.

“Be. Quiet,” Xavier demands. You nod, feeling him pick up the pace behind you.

He takes his time with you, though, keeping a steady pace despite him absolutely railing his cock into your cunt. Tears fill your eyes, a bit overstimulated since you just orgasmed a few moments ago. He slaps your ass and drags his hands up and down your body before his hand finds itself on your clit, teasing it.

Just outside the door, one of the facilities’ managers walks down the hall, clipboard in hand as he checks off his list. The sound of a slap catches his attention. He inches towards the locker room, one eyebrow raised as he cracks the door open.

“Hello?” he calls into the room.

You freeze. Your eyes shoot open and you stare at Xavier’s backpack, all sounds going silent. Xavier continues, though, and slows his pace. Each thrust dominates you, making your legs tremble as he pushes you closer and closer to another orgasm. A particularly loud moan escapes your mouth, escaping the confines of his batting gloves. Xavier glares at you, pinching your nipple, your back arching into his touch.

“Yeah?” Xavier calls out, his eyes remaining on your back. He traces a line along your spine, teasing you.

“Xavier? That you?” The door pushes open. Your cunt squeezes Xavier’s shaft, causing him to groan. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Yeah! Just getting changed. I think my girlfriend purposefully packed me small clothes. Everything is so tight,” his blue eyes burn into the back of your head. He reaches out and gathers your hair into his hand, yanking your head back, eyes meeting. Your eyes are glossy, tears ready to fall from embarrassment and arousal.

“Ah! Take your time then! We do need to close soon, though!” The door clicks shut and the two of you are free again.

Xavier tugs on your hair, back arching as you cry into his batting gloves. His thrusts quicken, becoming erratic as he pounds into you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, black spots taking over your vision. Xavier doesn’t let up. He continues, slamming his cock in and out of you, fully taking himself out just to slam into you once again. His touch is ruthless against your clit, feverishly rubbing it, giving it a slap here and there whenever you get too loud.

The sounds of him ramming into you bounce off of the walls. His gloves remain stuck in your mouth, biting into the fabric as the knot in your stomach tightens, ready to snap at any moment. Your cunt throbs in tiny spasms, ready to milk Xavier dry.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? You think you deserve it after being so loud?” Xavier grunts into your ear. He lets go of your hair and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. You nod feverishly. He takes the gloves out of your mouth, letting them fall to the ground. “You wanna be loud? Do you want everyone to hear how desperate you are? Or do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Cum!” you fumble over the word, listening as it comes out as a shuddered breath.

“Be a good girl and cum for me then,” his hand drops to your neck, fingers curling around your throat. He squeezes it, a silent threat that he’ll keep you here all night if he has to. You nod, closing your eyes as waves of pleasure crash throughout your body.

You come undone. Your second orgasm is just as riveting as the first, leaving your legs a trembling and shaking mess, ready to collapse at any given moment. You swallow your cries and quietly moan out Xavier’s name. He lazily kisses the back of your neck, his high quickly following yours.

He thrusts come to a slow, helping the two of you come down from a shared orgasm. You swallow leftover spit in your mouth, head falling, fingers holding onto the sides of his locker for dear life. His cum spills into your cunt, filling you up even more than before. It spills out through the think barrier between his cock and your pussy, dripping down your legs.

Xavier pulls out of you, grabbing one of his practice tees that hang inside the large locker, wiping the sticky and slick residue off of his length. He stares at you, watching as your arms lazily fall to your sides, weighing more than they usually do. You spin around and Xavier is right behind you.

You can feel his semen drip down your legs. The man chuckles to himself, reaching down as he pushes his cum back inside you with a few simple pushes. He reaches to the side, grabbing your panties, and helps you step into them, sliding them up your legs with ease. He kisses your cheek and whispers into your ear, “that’s for being loud.”

Xavier steps back and helps move your bra back up your body, buttoning the jersey back up. He gives you his joggers, the material baggy around your hips. It kills him to not be able to take you again. You sit on the bench and watch as he changes back into his shirt, slipping on a pair of baggy gym shorts he wears for conditioning.

The man gathers his belongings, slipping his baseball bat into its sleeve before extending his hand out towards you. You stand and take it, allowing him to guide you out of the locker room without anyone noticing. As soon as you step onto the field, you turn and look at him, cheeks a hot and your hair a complete mess. Xavier waves to the grounds keeper, turning to you with a smug look on his face.

Just looking at his smirk makes your pussy throb for him. You swallow the lump in your throat and step through the gate, a lingering feeling weighing on your mind as you leave the field and head towards the parking lot.

“You’re not done with me, are you?” you ask him as soon as you reach his car. Xavier chuckles, shaking his head as he helps you into the passenger seat. He leans down, hands resting on top of the car and the door.

“Baby, we just got started,” he tilts his head to the side, a flash of amusement and lust hidden behind his eyes. Your eyes shoot open, your body already preparing yourself for the long night ahead.

as always: likes, reblogs, & comments are greatly appreciated! <3

[andforyouevan]

bucktommy - general - post ep 8x15

cw: main character death

Buck has no idea how he gets outside, but someone helps him out. He only comes back to awareness when he hears the voice, the familiar arms around him, hell, even his scent is something to hang onto right now.

"I've got him," Tommy says in a low voice, wrapping his arm around Buck.

He doesn't hear the response, but he's in Tommy's arms and he feels safe enough to sag against him.

"Tommy," Buck says on a sob. "Tommy, Tommy."

"I know, baby," Tommy whispers. "Come on, Karen's going to take us to the hospital, okay?"

Buck nods against him.

They go to the hospital to be with Hen and Chimney. They hug, they cry on each other's shoulders, and Tommy is there the whole time, rubbing Buck's back, hugging the rest of their family, getting water and coffee. When it's finally time to head home, Tommy calls an Uber and soon enough, they're pulling up to the house.

Tommy turns to him. "I can stay or I can go. I need to get my truck from Harbor, but I have time. Tell me what you need, Evan, and I'll do it."

Buck swallows against the tide of tears that haven't stopped in, what feels like, hours.

But he doesn't have to think about it. "I need you. Please stay."

"Okay," Tommy answers softly. "Okay. I'll stay."

Tommy thanks their driver, helps Buck out of the car and into the house.

"Shower," Tommy says gently. "Come on, I know you won't feel better, but..."

"It's..." Buck sobs again. "It's better than nothing."

Tommy just kisses the top of his head. He guides Buck into the bathroom, helps him undress, and Buck has the presence of mind to be grateful that Tommy had helped him ditch the turnouts at the scene, so they don't have to deal with that.

Tommy turns the shower on, lets it warm up then helps Buck in.

"Your clothes are still in the bottom drawer," Buck says. "I, um, I didn't have the heart to get rid of anything. Brought...brought them with me."

Tommy smiles at him softly. "Okay. I'll change. Holler if you need anything."

"I will."

Buck lets the water fall against his face. He doesn't make much effort to scrub himself, but the water feels a little better against the grime of the day. Once he gets out, the house smells of eggs and bacon and Tommy's in the bedroom with the bed tray.

Tommy holds up a hand against Buck's protest that he's not hungry. "I know. But you really should eat something. Please?"

Buck sighs, wipes his hands along his still damp cheeks. "Okay."

They manage a few bites each and Buck notices the sadness on Tommy's face.

"You lost him too," Buck says softly.

Tommy looks at him. "I was never as close to him as you were, but yeah, he did...he did a lot for me. More than I ever had the chance to thank him for. I'm going to miss him."

Buck sobs. "I miss him so much."

Tommy moves the tray onto the top of the dresser, then pulls Buck into his arms, lays with him as Buck cries. He feels the way Tommy's tears drip onto his face too and that makes him cry harder.

At some point, their crying stops and they just hold each other.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other. Buck has no idea how long this is going to feel as awful as it does.

But he's glad he's not alone.

[wosospacegirl]

fever - kika nazareth

Summary: Kika is sick, and Y/n is falling in love

Word count: 1.2k

Masterlist

a/n: This is a schedule post. I had this fic lying around, but I forgot in what doc it was 💀💀💀

..

It started at training.

Kika had shown up looking ridiculously good–her hair in a messy ponytail, flushed cheeks, sleeves pushed up, all effortless and pretty and… hot. Like, really hot.

Y/n had genuinely stopped in the middle of a rondo to stare. Pina even smacked the back of her head when she lost possession of the ball to the other team… but Y/n couldn’t help it. It had been four whole days since she’d last seen Kika.

Kika had gone on a trip back to Portugal to see her family. She got some time off and decided to enjoy it back in her homeland.

Unfortunately, Kika didn’t think about how much it would affect Y/n… poor girl was getting sadder and sadder each day.

“She looks so pretty,” Y/n whispered to Alexia during their water break, eyes fixed across the pitch as Kika talked with the manager.

“Um… no,” Alexia muttered back. “She looks like she’s about to pass out.”

Y/n blinked. “What?”

But before Y/n could make sense of that, Kika began coughing–a lot. Romeu even put a hand on her back, either for comfort or to actually help.

And then came the sneezes. Y/n counted seven, while Alexia counted eight.

When Kika was done, the tips of her ears were red and her forehead was shiny with sweat, as if coughing and sneezing had taken a toll on her body.

“Flu season,” Alexia said. “She’s probably burning up.”

Y/n, still in complete denial, shook her head. “Nah. She just has... allergies.”

“She just sneezed again,” Alexia said, deadpan, pointing to Kika, who’d just been handed a paper towel to clean her nose.

“I think it was more like a… new form of communication she’s trying.”

“Her neck is red.”

“She’s just—radiating energy.”

“Nena,” Alexia said, now more impatient. “She’s not radiating energy. She’s radiating a fever.”

Y/n gave one last look at Kika, and yeah… she looked bad. The assistant managers had just walked her off the pitch into the hallway that led to the locker room. Guess no training for Kikinha today.

The reason Y/n absolutely didn’t want to believe Kika was sick?

They were supposed to have a date today.

Not a romantic one–just… casual.

A friends-with-benefits-who-are-hungry-and-go-out-to-an-Italian-place kind of date.

But now that Kika seemed to have lost one of her lungs, it looked like those plans were about to change.

Y/n ended up volunteering–casually, definitely not suspiciously–to check in on Kika for the rest of the team.

Kika didn’t even argue when Y/n knocked on the door and let herself into the locker room.

She was slumped on the bench, hoodie pulled over her training kit, legs curled up under her like a sleepy cat.

Her nose was pink. Her eyes looked glassy. Her hair was still in that hot, messy ponytail.

“Hi,” Y/n said, trying to sound casual. Normal. Not worried. Not in love.

Kika sniffled. “Hi.” Her voice was so raspy it made Y/n wince.

“You dying?”

“No, I’m fine,” Kika mumbled, swaying a little as she stood in front of her locker. 

“You’re not,” Y/n said, one hand hovering behind her back in case she stumbled again. “And you’re, like, weirdly warm. I thought it was because you looked… good. But I think you’re just ill.”

Kika gave her a sleepy smile. “You thought I looked good?”

Y/n, tragically, had no comeback. Not a single sarcastic one. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s a little bit the point,” Kika teased, before groaning and pressing a hand to her head.

“You’ve been gone for four days,” Y/n mumbled, brushing a hand over Kika’s back. “I was gonna take you out tonight.”

“Ugh,” Kika groaned. “The pasta.”

“I know. I had my outfit picked and everything.”

Kika sniffled again, tugging Y/n’s sleeve and curling into her more. “I can still go.”

“You can’t even stand.”

“Carry me?”

“No.”

“Piggyback?”

“No.”

“Stretcher?”

Y/n laughed soflty. “You’re delirious.”

Kika turned her face into Y/n’s shoulder. “I’m touch-starved and flu-ridden.”

“I’m taking you home” Y/n finally said, helping her sit up. “No training. No pasta. Just meds, soup, and me bossing you around.”

“Hot,” Kika whispered.

“You are hot,” Y/n mumbled, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Let’s make a quick stop at the infirmary.”

The nurse confirmed it–Kika had a fever of 38.4°C and was sent home with strict instructions to rest.

Y/n, ever the idiot-in-love, offered to stay with her. You know… in case she fell or needed something.

..

That night, Kika was curled up on the sofa with a blanket over her legs, hair messy and cheeks pink, sniffling into a tissue and blinking up at Y/n like she’d never been more adorable.

“Still think I’m hot?” she croaked, voice all raspy.

Y/n handed her water with pink ears. “Honestly? You’re sweating and your nose is red and I think I’m even more into you.”

Kika smiled so softly it made Y/n’s chest ache. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Y/n said. “And you’re sick.”

Kika was not usually clingy.  At least, not like this.

Normally, she was composed and soft-spoken–the kind of affectionate that snuck up on you: gentle touches, shy smiles, casual thigh presses on the bench.

But whatever virus had taken over her body had apparently also overridden her emotional regulation.

Because now she was sprawled across Y/n’s lap like a cat, sniffly and half-asleep, one arm wrapped stubbornly around her waist.

“I don’t wanna move,” she mumbled, nuzzling into Y/n’s hoodie like it was a pillow. “You’re comfy.”

Y/n blinked at the wall, hands hovering awkwardly above her. “Okay but… I need to pee.”

“No,” Kika said firmly, burrowing closer. “Stay.”

“This isn’t fair,” Y/n muttered. “You’re burning up, you’re sweaty, and you still smell good. How is that even possible?”

Kika just made a sleepy little noise and tightened her grip.

Y/n had never taken care of a sick person before. She was the one who usually got looked after–stubborn and grumpy when ill, but quietly appreciating the attention.

This?

This clingy, feverish Kika who wanted nothing but popcorn–for some unknown reason–cuddles, and her presence at all times? She didn’t know what to do with it.

“Should I, like… make soup?” Y/n asked out loud.

Kika whined. “No, I don’t like soup.”

“I think sick people need soup, though.”

“Don’t go.”

“I have to get up and make something for you to eat, bebé–like real food.”

“No.”

Kika pulled the blanket up over both of them and held her tighter. “Soup later. You now.”

Y/n’s heart physically ached. “You’re so clingy,” she whispered, brushing sweaty hair off Kika’s forehead. “I didn’t know you got like this when you get sick.”

She ended up texting Alexia, after 30 minutes of staying perfectly still while Kika clung to her even more.

Y/n: what do i do when she’s sick and clingy and adorable and i think i might die

Alexia: You hold her and kiss her dumb forehead and accept your fate.

Y/n: I dont think i ever got to this part before

Alexia: welcome to being in love

Y/n stared at the screen, then at the girl drooling slightly on her hoodie. 

Yeah. She was doomed.

..

