#buy plane tickets by himself

[applestorms]

an incredible number of meronia related posts would be so so so incredibly based if you just. switched who was who.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Oscar: I’m all for independence n’ shit, but if you’re pregna-… [Brynn shushed Oscar, flapping her hands as Darien paced past the window] Brynn: I go back very soon, when I have enough money. Oscar: You’re willingly going back to him? [Brynn’s brow furrowed offendedly, her feelings for Wyatt were genuine then…] Brynn: My business with him is not your business. [Oscar shrugged helplessly; she was right, it wasn’t any of his business-.. not really] Brynn: I know what he did to your Sandy – and to me, in roundabout way – was awful, but we are not black and white. I bet you have also done things you are not proud of; everyone has! Some worse than others maybe, but still… Brynn: You think by now I not know when a man is being sincere? Oscar: I’m not questioning you, I’m just tryna look out for you. Brynn: He must’ve been worried and tried to find me? Unless-.. did he ask you two to find me for him? Oscar: Bit of both. Brynn: Aha, I am sure you did not expect that… [Oscar wasn’t happy about it, but he was starting to believe that Wyatt and Brynn had genuine feelings for one another] Brynn: I not need saving-.. especially not from him, I am fine. Oscar: Come n’ have dinner with us at least? Courtney’s been worried about you. Brynn: I think Sandy suits her better… … [Darien loitered outside, uncomfortable around such a tangible reminder of his complicity-.. his involvement, especially with no one around to cajole him into thinking it was somehow justified] Vivienne: Zach! What’re you doing here? Your mom isn’t gonna like-… Zach: We both know she doesn’t give a shi-… Vivienne: Well, I do! Get upstairs. [Zach gulped; Vivienne meant business with that tone] Vivienne: How do you know Brynn? [Darien shrugged with a casual nonchalance, meeting Vivienne’s penetrative gaze steadily] Darien: She’s my friends’ girlfriend. Vivienne: I see… [Vivienne squinted slightly before heading back inside, almost walking into Brynn and Oscar] Vivienne: You good? Brynn: Mhm-.. I go to Oscar’s for dinner. Vivienne: Alright, take care… Brynn: Oscar is a fluffy marshmallow, don’t worry. Oscar: You’re not invited. Darien: I figured. Brynn: You not say anything yet, I go back soon and it’ll be a surprise-.. he knows I am okay. [Darien nodded, silently standing in situ as Brynn and Oscar disappeared. He ought to tell Wyatt they’d found her, but he’d probably appreciate it if he did as she’d asked. He decided he’d just have to keep an eye on her instead, remaining quiet for as long as she remained safe…]

[cometcrystal]

im not gonna make the cleo post on reddit rn im really tired and there's so many media formats i would have to put effort into making cohesive and the movies arent on netflix anymore afaik so i cant get good caption screencaps so i'd have to make them myself. so thats for another day.

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you being bullied in the past/highschool

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

tw: this one holds a lot of mentions of verbal bullying and cyberbullying - it's something very close to home for me and this fic will be for anyone who has experienced the same thing. remember that you are strong and the harsh words don't define you! i love you and stay safe <33

he can feel his blood boiling the moment you comment on your past experiences with bullies. seungcheol prides himself to be a level-headed type of guy, but the thought of you getting hurt - even in the past - strikes a chord deep inside of him. he's thinking about buying a plane ticket to your hometown just to find those fuckers and bury them six feet under. however, he's mature enough to know that violence never solves anything, opting to show you even more love than before (if that's even possible) to remind you that you are worth everything in the world.

jeonghan's mind is already whirring overtime the moment he finds out about your past. using his scary, evil, mastermind brain for good this time, he can't help but envision decking the people who've hurt you. doesn't mind listening to you as you rant, knowing that you need a silent supporter by your side. will never tell you about how he sees red just thinking about your so-called "friends" who made you feel so horrible about yourself.

joshua can feel his heart crack with each name you tell him you've been called. takes the time to reassure you that you are none of those horrible things, that you're kind and beautiful and so so so smart. traces his finger across every scar and imperfection you've been bullied over, whispering how much he loves you. doesn't mind giving your bullies the nastiest side-eye the next time he sees them.

although he's doing his best to be present as you tell him about your past, jun is internally screaming at himself because you. are. crying. it's like he malfunctions every time it happens, hating how sad and scared you look. despite his panic, he's awfully calm when he comforts you, explaining to you that no, you are not weak because of this. in fact, you're much much stronger.

soonyoung's somehow found himself perched on top of a chair, his body steaming with anger, holding too much rage to sit still. you can tell he's struggling to hold back the foulest curse words, knowing that he should at least let you finish your rant. the moment you're done however, he's cursing them, their mother, their partner, anyone he can get his metaphorical hands on. it's okay baby. he'd tell you once he's calmed down. they're probably failing in life. but look at you! you're successful and beautiful and you're dating me!

wonwoo's asking you questions in a way that makes you fear for what he's about to do. what's their address? social media? social security number? you have to physically sit him down and remind him that the bullying happened years ago in highschool and that there was no point in trying to get revenge now. he's visibly deflated by the news, but decides to just dote on you even more to prove to you that their awful words were wrong. i'm no good with words, but i'll show you how fucking stupid they were to hurt you.

jihoon doesn't really know what to say when you tell him. he only thanks you for feeling brave enough to share such a painful part of you with him, feeling happy you trust him enough to do so. neither one of you revisits the topic: until one day, you see a suspicious amount of rageful revenge lyrics and comfort lyrics in seventeen's new releases. i guess we can credit the making of Hug to that instance.

minghao's glad he meditated last night because what you just told him would have definitely set him off without it. he doesn't hesitate to hold you, asking you if you need anything from him. i'm so proud of you for surviving all that, my love. they were obviously blind and didn't see your worth. and i'm sorry you thought they were your friends. he makes it clear that he's here for you, whenever you need to talk about it again.

seokmin more than upset when you're finished telling him everything- he's confused. he doesn't understand why anyone would want to hurt you, let alone say all those nasty things and pretend to be your friend. he apologizes for crying, trying to laugh it off by saying idk why i'm crying so hard, it didn't even happen to me but i'm the one sobbing like a baby. promises you that he's never leaving your side and you don't have to ever worry about him turning on you like your friends did in highschool.

all mingyu can think about as he listens is that he could have made it all better if he had just been there. he tells you while gently wiping away your tears that he would've traded places with you in an instant. i wish we'd met when we were younger, love. i would have fought them all back. but most of all, he wishes he was there to protect the younger you, knowing a child didn't deserve all that.

although you're doing a great job already, seungkwan can't help but join in on dissing your bullies and so-called "friends." he nods along enthusiastically every time you throw an insult, preferring always to laugh about it instead of cry. he's hyping you up, agreeing with everything you say as you recount your highschool days. yeah, no she sounds like a bitch. i bet he couldn't even read a chapter book. bro probably stank, you were safer without him. she's sounding like one of those insane kdrama rich ladies - and not the hot ones.

vernon's quietly listening, storing away every single piece of information for the next time you guys return to your hometown. he's already preparing his plethora of insults and backhanded digs, ready to show them a taste of their own medicine. he quietly tells you that he can relate - school had never been kind to him either - and he somehow spins all your shared trauma into something beautiful. we were meant to be, he says, cause you healed me, and now i can heal you. his words make you smile through the tears - and you fucking love him for that.

chan's at a loss for words once you're finished telling him everything. he's overwhelmed by the sheer amount of harsh words and sickening moments, knowing that if he felt this bad just hearing about it, he couldn't imagine how you felt going through it all. you're much braver than i would have been, is all he says after a pause. i love you. chan might be a man of few words, but he knows just what to say.

[baby--vera]

Blue Lock Boys as Dads

rin, sae, isagi, reo, kunigami, yukimiya

☆ミ

navigation • masterlist • bllk masterlist

itoshi rin

defo a girl and boy dad. older girl, younger boy vibes. when your pregnant he's definitely the type to get really fussy and not let you do anything incase you hurt yourself or the baby (he won't let you get a glass of water yourself). when your water broke he panicked and accidentally brought you to the wrong hospital...and you had to, as calmly as you could, tell him. and ge FREAKED out. when your baby was born it was all well, he took most night shifts to let you rest as much as you could, even though he's a professional athlete and should probably not be staying up, he would break the rules for you (and the baby too). fortunately, your second pregnancy experience was less chaotic as the first, rin still did the regular night shifts though <3

itoshi sae

only child dad vibes here. if its a girl, he would spoil her SOO much you'd have to scold him for it. but he still continues to treat your daughter like a princess behind your knowledge. on the other hand, if its a boy, he DEFINITELY bought the kid a football...he wouldn't force them to play but he would like his kid to at least try it. whether boy or girl, if they end up playing sports he would be at every match possible to support his child, even coaching them himself. your kid would be the star player of any sports team lol. but if your kid doesn't do sports, sae would also be very supportive of their hobbies, going as far as to buying the best equipment possible for it. however sae would be quite a strict dad from time to time, such as curfews and screen time. but in the end, he just wants what's best for his baby and to keep them safe <3

isagi yoichi

3 kids. he want 3 kids. obviously if you don't want that many he would respect your wishes but its just what his ideal family looked like in his imagination. he would be SOO helpful during and after your pregnancy. would give you massages, cook for you, carry you, anything you can name this guy has done for you. when it comes to taking care of the kids he definitely is big help too. he would carry them all the time and play with them all the time too. but when he's away for matches, you always facetime him before to say good luck and show him the kids in his jersey (he tears up it's too cute) but if isagi's match is nearby, you would bring your kids with you, of course wearing his jersey again, and cheer him on. he also will full on leg it to you all after a match to give you all big kisses (sometimes you might feature in his interviews too) <3

reo mikage

2 kids. either both girls or both boys. idk why i just thought of this when i thought of reo. when you tell reo you're pregnant he is over the moon, and he vows that he will not treat his kids like how his parents treated him, meaning he will let his kids have their own dreams insteaf of having to take over the mikage company. however, he will still spoil his children SO MUCH. you literally are face palming everytime he does. when your nearly about to give birth, he takes time off football (despite the disappointment from nagi lol) to take care of you and after you give birth. but when your children are a bit older he literally begs you to bring them to his matches and even gets you vip seats so they can see how cool their daddy is. if his matches are abroad, he will also pay for your plane tickets (in 1st class ofc) to come see him abroad and so he can see you and the kids. he will boast about it after the match <3

kunigami rensuke

kinda basing this off his own family but 2 girls and 1 boy. he's of course a REALLY good girl dad because he has younger sisters. he knows everything his 2 baby girls need and how they think (fr mind reader). as for his baby boy, he taught him football, of course. when we plays with his son he does play a little rough but not enough to hurt his kid. he would never forgive himself if he hurt his own kids, son or daughter. he love them all equally. (he's just a big teddy bear, even after wildcard he wouldn't treat his family any different) <3

yukimiya kenyu

2 kids. older boy and younger girl. yukimiya is the definition of GENTLEMAN. he is literally perfect. he researched everything when you told him you were first pregnant, so that he was prepared. everything went perfectly smoothly and soon, you two had your second baby. yukimiya also would take time off football to take care of you and the kids until they're manageable for you when he's away for matches. his son is a massive fan of his own father (who wouldn't be) and your baby girl is just there for the vibes lol. they have exact replicas of yukimiya's sports glasses and signed jerseys. but when the kids grow out of their baby jerseys, yukimiya gets a bit emotional, he cant bring himself to throw them away. so the frames the little baby jerseys in the living room if your house <3

here's a little thought/drabble for yall bc my maths series is taking a while...(im so sorry it will take a bit😔)

hope you like this and a smau should be out in a bit too ( 〃▽〃)

[allurilove]

A day in the life as Henry

Synopsis: Henry hated his father and his friends. He hated it even more when you left on a trip, and he was now stuck with four men that knew nothing on how to take care of a tyrant-like toddler, like him.

*This is just a short drabble of Henry! Henry is the readers child, and he’s the son of yandere husband! The new yandere fic will come out around thursday, and this is something I made on the spot lol.*

Henry found it odd when he was fed his favorite foods two nights in a row. He hadn’t seen a single broccoli in sight, or even that horrendous cabbage salad his father forced him to eat. It was all delicious fish with skin cooked to a crisp, then slathered in the green sauce made with fresh herbs. He was even allowed to eat whatever he wanted at any given time. It was slightly suspicious behavior, and he started to look back at the times he had done something good.

Let's see... he made a fuss when his father bathed him, cried when his father tried to joke around with him and put suds on his hair, and Henry ran around the house butt naked because he refused to put on his little star onesie. But, he did help his mother when she was gardening. One good thing he did for his mother completely outweighed all the bad with his father. So, they must have been rewarding him for being a good boy.

He opened his mouth when you fed him his favorite dessert next, and the moment he tasted the sweet applesauce, he gulped it down. He was too busy savoring the flavor to notice the look you shared with his father.

Henry rubbed his tired eyes as he finally woke up. He felt like he had been sleeping for hours and hours without end, and his body refused to get up. Henry hadn’t eaten this much before, but then he remembered his parents had used the same tactics before, and he had woken up at the doctor’s office. He couldn’t exactly say no to food, as you made it with love each time! You had definitely done this on purpose, and he was upset that he had fallen for it, and gotten into a food coma.

Damnit! He’s been bested, again!

Henry pushed the covers off him, his feet then landing on the ground as he pushed himself off his bed. He then huffed and puffed as he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. The toddler was about to give his father a piece of his mind and make him feel guilty for getting his guard down. He wondered what was going to happen this time. Was he going to the hospital? Was he about to be replaced by that damn dog his father had been ogling for the past week? He reached the corner and saw a little glimpse of your suitcase walking out of the door. His eyes widened immediately, his brain finally putting the last piece of the puzzle together, and it felt like his whole world came crashing down.

You whispered in his father's ear all the time when Henry was around, your eyes glued to the computer screen, and when he swore he saw you buying plane tickets, you denied the allegations. You lied to him. You teamed up with his worst enemy (his father) and betrayed him.

You were leaving.

The child couldn't believe it! He knew his father needed you as much as he did, and there he was, letting you freely walk out of the house without a single look back! How could you be so heartless? He had expected that type of behavior from his dad, but not from you.

“Nooooo!” Henry whined as he rushed up to the now closed front door. He heard the lock slide into place and started to bang his fists on the wood. “Come back! You forgot to bring me with you!"

How was he supposed to survive with just his father to rely on? Who was he supposed to cuddle at night? Surely, you didn’t expect him to hug a man whose body was hard as stone and who barely had the decency to pat his back to help him go to sleep! His father paled in comparison to you. There was no competition anyway; you were number one in Henry's eyes.

