#can retire that tag at long last

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.

[bunny-jpeg]

the redbull princess

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, driver!reader, mad!max, rough sex, chokehold, jealousy, jealous!max, slutty!reader, threats of baby trapping, dirty talk/degrading language, bruises & bites

everyone adored you. the angel, the dove, the princess of redbull. beloved by fans, drivers, even the british press had a soft spot for the princess. you even made the likes of toto wolff feel soft with your sweet smiles and positive demeanor.

max had the (mis)fortune of being your teammate, after checo's retirement you were scooped from alpine and given the sought after seat. you were magnetic, charming in ways that made you a darling, even when you failed to win a race. but, you were a winner. a princess in her chariot passing all the others on the track.

max just simply thought that a princess deserved her prince.

"maxie." you pouted as you leaned up against your teammate, "whatcha doing?"

max looked up at you. he was currently on his knees as he tried to set up his sim-racing for the weekend. he asked, "how did you get into my room?"

you shrugged, "don't think about it too hard. i wanted to see what you were doing! you didn't to lunch, so i got... worried." you gave a small laugh. there was a look in your eyes. you weren't here to check on max. not when you were dressed in a tank top, shorts with that thin gold chain around your neck. you played with it between your fingers, "you look like you need a break."

there it was. max chuckled as got up from being almost under the desk. when he stood up, he eventually had to look a little down at you. red bull's princess wasn't the angelic virgin that many assumed. you had a dark streak to you.

you had most of the paddock wrapped around your fingers. charles, george, alex, even horner. and especially max. a simple look got you everything you wanted. a laugh had many men a little flustered. so of course max couldn't help but wrap his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to him. he looked at you, his eyes were so blue.

you licked your lips, "what do you say, maxie... let's have a little fun before our weekend begins.' then leaned in to give his a kiss square on the lips.

the kiss didn't last long before max pulled away and held you by the back of the head. he looked at you, something jealous crossed his expression, "i know what you're trying to do. you think that you can get out of this with a few thrusts of your hips...it's cute honestly, thinking that you're so much smarter than you actually are."

you swallowed and realized that you were playing with fire at that moment. you felt your pulse quicken when he put an hand around your throat. not enough to choke you, but enough to get you looking at him. he smiled and you wondered what he had planned.

you really shouldn't have flirted with max's secondary rival. you shouldn't have been smiles and giggles with lando days prior. you whispered things into the brit's ear and giggled when you pulled away. you didn't get too far, he pulled you in and in a quiet privacy, he kissed you on the lips.

max could've killed lando over that.

you pouted a little more, "i said it was sorry, max. you can't be mad at me forever!" and max crowded your space a little more and looked down at you with something in his eyes that spelled danger.

he said, "no, i can't. but i can try." he took you by the hair, "so i guess you'll just have to make it up to me." and soon you ended face first on the bed. red bull's prince was often possessive of it's princess as he got into bed with you and pulled down your shorts. he pressed his weight up against you to keep you pinned down to the bed.

you moaned, "fuck, max. i'm sorry! i mean it! i mean it!" you tried to squirm out from under him as he got your shorts off of you and near ripped your panties off of you.

max frowned as he got his shirt off over his head, "sorry isn't going to cut it. you are such a whore, you like having all these drivers' eyes on you. i bet you've fucked top to bottom the grid." he raked his nails down your sides and watched you try to get out from his touch.

you whimpered, "no! no!" you knew that was a lie. if max wasn't going to fuck you tonight. you had a few other keycards in your back pocket. you were that charming. max was just lucky to be your first pick.

and you knew that he wouldn't give up the chance to sink into your poor cunt tonight. give you something to scream about. he stripped you of your clothes, tossed them off the bed before he was fully nude as well. he bit into your shoulder roughly as he sank his teeth in your shoulder and pressed himself further against you.

the indents of his teeth promised a bruise come morning. and he held onto you tightly as he moved at a quick pace. his voice in your ear with his chest against your back. there was no escaping max verstappen, "you know you can be a good girl, right? i know it's in you. the press think you're so perfect princess and you could be that if you just stop being a goddamn whore. i see right through the act, i know after a race you want this cunt stuffed. you want to squirm on my cock, you want it to hurt. because you are a glutton for pain. a disgrace to all women in the sport. you set them back by being a stupid, cock hungry slut." his words burned in your brain and you felt the heat pool in your gut.

you gasped into the covers and said, "please, max. holy shit. ah!" you knew that max was the best fuck in the grid. at least to you. most gave you the princess treatment or were worried about being too rough. you found them boring unless you were in a bit of a pinch.

but not max. the current world champion fucked you until there were sparks in your vision. he left your pussy soaked and your brain empty. he made all his degrading words ring true, you were nothing more than a soft cunt for max to fuck. that was why you always came back to him. he had that effect on you.

he was your favourite. not that you'd let him know that. as he thrusted up into you and left you feeling the pleasurable heat in the back of your head and down your shoulders. it was the buzz that left you shaking. it was the heated want that left you panting into the covers.

you were the princess, but max knew better than that. the smiles were all part of your little performance. if you had it your way, you'd be doing interviews with runny mascara and cock down your throat. but, you were still very capable on the track. one of the best they ever had, you just enjoyed having your world flipped inside out and upside down due to orgasm after orgasm. that max was more than happy to provide.