Hope you guys liked it!! <3

[deepspacedarling]

HIYAA, so i saw your post abt getting into an argument with the LAD boys and was wondering if you could maybe do an extended version of everything but it ends in fluff? Obviously you don’t do all the boys, you can choose who you want to write it for. Thats alll BYYEEE

Making Up with the LADS Boys

Warning: None

AN: I was hoping someone would ask for this. Angst always makes me sad and if no one asked for this I was going to have to take matters into my own hands and write you guys making up.

Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

Pt 1. How the LADS Boys Argue with You

Xavier

He still doesn't understand why you're upset with him. He still thinks he's right. But he acknowledges that he upset you and he wants to fix that. He loves you so much and you mean the world to him.

He might go to Jeremiah and ask for a second opinion to see if he's actually in the wrong. Whether he was or wasn't, he'll ask how he can make you feel better and resolve the issue.

He doesn't like going to bed angry with you. He'll spend the whole night figuring this out with you if he has to. Once the matter is resolved and you're both snuggled up close again together, he feels like everything is finally okay again.

Zayne

You guys don't go more than a day after the argument without him trying to come to you and resolve the issue. He doesn't like being upset with you and he knows that you feel the same. You're both calm rational adults. You can figure this out together.

Now that he's had a moment to calm down, he thinks over and over again about what he needs to say to you. He's got a whole script in his head to tell you how sorry he is and get his initial thoughts from the fight across without upsetting you. That all kind of goes out the window when you two start talking and he starts to flounder.

He's not the best with his words. He'll stumble during the conversation but he's earnest in his want to find a compromise with you. You two will get past this, he'll make sure of it.

Rafayel

Poor Thomas has to listen to him complain about your argument for HOURS. When Thomas finally tells him to go fix it, he grumbles and goes home. He'll come slinking into the house and you'll both eye each other warily to see if one of you is going to start arguing again before eventually he sighs and sits down. He's not getting up until this is fixed or you hurt his feeling again.

He'll apologize for hurting your feelings. He always tends to go for the jugular when he's upset and he knows that it hurts you when he acts like that. He didn't mean what he said but he knows it hurt you anyway so he's sorry.

He'll make sure repeatedly that you're not still upset with him after you both find a compromise. He doesn't want you to leave him so he'll do what he must to keep you even if that means admitting he was wrong.

Sylus

Initially, he'll try to buy your happiness back. Of course you'll stop being mad if he gets you that new car you wanted or that diamond necklace you were looking at. But then he realizes it isn't working and he has to shift gears.

He'll sit you down and listen to what you have to say. There's a long moment afterwards of him just thinking. He's not really the type of give in unless he's getting something out of it. He'll carefully maneuver the conversation so that you can find a happy medium. He's not willing to start a fight again but he's not willing to just give in either.

Once it's all said and done, he's happy with the result. He wants you to stay with him so he'll play nice even if it means he doesn't 100% get what he wants. What you want is important to to keep your relationship healthy.

Caleb

He'll do anything to get you to stop being angry with him. You don't understand. His brain is already conjuring up ideas of you leaving him. Of him coming home and your things are gone and he never sees you again.

He's much more receptive to your point of view once he's scared himself enough. He's still not 100% on board with your side of the argument but he's willing to compromise if it means you stay with him.

Once you've smiled at him and found a happy medium, he can finally breath again. You're going to stay with him. He's going to be okay. He needs to make sure that this argument never happens again. He'll do what he has to to ensure it doesn't.

Requests are Open!

[cxrsed-angel]

Things Unsaid| (qz!joel miller x fem!reader)

wc: 6k

warnings: angst, fluff, and smut. emotionally constipated joe, age difference/gap. unprotected sex, oral!fem receiving, medically inaccurate wound and injury description (sorry i wasnt that interested in looking it up) protective guard dog joel. alcohol consumption

a/n: this has been in my drafts since s1 was released i think this was inspired by ep 1/2 so its longed over due with posting this

summary: protective joel confronts you when you return from a run late and injured.

You're supposed to be back from your run a couple of hours ago, but running into a few runners and FEDRA pushed you slightly off schedule. You walk into your apartment, ready to wash up, change into comfortable clothes, and go straight to sleep. As you walk in, you see a figure sitting on your couch in the dark, immediately raising your suspicions. You reach for your knife instinctively, ready to stab whoever had broken into your place, but you stop, recognizing it is just Joel, for whatever reason. 

Joel had been waiting for a few hours, and as each hour passed, he got more worried and more stressed. He thought about if you had been caught by Fedra for smuggling, were you in jail? He didn't even want to think about the possibility that you had been bitten; he knew you would immediately kill yourself, knowing you wouldn't let yourself turn. He couldn't stomach the thought of you being out there, dead, alone, and he would never know. He knew you and him were just fooling around and that he was one the repeating it was nothing serious, but lately, he had started to care about more than he was willing to admit if he was being honest. He started to repeat more so to remind himself. That it wasn't serious. He was nothing more than an old man you'd fuck for reasons unknown to him. Despite the fact that he was definitely feeling things he hadn't felt in a long time. 

When he sees you enter, he's immediately met with a wave of relief and probably a hundred other emotions he can't name or explain. At the very least, he knows you're alive, but quickly replaced with anger and annoyance. 

“Where the hell have you been!” his voice booms through the previously silent apartment, laced with irritation, annoyance, and strictness. He looms over you with his broad and large frame. 

You watch as he stands up from the shitty couch from the 80s most of the apartments get. You take a minute to look at him before rolling your eyes at his attempt to intimidate you. You sigh, setting the knife you had almost stabbed him with on the old wooden table in the middle of your kitchen. You really aren't in the mood for Joel yelling at you for no reason. You never answered to him before, and you sure as hell wasn't gonna start now. 

Joel remains standing, his arms folding in front of him, as he looks at you, waiting for an answer.  "Well?" he asks again, this time with a lower volume, but still his voice is strict and low. 

You sigh again, tired. Tired because the whole smuggle run your partner 20 something year old asshole who kept trying to hit on you. Tired because you had to take a different route back into the QZ because FEDRA was at the usual entrance. Tired because even after that you were still caught by FEDRA and previously mentioned asshole just ran, leaving you. Tired because FEDRA took advantage of the fact that your "guard dog" Joel wasn't there and decided to rough you a bit. Maybe more than a bit. There were 3 or 4 of them, too many for you to take all at once. They beat you up pretty badly, You knew they weren't going to hurt you up too badly or all hell would break loose. You're so caught off guard by his presence but also confused as to why he was even there in the first place. 

“Joel what the fuck are you doing in my apartment? And why the hell are you yelling at me?” you ask just as pissed off as Joel, you take your shoes off, and set your pack down by the couch looking at him for a bit, but he just stares back not saying you anything.  "Well, if you aren't gonna speak…" You mutter, turning to go down the hallway to go to your bathroom, when you feel his large, calloused hand on your arm, pulling you back to him. You turn and face him as you eyebrows frown staring back at him really pissed off now.

“You didnt answer my goddamn question.” He grumbled, his voice still low as you looked back at you. He didn't raise his voice this time but you could tell his was upset, you couldnt tell what pissed he was at, but it was written all over his face. 

You didn't understand. It wasn't like you guys were a couple; it really wasn't any of his business. You were confused. You never acted this way when he came back late from a run.

“You knew I went on a run, not that I have to answer to you.” You snap back, hoping he would drop it, but you knew he was more stubborn than that. You try to walk away again, but his grip on your arm doesn't loosen. You sigh and stare at him, waiting for him to say what his problem is.

He stares at you, glaring, “You still haven't said why you were so damn late. Did something happen?” He raises his voice at you more, frustrated, Youre still unsure what has him so pissed but you tired and you didnt need joel berating you so late at night on top of the already shitty night you were having.

“Look, Joel! I’ve had a rough night already, with the douchebag I got paired with, having to come in a different route, and getting beat up by FEDRA. So the last thing I needed you bitching at me over nothing so please drop it. Promise you can yell at me in the morning for whatever reason. But right now, my face hurts like a bitch, so please, please just….drop it!” You plead, hoping the little outburst convinced him to leave you alone and go back to his apartment. 

But you're met with a blank expression for a moment. Then you see his eyebrows scrunch up, and you watch as the anger dissipates from his face as he takes in all of what you had just said. 

He looks at you, slowly reaching your face. You let his calloused hand hold your chin softly, lifting it to the window, looking at your face in the light, trying to gauge how badly you got beat up. He looks closely, noticing the small cuts and purple bruising forming on your cheek, yet the way your face illuminates in the moonlight, he still thinks you look beautiful regardless. He was pissed at the fact that someone had hurt you, but his concern was stronger. He stays silent, not saying a word as he examines your face. 

His brows frown as he breaks the silence that the two of you have been sitting in for the past few minutes. 

“You got beat up darlin'?” He asks softly, like your mini rant from earlier just sunk in. You hear his voice soften as he says the pet name, making you flustered and catching you off guard. 

Normally, he would only call you names like that when you were in bed, and he was ball deep inside you. A few grunts of "right there sweetheart" or a "I'm bout to baby," in that deep southern voice. You always knew it was just the heat of the moment, especially because he never took it out of the bedroom, and you never questioned it. You knew what your arrangement was. You both agreed to just a friends with benefits situation, so you never brought it up. 

You didn't understand the flip, from yelling at you the second you entered your apartment to softly holding your face and calling you darling. Maybe on a different day, you'd savor the moment of affection, but tonight, you couldn't handle the mental ping-pong, back and forth. 

“Joel, I can't do this back and forth tonight. Are you pissed? Are you not pissed? I don't have the energy for it.” You tell him, and he notices the exhaustion in your voice. He doesn't say anything, which you took as a sign of him dropping it. He stands up and goes to the bathroom, comes back with the medical supplies you were going to grab earlier, and pulls a chair up as you sit down at the table. He sits down in front of you, close to you, his knees brushing against yours. Making your face feel warm, but you couldn't tell if it was from the bruises or his proximity. You watch him put rubbing alcohol on a clean towel as he reaches to hold your face again. 

“Come here, let me see,” he spoke softly as he sat in a chair. 

“I can do it, Joel,” you muttered quietly. You didn't want him to take care of you. To clean your wounds, or maybe to see the small knife wound that was on your side. Either way, you didn't need him taking care of you. You pull back slightly and make an attempt to grab the alcohol to clean the cuts yourself, but he pulls it out of reach.

“Just let me see, let me do it,” he insists again, and this time, you give up, not having another fight in you. You nod, agreeing, allowing him to clean your cuts. He lets out a small sigh "so damn stubborn." He mutters under his breath as he helps you take off your jacket. 

You cringe, remembering that you may or may not have been stabbed slightly by one of the FEDRA guards. You didn't forget about it, you felt the stinging pain since it happened, but you didn't expect Joel to be here. You close your eyes, knowing he's going see the bruises and wounds you got from FEDRA. Seeing the stain of blood from the stab. 

Joel hangs your jacket over the chair. He slowly lifts your shirt up, gently helping it up over your head, and sets it with your jacket. You sit in the chair in your sports bra, trying to come up with something to say. 

"At least take a girl out before getting her naked." You joke, hoping to ease the tension and hoping it will make him less mad when he sees the bloody bandage you hastily wrapped around your torso, but you are wrong. 

“Who did this!? Was this FEDRA? Where was that little shit you were paired with while you were getting beat up!” his voice was stern as he yells. His intense stare never leaves the wound on your side. Joel slowly removes the bandage, seeing where you had been stabbed by FEDRA. Joel immediately saw red when he saw it. It wasn't very deep or fatal. He knew you were gonna live, but it didn't mean he was okay with it. He wished he knew what guard did this, he wanted to know who he had to go beat up.

“Joel-” you try to calm him, to tell him to let it go, but it wasn't worth it, you know if you told him anything about the guy who did it he would go out on a man hut which you didnt want, but he insisted asking again.

“Who?” He was trying to be calm and not start shouting, but it was still obvious how mad he was. He knew you could handle yourself, but that didn't make it easier when you got hurt when he wasn't there. He heard from Tess what time you were supposed to be back. When you were an hour late he started to think the worse, if you had come back any later he would’ve been out there searching for you, he would go through all of Boston if he needed to. He knew your situation was just casual, but it didn't stop him from worrying about you.

“It doesn't matter,” you said exhaustedly. He sees it in your face how tired you are, and he finally listens for the first time tonight and drops it. He removes the bandage you sloppily put on it. It looked pretty bad if you were being honest, considering the quick wrap-up you did just so you could get home. You watch his eyebrows frown as he continues to stare at it. “You’ve had this the whole time.” his eyebrows raise as he questions, but you just close your eyes and nod.

He grabs some alcohol and a cloth. “This is gonna hurt, ” you nod and lean your head against your arm on the table. He puts some of the alcohol on to a cloth, you felt the burning sensation once he puts it on the wound.

You curse as the burning continues, instinctively grabbing his arm, squeezing it in pain. Your eyes shut as you try to calm down, but it is just too much. You try to take deep breaths, but it doesn't help much. You bit down on your lip, hoping it would be over soon.

“I know, baby, I know. 'M almost done.” Your heart warms at the pet name again, it takes your mind off of how painful it was. Deep down, you know it didn't hold any meaning or weight. He probably just said it, paying no mind to it, just trying to calm you, or so you tell yourself. When he finally finishes, wrapping it much better than you did before. You watch him put the medical kit back, and you grab a bottle of whiskey you assumed he had while he waited for you and take a couple of large sips. You intended to drink your weight in whiskey until black out and forget about this whole night. 

Joel glances over his shoulder, turns around, and sees you practically chugging the bottle of whiskey. He takes it away from your lips. “Alright, alright, that’s enough.” He puts the alcohol away and finishes putting the stuff away.

You frown your eyebrows at him for taking the bottle away and grab the bottle back to drink it, enjoying the burning sensation that hits the back of your throat. 

“It’s my booze. I smuggled it to drink it, not sit on the counter and stare at it.” You snap a bit before taking another large sip. Right now, it was the only thing that could make the pain disappear and take your mind off Joel being so caring and calling you baby. Maybe if you drink enough, you can stop your stomach from doing flips at the thought of him calling your baby. Or you can stop the achy feeling in your core every time Joel touches you tonight. You feel yourself getting more worked up, turned on as you think back to his hand on your jaw and your cheek. Him calling you baby, darlin', his attractive southern drawl each time he said it.

You take another big gulp of the whiskey, but again you feel the bottle rip away from your lips again by his large hand, some of the liquid spills down your chin and your chest.

“Okay, well ya don’t need to finish it one day. Had more than enough.” Joel scolds you lightly as he sets the bottle on the counter in the kitchen and grabs a towel to clean your face; again, he brings his hands on your chin, cleaning the whiskey off your chin. Making you warm again.

You look at him for a minute before getting up from the table and changing into more comfortable clothes in your bedroom. You return back to the living room and sit on the couch, starting to feel the alcohol’s effects. Joel comes and sits next to you, sighing a bit. 