Even though you told Henry to never swear again, he felt like his whole body was about to explode into exploitatives!

“You big fat poopy jerk!” Henry cursed as he started to tug at his father’s hair. It had only been a single day since you left, and he was already on edge. He had been fighting with his father since that morning, refusing to listen to anything he had to say. It all felt irrelevant. The only person Henry really listened to was the person who had just walked out of his life!

"Henry, please!" his father tried to hold the toddler back, but Henry's hands kept grabbing at any hair he could reach. Using his thumb and index finger, Henry pulled on his father's eyebrows for good measure, even twisting them and plucking a couple of strands.

"Ow! That hurts!" the older man winced at his own son's grubby hands. “Get him off, get him off!” yandere husband roared in pain.

Yandere husband's friends stood there in shock from the petulant display. They had never seen a toddler so feisty like Henry, and they didn't know what to do. Their eyes followed them as the two started to tussle in the living room. Henry's toys were still scattered about, and yandere husband tripped on one of the trucks. He howled in pain as the hard plastic object jabbed into his shin. Henry continued to squirm and kick, his face red with frustration. His determination to defy his father was unmatched, fueled by a mix of anger and sadness from your departure.

"Applesauce! Bring me the damn applesauce!"

It took four packets to calm Henry down, and with each sip, yandere husband could see his son's eyelids start to droop. Yandere husband groaned and rubbed his face to soothe the aching feeling, and soon he heard his son happily snoring away.

Henry had spent the rest of the week begrudgingly warming up to the fact that he was stuck with his father and his little group. He woke up, rubbed his eyes, and finally slept in his own room for once. His father came by around 8 am, and Henry let the man pick him up, resting his cheek on his father's shoulder. Henry was then placed into his highchair, where he watched as the four men tried to fulfill his needs.

One man was gently wiping the crumbs off Henry's face, another scooped up the peas on his plate and fed them to him, and a third fanned the kid as the temperature started to rise, while his father cooked the rest of his meal. Henry preferred this treatment, being doted on as if he were royalty.

After he finished breakfast, his father brought him back to his room and picked out his outfit for the day: a Polo Bear Cotton Jersey Tee paired with his trusty blue overalls. His father then combed his hair with his fingers, applying a bit of gel here and there, followed by applying sunscreen. And of course, his father couldn't help himself and gently pinched at his chubby cheeks.

Henry and his father went to the park, where kids around his age liked to play. The toddler mostly played on his own as he wasn't ready to socialize yet. Plus, it was scary to put himself out there. Deep down, Henry was terrified of a lot of things. He picked up his tiny purple shovel, digging away at the sand, and he noticed a shadow appeared above him. He expected it to be his dad, but the silhouette was too small. Henry slowly lifted his head, his brow quirked when he noticed a girl staring at him. She carried a green sandcastle bucket in her hand and seemed mostly interested in the shovel Henry was using.

She hadn't said anything, but Henry could tell she wanted it. His shovel was pretty cool. It wasn't a plain beach toy, it had glitter on the handle, and it was in the shape of a crocodile. Unsure of what else to do, Henry handed her the shovel. Her hand reached out eagerly to take it.

"Um… would you like to play with me?" Henry asked tentatively, his heart thumping as he hoped he wouldn't be rejected. His eyes quickly glanced down, and his face turned a light shade of pink. He felt almost embarrassed to even ask that question.

"Sure," the girl in front of him nonchalantly shrugged, sitting down next to him. "Would you like to build sandcastles with me?" She had a slight teasing smile on her face, her posture relaxed and carefree as she already picked up a good amount of sand with his shovel.

"Sure!" :)

[via-l0ve]

Dating Carlisle Cullen HCs!

a/n: was the requested? absolutely not. am i a slut for daddy cullen? abso-fuckin-lutley

warnings: fluff, smut, swearing, im lowkey an edward hater in this i’m sorry, smut is fem!reader based!! dating daddy carlisle

- when you guys hang out at night /alone he’s all over you

- he holds you, lays on your chest, plays with your hair while you sit inbetween his legs SHSSUWHEISN

- he plays with your fingers while you guys are around other people and he gets a little nervous

- like if your hanging out with friends he’ll play with your fingers and hands, twist around your bracelets and rings

- i love him he’s so soft

- he desperately tries to stop you from popping pimples and blackheads

- “y/n sTOP”

- sometimes you’ll laugh at stuff he says bc it sounds so old fashioned

- he attempts to make you food and most of the time it’s amazing but usually when you two cook it almost always ends up burnt or undercooked or missing an ingredient

- bc he gets distracted by your stupid jokes that sometimes result in a food fight

- carlisle would do anything for you

- literally one time you brought up wanting to go to disneyland because they do a mardi gras parade and he almost bought plane tickets right then and there

- “what’re you doing?”

- “buying plane tickets.”

- “what??? STOP-“

- he loves how you hate when he spends money on you

- it makes him want to do it more

- you both have multiple matching things

- bracelets, rings, necklaces, etc

- he bought you this EXPENSIVE bracelet once and you almost passed out on the spot

- it has your and carlisle’s initials engraved into it and it’s your favorite color

- he lets you paint his nails frequently

- he loves when you do little designs on them too

- he loves being the person you feel comfortable ranting to

- it breaks his heart when he opens his door and sees you with puffy eyes and a red nose, tears reminiscent on your face

- he lets you in and picks you up, speeding you to his bedroom

- he grabs you a big t-shirt and a pair of his boxers and tells you to shower or change before talking about it

- and then after that he does whatever you want

- sometimes he’ll comb your hair while you rant to him, or make you some tea on the kitchen island while you talk to him about what happened

- he’d totally sit you on the counter and cut up + feed you fruit and clean the juice from your chin. im sobbing

- 100% takes care of your stuffed animals

- he would love how you bond with his “kids”

- you and emmett would totally play horror games together

- emmett and you are this clip:

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxJdszrIKDCtmfnyVLdhVwf2sGqLcJ6NBU

- honestly either of you could be rhett/link and it would still make sense

- you lowkey make fun of edward ngl

- i feel like he plays games with you and emmett too and he sucks ass

- carlisle looses his shit when he hears you make a gooddamn good roast of him and you can hear him laughing from upstairs

- alice constantly tries to buy you clothes she thinks not only you, but also carlisle would like

- Rosalie would confide in you a lot

- tbh it took her a hot minute to warm up to you but when she saw how happy carlisle was with you she gave you a chance

- jasper loves you tbh

- he games w/ u and emmett and you guys kick ass in rocket league

- sometimes Carlisle will just stare at you for no reason

- you’ll catch him and he won’t break eye contact and you get all flustered and look away

- and proceed to look back to see him still staring

- “what’re you looking at?”

- “just you. :)”

- “okay but why”

- “youre beautiful.”

- “get a room!” ~ emmett

- reminds your to take ur medication

- after meeting your family, he’s always down to babysit with you or go to family reunions or vacations

- if it’s a sunny place he’ll just busy himself with work inside

- always liking ur instagram posts

- he always comments on them too

- just a simple “i love you” or “gorgeous🩷”

——— smut time

- respect and consent king

- wouldn’t dream of hurting you/degrading you ever

- he loves tits. sorry not sorry it’s true

- he’ll play w/ ur nipples and leave hickeys on ur boobs

- fucking looses it when you moan his name

- like, if you do that he’s giving you literally everything he has

- his fav position is missionary or when you ride him but you face him

- specifically if he’s sitting in his office chair and you get ontop of him and-

- makes your legs SHAKE

- he has his hands on your hips while you ride him bc that’s hot

- literally adores your body

- he couldn’t care less of your stomach pokes out or if you have love handles or stretch marks

- he loves you for you

- PRAISE

- this man loves to make you blush and he knows exactly how to do it in bed

- master at giving you head

- literally knows exactly what to do and how you like it done

- fucking dies when you ride his face

- like it’s not a thing that he wants he NEEDS it

- he pays attention to your body movements and how you react to certain things

- he’s the typa guy to get on his knees and eat you out

- tongue around ur clit and fingers inside you pumping in and out and moving around inside to touch your g-spot

[wttcsms]

unlike most of the loud-mouthed, irritating people sae itoshi finds himself constantly surrounded by, he’s long since learned that you are not the type to openly express what you’re thinking about unless explicitly asked. 

so, for you, he finds himself asking into the quiet, sleepy darkness of your bedroom, “what are you thinking about?” 

“that starting tomorrow, i’m going to forget all about you.” you hum, propping yourself up by pressing your palm against the muscular plane of his chest. one of the straps of your silky camisole slips off your shoulder; it shouldn’t be as tantalizing to him as it is, but he thinks everything about you, everything you do, is designed to specifically tempt him. 

he focuses on the tiny strip of fabric, on the smooth expanse of your skin, before his eyes flit back up to your face; he meets your gaze, cocks an eyebrow. “oh?”

truth be told, sae’s not a witty person. everyone lets him get the final word in because he’s got this cold aura and seemingly disinterested expression that screams “i don’t give a fuck,” but he does care. to a certain extent. he doesn’t care about the arguments he has with people; he just cares about winning. when he calls you, and you pick up, even if it’s on the second to last ring before he gets sent straight to voicemail, he considers that a win. when you open the door for him before he can even knock, he considers that a win. 

when you admit that you’re thinking about him, even if it’s to say it’s because you plan on erasing him from your memory, he considers that a win. 

“wanna know why?” you ask him, and he nods. if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t even care. 

“‘cause i can’t handle being the girl that keeps having her ex spend the night.” you sit up fully now, removing your hand from his body. he misses your warmth the moment your touch leaves him. 

“easy fix. we can get back together, then.” the two of you are practically together anyway. he cooks you breakfast the morning after, and you still wear his boxers as pajamas. his body’s pretty sensitive to most sensations, especially early in the morning, but his feet have gotten used to hitting the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom when he wakes up before dawn to brush his teeth and get his day started. 

“too late. i've already blocked your number from my phone.” 

he almost laughs at that. instead, he takes your right wrist, his thumb gently pressed against your pulse point; he likes to apply just enough pressure so that he can feel every beat of your heart. “yeah? i can buy a new phone, get a new number.” 

“you make breakups difficult for no reason.” you tell him, but not yanking back your wrist. it’s why he feels bold enough to bring your fingers to his mouth, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers. 

“we broke up?” he peers up at you, your fingers still so close to his mouth that you can feel the way he breathes life into his words. annoying. he’s so annoying. the worst part is, you’re pretty sure he’s somehow convinced himself that you ending things was just you throwing a tantrum. he’s still treating you the same as he always does. 

“i broke up with you.” not like he needs the reminder. 

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

“you don’t have to agree. breakups don’t have to be mutual.” 

“i have a game next week. we’re going to be playing in france. i was thinking a day before the match, we could go visit the louvre, like you talked about.” he’s still going on casually, making plans like there was never a doubt in his mind that you’re going to show up to his game. you received the ticket he sent and somehow couldn’t bring yourself to toss it in the trash, right where it belongs, so it’s currently hiding in your nightstand drawer. 

“sae, i’m not going. i’m not your girlfriend.” 

well, you’re certainly his. he made sure to have you scream out a chorus of yours, yours, yours! to have it drilled into your pretty little head. 

“how do you know my name? i thought you forgot all about me.” he’s holding back a smile. 

“i’m forgetting all about you starting tomorrow.” you point out, and one corner of his mouth quirks up, a smug smirk on his face as he nods subtly to the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

“it is tomorrow.”

you blink, before staring at him curiously. “yeah.” you say slowly, having been bested by sae itoshi once again. “what do you think i should do now, then?” 

give him all your tomorrows for the rest of your life. 

he doesn’t say that, though. he just pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. when you say his name, breathlessly and full of longing, he takes the time to fix the strap of your camisole, knowing it’s futile since he'll be pulling it off your body soon, anyway. 

he wins.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan, after being officallt together with Wade for multiple months just sitting at the table with this longing look on his face.

"What's wrong, Wolvie? Kitty havin' a bad day?"

"...My wife died today.."

"What?"

And it's not that Wade doesn't already know he's been married multiple times already, but it's the suprise that Logan is just now mentioning this today. I mean its like 4 pm and he just now is bringing this up.

"Well.. Let's go see her!"

"... I can't.."

"Oh... cause it hurts to much?"

Logan is staring at the table, just.. staring.. out of it, looking like he's gonna cry if someone doesn't do something. And seeing as he's sober now, he's trying really hard to stay here. He wants to run off to some bar and drown himself in his own sorrows, but he doesn't.

He's a good boy.

Cause he's staying right here. At home. With Wade. Where he belongs. It's so hard, though. So damn hard.

Theres a big pause before he looks up at wade with the biggest wettest eyes. "..Cause shes in Japan."

And suddenly, Wade Gasps. "Ooh I love Tokyo! Lets go!"

Logan is now frustrated, he thinks wade is teasing him about going. He thinks hes mocking him. Tears fall as he glares at him.

"DONT... not today, wilson."

So Wade blinks and is like 'oh shit' cause he got hit with the army name.

"...so.. you dont want to go to Japan?"

Its now that Logan looks at him, baffled. "Of course I do..."

"Then let's go! Im bringing an empty suitcase, EEHH Im gonna buy so many clothes!" So as Wade runs off, Logan thinks for a second, processing before awkwardly coming to the bedroom. "W-..were actually going?"

Wade stops packing and blinks. "Peanut you really gotta make up your mind. Do you want to go see your wife or not?"

"... yes."

"Then yes. We are. Now come on I cant imagine a ticket this late would be cheap but oh well! Anything for my Logan." He declares.

Logan smiles a bit.

My Logan

"Y-you dont mind? Really? It'll be a lot of money, Wade... wont you feel weird coming with me to watch me talk to her?"

"Oh don't worry about it. I took a couple extra jobs this week, and why wouldn't I be? You let me see Ness. And Death."

"I dont exactly *let* you see death... she just takes you."

"Yeah well. When a girl is needy you dont really complain, now do ya? Now get packed or ill go myself. Ive been itching to go somewhere for awhile. Love new york. Hate america." He states, slamming his case shut and zipped it only for a couple yips to come from the bag.

"...Wade... did you pack puppins?"

"What? Shes an essential."

"Wade..."

"Fine! I'll leave her with al! Jeez."

And so, here they are, packed, sunscreened, and at the airport when Logan remembers how much he hates planes. He's nervous, anxiously staring at the boarding gate and his hands itch. Hes in the corner, waiting for wade to get back with their pretzels.