"please, max. fuck, please max!" you gasped loudly. your back arched, but you didn't get too far. you were rather stuck under max as he fucked up into you. the headboard rocked against the white wall of the room.

"you don't deserve the princess treatment they give you. the press give you. you don't deserve any of it! you deserve whatever you can get it. you let men much more powerful than you do terrible things to you." he wrapped his arm around your throat and continued to fuck up into you. the bed moved every more as he jackhammered his cock inside of you. your body bounced with each of his movements.

you felt stupid as he fucked you. your tongue hung out of your mouth a little as his cock hit against all against the right areas. he knew exactly how to make you crazy. how to make you feel so much dumber with strokes of his hips.

"but you're mine." he said, "in the end your mine. i let you play your silly little games, be the charming little flirt i know you are." he tensed up his arm around your throat as he continued to slam his cock in and out of you. the pace was brutal and the movements made your heartbeat hammer in your ears. he could feel every inch of you as he fucked you with a fierce fever.

you tried to say something, but the words died in your throat.

he chuckled and kissed the side of your face. then he pushed your face further into the covers. he still held you in a choke-hold as he fucked you roughly. he said quietly as the bed squeaked under you, "i'm not stupid, princess. you think i'm some idiot, but i'm not... maybe tonight's the night we end these little games. what do you say? maybe tonight you and i should make a baby... end these games and finally make you all mine."

you whined and tried to get out of his grasp. but he was simply much stronger. he chuckled and kissed you on the face once more as he quickened his pace. it left you feeling on cloud nine as he really worked himself inside of you.

the princess was at his mercy. such a shame.

with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock. your noise was a high pitched as you clawed at the covers. you panted heavily and felt so pathetic under him. and he loved the sight of you, you looked beautiful. angelic. he had you all to himself.

"see, you can be a good! make such a good mother to my children. that'll fix you right now." he buried his face in your neck as he continued to fuck you roughly. he didn't last much longer, a few more heavy thrusts of his hips and he was finishing inside of you with a hot groan in your ear.

he kept his arm around you, a hold to keep you still while he fucked his spent cock inside of you to push all the cum further inside of you. the over stimulation let you feeling dizzy. and when max finally let go of you, you laid out on the bed like a dumb little toy.

he slapped your ass before he panted heavily beside you. you curled up next to him, there was a reason why he was your favourite fuck of them all. he took you by the jaw and you looked back at him.

"going to behave now?"

"yes, maxie."

-

max heard your giggled nearby and his head whipped around.

you looked at max out of the corner of your eye before you went back to kissing lando deeply. you smiled against the kiss before you said to lando, "why don't you come visit me tonight, we could have some before the weekend?' and winked at the other driver.

max clenched his fists and exhaled deeply. like hell lando was going to your room tonight. because by the time he got there, max would already be keeping those greedy holes of your filled.

he knew the last thing you wanted was the princess treatment. <3

[kbwrites]

Husband! Nanami

synopsis: your husband comes home for another long and arduous day. He only wishes to stay with you forever.

⚝tags: husband!nanami, reader is a housewife, nsfw, nanami loves eating his wife out

⚝wc: 1.6k

Husband Nanami! Drags his feet, trudging wearily to the entrance of his shared home. Each step heavier than the last. Work has been increasingly stressful, each day more demanding than the last. Today was no different. He brings a tired hand up to the doorknob, turning it slowly. The soft yellow light of the foyer illuminates his face, the scent of his safe space hitting his nostrils.

“Kento?” There it was, the most melodious symphony he’d ever heard. Rounding the corner it was you, his loving wife. In that moment it seems as though all the stress from the day melts away, a small smile graces his lips and his tired eyes close briefly.

“Hello dear.”

Kento wasn’t exactly sure when he fell in love with you, just that at some point he stopped being able to imagine what life would be like without your presence. You became his peace, a ray of sunshine that cut through the darkness in his life. He never believed in karma or fate, but sometimes he’d wonder what he had done in his life to be deserving of your love.