“Look sweetheart I-I uh I’m sorry about earlier. It’s none of my business why you were so late coming back hom-here.” He hopes you didnt catch how he almost said home, but he figured you were too drunk or tipsy to notice.

You snuggle up against him starting to doze off “I was fine, you worry too much old man, it’s why you’re turning gray” You reach up and play with his hair for a couple of minutes before he gently grabs your wrist and put down in your lap he felt himself warm up trying not to get flustered, but he knew you were just drunk and affectionate.

“Darlin', I’m bein' serious-” he goes to say more, but you interrupted him.

“I am too. I’m sorry I made you worry tonight I just didn’t plan for-”

He sighs and cutting you off this time. “I know just don’t like seeing you bloody and hurt” you lay your head against his shoulder and close your eyes, you felt your heart beat faster from being so close to him, you knew it was the alcohol but you felt fuzzy and warm inside, you smiled slightly before trying to hide it. “I know Joel. I’ll be more careful.”

Joel looks down as you place yourself against his shoulder, getting more comfortable leaning against him. He covers you a bit more with the blanket and is quiet for a few minutes before he speaks.

“I-I haven’t felt this in a long time and I can’t handle losing you I-uh-it scared the shit out of me when you didnt come back I thought-I-just couldnt handle something happening and not being there for you. Joel looked down trying to see your face, what your reaction was, but all he saw was you asleep on his shoulder. He sighs and laughs to himself. “Yea she would be asleep right now.” He taps your arm gently, waking you.

“Come on, let’s go to bed, darlin'.”

You frown at him waking you up, feeling your head spin a little, and finding it hard to focus. “I think I drank a little too much,” you slurred as you see him smile,e laughing at you, only a little bit. He watches as you blink slowly, trying to get your bearings.

“Yea don’t know why you drunk straight whiskey like that.” he’s never seen you drink like that. You usually don't allow yourself to get drunk, always saying you couldn't afford to be, having to be alert at all times, and he didn't blame you.

“To make the pain go away,” you respond with a slight attitude, like it was obvious. You go to stand up but lose your balance, falling to the floor. Joel sighs and helps you up. His hand grabs your waist to hold you up. You lean more of your body weight on him as he helps you over to the bed.

“Come on, I need to get you to bed,” he says softly, and he tries to lay you down on your bed. He watches as you try to stand up on your own but fail again, and then he places a hand on your hip, steadying you.

You smile and caress your hand along his chest poorly, not having the best coordination, but it was clear to Joel you were trying to be sexy. “Are you trying to get in my pants again, Texas?” You smile up, looking at him with big eyes, hoping the answer is yes.

“No trying to get you to sleep,” he says flatly as he tries to get you off of him. Joel didn't expect you to care but he realized he was wrong when tears start to form in your eyes, he looks down at you confusion falls over his face as you pout and more tears starting to fall more.

“You aren’t-you don’t want to fuck me anymore is it-it’s because-do you not like me anymore.” you babble through your cries as Joel helps, leading you to your bed as he holds you up. A hand on your lower back, he won't lie, he doesn't think he's ever seen you cry like this, it had caught him off guard. Seeing you emotional and vulnerable for the first time. But then again, he wasn't the most open guy either.

“N-No darling… its because you’re drunk off your ass, ask me again when you're sober I’ll say yes,” he said softly, trying to calm you as he lays you down on the bed, wiping wipes the tears that were on your cheeks with his rough hand. You gaze up at him as you relax into the bed.

You swallow hard, trying to stop the tears. “You promise?” you ask, sobbing as you lay on the bed. Laying your head on the pillow for a few seconds before sitting back up to look at him. Eyes watery and teary. Deep down, you feared that once he stopped sleeping with you, he would stop talking to you and hanging out with you, and you thought that fear was coming true tonight. You knew you were just sleeping together, nothing more, but you’d take that; it was better than him not being in your life at all.

Joels stares back softening his gaze. He nods as as he reassures, “I promise, sweetheart, just go to sleep.” Once he was sure he was in the bed and comfortable, he turned to leave and went to sleep on the couch. But your voice stopped him. you grab his wrist softly, not wanting him to leave.

“You’re gonna lay down, too, right?” you ask quietly, looking up at him. He could tell you were still unsure. That there was still some doubt. It catches Joel by surprise, he usually didn't sleep in your bed. If he did, it was more out of convenience, not on purpose. But he was always glad when you did ask. He always slept better next to you. He comes back to the bed and lies down next to you. he didn't want to overstep or make you uncomfortable, so he tries to lay down a bit far, not wanting to cuddle against you. “Of course. Now get some sleep.”

He watches as you slept next to him, cuts scattered around your face. He wondered how you got them all. He felt bad you never got to experience being carefree and young, going out with friends, drinking having fun, instead you had to deal with this shit since you were young. You had lived in this world longer than before it was like this. You didn't have time to enjoy it and be a kid. He knew you had to grow up super fast. He didn't even want to think about how you said you’ve been on your own since you were 13 and what you must've gone through by yourself.

When Joel is sure you are asleep, he slowly leaves your bed, grabs his jacket, and puts his shoes on before leaving your apartment. He knew you said to drop it but he couldnt, he couldnt let them get away with hurting you. he went out asking around it only took about a hour to find out the FEDRA officers that were on duty during the time you were out, within two hours he had found the agent who stabbed you by bribes and threats. He went over and made it clear that no one should lay a finger on you again.

You wake up feeling the bright sun shining through the windows and a sharp pain all over. Your head is pounding, and you don't want to leave the warmth and comfort of your bed. You slowly roll over, looking at the empty space next to you. You swear Joel was next to you when you were falling asleep. Maybe you were dreaming or just wishful thinking. 

You wake up seeing Joel enter your room. He sits on the bed with a new bandage and better disinfectant than the alcohol last night in hand. “Hey, here’s some aspirin and some other stuff I stole from the medical building. I'll ask Tess to stitch you up, okay?” He tells you as he starts to clean your wound until you stop up.

“I can do it myself,” you mumble as you reach out for the stuff wincing as your arms stretch. He hands you the aspirin and water, rolling his eyes at how stubborn you are. Joel watches as you struggle to sit up to take the aspirin. He thought about how different it was seeing you be more vulnerable and emotional last night when you were drunk. Letting him help you in bed, asking him to lay with you, dropping your guard, and letting him in a little. But it was short-lived. In the morning, you're back, guarding your emotions and shutting him out. He couldn't blame you, though he was just as guarded as you.

“Shut up, you can barely raise your arms.” You know he was right; it was more painful and sore than last night. You reluctantly let him lift your shirt up so he could change the bandage and clean it. 

Once he’s done changing the bandage, Joel sees your face in the sunlight and feels sick once he sees your black eye, mad at himself for not protecting you, for not being there with you, for letting them hurt your pretty face. He wished he was there, he knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. But beating up that officer last night made him feel better.

“I didnt know you had a black eye, couldn't see it last night.” he mutters as he held your face between his fingers, examining it more.

You feel yourself get warmer with him being so close, you smile at the comment. “It would explains why my face hurts like a bitch.” Trying to lighten the mood, but you could tell he was pissed. He doesn't respond or laugh, he just continues looking at the face to see anything else he might’ve missed last night.

“Yea, well, the aspirin should help. Wish we had ice or something,” he said dryly, not finding your comedic relief funny. His glare was still strong.

“Sorry, I was very drunk last night. Im sure I said some dumb shit haven't gotten that drunk since i was young.” You don’t remember much after falling asleep on the couch, but you knew you were touchy and more sensitive when you were drunk. You weren’t sure if you had told him something you would regret, but Joel didn’t say or act differently, so you assumed it was fine.

Joel ignores the first part, focusing on you saying when you were young. He scoffs. “You're in your twenties, you are young,” he responds dryly. You could tell he was still upset at the state you were in. You're trying to make him feel slightly better about it, but it hasn't worked so far.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot I was talking to someone who was alive when dinosaurs were still around.” You joke, but he doesn't react. He continues, finishing cleaning your wound, and his hand comes up holding your face. You feel his rough hands rub against your cheek. You see the cuts on his knuckles, and by how fresh they are, you assume he had gotten back at FEDRA this morning. He holds your face in his hands. It was quiet for a few minutes before Joel spoke up.

“I'm sorry I wasn't there, baby. I—” You were caught off guard by his affectionate action as he caressed your face. You stared back into his brown eyes. You saw how he was looking at you. It was softer. He looked at you like you had never seen before, and you didn’t know what it meant.

“Joel-” you feel the heat rise on your face; you look at him, staring at his eyes, the wrinkles from the years, scars and cuts on his face. His brown eyes and greying beard. You're silent for a few minutes before you feel your mouth opening 

“You're so pretty,” you mutter quietly, saying the first thing that comes to mind. 

You see his lips smile for the first time today, “I think you're prettier, sweetheart.” You stare at his lips for a second before slowly leaning forward, pressing your lips onto his, and you feel his lips follow. You close your eyes as you relax against him. You’ve kissed him before, but only during sex. It was quick and messy, and you both knew it was just the heat of the moment. You’ve never kissed him like this, you could tell it meant more. It was slower, not fueled by lust.

You feel him pull away first. You panic, thinking he is going to be mad. He could tell by your wide eyes. He shakes his head slightly, reassuring you before kissing you again. You feel Joel slowly moving, joining you on your bed and lying next to you. 

He leans over to continue kissing you, but you put your hands on his chest, stopping him. You couldn’t handle having sex with him as just a casual thing anymore, it was too much. It would hurt more when he would go and sleep with other people you couldn’t do it anymore. You were scared that he wouldn't want anything to do with you after, but it more knowing it didnt mean anything more.

“Um Joel if we- um-if we do this, I can only do this if it’s more than casual. I know you've probably been sleeping with other people and I’m not mad or anything I know what we agreed but um I like you, have liked you for a while now and I can’t do this knowing it’s just a friend with benefits situation.” You swallow nervously, not knowing what he is going to say. You fiddle with your finger as you stare down at the sheets, too nervous to meet his eye. A part of you was waiting for him to say he’s not interested, that you’re just a good fuck and reliable outside the walls, nothing more. That he didn't have any feelings for you.

But he proves you wrong. You feel his face caress your face, making you look at him. “Sweetheart, I haven’t slept with anyone since I started sleeping with you.”

Your eyebrows rise in shock. You haven’t slept with anyone either, knowing you couldn’t be with anyone but him, but it still surprises you. He smiles at your face. “What thought I was sleeping with everyone in the QZ?" he teases, making you laugh. 

You know him well enough to know he very rarely lets people get closer enough to fuck them you just thought him and tess would be. “No, no, just thought you and Tess-” but he cuts you with a quick shake of his head.

“No, not in a long time. Before I even met you, and we're better off as friends.” He says quietly as he stares at you intensely and you gaze back at him. He leans forward and pressing his lip onto yours again, kissing you softly, you close your eyes as you feel his hand cupping your face. You're nervous, feeling your body getting warmer in excitement. You wrap your hands around his waist, pulling him closer to you. His lips parted, allowing you to slip your tongue in. You grab his waist and lie down, trying to pull him on top of you, needing to be closer to him. Your back hits the bed gently, and you expect his lips to follow yours, but he stays hovering above you.

You open your eyes and frown your eyebrows, looking at him, confused as to why he stopped kissing you. He looks at you before glancing to your side where your wound was, and then you understand. He didn't want to put too much weight on you while you were hurt. You reach your hands up to his hair, running your finger through it. “You're not gonna hurt me, Texas, I swear,” you say quietly, reassuring him.

He looks at you, then to your side one more, still hesitant. You hear him sigh before he leans down to kiss your forehead. “Alright, but I’m being gentle, nothing too rough.” He sits up and starts unbuttoning his flannel, admiring himself as he does so.

“Aww, I really wanted you to throw me around and tie me up. Maybe slap me around,” You joke, your voice laced with sarcasm. You watch as he stops unbuttoning his shirt to give you his famous deadpan stare. Not a hint of amusement in his voice before he continues to take his shirt off as he rolls his eyes at your joke.

“Shut up," he shakes his head. Give me an IOU on throwing you around, okay?" 

You nod, laughing, getting more turned on at the thought of him "throwing you around." You run a hand down his stomach before grabbing his waist again and pulling him onto your lips, making him hover over you again. His fingers unzip your shorts and pull them down with your underwear, you kick them off.

You think he is gonna come back to kiss you but your surprised when he starts kissing your stomach, getting lower and lower till he reaches where you need him most, you feel place soft kisses on your clit, before licking it a couple of times, you whimper as you feel your hips shudder under the pleasure. 

"Joel," you moan as he eats you out, his hands spreading your thighs. Your eyes roll back, moaning as you feel his large fingers thrust inside you, replacing his tongue. 

"Gonna cum baby?" 

You nod as he returns going back, licking your folds. You grab his hair, lightly tugging on it, getting his attention.

He looks up at you raising his eyebrows “what?” you lose your train of thought when feeling his finger lightly stroking your clit, you let out another moan before finally being able to piece your sentence together. “Joel I need you to fuck me please” you begged more disparate than you would admit, you see him smile and lean down kissing your clit on more time, before you watch him take off his jeans and boxers. You see his hard cock, admiring for a moment feel yourself getting wetter.

You cant’t take your eyes of him, desperately wanting him in your mouth, you know he probably wouldn’t want you because your wound but it was worth a try, when comes back over to you, you reach out stroking his cock and batting your eye lashes “Joel can I suck you off please.” you tried buttering him up hoping you jerking him off would forget about your injury. He watch as he slowly came undone as your hand began speeding up, but it wasn’t enough.

“No,” he answered flatly before letting out a quiet moan, you pout a little before he places a quick kiss on your lips. “you’re lucky i’m fucking you don’t push it, you can suck my dick youre healed l” you nodded disappointedly but you knew it was long shot. You continue moving your hand slowly up and down on his cock. he moans louder, he removes your hand and moves so he’s hovering over you while you lay down against the bed. He brings two fingers up to your mouth, having you suck on them before pushing them into your cunt, his fingers spread you open as the curl inside you. Feeling your wetness drip down his fingers as he increased his speed fucking his fingers a little faster.

“Joel…please need you,” you whine as you feel yourself tighten around his fingers. You squeeze your eyes shut as you bite your lip as his fingers get you closer to your release. Your hand grabs his wrist, holding onto it for support. You feel his other hand come to your clit, slowly rubbing circles as your hips jerk up because of his touch.

“c’mon baby can feel you’re close aren’t you, c’mon sweetheart cum on my fingers.” you feel him speed up his finger a bit more as you moan at his words. You moan out his name probably too loud considering how thin the QZ wall are but you didn’t care, too focused on you that pleasure as you cum onto his fingers. You open your eyes as you come down from your release. You watch as Joel slowly removes his finger from you and puts them into his mouth, making you whine.