"You know- Its really convenient that I saved up all that money and we were able to go on this vacation style trip. Oh well. You want your pretzel now or later? Yours has cheese. Mines mustard.. Kinda like that new Kendrick song."

"What??" Logan asks, out of it and is obviously sweating.

"Ooh kitty... shit I forgot. Here. Hurry up and take these. Hank said if we ever needed to go somewhere on a plane or you were going crazy to give you some of these." He says, shifting hands to give him a bottle of pills.

"Im not so sure about this.."

"About going to Japan?"

"No no.. I... I wanna go to Japan. I just.. I really hate planes.. and these I-" he looks at the pills, whining. "I used to do a ton of pills, Wade. Anything I could get my paws on."

"Ha!! Paws."

"?? Did you take one of these?" He questions.

"Oh what? Nah. Did do a ton of coke though before we left... Oh shit... you know what the author just remembered?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah exactly. We cant get through TSA... Welp. Time to go buy a plane."

"Ohh hell no! You are NOT flying us anywhere!.. Look.. I know a guy."

"Oooh. Mysterious cliff hanger. What will happen next? Who knows. Maybe we'll get a plane crash and logan will drown to death over and over-"

"WADE!!! NOT. HELPING!"

[boldlyvoid]

Neighbourhood Beauty

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Penelope is hosting Christmas at her apartment this year, she invites everyone... Including her new neighbour, who is exactly Spencer's type.

Warnings: flirting, love at first sight, kissing, making out, teasing, drunk bau friends, food mentions, Baker!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

She was sad the whole journey home from work knowing that Christmas was tomorrow and she was going to be alone. As she gets into her apartment complex, she runs into her neighbour at the mailbox. She’s got 3 packages in her hands while trying to figure out how to carry the last two, “do you want help?” 

“Oh, please?” She sounds so relieved. “What a blessing it is to see you today.” 

She smiles for the first time in a few hours, “Oh, anytime Penelope. Are these all gifts?” She asks as she takes the two packages in her hands. She’ll come down for her own mail later. Nothing interesting should be in there. 

Penelope nods, leading them towards the elevators. “I’m having a big holiday gathering tomorrow— wait, do you have plans, are you going home to see family?” 

“No,” she admits, sadly. “I couldn’t get a plane ticket, I tried but they’re so insanely expensive lately.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Penny sighs. “I haven’t gone out to see my brothers in years, they’re in California.” 

“It sucks… but you have lots of friends here, right? I’m sure they’re coming over tomorrow?” She asks, mostly so she can feel some sort of comfort if she isn’t doing anything tomorrow either. 

“I’m having Christmas here for the first time,” she shares. “Dinner starts at 6:30 but we’re having a little bit of everything for lunch around 2, if you want to stop by at any time?” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t—

“You can, and you will!” Penelope insists. “You don’t need to worry about gifts or bringing any food, just show up. I hate the thought of you being alone next door.” 

“Okay, I’ll come,” she gives in with a smile. “But I’m bringing a baked good… have you ever been to my bakery?” 

“You own the bakery?” She’s so flabbergasted. “I thought you just worked there?” 

She smiles, “I do… we do okay but I’m by no means rich enough to buy a plane ticket home.” 

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing cause now I can eat whatever you bring tomorrow!” 

—

She spends the whole night baking. She makes molasses cookies with powdered sugar on them in shakes of little Christmas trees and she makes chocolate croissants. One of which she brings to Penelope around 10 am so that she can have a nice breakfast before the party starts. 

She showers, picks a cute outfit and by 3pm she’s anxiously waiting by the door trying to hype herself up to go over. She only knows Penelope. They’ve lived beside each other for 3 years now. She’s seen her friends coming and going and heard them talking in the halls but she’s never talked to them. But if they like Penelope, they’ve gotta like her too. 

So she bucks up and heads over. 

She knocks and within seconds, a handsome man is throwing the door open. “You don’t have to— oh, hi?” 

“Hi… Penelope invited me? I’m her neighbour… Y/N,” she awkwardly introduces herself. 

He’s at a loss for words— and breath, for a moment and then shakes himself out of it. “Spencer… Reid. Doctor… Doctor Spencer Reid.” 

It makes her laugh, easing the anxiety out of her system. “Can I come in, Doctor Spencer Reid?” 

“Yeah, yes, come in,” he steps out of the way and extends his arm into the room for her to follow. He closes the door after she’s inside and smiles. “How do you know Penelope?” 

“I live next door.” 

“Really?” He can’t believe it. “How long?” 

“3 years now…” 

“And you’ve never come over?” He looks offended. 

She smiles, “Why, sad you haven’t known me longer?” She manages to tease him. She’s not always good at reading people but something about how he’s acting makes her think he likes her. 

He blushes but nods, “Well, welcome. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“You too,” she looks him up and down. He’s very handsome. And a doctor… “how do you know Penelope?” 

“We’ve worked together since I was 22…” 

“And you’re now…?”

“42,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly. “Old…” 

“No, no you’re not, I would’ve guessed 35 at the most,” she teases, stepping into his space, she places her hand on his arm. “You’re a very handsome 42.” 

“Are you doing anything for New Years?” He asks, removing all his fear and looking at her with hopeful eyes. 

She shakes her head, “no… I might be working but I can leave early, or you can come see me there?” 

“Where do you work?” 

“I own the bakery on 16th Avenue,” she smiles. “Penelope buys in donuts and things from me all the time, actually, I brought over baked goods this morning, they’re in the kitchen somewhere.” 

“Did you make those croissants?” He lights right up. 

She nods, “maybe I can teach you how to make some?” 

“I’d really like th—

“Y/N!” Penelope comes running from the kitchen and wraps her arms around her, “When did you get here?” 

“Just now,” she laughs. “Spencer’s been keeping me company.” 

“Ahh,” she pulls away with a smile. “Well, come eat, there’s lots of snacks in here.” 

She leads them into the kitchen where her other friends are around the table. “The ones with kids will be around later, they’re still putting batteries and things in their kid's gifts. But this is Rossi and Emily and Tara.” 

She reaches out to shake everyone's hand, realizing only now that she never shook Spencer's, but he doesn’t mind, he stays close to her. They sit side by side, he passes her things from the table that she wants to put on her plate and he gets up to get her a drink and everyone makes conversation while also watching him dote on her. It’s been 20 minutes but there’s something there… no man has shown her this level of interest or flattery before and not to quote Lana Del Rey but, when you know you know. 

They’re friendly as ever when there are people around them and they flirt like mad when they’re alone. She already has a date with him, but he’s just too cute and that shade of red he turns is starting to become her favourite colour. 

“You seriously used all the ice?” Penelope chastises Emily, who pretends she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Go get some more, we have guests coming who don’t drink alcohol they need ice for their sodas!” 

“I am far too drunk to walk down the street,” she counters and points to Dave. 

“Not me,” Dave touches his nose, he doesn’t volunteer to do anything and Tara does the same thing, she’s just as drunk as Emily. 

Spencer goes to get his coat with a sigh, “I’ve got it.” 

“I’ll come too,” she rushes to the door with him, putting on whatever coat fits her so that she can follow him down to the street for some extra alone time with him. 

She reaches for his hand on the street, “So, what’s it like at the FBI?” 

He holds her hand gladly, “it's… okay. I just teach now. Fieldwork put me in the hospital too many times and I like being alive.” 

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she bumps shoulders with him.

His smile is beautiful. “So, about that date?” 

“We could do anything you want,” she assures. “But my offer still stands.” 

“I think I’d like a baking lesson,” he nudges her back. “It's the one thing I’m not good at.” 

“So what are you good at?” 

“Rambling, falling over, getting shot,” he teases but she swats his arm, leaning into him with a laugh. “Okay, but seriously, I have a Ph.D. in Chemistry, Engineering and Math.” 

“Well luckily for you, baking is just science and a bit of math,” she teases. “You’ll catch on quickly, smarty pants.” 

He pulls her in, chest to chest, standing beside an empty store with all their lights off. He cups her face, “what’s sweeter? Your chocolate croissants or your kiss?” 

She can’t help but laugh, “you’ll have to tell me…” 

He pulls her in for a kiss and sparks fly behind her eyes. As if every atom in her being is on fire, she melts into him. Kissing him deeply, she holds his sides and the hand he has on her cheek goes into her hair as they begin to make out on the snow-covered street. 

She pulls back first, smiling softly, “so?” 

“You, it’s definitely you,” he teases. “But the croissants are a very close second.” 

She laughs, “Well, keep up the compliments and there will be lots more kisses and sweet treats coming your way.” 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss but she stops him. 

“Just the neighbourhood?” 

“The whole world,” he corrects, which is the right answer. She lets him lean in closer, stealing another kiss. 

She kisses him again and again, trying to pull back but he kisses her a third time, making her laugh. “We need to get that ice, we’re going to be late for dinner.” 

“do you want to hang out after dinner?” He asks, “I can walk you home?” 

“And stay for more kisses?” 

“Or croissants,” he shrugs. Happy with either. 

—

They’re pretty normal for the rest of the party, she meets the rest of his friends and all their kids. And they’re some cute kids. The youngest is his friend Matt's 2-year-old, she sits at the grown-up table with them and eats one of the chocolate croissants with the biggest smile on her face. Y/N can’t help but think about how much her own kids might like her baking one day… and Spencer sees the way she looks at the baby too. 

His friends are so lively, the the party goes on until well after midnight. The friends with kids head out early, Emily and Tara get a cab home, Dave is passed out on her couch and Spencer isn’t going to leave until she does. And she’s helping Penelope clean up. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Penelope assures her, drying off dishes while Spencer washes them. She’s been putting things in Tupperware containers and organizing the fridge. 

“I want to help, as a thank you,” she smiles at her. “This has been a lovely night.” 

“And not just because I introduced you to your new boyfriend?” She teases and Spencer drops a plate. 

She laughs, walking over to place her hand on Spencers arm, “I mean, meeting Spencer is the best present you could’ve given me.” 

Penelope swoons, “Okay that’s it, love birds. Get out of my kitchen, go home, go canoodle and get to know each other. I knew this was going to happen.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance?” Spencer whines as he dries off his hands. “I would’ve worn something nicer?” 

“You look cute,” she teases. 

“See, that’s why,” Penelope points at her. “I knew she’d like you for you, she’s a baker and you love everything I buy from her bakery and she’s so kind and you need someone to love you the way I know you love people back. This is perfect.” 

She wraps her arm around his waist and leans into his space, “thank you penny, we’re going to go now.” 

“Thank you,” Spencer agrees, following her out of the kitchen and towards the door. 

Once they’re in the hallway, he asks, “Did you really mean that?” 

She nods, “of course?” 

He lunges for her, kissing her with her back pressed up against her apartment door. She reaches for the doorknob, twisting it open so that she can bring them inside and push him up against the closed door instead this time. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, and he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips. 

“Couch?” She pants against his lips, wanting to lay down with him. 

“Show me?” He agrees, following her into her apartment and to the living space. 

She pushes him down against the couch and climbs on top of him. He wraps his arms around her, cradling her body like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. He kisses her just as soft and she moves her kiss to his cheek and his jaw up towards his ear, “you’re so handsome,” she whispers. 

“Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re absolutely stunning, I don’t know how I got so lucky.” 

She smirks against him, kissing down his neck, “You deserve good things, Spence.” 

“You’re too good to me,” he teases, hand slipping down to her ass. “How far are we taking this?” 

She hums, “I’m good just talking and kissing all night?” 

“All night?” 

She nods as she pulls back to look at him. “I kinda don’t want to let you go. I’m afraid you’re too good to be real.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. “I’m yours as long as you want me.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[djarrex]

submerged

Steb x f!reader

read on ao3 (more warnings and notes here too) | masterlist

Steb comes home after a long day and the two of you take a nice soak in the tub.

a/n: I don't recall buying the ticket but I hopped on the Steb train real fast - anyway, here we are. smut. +18 only. about 2.9k words.

After being on shift all day, Steb enters your home and walks toward you, peeling off his beret and setting it down on the counter. His duffle bag slides off his shoulders and plops unceremoniously to the floor, and just like always, he greets you with a kiss while wrapped in his arms.

“I've filled the tub.” You tilt your head to the side, and he hums in acknowledgement. One of Steb’s favorite ways to decompress after a shift is to take a nice soak, to sit relaxed while temperate waters work to rehydrate and regulate himself. His appreciation is displayed with how his features soften at the sight of you, the longer, drawn-out and thoughtful hum he emits.

“Hungry?” you ask sweetly enough, your hands delicately running from his exposed neck down the thick uniform fabric and metal accents covering his arms. Your hands find his gloved ones, intertwining your fingers. You feel him start to melt into it. “I can start on dinner while you soak for a bit. Recharge.”

You go to pull away, but Steb’s fingers tighten around yours. You raise a curious brow, but your impending inquiry dies on your tongue once you register the look in his icy eyes followed by the subtle nudge of his head toward the direction of the bathroom. 

Join me. 

A knowing smile forms on his lips upon your wordless understanding. You peck him on the lips, and squeeze his hand tighter. 

Steb guides you into the bathroom. The two of you begin to shed each other of your clothing, working at buttons and fastenings, peeling off a layer at a time. As more layers are removed until he's standing bare in front of you, you shamelessly ogle at him. The sight of his body never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Fins and wispy frills protrude from the blue-green hues that color his skin. Stripes of darker shades stretch from his brows and disappear beneath thick, slicked back hair of a heavier shade of teal; the same patterns crawl down the back of his neck, his thighs and abdomen, while symmetrical blotches of scales pepper the planes of his biceps and down his forearms.

You trace a finger along his lithe abdomen, the thinnest sheen of film barely collecting underneath your nail. Your palm rests between his pectorals and Steb’s chest vibrates at your touch, the short, fanned frills above his cheekbones flickering rhythmically.

You pause to dip your hand in the water, gauging its temperature. It's still pleasantly warm, not too overbearing for Steb. 

“Long day?”

His ears flicker backward and his eyelids blink slowly as he gazes at you, offering a telling dip of his head and twist of his lips. You can feel just how dry his skin is compared to normal, but along with that, the invisible yet imposing weight sits on his shoulders, bending his spine in an almost slumped way, contrast to his usual well-kept posture. Steb works so hard, cares so hard, and even though the war ended, things are still taking a toll on him. 

Reassuring him with a smile, you cup his chin and run the pad of your thumb just below his pout, playfully pulling down his bottom lip. “Let’s get you into the tub, handsome.”