He slips out of his shoes, heavy footsteps and drooping shoulders trudge toward you. He wrapped his strong arms around you, enveloping you in a warm embrace. Kento bends down slightly, burying his head into your hair allowing your scent to permeate his senses. You always smelled so good… A low hum of content emanates from his throat, almost like a cat purring. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly close.

“How was your day?” He mumbles into your skin.

“My day was good.” You reply quietly. “What about you?”

“Long. Tiring..” He says with a sigh, pulling away slightly so he can have a better look at his sunshine. His hand reaches to cup your face, thumb making small circles on your cheek. You look at your husband, honey-colored eyes half-lidded, dark circles occupying his face. It was taking everything in him to stand right now.

“Are you hungry?” You muse, nuzzling your face into his hand. He only nods, still looking at you with tired eyes. Taking the hand that held your face you lead him to the dining room. The smell of food wafts through the room, a plate of steak and mashed potatoes, still hot. He takes a seat at the table, eyes lighting up at the dish.

“Thank you, my love.” He says before taking a bite, his eyes closing in satisfaction as the savory taste hits his tongue. He loved your cooking, it was like a balm to his weary soul. He continues eating in silence, looking up at you. You rest your chin in your hands, smiling at your husband.

“You’re not eating?” He says after swallowing.

“I ate before you came home.” A pang of guilt washes over him, Kento knows you probably waited as long as you could hoping you could hold out and wait to eat with him. With all the long hours he’s been putting in, he's barely had time for the one thing that made his life worth living

“I’m sorry…” He reaches for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You just smile, how did he end up with an angel?

He finishes eating his food, you get up grabbing the empty plate. Kento gently grabs hold of your wrist.

“Please, you cooked let me-”

“You can barely stand Ken.” You’re right, he’s come to find out that you usually are. He sinks back in the chair, too exhausted to protest. After loading the dishwasher you come back into the dining room, your husband exactly where you left him. Fighting off sleep in the chair.

You take his large hand in your smaller one, leading him to the bathroom. Although, Nanami is a serious man, one who was insistent on retiring you when you got married. He secretly loved when you took care of him, your gentle hands working his sore muscles combined with the hot water cascading down his body; he thinks in this moment he could fall asleep standing up.

He looks down at his wife fussing over him, your naked form, suds of soap covering your glistening skin. Even running on 3 hours of sleep the desire in him for his lover burns. His hands roam over your curves, gripping your hips. You pause your movements looking up at him as he pulls you closer, pads of his fingers digging lightly into the fat of your hips. How long had it been since he touched his wife? Made her writhe under him? Far too long in his opinion.

You finish the shower, leading his towel-clad body to your bedroom, drying him off you grab his night clothes from the top drawer. Suddenly bashful at all the attention you’ve been giving him Kento grabs your arm as you try to slip on his pajama pants. You look up at him inquisitively.

“Kento?” He doesn’t answer, just pulls you onto his lap. His large hands holding you in place.

“Darling..” His voice hoarse. Your body shivers in response, even after a year of marriage the sight before you— his chiseled abs, damp blond hair framing his sharp features, his lips parted and pupils blown… It was still too much. You feel the arousal pool between your legs.

“K-kento, you’re tired...” You try to be the voice of reason, but the love of your life looks so damn good right now. He places soft kisses on your chest, setting fire to your skin.

“You’ve been so good to me, allow me this.” He says before trailing kisses up and down your neck. His hands leave your waist, his touch slow and deliberate. His lips ghost over you, landing next to your ear.

“It’s been terrible my love… working all day when I’d rather be here… having you.” His breath against your ear.

“Ken!” You say embarrassed, he was always so blunt when you were having sex. “Just don’t go overboard…” You chide in between moans, your hands find his damp hair, raking through it gently. 

He uses the bit of strength he has left to lay you down on the bed, your back hitting the plush comforter. His hand trailing between your legs, he groans as he feels the wetness between your folds. Your back arches as he brings his digits up to your clit, making slow deliberate circles.

He looks up at you, eyes clouded with lust.

“Honey, I need you.” Is all he says before he buries his face into your cunt.

His tongue darting out to lap up all of your slick. Your darling husband sucking gently on your clit as his fingers tease your entrance. Your moans and whimpers only serve to encourage him. His long finger slides in, curling it upwards to your sweet spot.

“Kento~ s’good” You breathe, one hand snakes up to your stomach, giving the soft flesh a squeeze. His way of saying he heard you. His eyes flutter shut, completely enraptured in pleasing his precious wife. All the paperwork, unnecessarily long meeting with his boss, the entire shit storm of the day all seems to float away as he rests between your thighs.

“So good f’me my love.” He mumbles against your skin. The hand he had on your stomach reaches below to his growing erection. He wraps his hand around his thick length, rutting into his tight fist. He moans against your cunt, imagining his fist were your heavenly walls.