“Joel please I need you, please fuck me.” you watch as he smile slightly before he placed his lips on yours. Leaning over you more as your hand comes up to his waist. He removes his lips from yours.

"This is gonna be different,” was all he said before returning his lips back on yours.

You knew what he meant, you knew he didnt want to be like all the other times, when you just had a quick fuck before going about the rest of your day, no post-sex cuddles or pillow talk. He wanted to take his time, appreciate you and your body unlike before. Show you that you were more than just a fuck buddy.

You nod as he leans down and kisses you, slowly for a few seconds before pulling away. “So fucking beautiful sweetheart." your face heats up at the compliment, you feel the head of his cock slips into your wet folds. Your eyes flutter closed as his slowly and gently pushes deeper inside you. 

"Joel." you moan, as your nails dig into his shoulders, feeling him. 

"Fuck baby so tight. Can't believe you thought id fuck any other pussy." he moans moving slowly inside you, careful not to hurt you. Digging your nails into his shoulders. "Joel. Joel. Joel." You moan as he continues thrusting his thick cock deep inside you, slow and gentle and perfect, bringing you to your release. Joel follows closely behind, cumming inside you. 

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily with you. You bring your hand to the back of his head, running your finger through his curls with a content smile. He kisses your forehead, resting there for a few seconds before slowly slipping out from inside, causing you both to moan a bit. Joel lays down next to you, pulling you under his arm. 

"How ya feeling?" he asks softly, almost in a whisper. 

"Im fine relax, your dick is good miller but not good enough to reinjured my stab wound." You tease as Joel purses his lips as he stares at you, his cheeks turning a bit red. 

"Didnt hear ya complain' 5 minutes ago." He turns, lying on his side, back turned to you, but you know it's just so his good ear can be unhindered by the pillow. You lie down slowly, wrapping your arms around his back, being the "big spoon." He rubs your hand as it lands across his stomach. 

"Not complaining, just saying." He sighs, letting out a small chuckle. 

"Just take a nap. I'll ask Tess 'bout more painkillers, okay?"  You nod, resting your head against his back, closing your eyes. 

"Okay, but know that I 'm still holding onto the IOU about throwing me around Texas."

"Shut the hell up, you're ridiculous." He's quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Bring it up in two weeks, and I'll think about it.

[sixth-light]

A few more musings on The Thing, the nature of fandom, and the future of the show

I'm not here to tell anybody what they're feeling or why they're feeling it, but for me, one of the reasons I feel very sad about Siuan is that, yeah, her book arc post-the Coup is...pretty grim taken in whole, and part of a pattern in the later series of powerful women being humiliated and forced into heteronormative boxes. But it is also an arc that had immense never-quite-realised potential - the potential for someone to be thrown from most powerful person in the world to rock bottom and come back from it in an empowering way. Even the Gareth Bryne romance had that potential buried in there, two middle-aged people who'd lost everything they'd spent their lives doing finding a joint cause and also each other. Extreme emphasis on potential, because that's not how it played out.

The show killing Siuan this way, setting aside what R2J2 has said about a plan for Siuan appearing again later in some way, is the end of any chance for the show to realise that potential - and I'm probably as sad about that as I am about Siuan's death in itself. The grief of lost possibilities is a very real thing.

The thing is also...as we get into the real meat and eventually endgame of this story, this is going to keep happening. At the start the show had a thousand places it could go with this story, once it demonstrated (in 1x04) that it was prepared to make some very radical changes in order to tell a coherent story overall. As we go on that list of possibilities is going to get whittled down faster and faster.

As fans, it's normal for us to get really attached to those possibilities - for example I was really hoping for Tuon to appear in Tanchico taking Egeanin's story, I would have loved that - and yet, lots of them will not happen. The show is one particular set of choices on how to tell the story of the Wheel of Time and it's not our choices.

I guess, in the end, what I'm saying is that over a couple of decades in fandom I've seen people really burn themselves out on fandoms because they talked themselves into believing the path they'd plotted was the only right or good way to tell the story. This is not in any way to suggest the show or this particular decision is exempt from criticism! It's more like, if you want to keep enjoying it, the only way that's going to happen is if you hold some futures lightly (unless you either have predictive powers or an incredible ability to figure out the show's plans and all the possible Doylistic roadblocks that might constrain them).

Is that compatible with fandom? Holding the future of the show lightly? Maybe not, maybe that's just the price of entry. But for me I think it's the only way the show stays fun long-term.

[excusemyobsessions]

An Ode to You

Sylus x MC/You/Reader

Genre: One shot, Fluff, Gender neutral Scenario: Lying side by side on a field of grass, you conjure all the words your brain can muster to pour out your immense love for Sylus on his birthday. Word count: 1320 words

Little note: highly inspired by Sy's birthday card and my(our) overwhelming love for this man. Teethrotting fluff, for sure.

(I wrote the word hand a total of 16 times over the course of this 1k text)

Warning: use of pet names (kitten), teeth-rotting fluff, you cry just a little because emotions

Also posted on AO3

The tall grass swayed lazily in the gentle breeze of the afternoon, the soft scent of wild flowers engulfing you in its embrace. The sun had begun its trajectory to a setting, still carrying warmth, its rays slipping through the blades of grass to blanket you.

Sylus laid next to you, one hand serving as a pillow for his head, his chest as a pillow for yours. You pushed yourself off him, laying on your side, resting your head on the palm of your hand. His eyes were closed, basking in the sun, its gentle light outlining the sharp contours of his face.

You lifted your hand, allowing the pad of your index finger to rest on his skin, tracing down his forehead and his nose, down the irregular bridge all the way to the very tip. His skin was warm from the sun, soft under your touch. His plump lips curved into a small, lazy smile. 

Long lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes to gaze at you, their ruby shades molten by tenderness. You couldn’t help but smile into them.

When you moved your finger to trace over this high cheekbone, he closed his eyes again. You traced the highs and the lows, over his cheek, the dent created by his bone structure, let your knuckle follow the line of his jaw. You tapped his chin twice and he let out a quiet little chuckle, a soft little amused exhale.

“Sy?” you breathed out.

“Hm?” he answered lightly.

You traced his lower lip with the tip of your finger, delighting yourself with its softness.

“Are you happy?” you questioned.

Sylus’ eyes fluttered open yet again, to gaze into yours, a single eyebrow twitching just a little, lifting softly, questioning.

“Why the sudden question, kitten?” he pressed, with a slight tilt of his head.

You shifted under his gaze, averting your eyes as you traced your fingers over his other cheek, as if memorizing his every contour with your fingertips.

“I don't know when was the last time you celebrated your birthday. I wanted it to be special this year,” you confessed.

“And it was. It is,” he answered instantly.

His long fingers circled your wrist and you watched them, tracing over your pulse, sliding up the palm of your hand, slipping in between yours, fitting like puzzle pieces. He squeezed your hand gently and you returned your gaze to his face.

He looked relaxed, like there was no weight on his shoulders, no clouds in his mind. His eyes were clear and sincere, attentive.

“So, are you happy?”

“I am. Very much so,” he answered without an ounce of hesitation.

You let out a clear and audible breath of relief which stole a chuckle from him. He lifted your tangled hands to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles and you felt your heart squeeze itself very tightly in your chest, so overwhelmed with love.

You laid back down on the grass next to him, lifting your tangled hands so you could see them. With your other hand, you outlined his veins and tendons, and when he loosened his grip, you turned it to draw up the lines on his palm. You traced each finger, each knuckle, caressed each calloused fingertip.

“There’s something missing though.”

His deep voice rang next to your ear, lightweight, teasing. You turned your head to look at him.

“What is it?” you asked.

The clogs in your brain were already picking up their pace, recounting every step taken during that whole day, calculating possibilities.

“I’m still waiting for your well wishes, or well, your blessings,” he told you.

There it was; that mischievous look in his eyes, that tease in the way his lips curved, that undeniable smugness in his smirk.

“You want more of my blessings?”

“I do,” he responded with a nod.

You let out a pensive hum, returning your gaze to your hands.

You traced his index finger with your own, rested your palm against his and fit your fingers up against his. His hand was larger than yours, his fingers longer. He wrapped his digits around your palm and led it to rest against his heart. You'd gotten used to its irregular beating, to the constant racing. Yet you could almost swear it ran at a leisure pace right there and then, a relaxed jog.

In contrast, your heart picked up its pace, trapped within your ribcage, beating wildly.

There was just so much you wanted to say. 

Your need for him was far too great, just so immense, substantial, gigantic.

Your brain struggled to conjure words magnificent enough to describe it and you knew he was waiting. You could feel his gaze on you. When you looked in his eyes, you could see the expectant look in them, his silent encouragement. He opened his mouth to say something, most likely vocally encourage you, but you lifted your free hand to rest your fingers against his lips, gently silencing him.

You rolled onto your side, facing him.

And you opened your heart.

“I need you. I need your skin on my skin, I need your arms around me, I need you to hold my hand. I need you,” you began.

Sylus understood how serious you were instantly. He didn’t move, simply gripping your hand within his.

“My love for you is overwhelming because I need you like the air that I breathe and I don’t know how to breathe without you anymore.”

He was clearly stunned. His eyes were slightly widened, blinking slowly, watching you closely. Your own eyes stung, warm tears pooling up, threatening to spill along with these greater than life emotions.

“I just… I love you so much,” you told him.

His chest rose and fell with a sharp intake of a breath, as if his lungs were begging for air, crushed under the weight of his swelling heart. You cupped his cheek and moved closer to him. Your nose was inches away from his.

“So, as a blessing, I wish you to always be just like this. I wish you to be showered in love and warmth. I wish you happiness and I wish you’ll find peace.”

Sylus’ heart picked up its pace against the palm of your hand.

He let out a shaky breath and slowly rolled over to his side. Lying face to face, he reached out to drag your body in closer to his. His forehead became a gentle weight against yours.

You watched his eyes, those immense pools of warm crimson, comforting carmine shades engulfing you in their tenderness.

“How could I not be happy when you say these things to me so openly,” he finally said, deep voice laced with emotion.

His large hand cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping under your eye to gently catch the tears which had fallen. He kissed the tears away from your other eye. You gripped onto his shirt.

He pulled back, just enough to see your whole face properly and he watched it carefully, as if trying to engrave your every contour into his memory. As if trying to preserve you and this moment in his heart for all eternity.

“Thank you,” he told you.

You let out a breathless breath, an exhale of emotion, a voiceless laugh, full of affection.

Both of his hands came up to cup your cheeks and he closed the distance to rest his lips on yours. His kiss fit your lips, molded your love to his. It was soft, devastating, reconstructive. It tore you apart and built you back up. It stole your breath and filled your lungs. You pressed in close to him, afraid your heart would just leap out of your chest, right into his palms. And yet you knew he would cradle it with all the care in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

And god, you knew he meant it.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i'll show you every version of yourself

( michael kaiser x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — the first fic in my new series Seven Petals, All Poison! It's a short series where I assigned one of the seven deadly sins to one bllk boy :) ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.8k

♡ content — michael kaiser x fem! reader, childhood friend! reader, mention of abuse, mention of blood, kaiser's past mentioned, unrequited love, toxic relationship, nickname 'micha' used like once, not proofread

♡ synopsis — You were the only one who saw Michael Kaiser before the crown. And that made you dangerous.

── .✦ but i'm still on my tallest tiptoes, spinnin' in my highest heels, love

You’re kneeling on the bathroom tile, sleeves pushed up, fingers trembling as you press a damp towel to Michael’s cheek. It’s warm with blood.

He doesn’t flinch. He just watches you, mouth set in a straight line, eyes blown wide in something between shame and fury.

The cut is from a glass beer bottle. His father threw it—again.

“You’re lucky it didn’t hit your eye,” you whisper, dabbing carefully. “Jesus, Micha…”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

You glance over your shoulder.

Your mother is in the kitchen, pretending not to hear anything.

Your father had muttered something about “not getting involved in other people’s business” when Michael showed up, fists clenched, shirt soaked in beer.

He’s been staying with you for weeks now. At first, it was supposed to be for a night or two. But by now, he might as well live here. Your bed has room for two, and he sleeps like a cat curled toward your warmth.

No one reported it. Not his bruises. Not the bottle. Not the nights he didn’t eat because he was too afraid to ask.

You asked him once why he didn’t tell someone.

He said, “Because they’d take me away from you.”

You press a Band-Aid to the deepest cut on his chin.

Your hands linger.

And that’s when he looks up and says it. Quiet. Matter-of-fact.

“I think you’re the only reason I haven’t burned this whole place down.”

You don’t know how to answer that.

So you just whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you mean it.

But two years later, when he signs to Bastard München at fifteen and leaves without saying goodbye, that promise burns like a lie in your mouth.

You didn’t know he’d be there. Not until the name KAISER flashes on the stadium’s jumbotron, bright as a warning.

He’s changed.

Gone is the boy with blood on his shirt and fury in his chest. What’s left is all shine and arrogance: gelled hair, perfect skin, gold-stitched jersey.

And then he scores.

The crowd erupts. He lifts two fingers to his temple in a cocky salute, and when he turns toward the sidelines—

He sees you.

Just a flicker. One moment. His smirk falters, just slightly. Like he’s seen a ghost.

You don’t cheer. You don’t look away, either.

You just meet his eyes.

And he looks like he’s been punched in the ribs.

The tunnel smells like sweat and turf and adrenaline. Players filter out in packs, already laughing about goals and post-game plans. Kaiser’s still flushed, his hair damp with effort, jersey clinging to his chest.

But he’s not smiling.

He’s scanning the crowd.

And then he sees you, lingering near the exit—arms folded, bag slung over your shoulder, like you’ve already convinced yourself it was a mistake coming here.

He moves fast.

“Knew it,” he says, sidling up behind you before you can slip away. “You did come to see me.”

You turn slowly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Too late.

Kaiser grins. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You sigh. “I came for the game.”

“Liar. You came for me.”

He’s close now. Close enough to smell that mix of cologne and stadium musk, close enough to remember being thirteen and wiping blood from his cheek while you scolded him with watery eyes.

You look away. “Congrats on the win.”

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without the very mysterious, very pretty person who made direct eye contact with me mid-celebration.”

“Wasn’t me.”

He tilts his head. “So we’re doing that? Okay.”

You step back. “It was nice seeing you, Kaiser.”

He grabs your wrist gently—just enough to make you pause.

“Don’t go yet. Come on, just give me your number.”

Your expression hardens. “Why?”

“To catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“To make sure you’re still real. Because I swear, when I saw you in the stands, I thought I was hallucinating. Or dying.”

You raise a brow.

“Fine,” he concedes, grinning. “Mostly dying. From how hard I wanted to chase you down and demand why the hell you’re here.”

You stare at him.

And then—

“See you’re still the same narcissist.”

“You love it.”

“Not anymore.”