Steb’s eyes light up at the praise, then his pupils darken among the sea of glacier blue just as quickly. You take his hand and walk with him to the edge of the elongated basin, and being the gentleman that he is, Steb guides you into the water first. You scoot away from the wall of it, leaving room as he takes his place behind you. His long legs stretch out as much as they can on either side of you–leaving just a slight bend in his knees–his hands pulling at your shoulders to urge you backward. Your head rests against his shoulder, your nose inhaling his natural scent of what you always describe to him as the earthy undertones of lush vegetation growing along a riverbank.

“Better?” you ask him with a tilt of your head upward to see his face. Steb looks down at you with a content, calming gaze, and you get lost in the subtle ombre of orange and pink that colors his external eyelids and the contours of his nasal bridge. He clocks your lingering stare, and huffs a chuckle. 

Your hands find themselves running up and down his thighs, pushing into the muscles to ease some tension. The massage elicits a low dragging hum, and you continue, pressing yourself even further back into him to reach higher up near his hips.

Steb wants to return the favor. He always does.

His skilled, precise hands work at your shoulders just before they curve up to your neck, kneading your muscles with the right amount of pressure to make you reciprocate with a similar sound of your own. Medically trained, Steb knows exactly what spots to hit and how hard to hit them.

“That feels so good.”

He hums, and then his hands are moving again – palms now cupping your breasts. Nimble fingers swipe across your pebbled nipples and an unmistakable heat rushes to your core. As he's touching you, you don’t miss the awakening twitch of his cock against your lower back, the feel of the bulbous head curiously poking at you. You bite your lip, looking up to see his reaction; a contrasting rosy tint has since grown across his cheeks and his lips have parted ever so slightly. 

You scoot up just a tad so you can twist your body to face him at an angle, just enough to where you can slide your hand down his tensing abdomen below the water line to grasp at his hardening cock. Always cautious at first with his sensitivity, you watch as the short, delicate frills lining the underside flicker with your touch through the ripples of the water. Steb releases a soft groan from deep in his throat when you close your hand around him and give a few experimental pumps, relishing the way he feels within your palm. When you start to grip a little harder and move a little quicker, his head falls back against the edge of the tub with a comical ‘thud’, and the both of you let out a simultaneous huff of laughter. 

Once he's throbbing and starting to pant, Steb pauses your ministrations with a gentle grasp of your wrist, his eyes signaling what he really wants with a devastatingly soft yet lustful stare. His thumb absently traces the skin on your wrist.

“Is this what you're needing, handsome?”

Normally this look in his eyes–determined with a haze of lust–says enough, but his lips find your ear, the plush of them parting.

“Need you.”

His voice, slightly raspy with what could be explained as disuse or desire–or a pleasant blend of both–never fails to thrill you in the most inexplicable ways. You savor hearing that rich, velvety sound of him formulating his thoughts into words, rare as it may be.

“Have me, Steb. I'm yours.”

You fully turn around to meet him face to face, with his blissfully lustful gaze watching your every move: When you allow him the space to adjust so you're straddling his thighs, and when you take his cock in your hand as you lift yourself with the help of your other hand on his shoulder. He always wants to watch your face as he enters you; it's a high that strokes his kempt ego, knowing he's the one to get you to make those pretty expressions and devastatingly sexy sounds.

Pumping his cock slowly with his natural lubrication sliding under your palm, you recall the time when you'd found out just how heightened Steb's senses can become when he's operating in wetter conditions, whether it's being on shift in the rainfall on an overcast day, or taking a quick reset in the shower. Sharper hearing, crisper eyesight. The way his body reacted to physical touch within this very tub now has a debauched idea popping into your mind. You're intrigued. How much better would sex be for him in water?

Since you’ve been paused in thought, a question mark etches its way onto his expression. Adorable, you mentally note. A sultry smirk pulls at your lips. His cock still in your hand, swollen and leaking from just above the water line, you tease the darkened head with a swipe of your finger along the slit. Steb shivers.

“How long was it that you could stay underwater?”

Eyes blowing wide, he nods eagerly. Adorable, again. If there ever was an inkling of apprehension on his end, it’s unabashedly tossed to the wind. Steb understands exactly what you’re suggesting, and hastily moves toward the center of the tub. He immerses himself into the water, his knees bent behind you. All of the gills on his upper body submerged, you finally lower yourself onto his cock and moan at how he totally fills you. It takes a moment or two, but once you get accustomed to the feeling of him inside of you again, you start to ride him in earnest. You rest your hands on his chest, using his sturdy body to keep up your momentum and effectively keeping him pinned to the bottom of the tub. His crystal eyes are piercing through the rippling water, carefully watching your expressions as you use his body to keep yourself moving, the water softly splashing around you and threatening to spill over the edge. 

Briefly slowing your motions, you remove a palm from his chest to delicately grasp at his chin, a tender gesture that the both of you know well. 

Is this okay? 

Steb takes his hand and encircles your wrist with those deft fingers, bringing it up to rest just above the gills on his jawline and nuzzles into your palm. Tiny air bubbles pop silently on the surface. His eyelids briefly shut. 

I’m fine – feels so good like this – keep going.

He releases your hand then, instead running his own up and down your thighs. You keep your eyes on him as you focus on your angle, aiming to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Steb is beautiful already, but something about the way he looks under the water – skin glistening with an almost luminescent quality, his frills and hair flowing freely, the mesmerizing way his gills pulsate with breaths –  you're fixated.

His freshly-hydrated skin feels all the more smooth against your own, but slippery as well. You start to struggle with keeping yourself perfectly balanced, and when you meet his groin on every downward thrust, you begin gyrating from side to side. Sensing the struggle, Steb taps your wrist and you allow him to emerge from the bottom, water sloshing messily and actually pouring over the edge of the tub. While his head turns to the side to assess the mess, droplets of water trickle tantalizingly down the cords of his neck and chest until they rejoin the source at the waterline at his abdomen.

“Was that okay?”

He looks back at you. Nodding, Steb’s eyes crinkle with a smile. His cock still blissfully impaling you, you're pulled flush against him. Strong arms wrap around you, holding you close. The throbbing deep inside your cunt has you wiggling impatiently, earning you a coy chuckle punctuated by him recapturing your lips for a deep kiss.

He grunts against your lips at that.

“Needy,” he notes, a playful smile curving his own. Before you can protest, Steb jerks his hips, and soon he's moving his body with yours in a crazed dance. His hands run up and down your back, pausing every so often to hold you impossibly closer as you rock into one another, the feeling of his rough fingertips surely leaving imprints in your skin. 

The weight of his breaths–ones that carry whispers of pleasure–tumble down your throat. Your fingers move to brush back his dampened hair, nails scratching his scalp. Every little touch you grace him with, pulls hurt noises and whimpers within the confines of his throat, and you want to hear them over and over again – intoxicated. Leaving his scalp, your fingers continue along the base of his skull, ghosting above the short fins that start to protrude there, and then you move down his neck and back, careful to not roughly scratch the ones that line the length of his spine. The almost liquidy, viscous groan that Steb lets out in response makes you clench around his cock, and just like that, you feel him throb deep inside of you with his release, panting heavily, his body twitching within your arms in the aftermath. 

Steb holds you for a moment longer before untangling his slippery limbs from yours. It takes only seconds for him to scoot you back against the opposite wall of the tub, part your thighs, and easily slip two fingers into your cunt. It isn’t long before he curls them, thrusting his long digits rapidly and determined. 

Your hand smacks against the lip of the tub, and the other quickly darts to grab at his hair.

“Sh-Shit – Steb…”

A cocky smirk and a grunt to match – ears twitching. He feels inebriated when you speak his name in such a way, and it gives him the extra push to work quicker, harder, until you’re a blubbering mess. The water splashes around where his wrist continuously plunges with his motions. The corded muscles in his forearm bulge with exertion. You’re weightless sitting in this tub but every muscle is tense and every nerve feels like a fraying thread. You watch, transfixed, on how his fingers draw in and out of your cunt beneath the water line until you can’t. It’s too much but oddly not even close to being enough. You want to reach that peak. It’s close – you’re close. Your head lulls with the rush of blood and adrenaline, tipping backward.

Steb won’t have that, though.

Suddenly he pulls his fingers from you and out from the water, instead grasping your chin to angle your head back upright. The look in his eyes has a slight bite but lacks any venom – yet you’re instantly sobered all the same. There’s a slight flutter in your core at this side of him. Sometimes even your quiet, caring, selfless Steb can take charge.

Your chin is released once your undivided attention is back on him. The shape of a V made with his index and middle fingers taps once, twice just below his eyes, and the frills on his face flutter in time. The wordless command is one you understand implicitly. 

Eyes on me.

You nod, loyal, eager to revisit where your body was heading before. “Please.”

A softer haze fills the look in his eyes then, satisfied with your compliance as much as it is charming. Even after taking you like this, claiming you with fervor, Steb is still the sweet, gentle man you’ve grown extremely fond of. Your pride swells knowing that you’re the only one to see him, to understand him in ways far beyond what meets the eye. Gratitude swells in your chest. You want to kiss him.

The moment is over when his fingers stuff back into your cunt.

The same devastating pace at which he finger fucks you quickly brings you back to where you wanted to be, just moments before finally tipping over. Only now, you’re looking right at his face, at the way his frills flutter and how his ears involuntarily twitch in response to every sound you make as he focuses solely on the way you’re feeling. His warm yet icy eyes are glued to your own, and somehow meeting them is more lethal than you can anticipate. 

“I’m close–”

Steb leans toward you. You think he’s going to kiss you, to tangle his tongue with yours in an intimate gesture that is like a soothing balm through it all, but–

“Come.”

You were wrong: Hearing Steb’s gruff voice tell you–no, command you–was the most lethal weapon that sent white-hot pleasure searing through every fiber of your being, not just tipping you but launching you over the edge, sending you soaring through your climax. A high-pitched whine tears itself from your throat, pruned toes curling with it. Steb does lean in to kiss you then, doing exactly what you had thought he was going to do before, only moments later. His fingers move slower as you writhe and clench around them. You continuously hum into him, an evident smile shaping his lips.

Everything after that is a blur. At some point, Steb guided you out of the tub, carefully, because the water that had spilt on the floor had been clocked as a safety hazard, somewhere in the throes of it all. You were wrapped in a towel, Steb on his knees as he dried you off with reverence – then carried to bed, clothed with an extra undershirt of his and buried beneath a blanket right beside him. 

Steb adjusts and turns to face you. He runs the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible but you know the shape of the word well.

[torakowalski]

Apols for the delay but Swimmer Steve is back and pretty much exactly where we last left him.

(part one | part six)

"Fuck," says Steve. "Fuck." He hasn't said much of anything else since he came out of the changing rooms, still damp and kind of stunned-looking.

"Fuck," Eddie agrees.

Steve looks at him, a smile starting to spread across his face, going on and on like it might be endless.

God, he's handsome.

God, Eddie is stupid in love with him.

"Olympics, baby!" Eddie crows. They've already hugged; Steve got a hug from everyone, as soon as he emerged. Eddie wants to hug him again, but that would probably be too much.

"Fuck," says Steve and sits down on the floor between their two beds.

Eddie shrugs to himself and sits down with him.

They've only come back to the hotel so Steve can get showered and changed before the celebration dinner that the kids have planned. Or, actually, Steve has come back to the hotel for that; thinking about it, Eddie's not sure why he came with, except that it just felt natural.

Either way, looks like they're going to take longer than expected.

"All good?" Eddie asks, just in case.

"Jesus Christ," says Steve, which is a change from fuck and laughs. He lifts his hands up to cover his face and when he lowers them again, his eyes are wet. "The Olympics, Eddie."

Eddie nods, can't do anything but smile stupidly back at him. He doesn't think he's ever seen Steve this open and relaxed and delighted. "The Olympics, Steve."

Steve rubs at his eyes with his fingertips, mostly just making his eyelashes damper and darker from his happy tears. "You know when you've wanted something your whole damn life, but you never really thought you'd get it? It feels fucking wild to get it."

Eddie thinks about his guitar, his band, how badly he wants to stand on a stage looking out at thousands of people who all want to hear what he has to sing. Then he reminds himself that this is Steve's moment.

"I bet," he says. "Congrats. You've worked damn hard and you absolutely deserve it."

Steve leans over and bumps their shoulders together. "You're coming with me, right?"

Eddie blinks. "Where?"

"... the Olympics," says Steve, like it should be obvious.

Eddie blinks some more. "Steve. Sweetheart. Steve. The Olympics are in Korea."

"Mm," Steve agrees, "but the war's over, it's totally safe there now."

Eddie loves and hates that Steve thinks that might be the only thing putting Eddie off.

Eddie stretches his legs out so they disappear under Steve's bed and hopes there's nothing really gross under there that'll stick to his jeans. "Look, the literal only reason I've been able to afford rocking up and down the country with you is government hush money and the fact you keep buying all my meals. There's no way I can stretch to plane tickets, and I'd need my own hotel room, right? 'cause you'll be living in the athletes village?"

He could have kept going, obviously he could have kept going, but he stops there because Steve is waving a hand at him.

"What? Don't say you'll pay. There's no way you have that much extra cash, either."

"Nah," Steve says, "but my dad does. And I will be fully, fully back on the credit card, after he finds out about this."

Eddie makes a face. "But we hate your dad?"

"We really do," Steve agrees, smile not even dimming. "But we love spending his money on shit he'll hate." He drops a hand to Eddie's knee, giving it a squeeze and a shake. "You'll come, right?"

"... You should take Robin," Eddie tries, one last attempt to be a good person. "Or the kids. God, the kids would shit."

Steve leaves his hand on Eddie's knee, like that's just a place where it goes now. "I'd take them all, if I could... Plus like, all their parents to keep an eye on them, but they'll all be back in school by the time the Olympics start. None of them can take like, three weeks out."

"I bet Erica could wrangle it," Eddie points out.

Steve makes a guilty face. "Love Erica, but I don't think we have the kind of relationship where we hop over to Asia, just the two of us. You know?"

Eddie wants to ask, And we do? But they do. He knows they do.

"I don't know," he says. It's a big fucking deal. He's never left the country before and he'd love to, but he really does hate Steve's dad and all he chooses to be. The idea of being beholden to him for that big a favour sits wrong in his gut, even if Mr Harrington never actually knows about it.

"Eddie," Steve says, like he's prepared to wheedle for what he wants. Then he stops, takes a breath, shakes his head. "I know it's a big ask and obviously you don't have to, if you really don't want to. I kind of just, I can't, I can't imagine doing this without you."

Eddie claps a hand to his chest. "Right in the flattery gland, Harrington."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's leg and squeezes his thigh. Is this going to be a thing? Is Eddie going to have to get Robin to have a word with him about this soon?