He presses a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Ouch.”

You sigh. Reach into your bag. Pull out a pen and scribble a number on the corner of a torn receipt.

“Lose it, and I’m not giving it again.”

He snatches it like gold. “I’ll frame it.”

You turn to leave.

“Hey,” he calls after you, already typing it into his phone. “One date.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Too late.”

And your stomach flips.

Just a little.

Your phone buzzes even before you get back to the hotel.

Kaiser 🃏

Glad you came

You looked at me like you wanted to kill me. Hot.

You ignore it.

So he sends more.

Come on. One date.

You still owe me a Band-Aid, remember?

Just dinner. One night. One very curious, very rich, very sorry ex-friend.

You don’t reply until the fourth day.

Fine. One date.

We start over. No flirting. Just… like before.

Friends.

And I’m picking the restaurant.

You meet him at a tucked-away Italian spot, dressed in a black dress that makes you feel more confident than you are. He shows up late, of course, in a jacket that costs more than your month’s salary and a smug smile that’s barely contained.

“You wore lipstick,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you.

“You wore your most obnoxious cologne.”

He grins. “I missed you, too.”

It’s easy, surprisingly. The rhythm falls back into place—sarcasm, teasing, eye rolls that come with hidden smiles. He talks about soccer like it’s his whole world, but you catch him glancing at you like you might be more interesting than the trophies.

At one point, you laugh at something ridiculous he says, and he goes quiet.

“What?” you ask.

“You’re happy.”

“So?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh like that in years.”

You look down at your glass. “That’s because we haven’t been friends in years.”

Kaiser leans forward.

“Then let’s fix that.”

You hesitate.

He offers his hand.

You take it.

The Bastard München gala is all glitter and money. Reporters swarm. Athletes pose. Champagne flows like water.

Kaiser looks like he owns the place. (He might.)

You’re on his arm, and for a moment, it’s like nothing ever broke between you. He whispers ridiculous things in your ear just to make you laugh. He kisses your hand dramatically when someone takes a photo.

But then you run into Ness.

He smiles. Gentle. A little too warm.

You smile back, polite.

And when he walks away, you feel Kaiser’s grip tighten on your waist.

“You like him?”

“Relax. We talked for ten seconds.”

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

“And I saw the way you looked at the mirror all night.”

He doesn’t laugh. “He’s always liked you.”

“So what? That’s not a crime.”

“It is when you belong to me.”

That’s when you pull away.

“Kaiser,” you say, your voice sharp. “I’m not a thing.”

“You’re mine,” he says again, like it’s a spell.

“You left when we were kids,” you snap. “You disappeared. No calls. No messages. And now you think you can waltz back in and own me?”

His voice softens. Dangerous. “Because I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

You blink. The words are heavy. Real.

But instead of answering, he kisses you.

You pushed at his chest. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

“You’re such a child—”

He kissed you again, the only way to make you shut up - he thought.

Hard. Harsh. Like a threat and a confession all at once.

There was nothing gentle about it. Not the way his hands found your waist.

Not the way you shoved him against the wall.

Not the way his breath broke between your lips.

And when you pulled away—he was breathing like he’d just lost something.

“What are we doing?” you whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But don’t leave.”

“I don’t want to keep doing this.”

He stepped forward again. “Then don’t talk. Just—just be with me.”

He kisses you for the third time tonight.

Hard. Desperate. Like he’s afraid of what happens if either of you keep talking.

And you kiss him back.

Because you’re afraid, too.

You’re his. Officially.

It’s everything you dreamed of when you were younger. The fancy clothes. The trips. The headlines. “Kaiser’s Mystery Girlfriend” becomes your unofficial title.

He loves having you by his side. Loves the jealous stares. Loves the thrill of owning the one person from his past who knew him before he became a god.

But it’s never quiet.

You fight often. You make up faster.

He gives you luxury. You give him your heart.

You say I love you first.

He never says it back.

Not once.

You’re in his apartment. The lights are low. He just got back from an away game, too tired to do more than kick his shoes off and throw his keys on the counter.

“I love you,” you say, because you always do. Hoping tonight will be different.

He kisses your cheek. Silent.

You pull back.

“Kaiser.”

He looks up. “Hmm?”

“Why can’t you say it?”

He blinks. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

He sighs. “Why does it matter? I show you, don’t I? I let you into my life. I let you close.”

“You don’t let me in, Michael. You put me on display.”

His expression hardens. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I think it’s easier for you to protect your pride than tell someone you love them.”

The silence stretches.

You step back. “Just say it. One time.”

He stares at you. Nothing.

You try again. Softer.

“I love you.”

Still nothing.

Your chest caves. “That’s what I thought.”

You go to leave.

This time, he follows.

Grabs your wrist. “Wait. Don’t���”

You turn. “No. You don’t get to chase me now.”

“Then what do you want from me?!”

“I want you to love me more than your image. More than your ego.”

He steps forward, wraps you in a hug, like that could erase everything.

Like physical closeness can replace the words he refuses to say.

You shove him away.

“You can’t fuck your way into love, Michael.”

And you walk out the door.

He doesn’t chase you again.

Not with calls. Not with flowers. Not with anything real.

But some nights—when it’s quiet, and the bed is cold—he opens his phone.

Types:

I love you.

Deletes it.

Types it again.

Deletes it again.

Because gods don’t beg.

And what kind of emperor bows to his people?

But Michael Kaiser has never wanted anything as much as he wants to go back in time and tell the only person who ever saw him—

That he loved them too.

i hope yall liked it! i've never exactly wrote something like this before, so i hoped it worked :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[theorist-fox]

Rationally

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

Cross posted on AO3

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: you're rational but love isn't—and thank god for that.

18+

CW: canon typical violence, blood, injuries (broken nose), suggestive smut (making out, mild titty worship—eheh, kissing, body worship), fluff, friends to lovers

Masterlist 🦊

There’s a reason why you never spar with Johnny.

It’s definitely not because he’s bad at it. Because he isn’t. Actually, he’s the perfect balance of measured and unhinged: he puts you on the spot and creates an environment akin to the field, but he’s always so careful with it.

With you.

But no, you can’t train with Johnny. You’re not insane.

How would you even fit a punch here and there if he's staring at you with those smart baby blues riddled with mischief and wonder.

How could you stop yourself from staring at his shirtless top, at the trickles of sweat running down the divot of his chest.

At his arms.

At his sweaty, swollen, freckled arms. Thick, so thick. Able to take away your life if carefully wrapped around your neck, or to bring you to the edge of heaven if slipped between your thighs.

How you’ve managed to keep yourself decent around him for all these years is something truly remarkable. Perhaps you have a superpower of sorts, some rock-hard self-control. 

All the times he’s spent the night at your place, too drunk to even speak—drawl heavier yet sweet, and his dramatically whispered “Thank ye, hen, can’t drive when I’m this pished. Saved ma life, y'have.”

All the times you found him lingering by the stove of your kitchen, with your breakfast in the pan, and his rumble of a voice—“Ach, wanted ta wake you up with it, bonnie. Humour me an' go back to bed.”

All the times you caught him looking at you with a similar longing but never dared to touch the subject—because maybe you’ve imagined it, because work, of course, because friendship, because excuses and your cowardice. 

Coward, that’s what you are. A weak, spineless coward.

And Johnny’s training on his own today, in a corner of the gym, as you spar with… someone. Some grunt, you think. You met her barely past the threshold, and she offered to spar with you when you jumped on the mat. A few punches here and there; you landed some and dodged most. It’s fine, she’s easy to predict. Younger. Brash. Perhaps wanted to show off by training with someone higher in the ranks. 

You understand. You’ve done that too.

And you keep sparring, movements fluid but somewhat distracted. She hits, you dodge. You hit, she takes. Or… whatever. You don’t know, you’re not sure—the world’s in slow motion, the chatter fluffed.

Because your eyes are on him.

Calloused hands in fingerless gloves strapped at his wrists. 

His fists hit the punching bag swinging in front of him. 

Thud.

The vibrations of the impact cause his biceps to ripple. Your eyes follow each wave. Its firmness, sturdy and tight, all the way to his neck.

Corded. Bitable.

Thud, thud.

Sweat explodes from his skin like dewdrops. He glistens like he’s drenched in fucking oil, with his loose shorts that hang low on his hips. Happy trail in full show, and you’re starting to wonder how it would feel to have your nose buried in there.

Your throat filled.

Right hook. Uppercut. Left. Left again.

Fuck.

Something cracks in your skull.

And then it's like the world is not in slow motion anymore, like it picks up the pace again. And the pain that shoots up in your face is the catalyst for it—what pressed the speed-up button of reality.

Your scream echoes like a roar, as the attention of the whole gym falls onto you.

"Fuck!"

Sitting on the gurney in the infirmary gives you a very much needed reality check. 

You keep your hands cupping your nose as it swells and bleeds, head tilted forward. Your tongue peeks out every now and then to soothe a split on your lip.

A curtain is pulled. The rings that keep it up clink against each other. It’s your cue.

But instead of a nurse, it’s Johnny who walks in. 

He didn’t bother to wear the t-shirt, of course. That’s John MacTavish for you.

You can’t help but sneak a look at the ruffled hairs growing fiercely on his chest. How they create a trail down his stomach, before expanding just above the hem of his shorts—leading to what you can only guess is fucking heaven.

"Och, that's a braw shiner ye got there," he says, giving you quite an entertained look.

Yeah, you got caught. 

Warmth spreads from your neck to your cheeks, and thankfully he can't see the nervous smile under your palms shielding your nose. “Had worse.”

A scoff from him, but not a spiteful one. Softer than that. 

He shoos your hands away without touching you to take a peek at your nose. Vigilant eyes inspect the mottled bruise slowly forming along the bridge and right under your eye. 

“My nurse today, Johnny?” You quip if only to dissipate the heat building up under your skin.

“Aye, bonnie.” He smirks. “Nurse MacTavish at yer beck an’ call.”

You manage, somehow, to bat your lashes even though one of your eyes is starting to look like a ripe plum. “Mmmh, m’so lucky, then.”

“Luckiest.” He replies in kind, “’Cause I know just the way to treat ye.”

You purse your lips, trying not to mind the way it pulls at the taut skin on your left cheekbone. “What is it, then? Can I still keep my nose? Or am I doomed to wander 'round like a bloody Lego puppet?"

Gently, like he’s measuring even the pressure he puts on the pads of his fingers, he flicks your forehead. 

He gives you an unamused look, one that melts away as soon as he spots the way your lips twitch. “Lemme do my thing, aye?”

His accent is thicker today, like honey falling in ropes from a spoon. It’s sweet to your ears, and the gruffness of it barely manages to hide his concern. Johnny and his heart, so big it spills out everywhere, even in the rough vibrations of his Scottish lilt.

It makes you soften, like a hardened sponge under the jet of water. 

You bring your hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Sir yes, Sir.”

He shakes his head fondly, before testing here and there along the bridge of your nose, quietly apologizing each time you flinch, until his fingers find a specific spot on each side. 

He settles there, secure.

“Remember tha’ I love ye, yeah?”

Your brows shoot to your forehead. “You wha—”

Johnny snaps his fingers to the side. 

Your nose sets back into place with a nauseating crack. 

“M’sorry,” he murmurs, sounding genuinely apologetic, but you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. “M’sorry, don’t hate me now, love.”

You feel queasy, and the world around you spins—so much so that your hands automatically search for him to tether you steady. Fingers curl in an iron grip around his wrists, nails dig in between his tendons.

“Alright?” He asks. Stupidly.

“Ngh,” is all you manage to utter. Pathetically.

The unexpected blessing is that you’re able to swallow an even more miserable retch.

You suck.

“Cuttin’ off my blood flow there, bonnie,” he says with a breathy laugh, nodding idly at the deadly hold you have on his wrists.

That was cute, you think. That was the cutest chuckle you’ve ever heard. Your eyes would morph into tiny hearts if your head wasn’t pounding in agonizing pain.

This is awful. You’re sitting there with your pupils rolled back and a cocktail of tears, snot and blood running down your face. Your tongue overflows with the coppery taste rushing from your nose into your mouth and the bitterness lingers long enough to worsen your nausea.

You shouldn’t allow yourself to look this miserably ugly in front of Johnny. You should suck it up and at least reduce the quantity of bodily fluids streaming down your cheeks to look a pinch more palatable, a tad more fuckable. 

Maybe that punch should’ve knocked you out for good and saved you the embarrassment.

However, his words reach your ears through the vicious pounding of your heart, and you feel bad enough to release him from his shackles—because he can’t see you as bloody, ugly and violent too.

Johnny’s tender, though. Gingerly, he moves his fingers from your nose. One hand reaches the shelf bolted in the wall overhead and tests blindly, looking for a gauze he must’ve spotted beforehand.

He finds it. Cups your cheek while carefully cleaning up below your nose, before gently pressing it to your nostrils. He tuts when you go reach it with your hand to hold it up, offering to keep it there for you.

“Sorry for cutting off your blood flow,” you say with a voice so disgustingly nasal it doesn’t even sound like you.

Johnny’s lips curl in a smile. “Returnin’ the favor.”

You snort and flinch. Curse yourself—“Fuck me.”

“Aye,” he mumbles impudently. “Soon ‘nough, hopefully.”

There’s no time for you to register that, a joke that has spark to it. The fuse of a dynamite flickering to life, promising an explosion that won’t come just yet. A promise, a quip—perhaps just to keep you distracted, perhaps just to divert your focus from the pulsing pain in your face to more lighthearted subjects.

But when you see his smile, you can’t help but mimic him, infectious as it is. Or, well, you try—it’s a little hard. What is turning into a black eye manages a twitch, while your safe one turns into a pretty crescent.

And maybe, due to the chaos of events that have submerged you in blood and tears, you almost forgot what Johnny told you when his hands set your nose back into place. 

Almost being the keyword. 

Because when it comes back to you, you gasp. Gasp and choke, because there’s still a bit of blood left on your tongue, dribbling down your throat. 

Your coughing startles Johnny, of course. He asks things you can’t quite hear over the ringing in your ears, but you manage to pull away from his fussy hands just enough to focus on his face.

You could look lower and meet the expanse of his chest still shining in sweat. You reckon blood rushing to your pussy instead of your nose would be a convenient way to slow down the hemorrhage—it’d be much easier to take care of an orgasm than to deal with blood loss.

But no, you meet Johnny’s eyes instead.

Blue and pinched, like he’s much too worried about your well-being to pay attention to the intensity with which you’re looking at him.

He's so beautiful. Not handsome—he's beautiful. 

There’s so much of him for you to look at. Not a single line that contours his shape is worth missing out—from the tips of his ears to the muscles in his calves. He looks like he was carved in marble, once upon a time; even his imperfections—the scar on his chin, the slight tilt of his jaw—seem carefully chiselled, details added to glue the pieces together into one gorgeous, perfect man.