"You're the whole reason I've got this far," Steve tells him, all close and sincere. "If you don't want to come, that'll suck, but it's okay. I just wanna make sure that you know I appreciate everything you've done."

Eddie knows every mole on Steve's face, but Steve's close enough now to reveal a few previously unknown freckles.

Eddie chuckles weakly. "Personal space?" he suggests.

"Overrated," Steve says and then.

And then.

And then he presses his lips carefully against Eddie's.

"What?" Eddie croaks. He can feel his breath dance off Steve's mouth.

"Thank you," Steve says and kisses him again, a little firmer, a little damper this time.

"I..." Eddie is a goddamn fucking hero because he makes himself lean back. "Don't. You can't. Don't kiss me to say thank you. That's not... Don't. Please."

He's expecting Steve to sit back, blush and apologise and explain he had to best of intentions. Instead, Steve lifts the hand not on Eddie's thigh and touches his cheek. "Can I kiss you 'cause I can't imagine not kissing you?"

The centre of Eddie's chest throbs. Even he doesn't know what that means. "You don't want to kiss me," he manages.

"Kinda really do," Steve says. "So? Can I?"

(continued here)

[heliads]

Can I pretty please request Carlos Sainz x reader where she’s rly shy and gets worried that maybe he wants someone more outgoing but he tells her he loves her any way she is? Your writing is amazing 🫶🏻

anon i love you wholeheartedly please let me speak on carlos

masterlist

You are not who you are supposed to be. There are qualifications for being the girlfriend of a Formula One driver, you’re sure of it, probably even a style guide somewhere if you only bothered to look it up. Perfect hair. Clean makeup. Pretty, but doesn’t try too hard. Willing to give up their whole life to follow one man on mad jaunts across the planet. Wherever your guidebook is, though, you must have lost it long ago, because you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, and worst of all, it’s starting to show.

You never should have gotten into this position in the first place. That isn’t to say that you hate it, far from it; dating Carlos Sainz is the best thing that ever happened to you, making you the happiest wrong person at the right time to ever exist. In every other universe, he’s probably seeing models or actresses, but here, he has you, and you’re willing to fight off every multiversal version of you just to keep everything as it is right now.

Your butterfly effect was quite stunning, actually. You ended up getting tickets to a Grand Prix through last minute cancellations. They were great, came with paddock passes and all that, and while you were lingering through Ferrari hospitality, Carlos happened to drop by to visit a friend and he noticed you while you were in line to get some water. He’s got the confidence of, well, a world class athlete, an adrenaline junkie, a professional race car driver, and so he introduced himself.

Sometimes, it’s just as easy as that. A father’s cousin’s roommate buys two tickets to a Grand Prix, then a stranger’s roommate’s brother gets sick, and suddenly you’re touching down off a plane overseas and walking through the door of paddock hospitality. You wear red, and you are seen. Just like that.

It took one more weekend before either of you knew that you wanted what you had to last for good. He texted you, followed you on Instagram and blew his cover of seeming cool by accidentally liking a post of yours from six years ago. And, when he saw you again, he knew that he wanted the spark between you to be something more, something like a bonfire.

Coincidence may have supported you thus far, but you don’t trust it not to abandon you. At the end of the day, you are you, you are Y/N L/N, and you are so far removed from Carlos’ world that it stuns you to think that you were even in his orbit so long as to meet him. If there are powers that be somewhere in the universe, they’re either playing a cruel joke or messing around to give you a helping hand. 

Hopefully, it’ll be the latter, but truly who knows at this point. As if it wasn’t surreal enough to introduce Carlos to your friends and family as Carlos Sainz, Formula One driver. As if it doesn’t blow your minds that people have started making Instagram accounts just dedicated to posting photos of you and your boyfriend whenever you’re seen out together.

The problem lies in the insanity of it all. You are not from this sort of life, you weren’t born into a silver spoon dynasty and you barely know how to interact with any of them now. You get along with the other WAGs as best you can; Heidi’s lovely, sure, and you were friendly with Charlotte until she disappeared, but sometimes it feels like it’s just you and your boyfriend against the world. Of any ally to pick, Carlos would be your top choice each and every time, but still. The fact remains that he will go out and race and leave you to your own devices, and you lack the extroverted impulses to social climb with everyone else.

This, then, is the main concern. You can pick out whatever designer clothes you want, goodness knows Carlos has offered to buy you anything already, and you can get your nails and hair done before each and every race, but that doesn’t change the fact that you, at your core, are never going to enjoy the paparazzi circus whenever you have to brave it.

It’s just not your scene, that’s all. You’re on the quieter side, happy to spend time with a few key friends but increasingly nervous in large crowds. Formula One is all large crowds, as you’ve discovered; thousands of fans, hundreds of engineers and team members, plus drivers and girlfriends and best friends. So many eyes, all on you. So many voices all shouting over each other.

You love Carlos, though, and you love him wholeheartedly, so you gather up your courage and go to race weekends when you can. Every time Carlos sees you in the crowd, he smiles so widely his friends tease him for weeks, and he runs to you first after every podium and strong finish. You want to be there for your boyfriend, truly you do, you just wonder if all of this should come easier to you than it does.

Also, you wonder if Carlos wishes the same thing. He has been nothing but perfect to you, so the spirals of guilt currently tangling their way through your insides are purely of your own creation, but what if he truly does think like that? Carlos must see the other WAGs, how they shine and sparkle with attention instead of feeling the urge to run. Wouldn’t he want that? Wouldn’t he get frustrated that you can’t be like the rest?

Thousands of girls in the world, and he picks you. You don’t know if it’s sweet or genuinely frightening. He wanted you out of everyone, yes, but he could replace you in a snap, swapping you out like some useless part on his car. There is nothing about you that cannot be replicated in any other girl. Even Charles did it, in a way, got himself a new girlfriend that’s a dead ringer for Charlotte. Carlos has no reason to keep you except for something he knows and you don’t.

The guessing will drive you mad, maybe, but you’ll lose your sanity long before that just trying to keep up with everything in his fast-paced life. You’ve been to prior F1 races, obviously, it’s how you met Carlos in the first place and it’s also how you kept him, but this upcoming weekend is different, this is Barcelona. Carlos is the center of attention at his home race, and every step he takes, a new storm of people is flooding in to ask him for autographs, selfies, anything to remind them that he’s real and right before their eyes.

Carlos doesn’t ask for a whole lot, and he certainly didn’t force you to come to this race, but you saw the hope in his dark eyes when he brought it up oh-so-casually at a dinner last week. You had assured him that you would go there to cheer him on along with the rest of his home crowd, and Carlos had been delighted for the rest of the evening.

You are happy to go, truly, but it’s taking everything in you to keep your smile up in front of the reporters and crowds and fans, and it’s just the first day. All you’re handling right now is qualifying, not even the actual race. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that it’s only going to get worse from here on out, but when Carlos looks back at you as you wind through the paddock, you just smile and tell him you’re glad to be there with him. You’re here for him, after all, and Carlos is busy enough with race stuff that he won’t want to hear your complaints.

That’s what you keep repeating to yourself throughout the entirety of that day. Carlos qualifies well and is properly pleased about it, as he should be. The possibility of a podium or perhaps even a win for his home race has been one of his top goals for the season, and he’s as close as he can get to it right now. He earnestly talks about it the whole drive back to your hotel, but once you’re back in the safety and peace of the room, the conversation abruptly switches back to you.

Carlos sheds his jacket at the door, watches you flop down onto the bed with a smile on his face, then asks you pointedly, “And how are you doing, amor?”

You smile back at him, the expression trained to perfection after being tested so many times today. “Great! Glad that everything’s going so well for you. I’ll be cheering for P1 tomorrow.”

In truth, you’re tired more than anything. People kept coming up to you all day, assuming that taking a selfie with Carlos’ girlfriend was at least half as good as getting to see him. They gave you all manner of gifts and things to give to him, extracting promises that you’d tell him dozens of different people wished him well. You knew you’d get a lot more attention when you started dating Carlos, but the lack of personal space and privacy at the races is truly unlike anything you’d experienced before.

Carlos has been dating you long enough to pick up on this, apparently, because he furrows his brow and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow, but do you want to tell me what is really on your mind? Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I know you, no?”

You sigh, covering your face with one of your arms. Carlos deflects from this attempt to hide by gently pulling your arm away, pressing a kiss to your forehead to make up for it. “Talk to me, cariño.”

You look sorrowfully at him, but when it becomes clear that Carlos won’t let you go until you confess, you give in. “It’s just a lot, I guess. The people and the cameras and everything.”

Carlos frowns. “I can get them to go away, you know that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to hear it. All of the other girlfriends have no problem with it, just me. I thought you’d want me to be more outgoing, so I tried, I really did, it’s just hard for me, I don’t know why.”

When you dare to risk a glance up at Carlos, you’re surprised to notice that he looks genuinely hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t think that I would actually be unhappy about that? I just want you to be happy. Don’t think about me.”

You let out a low breath. “I know, it’s just– I want to be like the rest, really. I don’t want this to be a reason–”

You cut yourself off, distracted by Carlos’ hands still wrapped around yours. Carlos picks up on the obviously dropped subject, though, and looks at you with fresh concern. “You don’t want it to be a reason for what?”

“That you would break up with me,” you whisper.

That’s it, then. That’s the truth. If you can’t live with Carlos’ lifestyle, why wouldn’t he leave you for someone who could? It makes perfect sense to you, but judging by Carlos’ expression, that logic couldn’t be further from his mind.

“No, Y/N,” he says, “That’s not right at all. I don’t want to break up with you, like, ever. Not because of this. I don’t want someone else, I want you. I love you, querida. I love the girl who showed up out of nowhere and made me forget about every other woman in the world. I love the girl who shows up to my home race even though it stresses her out because she wants to be there for me. I love you, Y/N. No one else. Just you.”

And, well, in the face of such passionate declarations, who could stand firm in their own self-pity? Certainly not you. You smile and let him kiss you again and again until you can’t see straight, and after that it is better, it is all better. Hearing it straight from Carlos is better than trying to guess at it. It lets your worries finally sink off into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just what he wants. Just what you want.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 3 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After two days apart, the continuous phone calls and texts have Bradley running up to meet you near Los Angeles for game three. He likes all of it, every minute with you. And then you tell him that his favorite part is your favorite part, too.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, masturbation, oral, and smut (18+)

Length: 7100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

You woke up with Bradley's big arm wrapped around you. His alarm was going off, but he was still asleep. You rolled over so you were facing him, but he just pulled you closer.

"Where you goin'?" he mumbled, eyes still closed. "Stay here, Ace."

Your smile was enormous as you bit your lip. "Bradley," you whispered, kissing his nose. "You have to go to work."

"No." He pulled you impossibly closer as you laughed.

"Your alarm is going off." He muffled your words with his lips on yours, and he rolled you onto your back as he kissed you.

"Don't care," he murmured, pressing kiss after glorious kiss to your lips. But then you laughed, and so did he, because his alarm kept getting louder and louder. "Do not move an inch," he whispered, pinning your hands above your head on the pillow and easing himself away from you. "I'm serious, Ace. I want to pick up right where I'm leaving off."

You giggled as you watched him climb out of bed and walk naked across your hotel room. The early morning light filtering in through the curtains lit up his tan skin. He was beautiful. His skin still looked summer sunkissed, and you tracked him with your eyes as he located his phone on the floor. 

"I told you not to move," he growled, climbing back into bed and crawling toward you, his big hands immediately holding both of yours. 

"I didn't," you whispered with a smile, turning your head to the side as his mustache brushed your ear. Then he eased his body back where it belonged, right on top of yours. What a thought. He was already familiar. You shouldn't feel this comfortable with someone you literally just met. You shouldn't be thinking about the next time you were going to see him. 

"Now where was I?" he muttered, frowning at you like he couldn't remember. "I think I was right about here." His kisses were probably the only thing you needed right now. Each one was more exciting than the last, and you wound your fingers in his pretty hair. He was hard against your thigh now, never shy about his reaction to you. 

You wanted him. There were eighteen condoms left to use. But when he broke the kiss and ran his thumb along your bottom lip, you pouted a little bit. "You need to leave."

He shook his head just slightly. "I need to stay."

"No, no, no, Bradley. You told me to tell you that you had to go to work today. You told me last night to tell you that the planes won't fly themselves, and that you aren't allowed to spend the day with me."

"Never said that," he whispered, and your eyes fluttered closed as his thumb grazed your cheek softly. "I'd never tell someone as pretty as you that I wasn't going to spend the whole day with them."

"Bradley," you whimpered, and he sighed. 

Then he buried his face against your shoulder and kissed you there. "It's just that I want to spend as much time with you as I can. While I can."

He said he would get a ticket to game three just to see you. Just to be with you up near Los Angeles. Your voice was soft as you asked, "You'll really come to game three tomorrow night?" You felt vulnerable. You never felt this way. You had to have the biggest bark and the biggest bite in your line of work, and you were always ready to be on offense or defense. But you didn't feel like you had to try so hard with him. You felt like you could breathe and enjoy yourself.

Bradley's lips were on yours again, and then he said, "I'll buy a ticket on my lunch break today. And when I text you, are you going to respond?"

"Yes," you whispered with a grin. "As long as you go to work like you're supposed to."

"Yes, ma'am," he rasped. "I can't wait to see you tomorrow night. And I can't wait to read your article later today."

You were basking in the warmth of his words, but when his lips started a trail down your chest, you knew you needed to be the responsible one here. "Go. To. Work."

He groaned as he rolled off of you again and stood with his hands on his hips. You propped yourself up and looked up at him as he gestured toward the floor. "Eighteen more condoms. Am I taking them for safe keeping, or should I leave them with you?"

You tapped your lips with your index finger and asked, "Are you going to need them between now and the next time I see you?"

Bradley scoffed and said, "I already told you, Baby, I like you the best. I was only joking about the blue feathers. I'm absolutely not going to try to hook up with the other Ace."

"Go to work!" you said, howling with laughter as you launched the pillows at him one at a time as he tried to get dressed. 

Then he had a big smile on his face as he picked up his Padres jersey and leaned down to give you one more kiss. "Keep this until I see you again. You looked so cute in it, thought you might want to wear it around."

You took it in one hand and wrapped the other around his neck to pull him close. Just one last kiss to hold you until tomorrow night. "Bye, Bradley."

"See ya, Ace." 

He left in his jeans and undershirt, closing the door softly behind him. And then you were alone with his jersey, eighteen condoms, and the aching need to see him again. So you pushed your apprehension aside and decided to keep fooling yourself into thinking this was all a good decision. 

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

"You are distracted," Nat said as Bradley slid into the seat next to hers at lunchtime, his phone in his hand. You'd sent him a photo of you sitting at the desk in your hotel room wearing his jersey. 