But it’s his eyes that hold your attention, always have. Thick, dark brows frame bright blues. Wrinkles branch out the corners when he smiles, or when he worries. They’re deep now, aptly carved similarly to the single line above his nose. Concern, not happiness.

You’re not sure you like them just as equally when they’re not blossoming from joy.

“Easy,” he whispers, hand drawing circles on your back to soothe your cough. 

The bloody gauze has dropped on your thighs and onto the floor. A wet patch left on the dark grey of your sweats.

When you lift your head, your eyes touch. 

Johnny looks so soft, like he’s not really there at all, like it’s a figment of your imagination and maybe you’re delirious because the pain is that strong.

Perhaps it’s the mist in your eyes playing tricks, or the tears prickling at the corners, but he’s never looked this gorgeous, his blues never this deep.

“You said you loved me.” You say, and it’s a bit hard to talk because your nose is stuffy and your heart’s in your throat.

Johnny cocks his head. If he's taken by surprise at your statement, you don't know. He doesn't show it—odd, you think, because he's constantly wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Not now, you guess. Fuck him, because today is the day you actually need him to show everything pretty fucking blatantly.

“I did.”

That’s it, he doesn’t add much to it.

And so, you reason with him. “Because I was hurt and you felt bad that you had to hurt me more.” 

Logical. Makes sense.

His mouth opens for a reply. Nothing leaves him. It falls closed again. You’re so attentive to each movement you think you can hear the swallow of his throat, the smack of his lips.

At his silence, you go on.

“You needed the shock value,” you explain nasally, “So I would focus on that instead of the pain. A distraction.”

Rational. Good.

However, he’s never been quicker to reply. “No.”

You blink.

There is no reason in his answer. You live by that—swear by that. Things happen logically. Things happen because other things have happened before. Domino tiles fall because they’ve been hit by the previous, until the last one finally falls flat, and life ends.

Cause and consequence.

There have always been signs, true. You were never blind to Johnny’s lingering hands, to his softening eyes, but you’re also a chronic pessimist and an awful overthinker—so what if he acts like that just because he’s kind, and you’re reading too much into it. 

And yeah, maybe you’re a coward. Maybe you’re a spineless, weak coward, and recognizing the signs would mean facing the music. The consequences that would bring, how many tiles would fall chaotically: your jobs, the friendly relationship you would lose, the horrifying prospect of heartbreak—you’ve never been quite ready for that.

Still, this feels like a tile falling stupidly by itself, miles ahead, because of a gust of wind that had no business blowing in this direction, today—because how can a punch and a broken nose lead to this.

Obviously, the conversation can’t end there. You want to ask why, what, and how, but the air around you has suddenly tensed, and you’re afraid you have to measure your words and have your doubts solved with one question only.

And when you think you have it ready, you can’t even utter it.

Johnny’s thumb comes to rest on your lower lip, next to the split bisecting it. His fingers are curled in a loose fist right under your chin.

He presses down, exposing your teeth. You watch his eyes fall, abandoning yours to favour the sight that it’s your mouth. 

There’s blood there, you’re sure of it. You can feel how slick your skin is under his pad—he doesn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest. 

“I—I meant it,” he whispers, and his voice sounds like it’s cracking. “Hard no’ to, eh.”

You feel quite faint. You might peg it to the uppercut that just rocked your skull, but you’re not that naïve. 

In fact, it might just be because Johnny’s thumb gently presses against your teeth.

Your jaw pliantly unlocks, welcoming his finger inside. 

“’Course I meant it,” he says hoarsely, “Look at you.”

You taste iron, mostly—the pungent flavour of blood. And then, underneath all of it, once he’s settled his thumb in the cradle of your tongue, you feel the salt of his skin, too. You want more of it, and so your lips wrap around his knuckle. 

“Steamin’ fucking Jesus,” he breathes, utterly disarmed. 

You’re keeping your eyes on his face, and your good one widens when he lifts his own.

Johnny slowly licks his lips and then presses his mouth closed. His cheek sinks in like he's biting into it, and God, how you wish he had no restraints whatsoever right now.

Your heart jumps in your throat when Johnny uses his thumb to smear your spit over your lips. 

His eyes aren’t on yours anymore. He’s mostly intent on watching his handiwork: the pink lines left by his thumb on your mouth, the clipped breaths brushing like breeze over his hand.

Instinctively, you part your legs, and the gesture must’ve made him feel welcome because he walks that step forward. He’s a broad man, which is why he barely fits in the space you created for him. The drape of loose boxing shorts covers his muscles but fails to mask the tent growing in between.

No amount of pain could stop your mouth from watering at the sight.

He presses forward until your noses touch. His eyes flit back to yours. 

You’re not really aware whether you’re breathing or not.

“’Course I—" he cuts himself off. Swallows.

And somehow, he doesn’t sound as worked up as you think he should be. 

Lust is there, clearly, if not in his eyes, then in his cock faintly brushing your lower stomach. But there’s something else too, some barely veiled sorrow he’s trying so hard to mask but failing oh, so miserably.

“’Course I love ye,” he sighs, tilting your head back so your lips can level with his. “Don’t even know how ta stop talkin’ about it—L.T. bloody hates me.”

He’s struggling to control the way he breathes; you can tell. Struggling to control where to put his free hand, curling into a fist at his side.

You’re not faring much better.

“Makin’ a fool o’ myself, bloody hell—” he croaks, shaking his head. 

There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a certain pinkness to his cheeks that makes him all the more endearing.

Johnny cracks through your dreamlike state when his eyes clock yours. Pleading, like he wants—needs—you to understand.

“—but I love ye. Fuck, I do.”

Rationally, now would be a good time to pull away. 

There are so many don’ts and a very much single do.

You’ve just stopped bleeding. First don’t. 

There’s still blood smeared on your face, from your nose downwards. Some of it is fresh, some of it is mixed with your spit, and some more is dried up on your chin and on your cupid’s bow, flaking off. Second, third, fourth don’t. 

The fifth don’t would be that half of your face is tumid and dark. It hurts to blink your left eye, there’s a split on your lip that burns like a bitch, and a whole migraine is rearing its ugly head in response to the concussion.

That’s already a sixth and a seventh and an eighth don’t.

There’s a single do, however, that somehow has the weight of thousands.

Johnny loves you.

And it’s enough.

You lean up, using your palms pressed on the cushioned gurney as leverage, and your lips brush with his.

One of his eyes twitches, and Johnny dives in.

It’s a soft kiss.

It doesn't match the hurried way with which he met you halfway as though he's had to rein it in for your sake.

Your lips slot together, and you wish you could have a better feel of how his own taste, to see if it matches what you’ve spent countless nights dreaming about—alas your tongue still lingers with the taste of blood. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to care, though, no. Because his hand leaves your chin and threads with your hair at your nape.

His head lolls to the side with a sigh. It doesn’t feel like a controlled movement, it’s more like the muscles of his neck have given out and turned slack. You kind of understand, because you’ve gone much softer too—especially when his free hand rises to cup the side of your neck.

The position allows for the kiss to deepen. 

His tongue dances with yours; the coppery layer veiling every other flavour becomes dull. Diluted. And suddenly you’re overflown with Johnny’s taste. His scent, too—earthy, salty with sweat. Intense, grounding. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even more than that punch did. 

And it doesn’t meet your expectations, no.

It exceeds them.

You feel yourself sigh, fluttering your eyes closed as the shock abates and leaves the front seat to relief, to absolute fucking wonder.

He checks in often, kiss after kiss. 

Can ye breathe, love?, whispered just a breath from your lips.

Am I hurtin’ ye?, as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

Your hands land on his chest.

Somehow, the trepid drum of his heartbeat feels contrastingly calming, and you feel less alone in this fear like it's a jump into the unknown that you didn't take on your own.

Johnny kisses you carefully, but the more he goes on, the more his hunger grows.

He shows it in the softer groans that leave him when you press closer, and his cock nudges your belly. Or when his fingers brush your ribs, when they trace right under your breast. The touch is barely there, and his fingers still tremble, but it makes you shiver nonetheless.

It’s electric. It tips at your sex and your hips instinctively grind against the gurney.

Johnny takes the hint, tracing the line of your bra until your back arches against him. Your shirt sticks to his chest, heartbeats in sync—erratic, afraid, sweet.

He leaves the back of your head, perhaps finally trusting you won’t move away, and uses those fingers to trace your jaw, then the slope of your neck, your collarbone.

"We should stop," you whisper but don't follow your own advice, keeping your lips on his instead.

“Aye we should,” he agrees, but only verbally, because he doesn’t part from you either.

Every single touch makes you soften that bit more, and you find yourself absolutely powerless against him. You lock your arms around his waist and simply graze with your nails at the indent of his spine, feeling the goosebumps that rise along his skin.

You allow yourself to be taken care of. 

Johnny does that. 

His hand finally reaches your breast, where he kneads the fat gently until you’re panting in the kiss. Until your head spins when his thumb draws circles around your nipple, perked and prominent under your shirt. 

He tentatively reaches downwards. Hooks his finger at the hem of your shirt. Lifts it up agonizingly slow, and you feel the cold air kiss every inch of skin as it's slowly uncovered. Gooseflesh laps your stomach, tips at your skull. Johnny’s fingers languidly rake up and down your abdomen, turning the heel of his hand when it reaches just under the line of your bra, only to travel downwards to the hem of your sweats. Your belly clenches in rippling waves, delighted in the slow tortures he delivers.

He reaches for your bra, hooks his knuckles at the cups, and drags it down. Your breasts subtly bounce as they fall out of it, bra wedged just underneath. Johnny takes a second there, watching like a hawk at the indents left by seams of your garment, at the darker skin of your nipples.

He locks your eyes. Heavy lids fall on them, mouth parted to say something he can’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he cradles your jaw and brushes his thumb on your cheek, gentle as can be. A peck to your lips, then another, only left after checking in with you through his eyes.

His palm cups your breast—it's warm again. You sigh against his mouth, and Johnny curses under his breath when you do.

“Can I?” He whispers, but he’s already trailing down with his lips.

He’s already nipping at your jawline, sucking at the tender flesh of your neck. He’s already turning you breathless, pinching your nipple between thumb and forefinger. Already kissing at your breastbone, and it’s only there that you manage to breathe a “Yes,” to his request.

He's hunched over quite a bit, so you favour him by arching your back and presenting your chest to his mercy. Slow, open-mouthed kisses drink up the taste that permeates your skin until he reaches your nipple. He sucks and nibbles as it pebbles on his tongue, turgid and sensitive. Liquid pools at your lower belly, invading the crevices inside—hot like molten gold, dense like the sweetest of syrups.

You moan a staggered breath, fingers digging into the plasticky leather of the gurney—the same one you're subtly grinding against. Johnny's mouth is full of you, but still he manages a groan that makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

He unlatches from your skin, glossy lips panting warm breath against your breasts.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ," he murmurs as his thumb flicks your nipple and smears it with his spit. “Fuckin’ killing me ‘ere, hen.”

He drops to his knees. Rapid. The knock against the floor is faint but still loud enough for you to worry and look down to check on him.

You find a mesmerized man with pupils swallowing his eyes. You find a hungry hound with blood around his lips, caked into the stubble at his chin. You feel two hands, calloused and rough, wrap around your waist, thumbs dimpling where your stomach gets softer.

Johnny kisses your belly, smooths his palms at your sides. Your hand moves instinctively, threading into his mohawk, still damp with sweat—messy strands slipping through the gaps between your fingers as you brush them back.

You’re panting, so caught up with the way he tries to get a taste of you that you forget about the pain irradiating from your nose, about the mist clouding your vision from one eye—the throb of your bruise, the effort it takes for you to do something as natural as breathing. They vanish when his tongue draws a fat line from your belly button to the hollow of your ribs, when he cocks his head sideways, gently sinking his teeth into your stomach.

To see Johnny’s nose buried in your middle, to see his hands cinch at your waist, his head comfortably snug between your thighs—to see him on his knees just so he can taste you, just so he can have you, ravenous like he’s been waiting far too long just to have this—

—it’s enough.

Perhaps sometimes a gust of wind is needed—the tiles can break that cause-effect relationship and fall without being knocked over by anything else if not a fresh breeze. Wind, creating a new path, placing new tiles. Bringing something new, something loved, right where you need it—right where it belongs.

There’s no logic in that, you’re aware. But alas, there’s no logic in love either.

And you’re okay with that.

Your lips move on their own, your voice barely a whisper he must’ve strained to catch.

“I love you.” 

You can feel his hands still, twitching at your sides. His brows furrow right before you like he's concentrating, absorbing, realizing. His eyes flit to yours, holding you loosely by the waist, but still alert—in case you want to make a run for it.

As if.

“Yeah?” He croaks, perching his chin on your belly.

You swallow something thick. “Yeah.”

Your t-shirt, scrunched and resting atop your breasts, is finally succumbing to gravity. Johnny pinches the hem between his fingers and brings it back down to cover your torso again, tracing back the same path he followed before.

He pulls back. Stands up. A hand runs down his mouth, slowly, smearing the blood that has transferred from your skin to his. 

It's absurd to you how he doesn't seem to mind.

He searches for doubt in your eyes, you think, maybe something that tells him you’re not being truthful—you have no idea how to convey that you’ve never been this genuine in your life.

The mood is suddenly somber like you haven't just uttered words that would light up the world for most. You allow him to think, to go through the mental gymnastics of it—give him space if that's what he needs, even though he'd been the first one to say it, the first one to put you in this spot.

You fix your bra, rip a piece of the exam paper now all scrunched and torn in different places on the gurney. Gingerly, you bring it to your nose to check for blood. You try it all—anything that might yank your head out of your ass, anything to stop the spiral.

Perhaps you're still in time to save that single tile from hitting the ground. Perhaps you're still in time to fix it, press the rewind button, find a way to stop the wind.

Rationally, it’s impossible—but reason doesn’t have a fucking place here anymore.

And there, right there, when the silence has turned heavy and scary, when your heart is drumming a dark tune—Johnny brightens it.

He chuckles. It’s breathy, tinged with disbelief, like you can’t be for real. 

Like you, with your black eye and your cracked nose that definitely needs an ice pack and a doctor, with your blood smeared on your mouth and a split on your lip, can love him.

You want to tell him that it's the easiest, most natural thing you've ever done, but he cuts you off as soon as you start and kisses you again.

It’s… excited.

It’s a kiss that thrums with happiness. It’s a peck, after peck, after peck, with his hands slotted on the slopes of your neck. Johnny barely manages to purse his lips to kiss you, too busy smiling. 

And that’s another natural thing, to smile with him.

He pulls back, only enough to speak.

"Yer laughin'," he says, laughing himself, soft as can be.

He gives you another nip. You chuckle.