"Am I?" he asked, examining every inch of the photo before he started typing a response. 

Nat gasped, and he looked up at her. "It's the sports writer! You went to the game!"

"I did," he said slowly, still typing a message. "And I'm planning on going to game three in Anaheim tomorrow night if I can find a ticket. And I'll probably go to each game after that too, because this is the kind of girl I've been dreaming of my entire life. She's cute, funny, smart, loves sports, and she's great in bed. And I just want to spend my whole day with her." He looked up and smirked.

"Doesn't she live in New York?" Nat asked, and Bradley could already feel his face falling. 

"Yeah," he grunted, hitting send on the text message that said, "Let me take you home where you can wear all my clothes, and then I can take them all off of you."

"Be careful," Nat warned before biting into her sandwich. 

"Weren't you the one who told me you could see me with six kids? Like a soccer player and a ballerina?"

Bradley hated the pitiful look she gave him. "I don't want you to get hurt."

That was the whole fucking thing. Bradley knew you could hurt him. It hurt the night after game one when he went home alone and then didn't hear from you in spite of the fact that he had given you his phone number. And it hurt him to think about you in New York where you lived, or in some other random city covering a sporting event. Because his home was in San Diego. And it would be next spring at the earliest before you'd be back to cover more baseball here. 

"I'm not gonna get hurt, Nat. It's just a fling." As soon as he said the words out loud, he wanted to take them back. They were all wrong, and they made him feel dirty. He'd had flings before, and they didn't feel anything like this. He'd been having occasional casual sex with Shannon for probably a year, and she never lingered in his mind after he threw away the condom and watched her leave. 

"Okay, well maybe you should reconsider going up to Anaheim tomorrow night?" Nat pressed. "I know I encouraged you to see her again, but maybe that's actually not the best idea."

"Nat, I know what I'm-" Bradley looked at his phone as another photo came through. In this one, you were lounging on the hotel bed where he'd spent the night with you wrapped up in his arms, still wearing his jersey. But it was open in the front, and your left hand was on your right breast. 

Ace: I kind of miss you. I keep putting off leaving for my exclusive interview with the Angels' bullpen, because my hotel room smells like you.

"Fuck me," Bradley muttered, rubbing his free hand along his face. 

Nat snatched his phone, and he let her have it. "Wow. Wow. Bradley."

"I know," he groaned. 

"She's hot. And that message is beyond flirtatious."

"Yeah," he said, his voice precariously close to a whine. "Nat, I like her. I like how she writes her articles, and how I know her favorite team now. I liked how she felt in my arms all night."

"You slept over?!" 

Bradley didn't reply. He just took his phone back and saved the photos. Then he sent you another text. 

I'd rather you do an exclusive interview with me instead. I think you'd really appreciate what I have to say.

Ace: By all means, tell me what you would say if I interviewed you, Bradley.

I would say you look sexy as fuck in my jersey right now. And that thing never had it so good.

Ace: You're right. An exclusive with you would be much better.

"Now you're just ignoring me," Nat said as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I'm going to sit with Bob."

Truly, Bradley hadn't heard a word she said. He also hadn't eaten any of his lunch. He had to inhale his sandwich while he walked back to the classroom for the afternoon, because yes, he was distracted. 

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

Your boss was really riding you today. Apparently your submissions at 11:58pm after the first two games really had Greg Pfeffer rattled, because that was the first thing he said when you talked to him. The second thing he said was that he needed you in Boston as soon as you wrapped up in California. Apparently there was nobody else on staff he trusted to handle the Bruins head coach as well as you could. 

You knew what your strengths were. You were smart, crafty and organized. But you were also a woman. And sometimes the men you interviewed responded to you differently than they would another man. In a good way. You always seemed to be able to get more information out of players or coaches than anyone else. Just yesterday afternoon you managed to get two of the relief pitchers from the Angels' bullpen to admit they weren't quite sure how to throw to the Padres shortstop.

And then one of them asked you out to dinner. 

Never in a million years would you agree to that. You loved your job too much. And that was immediate grounds for getting fired right there. Honestly, there was no way he really thought you'd agree, right? Also, there was the fact that you'd decided it was better to eat some mediocre takeout back in your hotel room while you texted Bradley. 

But now it was Tuesday morning. Game three was happening tonight. And those texts while you ate dinner had turned into a phone call with Bradley. The two of you ended up talking for two hours before you could hear him trying not to yawn. He had been so sweet, you had to threaten to hang up on him. 

But you could still hear the last thing he said to you. "I should have driven up to see you tonight after work. Even just for an hour. Can't wait for tomorrow, Ace."

And what were you supposed to do now? You had hours to kill before you had to be at Angels Stadium. You were still wearing nothing but Bradley's jersey while you laid in your bed in the hotel across the street from the stadium just outside Los Angeles. You buried your nose in the fabric; it still smelled like him. He smelled so good. There was no way you could wait a few hours for him when just the feel of his Padres jersey brushing your nipples was making you squirm with need. 

You let one hand slide down the curve of your belly, and when you closed your eyes, it was easy to pretend like he was the one touching you. Because his body had been as sure as your own, like he already knew what to do with you. Inch by inch, your fingers moved closer to their goal, and when you started rubbing your clit in slow circles, you thought about Bradley's voice. About the deep, raspy register and the way he called you Ace.

When you touched your breasts with your other hand, you realized your hips were already up off the bed, thrusting slowly as your fingers worked your clit. Images of Bradley's handsome face and flushed cheeks flashed through your mind. The eager look in his eyes when he touched you. The feel of his arms wrapped around you while he slept. The way his breath felt on your neck all night long. The morning rasp of his voice as he seemed to instinctively know he was with you in the still dark hotel room before he had opened his eyes. 

"Oh, god!" you whined as you ran your nose along the collar of his jersey, inhaling his scent in short gasps as you clenched, imagining his heavy cock inside you. The swirl of your fingers became erratic as your hips thrust two more times, and you were coming hard for Bradley. 

When your body collapsed back onto the bed, you were almost startled to open your eyes and realize you were alone. Your loud breathing and soft whimpers were filling the room, but you were too deliciously sated to feel embarrassed about what you'd done. You should probably be getting a shower so you had time to pre-write some of your article about game three. You had emails from Greg about your successful interview article with the Angels' bullpen to respond to. But instead you reached for your phone and texted Bradley.

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

Ace: How early can you get up here today?

It sounded to Bradley like you still missed him even though he hadn't seen you since very early yesterday morning. He read your exclusive interview five times today already, and he was wondering if you'd indulge him and read parts of it out loud later tonight. And then he groaned as he turned on a shower in the locker room. He'd probably barely make it to the game for the seven o'clock start time, and tomorrow was a work day. 

Tomorrow was also game four. Bradley was the world's worst Padres fan at the moment, praying that the Angels would tie up the series and take this whole thing to seven games. Because he didn't even want to think about what his life was going to look like when the World Series was over and he was no longer running himself between two cities to see you. 

He made the shower a short one, dressing in some snug jeans and a clean Padres shirt before running out to his Bronco. 

I'm leaving work now, Baby. See you at the stadium?

You'd given him the address of the hotel you always stayed at along with your room number just in case he finished work early. You had also managed to procure a ticket in the nosebleeds for him to get inside the ballpark; he just had to give his name at Gate E. But he was going to have to turn around and drive the nearly two hours back to San Diego either late tonight or well before dawn tomorrow. He just hoped you'd want to see him again tomorrow night, because he would do it all again. 

There was traffic. "Fuck," he groaned, actually pulling up onto a curb to go around someone. He ended up fighting through gridlock the whole way up Angels Stadium, cutting back and forth between the highway and backroads. He paid forty dollars to park in the preferred lot next to Gate E, and then he sprinted up to the entrance along with other fans who were hoping to make it to their seats before the first pitch. 

Bradley gave your name and then his own at the window, and he was immediately admitted inside. "Can you tell me where the entrance to the press box is located?" he asked. The security guard gave him a long stare.

"Do you have credentials?"

"Nevermind," Bradley muttered, taking the ticket that was being handed to him and pulling out his phone. His heart was pounding as he listened to someone singing the national anthem while he fumbled trying to make a call. He placed his right hand over his heart, not wanting to be a complete prick as he picked a direction to rush off in as he called your phone. 

"Hi," you said very softly when you answered. He loved your voice. Memories of the late night phone call filled with your soft giggles washed over him. 

"Baby, how do I get to the press box?"

"Unmarked green door near section 133. I'll meet you there."

Bradley hung up and ran around the first base side of the concourse, narrowly dodging some teenage girls and a beer vendor as the singer wrapped up their rendition of the song. And then he saw the green door as it opened, and your eyes met his. 

"Shit," he gasped, feeling his feet slow before speeding up again. You looked perfect, and your beautiful smile was just for him as you let the door close behind you and came running. 

And then you were in his arms with your hands at the back of his neck and your lips pressed to his ear. "Hi," you whispered as you kissed along the side of his face just as the fireworks signalling the start of the game were launched, and the entire stadium was cheering. 

Bradley carried you to the door as you laughed softly. "I liked your exclusive article," he told you. "Read it five times today." That earned him a kiss on the lips, and then he watched you pull your lanyard out of your back pocket to unlock the green door. 

"I think you're my biggest fan," you replied as he carried you inside and set you down. 

"I absolutely am, Ace." Then you were pushing his back against the wall, your lips ghosting over his in the relative private of the vestibule that opened up into the press area buzzing with people. 

"I need you to be very well behaved tonight," you scolded with a little grin that made Bradley lean down and kiss you hard. 

"I will," he promised, loving the needy little sound you made.

You ran your fingers along his neck as you said, "I have an assigned seat in here. And my boss has been on my ass all day. No spilling any beers on me, I don't care how badly you want to lick it off later."

"One time and I have a reputation..."  

You bit your lip and looked up at him over your shoulder as you turned toward the other reporters. The game was about to begin as you pointed to some folding chairs, and he grabbed one on his way past. Then he wedged it in front of the countertop where your computer was sitting, between your chair and the wall. He sat down and then you settled in next to him, right there in his personal space. 

Bradley was smiling at you, and you were smiling right back. "Stop distracting me," you told him, barely turning in time to watch the Angels' pitcher throw the first strike of the game. "You're very distracting."

He draped his arm around your back as you started filling out the pitches on your stat sheet and typing away at the same time. "Thanks for securing that ticket for me. Wouldn't want to miss the chance to see you."

"It was god awful expensive. Even for the worst section in the stadium," you replied without looking at him.

Bradley's jaw dropped. "You paid for it? I thought maybe you got it comped or something. I could have found one online myself."

You just shrugged as the Angels left the field only to be replaced by the Padres for the bottom of the inning. "I got it for half the price you would have been able to."

Bradley knew that was still at least five hundred dollars. "I'll pay you back."

"No," you said softly as you looked down at your keyboard almost like you were embarrassed. Then you shrugged again, a little more aggressively this time. "It's okay."

But Bradley cupped your chin and gently guided your face so you were looking at him, your eyes unsure and hesitant. "I'd have had no problem paying full price. I just wanted to see you."

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip as you asked, "Is that really why you're here though?"

Bradley's brow scrunched in confusion as he examined your face. He knew the game was going on, but you weren't fighting him about missing a pitch or two. "Why else would I battle through traffic for two hours?"

You swallowed hard and whispered, "Because you wanted to fuck me again."

Bradley's stomach dropped. That was so far from the truth. "No, Ace. I wanted to spend a little time with you." You were silent now, but you weren't looking away as he added, "Sleeping with you is incredible, sure. But that's not why I'm here. I don't have to drive four hours round trip to get laid. I have six pack abs. But in order to see you tonight, it required driving up from San Diego. And when I tell you that I don't care if you invite me back to your hotel room tonight or not, I mean it."

Then you were kissing him and tugging him closer to you by the front of his shirt. And the Angels must have scored, because the rest of the stadium erupted in near deafening cheers. But you still didn't care to look away and find out exactly what was going on. You just kept kissing him, and your hand skimmed up his thigh, and Bradley had to pull away. 

"Ace, if you keep doing that, you'll make me look like a liar," he gasped as the cheering finally started to lessen. 

You chased his lips with yours and asked, "What do you mean?"

Bradley kissed you one more time and then leaned back in his seat, glancing down at the fly of his jeans where he was plainly a little hard for you. His voice was a little tight as he adjusted himself. "Truly, sleeping with you is not my priority tonight, but you turn me on."

Your hand was still resting on his thigh as you turned toward your computer and typed one handed. "How embarrassing... logging in to SportsCenter to watch a replay while I'm sitting right here in Anaheim." But you were smiling, and Bradley let his hand come to rest on top of yours while he caught his breath. It took you a minute to get your score sheet updated correctly, and then you were focusing on the players once more. But your hand still brushed his leg, and your fingers occasionally laced with his as you watched the game. 

Occasionally you murmured something about a stolen base or an earned run average, but Bradley was barely watching anything except you. All he knew was he hoped the Angels won. All he wanted was to stay with you as long as possible. 

When you kissed him sweetly during the seventh inning stretch, one of the other writers turned and said, "You brought your boyfriend again, New York?"

"No, Jack. He's actually my intern," you replied smoothly. The older man just looked between you and Bradley and then turned around.

"Intern?" Bradley mumbled. "Damn. I got demoted. Someone called me your boyfriend the other night." You started laughing as Bradley said, "What's next? Your dog walker?"

"I don't have a dog," you told him, smiling at him brightly and squeezing his thigh.

He laughed, too. "You want me to be your personal food fetcher?"

"Now that is something I could actually use."

Bradley was on his feet immediately, filling a plate from the catering stations and grabbing a bottle of water. 

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

Nothing felt as rushed tonight. Sure, you kept pulling Bradley in for kisses in the parking lot on the way to his retro Ford Bronco, but you didn't feel the need to immediately drag him back to your room. Not when he looked so gorgeous in the moonlight. Not when you felt golden inside since the Angels had managed to pull out a win. There would be at least five games. You were hoping you had at least two more chances to see him.

You shivered as he opened the door for you. "Bradley," you said with a laugh. "I told you my hotel is just on the other side of the parking lot. It's the hotel I always stay in."

"I'll drive you over," he whispered, kissing your cheek as he helped you in. Then you gave him an appraising look as he closed the door and jogged around to the other side. Was he really not planning on joining you in your room? The idea sent a jolt of sadness through you. But tomorrow was Wednesday, a work day for him.

"Bradley?" you asked softly as he pulled out of the spot. You could already see your hotel from the end of the aisle, and he turned to smile at you. 