Something in your stomach turns and knots when one of his hands drops on your thigh. The weight of it, the warmth that so easily seeps through your sweats—it’s enough to turn you into a puddle of yourself.

God, you’re a goner.

“I am,” you murmur. “This is very funny.”

And you kiss him back.

Johnny cocks his head with a smile. “Is it.”

That pulsating ache on the left side of your face dulls, as much as the one in your nose. 

Or maybe you simply forgot to pay attention to it, because your focus is solely on the beautiful man in front of you and his bloody lips now trailing down your cheek to your jaw.

Your fingers dance on his chest upwards. He catches one of your hands, gently curling his fist around it.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” You whisper with a smile, like you two are there sharing secrets. “You got my bloody bl—my fuckin’ blood on your face.”

His brows flutter to his forehead, smirking as he catches you awkwardly stumbling on your curses. 

The warning glint in your eyes is meaningless, dimmed by the fire glowing inside of you, shining even through the darker swelling of your face—alas, peeking through it with a smile.

“Yer bloody blood.” He parrots.

"Oh, fuck off!" You chuckle, pushing at his shoulder.

“On ma face, aye,” he chortles, leaving a fat kiss on your good cheek instead.

“Johnny!”

He explodes in a laugh, so loud you think everyone outside of the infirmary must have heard it. You don’t manage to shush him, don’t manage to chide him, to tell him that you don’t fancy getting caught in this predicament by a superior.

You don’t manage because you’re laughing, too.

He comes back to your lips. Kisses you until you’re sighing in his mouth. The sound must do something to him because his fingers dig into the fat of your thigh. You wish he weren’t standing in the middle so you could clench them together and find some semblance of relief.

Thankfully, having him in between your legs still feels unbelievably nice.

“Can I get more o’ it, ye think?” He quips.

It steals a smile from you. “Of what?”

He nips at your lower lip. “Yer bloody blood.”

You pinch his side in retaliation, but otherwise reciprocate the kiss.

“That’s disgusting, MacTavish,” you say, even though you couldn’t care less about being decent.

“Just say yes.”

You do.

And you do so many times after that day, that it’s hard to pinpoint which one is your favourite.

If the yes you said after you got your nose broken, or the one you said years later when he got on one knee.

[andforyouevan]

another little post-ep fic. A companion piece to this.

How are we doing, everyone? lol.

bucktommy - words: 1k - rating: general - complete

cw: implied mcd

Tommy comes awake with a start, visions of helicopters, the crying and sick 118 and Evan collapsing in that hallway floating away from his mind like smoke. He’s not entirely surprised to reach for Evan and find he’s not there and he has the brief thought that he wishes Evan had woken him. Sighing, he looks at his phone and sees that they got maybe an hour of sleep after the crying jag and he’s so tired, but he knows he can’t go back to sleep until he knows where Evan is.

He tosses the blankets back and levers himself out of bed. The adrenaline of the day has long since faded and he feels a little like he’s hungover, body achy and lethargic. Maybe he’ll see if Evan wants to do some yoga with him later.

Wandering out in the living room he stops short when he sees Evan sitting on the couch in the dark, silent tears flowing down his cheeks. He hurries over and kneels in front of him.

“Evan,” he says softly and he gives a small hiccup something, under any other circumstances, Tommy would find adorable. “Hey, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was thirsty,” Evan answers miserably. “I just needed some water. Then it hit me all over again and I couldn’t stand. I’m not totally sure how I got out here, I just...Tommy, he’s gone.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Tommy says, rubbing his thighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it, hearing him. I can’t…”

Tommy surges forward to wrap his around around him, holding him as he cries. His own tears fall again in the face of Evan’s anguish and he tucks his face into Evan’s shoulder, kisses the join of his shoulder and neck.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, but he stays tucked against Tommy. “Bobby said they’d need me but I’m the one falling apart.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tommy says a little more sharply than he’d meant to because he gets the feeling he knows, partly, where this sentiment is coming from, based on things he’s heard over the six months they’d been together about how hard Evan feels things, the idea that Evan feels things too hard sometimes. Tommy doesn’t agree in the slightest, people are allowed to feel things and maybe Evan’s emotions are on his sleeve a lot of the time, but Tommy’s only sees that as a strength, not a weakness. “You lost someone that was like a father to you. If you want to be strong for everyone else, I understand that. But...but maybe I’m not everyone?”

“No,” Evan backs away to look at Tommy’s face, his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “No, you’re not everyone. You’re so much more. You came when I called. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“I wish I could have done more,” Tommy admits.

Evan swipes a thumb under Tommy’s eyes and Tommy can’t help a little smile, returns the gesture before planting a kiss on that beloved birthmark before setting his forehead against Evan’s breathing him in, here, whole and alive.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Tommy freezes.

“I’m not saying this because Bobby….because Bobby’s gone...well, maybe I am but it’s just that we didn’t know that we’d lose him, you know? And what if I lose you too? I don’t think I could take something happening and you not knowing,” Evan says softly. “And you don’t have to take say it back, but I do. Okay? I love you. I have this whole time, I think.”

Tommy doesn’t have to think about it, not really. The thought scared the hell out of him that night in Evan’s apartment, that morning in his kitchen, but now, it’s just something he knows. A helicopter feels like an extension of his body, just like his love for Evan Buckley.

“You think I’d commit a little domestic terrorism for someone I’m not in love with?” Tommy teases lightly, immensely gratified when Evan laughs a little.

“God, I can’t believe we’re not in prison,” Evan says with a shake of his head.

“Hmm, that was mostly posturing,” Tommy answers. “Athena was right, that whole thing was a PR nightmare. And trust me, the military does love throwing their weight around. I’ve never missed it.”

Evan sighs a long breath, leans against Tommy, who takes his weight without hesitation. His knees are beginning to ache from where he’s kneeling on the floor, but he doesn’t care. If he can offer the amount of care that Evan is going to be giving to the rest of the 118 in the coming days, he’ll do it, no questions asked.

“Bed?” Evan says, like he can sense what Tommy’s thinking. “I think I can go back to sleep now.”

Tommy nods and stands, pulling Evan up with him. They guide each other to the bedroom, a little awkwardly, but it works somehow. When they’re in bed, face to face, arms wrapped around each other, Tommy looks at him, wants to kiss him so badly, he can taste it, the memory of happier moments when smiles met over and over not far into his memories.

Evan seems to want the same thing because he carefully watches Tommy’s face as he moves ever closer, so they can feel their other’s breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tommy whispers, then bridges the gap with a sweet, gentle kiss.

Evan cups his face in his had as they move against each other, rubbing a thumb across a tear-stained cheekbone. When they back away, they stay close, unable to leave each other’s orbits if they can help it.

“You got me,” Tommy says. “If you want me, you got me.”

“I’ve always wanted you,” Evan mutters, sounding sleepy. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Tommy wants to cry again. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“You got here eventually,” Evan kisses him again then settles in, relaxing enough that Tommy knows he’s going to drop off any moment. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Stay,” he demands with all that Evan Buckley gumption he can muster before he’s finally asleep.

Tommy can’t help it, laughs a little, kisses him on the forehead before settling in to sleep himself. His feelings are a jumble of grief and love but he’s got Evan Buckley in his arms, neither of them are going to be alone now and in the coming days.

He feels like he’s set for life.

[aldisobey]

Love letter time. It was the triple s tier writing that got me thirsty, got me hungry, got me sharing and posting my shit for the first time. My training arc for sharing writing at all. @thedissonantverses you were my first comment, you kept me here. But let me.

I never read fanfiction. I didn't share my writing. But Veilguard was a comfort. I made a tumblr early Dec to get more of it. And found stories. Where had these been?? Fanfiction could be this?? Some published work doesn't touch. There was one day. Below is the read order of that day best I recall. I went long because I couldn't stop the love flowing to people that I was a fan of. And now? Today? Friendship. Its incredible how much fun it is.

@emmg - Herbarium - what an introduction. I liken it to a spiral. A slow sink. Except its not slow, you'll get stuck reading in the first paragraph and then she has you. You're finishing that story. It's part of you. Drawn in, winding in down, around? You feel it in the wrinkles of brain and coil of gut. And when you look back up from whatever you're in, wherever that voice left you, you still feel it there. The absence will ache you'll read it again. Favorite fic? All of them. Aftertaste has my favorite Emmrich. Charlatans ohmygaaaawd everything. And liiiiiiiich

@heylittleriotact - Visitation - yeah I joined at right time holy shit. I never new fanfic could be so good. Everything in horam viviere is, I wanna scream. A master at the sultry, the smut, and I say that with longing, desire, a jealousy. Such love there and...how to put, so real. There they are. I shouldn't be here. Caught guzzling their shake in the corner. Now I'm haunting the mortuary and still screaming over Casket Spray

@lavenderprose - Time Between - this was a different day but I was seeped in your meta posts by then and when I tell you I ran for the woods in search of a witch to give me your voice. Be thankful I didn't find her. Its clean. Its beautiful. I want to cry. I want to hold my loved ones and sing them lullabies. I had Emmrich hum a lullaby just because of this. And a shining beacon. Put it on the bookshelves chode fic is my new fav

@caffeinatedmunchkin - An Iron Hand in Velvet Glove - I've raved before. I'll rave again. This rewired some things. Made me evaluate others. There are lines that strike and others soothe. And I. I've read this at least four times. I'm still uncomfortable. I still don't. Im screamin again. Its not Emmrich guys. Its a founding. Its The Omen. Mind tags.

@jainydoe - Delirium - I'm still swaying from how silky smooth your voice is. The way you write? The words you choose? The rhythm you create? If you dropped a new fic and I was at a funeral I would excuse myself to the bathroom to read. I NEED IT. Like a drug. Misdirection, Simulacrum, VAMPIRE. The young hezenkoss and emmrich of simulacrum?? The whole feeeeeel of the vampire au. I'm a fish on shore, floppin, waiting for the flood i dunno its making me dumb.

Okay and this was a different day. But it rewired chemistry in my brain and provided yet further inspo.

@ollypopwrites - The Privilege of Worship - We still need the shorts. It still plays in my brain. It still gets me. And then you come out with Aureate?? With Pocket Full of Posies??! I could link every last one. I love your prose, your stories, its its...I. Everytime you awaken new things. The bounce and play of it. And fantastic dialogue.

And I never dreamed that I would be friends with you all. I'm always looking up and feeling inspired. You make me want to write more, write better, sexier, creepier, sweeter, loving. Your voices on my shit let my dumb brain call itself writer. And I'm still swooning. I'm still in love. I've found more love. More fics. But these inspired me back in my solitude, back in my single digit...Look I talked too much already, its all love. And theres nothing better to me than sharing all that.

Do y'all ever read a fic so good that it makes you want to elevate your own craft and also befriend the writer? It's almost like, "Hi! You write so well that you've inspired me to embark on a creative training arc. Also, can I yell about the character in your dms because you get it?"

[kathlare]

Same anon here lol, I was also wondering if you could write a part where Lando and Amelie get drunk and they’re all over each other just super cheesy and fluffy and cute, I need the love in my heart rn :) also I love ur writing it’s absolutely amazing 💖 I’m so happy every time a new part is posted

Ahh hii again!! 🥹💖 Thank you so much for your sweet words, they seriously mean the world to me!! I’m so happy you’re enjoying the story 🫶 And here it is—what you asked for: a drunk, cheesy, fluffy, love-filled moment between Lando and Amelie 💕 I hope it gives you all the warm feelings you were craving!! Let me know what you think, and if you ever have more ideas, my inbox is always open! 💌

lay all your love on me

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando take a well-earned break from the chaos of their worlds, basking in sun, wine, and affection by the sparkling shores of Lake Como.

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 28th, 2025 - Lake Como, Italy

liked by lanmielieforever, f1babe_who, and others

lanmelieupdates: Lando & Amelie having lunch in beautiful Lake Como today with Amelie’s sister and other members of her tour crew.

View all 37,912 comments

f1couplegoalsx: Lake Como looks good on them, but not as good as they look on each other 😏 → lanmielieforever: @f1couplegoalsx LITERALLY. They’re the cutest duo.

racingfan69: okay but imagine being that food tho 😭🍴

f1loverz: Amelie’s sister is probably wondering why they’re so obsessed with each other 😆 → f1babe_who: @f1loverz she’s probably just used to it by now 😂

amiesupporter: No but seriously, when are they going to just adopt me into their friend group??? → lanmielove_: @amiesupporter I’m first in line 😤

beepbeepf1: The way they both glow when they’re together 😍

rachelslovef1: Who’s their waiter tho?? Like… can I apply for that job? → lucaslamlovers: @rachelslovef1 I’ll take the shift if you’re not available 👀

lanmielie_4life: I’m just here for the soft vibes.

danielricciardofan: Can we just take a moment to appreciate the fact that they're living their best lives while people are busy hating? Legends. → f1beautyqueen: @danielricciardofan facts, they’re just vibing, let them be happy! ✌️

hateralert: We get it, they’re cute, but can someone explain why they always look so perfect?

f1faves: Y’all know that when they're together, it’s like a whole different level of cute. Not fair, honestly. 😭 → lanmielieforever: @f1faves we don’t make the rules, we just follow them 😂

xxclairexx: Amelie’s glow up from the winter is EVERYTHING ✨

nobrofan: So when are we getting the Lake Como wedding? 💍💘 → lanmielove4life: @nobrofan bet they’d be the cutest couple to marry in Italy. 😍

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

The sun hung lazily over Lake Como, casting a warm golden sheen over the water, glittering like a thousand tiny mirrors. A soft breeze rustled through the olive trees as Amelie leaned back in her chair, sunglasses slipping down her nose, a grin spread wide across her face. Her curls were tied up in a loose bun, a few strands falling against her cheeks, sun-kissed and flushed from laughter — and wine. So much wine.

—No, no, listen— she said, half-slurring, pointing her glass at Elysia —I’m just saying, if we all moved here and lived in a giant villa like The White Lotus, we’d either be dead or married within a month. No in-between.—

Elysia burst out laughing, leaning into Joe, who looked content just sipping his Aperol and letting the chaos unfold. Callum rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, shaking his head like a dad trying not to smile, while Lando sat beside Amelie, arm draped lazily over the back of her chair. His hand occasionally wandered into her hair or brushed against her bare shoulder, casual and unconscious, like he couldn’t not touch her.

He was just as tipsy, if not worse, his accent getting stronger by the minute.

—Babe— he said, his voice low and boyish, —you’re literally glowing. I swear to God, I’m gonna combust.—

Amelie turned to face him, squinting against the sun, nose scrunching in a way that made Lando feel like his heart was doing cartwheels.

—That’s just the wine, Lan. Or heatstroke. Or your stupid compliments.—

—No, it’s you— he leaned in, pressing a soft, exaggerated kiss to her cheek —it's all you, sunshine. Can’t help it if I’m madly, pathetically obsessed with you.—

—Ew— Jack called out from across the table, tossing a piece of bread at them. —You two are fucking gross.—

—Thank you, Jacky— Amelie said sweetly, catching the bread and taking a bite. —That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.—

They were in a quiet, tucked-away restaurant right by the water, all rough stone walls and hanging flowers, the kind of place you’d never find unless someone local told you about it. Plates of pasta, grilled fish, and colorful salads littered the table, along with half-drunk bottles of wine and empty Negroni glasses.

The afternoon sun had made everyone lazy and loose, and the wine had made them affectionate and reckless.

Lando, who had been tracing lazy circles on Amelie’s knee, leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She snorted immediately.

—You’re such a pervert,— she whispered back, laughing as she pushed his face away, but her cheeks were already pink.

—You love it— he grinned, eyes sparkling. —Admit it.—

—Yeah, okay, maybe a little— she leaned in, eyes heavy-lidded —but you’re gonna regret that when I post your drunk karaoke video later.—

—You wouldn’t.—

—Try me.—

And then, because she was tipsy and chaotic and very much herself, an idea sparked in her head. A brilliant, evil, hilarious idea.

She pulled her phone out of her little Dior purse and nudged Lando’s shoulder.

—Lan, can I borrow your phone real quick? Gonna AirDrop you something.—

—Yeah, of course— he handed it over without thinking, too busy flirting and wiping crumbs off her lip with his thumb.

While he turned to ask Joe something about the wine, Amelie unlocked his phone and navigated straight to his settings. Giggling under her breath, she scrolled through her hidden album — the one marked with a little 🔐 emoji — and picked the one.

It was a tasteful one, or at least tasteful by her standards. She was naked, yes, but lying on her stomach on the bed, her legs bent at the knees and crossed in the air, head turned toward the camera with a mischievous grin. The sheet was barely covering her backside, sunlight pouring through the window, catching the warm glow of her skin and the mess of curls around her shoulders.

She looked like summer and sin.

A chef’s kiss of thirst trap art.

She set it as Lando’s lock screen with a devilish grin, locked the phone, and handed it back to him with the casual cool of someone who had absolutely not just committed digital war.

—Here you go, love,— she said, sweet as gelato, taking another sip of wine.

Lando blinked at her, suspicious.

—What’d you do?— he asked, narrowing his eyes.

—What makes you think I did anything?— Amelie batted her lashes.

—Because I know that face. That’s your “I’m about to ruin your life but look adorable while doing it” face.—

She only grinned wider.

But before he could press further, Elysia started telling some long-winded story about how Jack once got kicked out of a club in Ibiza for dancing too hard, and the attention shifted.

Lando forgot, for a minute. Or rather, he was too distracted by the way Amelie’s bare leg was pressed against his under the table, or how she kept leaning into him every time she laughed, like gravity had a personal agenda.

Until he picked up his phone.

He was trying to check the time — innocent, simple, unassuming.

And then boom.

There she was.

Naked.

On his fucking lock screen.

He choked.

Actually choked.

A splutter of air, a wheeze, and then the sound of him slamming the phone face-down on the table like it had personally attacked him.

—Jesus fucking Christ, Amelie,— he hissed under his breath, wide-eyed.

—Oops,— she said, sipping her wine with the most fake-innocent smile imaginable. —Must’ve been airdropped by accident.—

—You are such a menace.—

—You love me.—

—Not when my lock screen is your ass in front of your entire family, no.—

—Mmm, well maybe if you’re good, I’ll change it to something more appropriate later.—

He gave her a look. The kind that was equal parts exasperated, horny, and completely whipped.

Callum, seated across from them, glanced up suspiciously.

—You alright, Lando? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.—

—Nope!— Lando said, voice a pitch too high. —Just uh, got a... notification. Work stuff.—

Amelie stifled a laugh, covering her mouth as she reached for another breadstick.

He leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth.

—You’re a little shit. You know that? I’m gonna get you back for this.—

—Promises, promises,— she whispered back, brushing her lips over the corner of his jaw, slow and teasing.

He groaned.

—Fuckin’ hell.—

Meanwhile, Jack was busy flicking olives at Joe, and Elysia had somehow managed to convince Callum to order a limoncello round, so the chaos remained blissfully undisturbed.

The drinks kept flowing, and the sun began its slow descent over the lake, casting golden light across the table. At some point, Amelie ended up fully in Lando’s lap, her wine glass in one hand and her other arm slung around his neck like it was the most natural place in the world.

—You know— she said, slurring slightly, eyes sleepy with affection —I like this. Like, all of it. You, me, this lake, this pasta... your stupid hair.—

He laughed, curling his arms tighter around her waist.

—My hair’s great. You’ve said so yourself. In fact, didn’t you say it was “hot enough to ruin lives”?—

—That was one time, and I was drunk.—

—You’re drunk now.—

—Shhh,— she whispered, nuzzling his cheek. —You ruin lives. It’s the combo. Hair plus accent. Plus you being... you.—

—God, I love you when you’re like this,— he murmured against her skin. —All soft and clingy and wine-soaked.—

—You love me all the time.—

—True.—

He kissed her temple, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. She turned her face to meet him halfway, lips brushing his in a kiss that was more smile than anything else. Warm and a little messy. Familiar.

—You’re disgusting,— Callum muttered, taking a bite of his tiramisu. —Do that after lunch.—

—Let them be— Elysia giggled, clearly tipsy now too —It’s nice seeing her this happy.—

Amelie leaned her head on Lando’s shoulder, her curls brushing his cheek. The sun dipped lower, the light turning golden-pink, and somewhere in the distance, music floated in from a passing boat.

She sighed contentedly.

—Lan?—

—Yeah, sunshine?—

—Promise me we’ll always do stupid shit like this. Just... sneak away and drink wine and be in love and annoy the shit out of everyone we know.—

He kissed the top of her head.

—Deal. As long as you promise not to traumatize me with naked pictures in front of your entire bloodline ever again.—

—No promises,— she whispered, already giggling again.

And Lando, completely and hopelessly in love, just held her tighter and let it go.

Because honestly?

She was worth every ounce of the chaos.

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

liked by f1fangirlz, wheelyfastwitch, and others

ln4updates: Lando was spotted enjoying a boat ride around Lake Como today with Amelie and her family 🛥️☀️

View all 42,217 comments

lanmelieslay: not Lando on the boat like he's already the son-in-law 😭 → formulaloverxoxo: @lanmelieslay he probs calls her mom "mami" already I’m screaming

wheelyfastwitch: he passed the vibes check with the fam fr → mclarenmutual: @wheelyfastwitch confirmation they adopted him

daymangf: this man living a romcom life in Lake Como like okay go off

f1fangirlz: i’d literally cry if a man took me on a boat with my family → softlaunchdetective: @f1fangirlz girl that’s wife behavior

charlescarlover: y’all romanticize anything they do, he’s just in italy

mclarenmami: this is Lando’s Roman Holiday and I’m here for it

lanmeliehater420: bet they called the paparazzi themselves 💀

lanmelie4life: this is soooo couplecore i can’t breathe → tiresandtenderness: @lanmelie4life she’s in her lake como era and i’m just in my broke era

maximumbaguette: imagine third-wheeling them rn. the PDA must be INTENSE

sunsetsonsoftlaunches: i hope ppl give them a lil privacy tho 🥲 → kindkartingkid: @sunsetsonsoflaunches fr they’re not zoo animals, let them vibe in peace

f1gogogo: they’re like "just a normal couple" except one’s an f1 driver and the other’s a global pop star lol

speedyspaghetti: why does he look like he’s about to propose in every pic?? → loveontrack: @speedyspaghetti if he doesn’t by summer i’m starting a petition

mclarenmaddie: okay but let them BREATHE for once

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

The sun was warm against Amelie's skin as she leaned her head against Lando’s shoulder, the soft hum of the boat engine mixing with her light laughter and the gentle ripple of Lake Como’s glittering waters. The wine from lunch still buzzed in her veins, making everything feel slow and silly and golden. They were a little tipsy—well, she was more than a little—and Lando hadn’t let go of her since they stepped on the boat.

She had a ridiculous straw hat on, one she had snatched from Elysia’s bag on the way out, far too big for her face but so undeniably her. And Lando? He was obsessed. Couldn’t stop looking at her like she was some dream he was still shocked had come true.

—You’re literally the most annoying person I’ve ever met,— she murmured, her words slurred with fondness, as he snapped yet another photo of her, his phone practically glued to his hand.

—Don’t care,— he grinned, angling the phone again. —You’re gonna thank me when you’re old and wrinkly and wish you looked this fit.—

—Fit? That’s what you’re going with?—

—Well, sexy sounds inappropriate when you’re wearing that,— he gestured at the floppy hat with a smug little smirk. —But for the record, yes. Very sexy. Stupid levels of sexy.—

Amelie groaned dramatically, hiding her face in his chest. He laughed, soft and low, the sound vibrating against her cheek. She could feel his fingers on the bare skin of her back, just under the hem of her linen top, tracing idle shapes with the care of someone who had the whole world in their arms and didn’t want to mess it up.

—You good, mi amor?— he asked after a quiet moment, kissing her temple. —You’re not dizzy or anything?—

She shook her head, eyes fluttering shut. —Just a little sun-drunk. And wine-drunk. And Lando-drunk.—

He chuckled. —That’s not even clever.—

—Shut up, Lan, I’m poetic when I want to be.—

—You’re poetic when you’re drunk.—

—Facts.—

Lando adjusted the position of the wide beach towel they were lounging on, pulling her further into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her legs stretched across the bench seat, her bare toes brushing the boat’s edge. Every so often, he’d glance down to make sure she was drinking enough water, occasionally nudging the bottle to her lips himself.

—You’re staring again, Norris,— she said, peeking one eye open.

He didn’t deny it. Just smirked. —I like looking at you. I’m allowed. Boyfriend privileges.—

—Ew. Who let you be my boyfriend?—

—You did, dumbass. After making me wait literal years.—

She laughed, rolling her eyes but clearly melting into his hold. —You were such a little fanboy. I should’ve known.—

—You had no idea,— he said, tightening his arms around her. —I was obsessed. You ruined my standards for all other girls.—

—Good,— she smiled smugly, poking his chest. —You’re stuck with me now.

—Thank fuck.—

He kissed her then, slow and lazy, like they had all the time in the world. Her fingers curled around his jaw as she leaned into it, lips parted, sigh escaping against his mouth. The kiss turned a little giggly halfway through, because she tasted like wine and strawberries and sunscreen, and he tasted like her favorite kind of trouble.

—Mmm, you taste like summer,— she whispered.

—You taste like chaos,— he countered, brushing her hair off her cheek. —But like... good chaos. Like a hurricane I want to drown in.—

—That was dramatic, even for you.—

—You love it.—

—I really do.—

They sat there in the silence of their own little bubble, the soft slap of water against the boat, distant laughter from the shore, and the occasional bird call the only interruptions. Lando kept taking photos—her profile in the sun, the way her fingers dangled lazily over the edge, her half-lidded eyes as she sipped water. He’d pretend he wasn’t doing anything and then smile proudly when she caught him.

—Are you gonna make a secret album or something?— she teased.

—Already did. You’re the only thing in it.—

Her breath caught just a little. —Lan...—

He shrugged, but his ears went pink. —Just... I dunno. I like remembering things. Especially you. When you’re like this. Happy. Calm. Not worrying about the world.—

She reached up, cupping his face. Her thumb brushed just beneath his eye, and her voice dropped to a whisper. —You make me feel safe. That’s why I’m like this.—

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he pulled her close again, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to feel her heartbeat against his palm. He wasn’t even trying to be sneaky about it—just needing the reassurance that she was okay. That she was really there.

—You’ve been eating well?— he asked quietly, careful not to sound pushy.

She nodded, nuzzling into his neck. —Callum made me a plate earlier. You saw. I ate most of it.—

—I know. Just checking.—

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes. —I promise. I’m doing better.—

He nodded, brushing a kiss to her nose. —I just worry. You know that.—

—You don’t have to all the time.—

—Can’t help it. You’re my girl.—

She melted. Again. Every time he said that—my girl—it did something to her chest she couldn’t explain. Like something old and cracked was being carefully glued back together.

—I love you,— she said softly.

His eyes widened just a bit—like every time she said it, it hit him fresh.

—I love you more, Ames.—

—Not possible.—

—Very possible. You’re literally ridiculous.—

—And yet, you’re obsessed.—

—Hopelessly.—

She giggled again and pulled him down for another kiss, tasting laughter and sun and safety. They stayed wrapped in each other like that for a long time, the boat slowly coasting along the edge of the lake. No rush. No noise. Just them. Lando didn’t stop touching her—not in a possessive way, just like he needed constant confirmation that she was real. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, adjust the hem of her shirt so her skin wouldn’t burn, kiss her forehead when she looked too quiet for too long.

And she let him.

Because being loved like this—so thoroughly, so openly, so stupidly—was something she never thought she’d get. Not like this. Not with someone who knew her shadow sides and still chose her every single day.

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

liked by jackdayman, emiliamernes, and others

ameliedayman: olive oil

View all 82,312 comments

jackdayman: not you catching me mid-haunting 😭 → ameliedayman: @jackdayman you said “boo” and he didn’t even flinch 💀

lanmelieuniverse: THEY'RE LITERALLY THE ROMCOM → slowburnsoftie: @lanmelieuniverse like ugh give me this energy now

lando: delete slide 15 i look deceased → ameliedayman: @lando ur cutest when unconscious 💋 → lando: @ameliedayman what about when i’m driving us through tuscan hills?? → ameliedayman: @lando ok yeah u win 🚗💨❤️

maxfewtrell: you let him operate a motorbike??? → ameliedayman: @maxfewtrell i had 3 olives and no fear

oliveyouamelie: this caption is so unserious i love her → daymangirlie: @oliveyouamelie i love that she just lives her little whimsical life

gigihadid: you’re living inside a 90s italian movie and i’m obsessed → ameliedayman: @gigihadid ok but WHERE is my gigi cameo 😤

latteandlando: how is she cute and funny and in love like ??? → peachyf1energy: @latteandlando god gives his prettiest girls everything i fear

ameliestan444: the way haters stay mad and she stays posting her bf like it’s a full-time job 💅 → gridteaqueen: @gridteaqueen as she should 😌 get ur lil gelato and ignore the noise

girliesforgossip: ik people say “relationship goals” but THIS. this is it.

florencepugh: the olive oil of it all… poetic. → ameliedayman: @florencepugh i write my captions like it’s 2013 tumblr, thank u

charles_leclerc: you let him drive?? brave → ameliedayman: @charles_leclerc i said “live fast” and closed my eyes 🫠 → lando: @charles_leclerc don’t act like you’re not the most chaotic driver i know