"Yeah, Baby?"

You closed your eyes and whispered, "Do you have to leave right away? I want you to come up."

He didn't answer immediately. He pulled up to the entrance and put the Bronco in park and ran his fingers through his hair. "I wish I could say no to you. Just to prove my point."

When you leaned across the console and said, "I don't want you to say no to me right now," he shifted back into drive. You giggled as he pulled forward a little quickly and whipped into an empty parking space. 

And then you were walking backwards through the lobby, coaxing Bradley along as he said, "I shouldn't be coming up with you. I have work in the morning. And I told you I'm just here for your company." But he was smiling, and he was the one to push the button to call the elevator. 

Then it arrived, and the two of you were the only ones inside when the door closed. You tucked yourself against his chest when he opened his arms to you. "Just come up for a little bit?"

"A little bit," he confirmed, kissing the top of your head. "While you write your piece?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, kissing his neck. "Or you could stay for a while."

His arms were warm and so solid around you, and you heard him murmur, "I could stay for a while."

You pulled him down the hallway, laughing at the dopey grin on his face. "You could stay longer. We're only going to get a handful of these nights together. And I like it when my hotel room smells like you the next day."

He snatched the key card from your hand and unlocked the door, ushering you inside with his lips on yours. He tossed the key somewhere on the floor as the door closed behind him, and you dropped your computer bag with a soft thud. 

"This is a nice room," he whispered against your lips as he untucked your blouse and got one big hand on your lower back. 

"You didn't even see it yet," you gasped as he started sucking on your neck.

"I'll look at it later."

And then you were under him on your bed, both of you fully clothed except for your shoes. Bradley was running his lips and his mustache along your neck at such a leisurely pace, you were afraid you might actually melt. 

"Is that my jersey?" he asked, his gaze moving to the pillow next to your head. 

"Yeah," you whined as his tongue met the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I wore it last night and this morning."

Bradley groaned, and then you felt his hands at your waist and your hips. "I'm a weak man. A very weak man when it comes to you, Ace." And then his groan just got louder as you reached down for his hands and guided them slowly to the button of your jeans. He made quick work of it and the zipper, easing his fingers inside the waistband of your underwear. "Baby, you have an article to finish." 

He kissed along below your belly button, and you whimpered as you said, "I'll finish it in time. I promise." And then he was yanking your pants down and pressing his lips to your bare thighs as he worked your jeans and underwear all the way down your legs and off. He settled in with his face buried in your pussy, just like last time. Just like the first time. You'd never been with a man so willing and eager to do this.

"You're fucking soaked," he moaned, lapping up along your slit before separating you with his nose and kissing around your opening. 

"Bradley!" you whined, because he was already so invested. So you let him go for a few minutes, and it felt good. So good, you were almost convinced he could get you off this way if he took enough time to do it. But after a few more minutes, you tugged gently on his hair. When he met your eyes with his lips on your clit, he looked annoyed. 

He released you, much to your immediate displeasure, and asked, "Why won't you let me get you off like this? You stopped me the other night, too."

You pressed your lips together and looked at the ceiling before you answered. "It'll take forever."

Bradley sighed, and a second later, a jolt of pleasure rushed through you. When you looked down your body at him, he was swirling one long finger around your clit. "I'm in no rush. Other than you needing to submit your article in an hour and a half, we've got time."

"You must like a challenge."

Bradley raised one eyebrow at you, but his finger never stopped that slow, delicious swirl that had you bending one leg and running your foot along his side. He kissed the inside of your knee before he looked at you and said, "This is not a challenge. This is a privilege, Baby. You just tell me what feels good, and I'll get you there."

You couldn't be sure if it was his words or the way he was touching you, but when your pussy clenched gently around nothing, you were whimpering his name and agreeing. And then his mouth was trailing the softest kisses along your folds. You could tell you were dripping wet by the way his tongue glided so smoothly along. And then Bradley reached around your hips and tilted your body up at a slightly different angle that had his nose bumping your clit while he ate you.

He kept changing things up. A soft roll of his tongue would turn into a nibble. And then the nibbles would turn into suction with just the most beautiful amount of pressure. But his mustache was just fucking special, the way it felt rough and yet so fucking necessary. 

"Fuck," you whined softly. He was so good. But you'd felt this slow build before, and inevitably your partners ended up getting tired or annoyed by how long it took you. Bradley's movements were sure and steady, however. And now he was plucking at your clit with his lips, and your thighs tightened around his head.

"Good?" he asked, breathing a little heavy. 

"Yes! Don't stop!" you praised, your hips rocking with each little grab and release of his lips. He squeezed your hips as if he was letting you know he would get you off like he promised, and then he swirled his tongue slowly around your clit before licking a long stripe down with the tip of his tongue. 

"Do that again," you demanded, your voice barely a gasp. And once again he treated you to that swirl of his tongue. "Fuck." And the long stripe downward. "Oh."

"Again?" he asked, his voice raspy and amused.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged as you said, "Don't you dare stop, Bradley." But he was already back at it with that perfect tempo and his prickly mustache. This time, when he licked down, he kissed his way back up, and you made the most desperate sound. "Again."

"I got you, Ace."

His tongue. His voice. His hands. His hair. His ridiculous nickname for you. "Oh god damn!" you whined, your voice breaking as you keened. The words and sounds were burning at the back of your throat before they could be released in a way that made any sense at all. And you rolled your hips slowly against his mouth as he cupped your body. You were close. So close. So-

"Yes!" you nearly screamed as tears stung at your eyes. Bradley grunted as you pulled his hair but he didn't stop. You were practically riding his face with one leg thrown over his shoulder when you felt yourself gush. His face was still buried in your pussy, but when he finally looked up at you, he was panting. 

"Ace," he groaned, his face all wet from you. He was licking his lips like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever tasted in his life, and even though you were still enjoying some little aftershocks, you needed more.

"I want you to fuck me," you said softly, and then his wet lips and chin were on yours. And you did taste pretty incredible as he bucked his fully clothed body against your core. 

"I won't last," he grunted. "Not after that. God, you're perfect."

Your body felt flushed all over from his compliment. "I don't care. I just want to feel you."

"You need to finish your article," he said, but he was already sitting back on his knees between your legs and unzipping his pants. He winced as he pulled himself free, his tip an angry, swollen red.

"Oh," you gasped, already clenching again at the sight of him. You scampered out of bed and nearly tripped on your way to your suitcase. "Eighteen condoms," you muttered, digging around until you found one of the double packs. 

A few seconds later, you were rolling one of them down his length. He'd barely gotten his pants pulled down to his thighs by the time you were bending over the bed for him. And then he was filling you up, and his arms kind of caged you in. And his mustache was rubbing your neck. And your actual first name was on his lips. And you were thinking about things you knew you shouldn't. You were thinking about how much it was going to hurt when you left for the east coast.

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

Bradley would have been embarrassed that he only lasted two minutes, but you didn't seem to mind. "I'll be better for round two. You just really wound me up."

You bit your lip and smiled at him as he removed the condom. "Going down on me made you hot?"

He looked up at you like you had two heads. "Yeah. Hell yeah. I'd spend the whole night doing that if you'd let me."

You looked ridiculously pleased with yourself as you grabbed his Padres jersey off the bed and slipped it on. "Maybe tomorrow night," you said playfully as you walked toward the desk and grabbed your bag on the way. "You coming?"

Once again, Bradley had you perched on his lap while you finished your article. You were cutting it very close tonight, and he was helping you proofread as you wrote. "You misspelled umpire," he whispered, pointing to your computer screen.

"Thanks," you replied softly, correcting your error. 

He didn't want to distract you at all, but he wasn't sure how long you wanted him to stay. It was three minutes until midnight. He was at least an hour and a half away from home. He needed to be at work in eight hours. But the way you were acting like he belonged with you was keeping his mouth shut.

You submitted your article at exactly midnight and then you turned to face him. "Are you ready for round two?" you whispered, grinning. "Round one with you was already way better than when I got off earlier today."

Bradley froze with you in his arms. "What the hell happened earlier today?" he asked, hating that he immediately felt a little jealous. 

But you leaned in and kissed him softly, your lips brushing his as you said, "I thought about you while I got myself off."

"Fuuuck," he groaned, wrapping you tighter in his arms. "That's hot, Ace."

Bradley was still hanging out of his jeans, and his cock was rubbing your thigh as he got hard for you. You were running your fingers through his hair as you rubbed your pussy along his length. Then you reached behind you on the counter and held up another condom, and when Bradley nodded, you opened it. And then he was inside you again. 

You went slow, with breathless fluttering kisses along his face. He tucked his hands inside the jersey, wanting to feel as much of your smooth skin as he could. "At least two more games," you whispered. "I have the Angels to thank for winning tonight."

Bradley laughed softly, bringing his hands up to your breasts but keeping his eyes on yours. "Let's keep this thing going."

"Mmhmm," you moaned. And then you kissed him like you and he had been doing this for years already. As if you knew what he needed. And maybe you did, because he was starting to think he needed you. 

"Ace, Baby." You were coming for him, absolutely coming undone in his arms as you moved your body. He wanted to tell you to make it last all night, but it was too good. And he was right there, too.

As you pushed his hair back from his forehead and let your cheek find his shoulder, your phone rang. Bradley jumped a bit, but you didn't seem concerned. 

"It's probably just Greg. My boss," you said with a kiss to his cheek. 

"Okay," Bradley grunted as you stood and left him to dispose of the condom. 

"Greg," you said calmly when you answered the phone. And then Bradley heard someone yelling at you. He was on his feet, brow scrunched in concern. This guy was loud, and you didn't even have him on speaker phone. And he wasn't letting you get a word in. You just hummed in agreement as you paced around the room, but when Bradley caught your eye, you headed back over. 

"It's okay," you told him with your hand over the speaker of your phone. "He doesn't like my nearly late submissions," you said with an eye roll and then a smile. Then you gently pushed Bradley down into the chair again before pacing away. And he was suddenly inadvertently privy to your email inbox.

At the top was your article submission receipt which you were currently telling your boss was time stamped for midnight, and that you didn't actually need him to call you from home in New York where it was three in the morning. Then Bradley's eyes fell to no fewer than six emails that had all been sent from different media outlets this evening. 

g.rutherford@msnsports.com   Opportunities With MSN Sports

tasha.park@majorleaguesports.net   Sports Writer Positions Open Now

jmv12@cbssports.com   Looking For a New Opportunity?

a.archer@velocityreport.com   We Have the Perfect Position For You

peter.stephens@barstoolsports.com   We Need You -  Join Out Team!

jheath@philainquire.com   Join the Sports Team With Highest Salaried Positions

"Damn, Ace," Bradley muttered, eyes scanning everything he could see without scrolling down further. But something told him there would be more of the same if he did. Everyone wanted you. 

"Sorry," you muttered, having ended your call without Bradley even noticing. And now you looked a little apprehensive.

"Your boss was yelling at you," he remarked as he stood.

"Oh," you said with a little shrug. "He's always like that. Ranting and raving is how he operates."

Bradley glanced back at your computer screen briefly. "Well I wish he wasn't shouting at you. Your articles are always the best."

You clearly wanted to say something, but you planted your hands on your hips and tapped your foot on the floor. "Bradley... I know it's late, and you have to get back home for work and everything... Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He didn't have to think about it. "Yes."

And then your expression melted into a smile as you climbed into bed, still wearing his jersey. Bradley watched you pat the spot next to you, and he zipped up his jeans and climbed in as well. 

As you yanked the covers up over both of you, Bradley pulled you close so your back was pressed to his front. "Will you come back tomorrow night? If I can get you a ticket?" you asked him so softly, he held his breath to make sure that was all you had to say.

As long as you were in southern California, he would come to you. "I'll be back up no matter what, Ace." And after you kissed his hands and laced your fingers with his, he added, "I can't believe you thought this right here wasn't my favorite part about being with you."

Your breathing was evening out, and Bradley thought perhaps you were already asleep. But then you said, "This is my favorite part, too."

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

She asked him to stay until she fell asleep. Oh, Ace. He's a mess already. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 4

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[gloomwitchwrites]

1k challenge request- what is Ghost like on vacation? NSFW always preferred lol

Ghostie on vacation? Vacation?!? Yes, please. Funny enough, Ghost is currently on vacation in Ink & Needle, and that boy is being naughty in that AU. But that’s not what we’re talking about here. Thanks for sending this in! I hope you enjoy it (and the steamy bits).

Most of these are gn!reader with one or two exceptions!

Word Count: 729

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist

Do y’all remember the bit of banter between Soap, Ghost, and Laswell in MW3? And Ghost replies “why not both?” when it comes to whether they prefer the beach or snow. To me, that means Ghost is down for anything. He’ll take a road trip or a week-long stay in Bali. Man just loves a good vacation.

On that note, when Ghost and Soap were being a bit cheeky about the “tan lines around the eyes,” he insinuates he wears the mask, but I don’t believe that. When Simon isn’t in the field, he’s not going to wear his mask, especially on vacation. He’d stick out like a sore thumb.

If Simon is taking a vacation with his S/O, he’s really down for anything. It can be simple and romantic. It could be camping. Hell, you could drag him to Disneyworld and he’d probably still enjoy himself.

However, he’s very much controlling when it comes to traveling. He’s the Dad in this scenario. He packs in advance, he wakes up way too early to go to the airport, he checks to make sure the plane is actually at the gate, he keeps the schedule, and Simon isn’t necessarily going to just “go with the flow” in the moment. Simon is the one holding the passports and tickets. God help you if you try to seize them from him.

No mask. Period. And no work. Simon isn’t taking phone calls, emails, or anything else. Price can deal with any shenanigans on his own.

Terrible about putting on sunscreen. You’re always making sure he’s protecting his skin.

Most of the spending money is spent on feeding Simon. Dude is a brick wall and he’s always eating. And when he’s not eating something, he’s buying you whatever you want.

If the vacation requires driving, Simon prefers taking his own vehicle or renting one. He doesn’t skimp here. Simon will select a reputable rental car company and select something roomy.

Holds you accountable on everything, but is also incredibly indulgent. You might complain that something is expensive and you won’t get it, and Simon will say good on you for sticking to your guns, but he’ll also just fucking buy it anyway because he can’t help seeing you smile.

Vacations (or rather holidays) are Simon’s one opportunity to forget everything. He can spend time with you completely uninterrupted. No life shit. No work shit. Just you and him.

Enjoys the outdoors but is also down for exploring cities, walking through museums, and trying new things. Simon is open to exploring a culture he’s never interacted with before, especially if he’s doing it with you.

Likes to travel and go on vacation during off-seasons. Simon isn’t a fan of crowds and it’s not from an anxiety standpoint. That military training is hard to dislodge, and he’s often overly aware of potential threats in a crowd.

Has a terrible sweet tooth. Simon will eat more desserts than actual food if you’re not watching him.

Loves long road trips because he enjoys all the lazy blow jobs you give him while in the car. Sometimes he has to pull over and just have his way with you.

Basically, you and Simon are fucking regardless of where you are.

Going on a destination vacation to a beachy oasis? Simon is fucking you in the cabana, in the hotel room, in the private pool, under a waterfall. Sometimes it might be lazy and slow, and sometimes he’s just chasing his own end and needs to be inside you.

Camping? That tent is seeing some action. You’re little spoon. Simon is big spoon. And he probably has his cock buried deep inside you, rocking his hips lazily while is hand is playing with other parts of you.

But he’s smart not to fuck out in the wilderness. Bug bites are the fucking worse.

In the cabin in the Pacific Northwest? He’s fucking you by the fire while it rains outside.

Simon’s intimacy and romantic side really flourishes during this time. Because there are no outside distractions, he’s able to put his entire focus on you. Along with the sex, Simon is simply an attentive partner. While he’s here to enjoy himself, he is also highly aware of your needs.

Hates when the two of you have to go back to the real world. Would rather disappear with you forever.

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[muiitoloko]

Title: In-Flight Turbulence

Summary: Lionel’s exasperation over your economy class choice ignites a battle of wills, where fiery tension and steamy attraction are impossible to resist.

Pairing: Lionel Shahbandar × Fem! Reader

Warnings: implied sex

Author's Notes: A sequel that nobody asked for 😅

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Lionel’s voice was sharp as he crossed the room, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Are you bloody serious right now?” His baritone voice was low, tight with barely controlled anger. “Economy class? We’re going to Italy, love, not a quick bus ride to Manchester.”

You stood your ground, arms crossed, refusing to let him steamroll you. “Yes, economy class. Because that’s what I can afford, Lionel. I’m not going to let you pay for everything. I don’t need you to—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you so bloody stubborn?” Lionel threw his hands up in exasperation, pacing the length of your small living room like a caged animal, his hooked nose flaring slightly. His frustration only seemed to magnify as he glanced at you, standing there with that determined look in your eyes—the one that made him want to tear his hair out and kiss you senseless all at the same time.

“I’m not being stubborn,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m being practical. I don’t need to be coddled, Lionel. I’m not some girl you can impress with first-class tickets and five-star hotels.”

Lionel growled under his breath, his patience fraying by the second. “Oh, so now I’m just trying to impress you?” His words were laced with sarcasm as he stalked toward you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. “Maybe I just want to spoil the woman I love without her turning it into a bloody battlefield every time.”

You flinched at the word ‘love,’ but you didn’t back down. “Spoiling me isn’t the point, Lionel. I want to contribute to this relationship too. And that means paying for my own damn plane ticket.”

He stopped directly in front of you, towering over you with that commanding presence that always seemed to fill the entire room. His dark eyes bore into yours, the frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Economy class? Economy?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “You expect me to sit in business class while you sit in the back with your knees crammed against the seat in front of you like some peasant?”

“If that’s what it takes,” you snapped back, your chin tilting up defiantly. “I don’t need luxury, Lionel. I need you to understand that I’m not some trophy for you to buy off with lavish gifts.”

Lionel’s jaw clenched, his hands flexing as if he was trying to hold himself back from grabbing you and shaking some sense into you. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he growled, his voice thick with frustration. “I could buy us both first-class tickets with the snap of my fingers, and yet here we are, having a bloody argument about it.”

You didn’t flinch, standing your ground. “Then go ahead. Buy your first-class ticket. I’ll be just fine in economy.”

His eyes flashed, and you could see the storm brewing behind them. Lionel Shahbandar was not a man used to being told no. He was used to getting his way, to charming or intimidating anyone into bending to his will. But not you. You were different. And that drove him wild.

“Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with a dangerous calm. “Fine. You want to be independent? You want to pay for your own way? Go ahead, love. But don’t come crying to me when you’re cramped up next to some sweaty businessman while I’m sipping champagne up front.”

Your eyes narrowed at his mocking tone, your temper flaring. “I won’t cry, Lionel. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Lionel’s lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were still dark with anger. “You’re so damn proud,” he muttered under his breath, stepping closer until his chest was nearly brushing against yours. “It’s infuriating.”

You could feel the heat of his body, the tension crackling between you like an electric current. But you refused to back down. “And you’re so damn controlling,” you shot back, your voice rising as you shoved him in the chest. “Why can’t you just let me have this? Why does everything have to be your way?”

His eyes flared, and before you could blink, his hands were on you, gripping your arms tightly as he backed you up against the wall. “Because I don’t want you to settle for less than you deserve,” he growled, his voice low and rough. His hooked nose was inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. “I want to give you everything, and you keep pushing me away.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could say a word, Lionel’s mouth was on yours, his kiss hard and demanding. His lips were rough, his tongue insistent as it parted your lips, claiming you with a fierce urgency that matched the anger still simmering between you.

You moaned into his mouth, your body reacting instinctively to the heat of him, the raw passion that always seemed to ignite whenever you fought. Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

Lionel’s hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pressed his hard body against yours, grinding his arousal into you. “You drive me fucking insane,” he growled against your lips, his breath ragged as he kissed you harder, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

You gasped, your nails digging into his back as his mouth moved to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. “Lionel…” you breathed, your resolve crumbling as his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your dress higher.

“You think I’ll let you sit in economy class?” he whispered harshly against your skin, his voice dark with lust as his fingers brushed against your underwear. “Not a fucking chance. I’m going to fuck you so hard on this trip, you won’t even remember there’s a back of the plane.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching into him as his hand slipped beneath your panties, his fingers finding the wet heat between your legs. You moaned, your head falling back against the wall as Lionel’s mouth covered yours again, his kiss hot and demanding.

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered against your lips, his fingers teasing you, slipping inside you as his thumb rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your clit. “Why do you make everything so difficult?”

You whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand as he worked you with expert precision, your body already trembling with need. “Maybe I like driving you mad,” you whispered breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.

Lionel growled, his cock hard and straining against his trousers as he thrust against you. “I’m going to fuck you so good, love,” he whispered, his voice rough with promise. “And when I’m done, you’ll be begging to sit in first class with me.”

Lionel stood at a distance, arms crossed, watching you as you joined the line for economy class check-in. His dark eyes narrowed in disbelief, the faintest of smirks playing on his lips as he shook his head.

"Bloody stubborn woman," he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his tousled hair. "If you want to be miserable, so be it." He didn’t care, he told himself. Not one bit. He made his way toward the sleek, velvet rope marking off the first-class check-in area, greeted by a beautiful woman with a professional smile who seemed all too eager to assist.

"Good morning, Lord Shahbandar," she purred, her eyes twinkling in recognition. "Right this way, we’ve been expecting you."

Lionel shot a glance back toward the long, winding queue of economy passengers where you were still standing, tapping your foot impatiently, your arms crossed as you waited your turn.

“Expecting me, are they?” he muttered to himself as he followed the woman, all the while his mind wandering back to you and that ridiculous line you were standing in. His jaw tightened in frustration as the woman behind the counter checked his passport. “Fine, let her suffer,” he thought, though a flicker of doubt gnawed at him.

After a swift and luxurious check-in experience, Lionel breezed through security, bypassing the crowds, and found himself sipping an espresso in the first-class lounge. He should have been reveling in the comfort, in the exclusivity that came with his wealth and status, but every now and then, his mind wandered to where you were.

"Probably still in line," he muttered, his lips curling into a half-smile as he imagined your annoyed expression. "Good luck with that."

Boarding time arrived, and Lionel strode confidently toward his business-class seat, eyeing the plush seats, the extra legroom, the polished wood tray table. It was everything you refused, and the fact that you’d chosen the cramped quarters of economy baffled him.

But as he settled into his seat, adjusting his cufflinks, something gnawed at him. The more he thought about you sitting in economy, the more it irritated him. His foot tapped impatiently, his mind wandering from the upcoming trip to the idea of you cramped next to some sweaty passenger, trapped in your tiny seat, and possibly… miserable.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, the frustration building. He didn’t even realize his hand was already in the air, summoning a flight attendant.

Moments later, Lionel was storming down the narrow aisle of the plane, his large frame awkwardly brushing against the backs of seats as he made his way to economy. He grumbled under his breath as he passed by each row, narrowing his eyes at the cramped conditions.

The woman seated next to you was politely asked to move, and though you hadn’t paid much attention, you noticed when Lionel Shahbandar himself suddenly appeared in the aisle, looking thoroughly out of place. He muttered curses about the “bloody cattle class” under his breath, his hooked nose flaring in irritation as he shoved his carry-on bag into the overhead bin.

“Lionel?” you said, blinking in surprise as he sat down next to you, clearly too large for the cramped seat.

He scowled, folding himself into the space beside you with no small amount of difficulty. “Don’t even start, darling,” he growled, his baritone voice dripping with exasperation. “I’ve just given up the best seat in the house to sit in this… this bloody shoebox with you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You gave up business class? To sit here?”

Lionel muttered something under his breath, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to adjust his long legs in the tight space. “Yes, well,” he muttered, shooting you a sideways glance, “you should be thanking me. Some poor woman’s sitting in luxury now because of you.”

A laugh bubbled up inside you at the image of Lionel squirming in economy class, all his usual charm and arrogance completely misplaced in this setting. “I didn’t ask you to do that!” you said, barely able to contain your amusement.

Lionel shot you a dark look. “I know, but seeing you in this… sardine can of a seat, I couldn’t bloody help myself.” He paused, his lips curling into a mischievous grin as his eyes flicked to the tight space between you. “Besides,” he purred, his voice dropping lower, “if I have to suffer, I might as well enjoy the view.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, right. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to enjoy stuck here in economy.”

Lionel made a face at you, his dark eyes narrowing playfully, but you only laughed softly and snuggled closer to him. Despite his constant complaining, you couldn’t deny that you were enjoying this—being close to him, wrapped in the warmth of his body, while he muttered under his breath about the cramped seats and pitiful snacks. You rested your head on his shoulder, a soft smile playing on your lips as he continued his rant.

“These bloody snacks,” Lionel growled, holding up a tiny bag of pretzels as if it were the ultimate insult. “What do they expect me to do with this? Feed a hamster?”

You stifled another laugh, knowing that while Lionel could be a rather stingy man when it came to certain things, this time, you had to agree with him. The airline’s meager offerings were a far cry from the lavish spreads he was accustomed to.

“I don’t know, darling,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “I think you could survive on pretzels for a few hours.”

Lionel scoffed, tossing the bag aside in disdain. “Please, if I wanted to starve, I’d go on one of those ridiculous detox retreats all the nouveau riche are obsessed with.”

You snuggled deeper into his side, feeling his body relax slightly as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. Despite his constant grumbling, you knew he loved having you near. The two of you spent the rest of the flight like that, with Lionel occasionally complaining about the seating or snacks, and you trying not to laugh at his misfortune. There was something strangely endearing about seeing him so out of his element.

When the plane finally landed, you both grabbed a taxi to the hotel, exhaustion settling over you from the long flight. As soon as you arrived, you collapsed into bed together, the soft, plush mattress of the hotel room a welcome change from the horrors of economy class. It wasn’t long before both of you drifted off into a deep sleep, the tension of the day melting away.

Hours later, you were jolted awake by the sound of Lionel screaming in horror.

Your heart raced, panic flooding through you as you sat up in bed. “Leo! What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, his face a mix of disbelief and fury as he held up his iPad, thrusting it toward you. “Look at this,” he snarled, his baritone voice thick with outrage.

You blinked, still half-asleep, but as your eyes focused on the screen, you saw it—pictures and videos of Lionel sitting in economy class, crammed into the tiny seat with a scowl on his face. Passengers had clearly recognized him, snapping photos and filming videos that were now plastered all over various gossip sites. Headlines like “Bad Boy of the Art World Slumming It in Economy Class—Is Lionel Shahbandar Broke? ” flashed across the screen.

“Oh no,” you murmured, trying to stifle a giggle. “They think you’re broke?”

“Broke?” Lionel hissed, his hooked nose flaring in indignation. “They think I’m some pauper, flying economy like I’ve lost my fortune overnight. This is a bloody insult!”

You couldn’t help it; a laugh bubbled out of you, despite knowing how much this was bruising his ego. “Oh, come on, Lionel. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” he repeated, glaring at you as if you’d just suggested the unthinkable. “Do you have any idea what this will do to my reputation? The Lord Lionel Shahbandar, flying economy like some commoner? I’m supposed to be untouchable, damn it!”

You bit your lip, trying to keep a straight face. “Well, at least they didn’t catch you complaining about the pretzels. That might’ve really sealed the deal.”

Lionel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is a bloody nightmare.”

“Leo, relax,” you said, scooting closer to him on the bed. “It’s just gossip. They’ll move on to the next scandal soon enough.”

He lifted his head, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint as he smirked. “Oh, I don’t think so, love. They’ll milk this for all it’s worth.”

“Maybe you should’ve just stayed in business class like you planned,” you teased, poking him in the side. “Then your precious reputation wouldn’t be in shambles right now.”

Lionel growled playfully, grabbing you and pulling you onto his lap. “You’re the reason I ended up in that bloody sardine can of a seat,” he muttered, his lips brushing your neck. “I’ll make you pay for this, love.”

You arched an eyebrow, grinning as you looked down at him. “Oh? And how exactly are you going to make me pay?”

His eyes darkened with lust, and his hand slid up your thigh, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “I’m going to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.”

Before you could respond, Lionel flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him as his lips claimed yours in a heated kiss. His hands roamed your body possessively, his touch firm and commanding as he ground his hips into yours, his arousal evident through the fabric of his trousers.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his baritone voice dripping with desire. “And by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be screaming my name so loud, they’ll be writing about something else entirely.”

You gasped as he nipped at your neck, his hands sliding beneath your clothes, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin beneath. “Lionel…”

“Mmm, that’s right, love,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. “Say my name. Let the whole bloody world know exactly who owns you.”

You moaned, your body arching into his as his hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your wet heat. “Lionel…”

“Good girl,” he growled, his fingers working you with expert precision, his eyes dark with lust as he watched your body respond to his every touch. “Now, let’s see if I can make you forget all about those bloody gossip sites.”

As Lionel’s lips trailed down your body, you couldn’t help but smile. Even in the face of public humiliation, he was still the same cheeky, mischievous lion you’d fallen for—arrogant, infuriating, and completely irresistible.