He knows you so well, just by the slight change in your voice he can tell he’s bringing you closer to the edge. His pace quickens, inserting another thick finger into your cunt, your walls flutter around him. Hot squelching noises emanate from your core. He released your clit with a ‘pop’ using the wet muscle to circle around the bundle of nerves. He wants so badly for you to cum, his own pleasure completely reliant on it. Your breath hitches, body spasms as you finally release. Your arousal coating his fingers, he removes them from you replacing them with his mouth. 

He greedily slurps up all the slick from your entrance, humming as your sweet essence coats his taste buds. 

“Kentooo” You whine, slightly overstimulated. You squirm trying to push your lover's head away from your throbbing cunt, he only grunts, strong arms holding your legs in place. Only after he’s had his fill he crawls up to you, resting your head on his broad chest. 

Your husband places kisses on your forehead, stroking your slightly damp hair. He takes deep breaths, helping to pace your own breathing. He looks down at his world, even your blissed out state was irresistible to him. 

“Was that too much for you my love?” He questions softly. You shake your head, a tired smile graces his lips.

“I’ve been neglecting you honey… I’m sorry.” He says apologetically, tracing patterns on your skin. You look up at him, the guilt evident on his face. 

He worked so hard so that you wouldn’t have to, his darling wife shouldn’t have to lift a finger. However he couldn’t bear the thought of you waiting up for him, missing him. The light of his life, so lonely in the big house he bought for her.

“It’s alright Ken.” You offer a gentle smile, of course, you missed your husband, but you didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was. 

“No. It isn’t.” He said firmly. “I’ll request more days off, I need rest. And I need you.” He holds you tight as if you’d disappear at any moment. His mind was set, you swoon at your husbands' words.

“Good.” You say smiling, he leans down to place a gentle kiss to your lips. He rolls over to his back, the exhaustion hitting him again. You throw the cover onto both of your bodies. Sleeping taking over him quickly. You place a kiss to your husband's cheek before closing your eyes.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬✧ ▬▭▬✧✧✧

[httpsserene]

can you do a smau if you want where the reader is a driver and makes music on the side (music like sza or Megan thee stallion and kaliii) and she makes a music video for area codes and all her other music and it has the drivers in it

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 (𝐟𝟏) - 𝐲𝐧. 𝟎

summary: you make hit songs when you’re not driving a formula one car. your fellow drivers love to feature in your music videos. content warning: driver!reader makes music. toxic internet culture. profanity. hateful comments. attempt at humor. fluffy. light angst ig. there's no specific face claim, just pretty black women! ex-haas driver, current aston martin driver!reader. reader is american. seb retires in 2021, fernando is on the grid just not with aston martin. nikita mazepin mention lol. lando norris and george russell get bullied (humor). light british slander. no plot just vibes. pairing: platonic f1 grid x fem!black!driver!reader genre: smau.

from serene: i have a disease and it's called "being unable to make a normal length smau." it's a sickness, idk if i'll ever be abl to fulfill a request without the plot running away from me. anyways, enjoy loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

yn ln signs multi-year contract with aston martin • espn f1 • 2021 post-season

ESPN F1 yn ln has signed a multi-year contract with Aston Martin! The American driver completes the team’s lineup with Lance Stroll. Even though she was an F4, F3, and GP3 Champion, and she won the F2 Championship on her first try with Prema; her F1 career began with unexpected opportunities and last-minute substitutions—becoming a reserve driver for Haas and filling in for Romain Grosjean after his accident in 2020, and then replacing Nikita Mazepin halfway through the 2021 F1 season—an official seat of her own in Formula One was a long time coming and well deserved. Congratulations to yn ln, the first Black woman to race in Formula One!

instagram • yn0 • 2022 pre-season

liked by astonmartinf1, lewishamilton, maxverstappen, sza, and 3,451,967 others

yn0: i have always believed that being an f1 driver would become my reality. it was a never a dream to me because i KNEW i was going to make it here. i’m incredibly thankful to haas for giving my first chance to race in the big league and i will miss all the incredible people who helped me grow and improve while i was there. however, i am extremely grateful and excited to have a seat of my own at aston martin in 2022 and onward. some critics have called me "conceited" to bet on myself, so i made a song just for them < 3

tagged astonmartinf1

view comments

yn0 on sundays, we wear green 💚

➥ user1 you're an inspiration to all women in motorsport, especially women of color 💚💚💚

➥ user2 praying that your aston is quicker than your haas! prove the haters wrong 😤

astonmartinf1: we'll bet on you every race! can't wait to play this in the garage 💚

haasf1team: take care of our songbird 🥲

➥ haasf1team: and keep the tea and honey STOCKED for her vocal cords

➥ user3: i’m gonna cry :(

user4: yeah who paid for her seat? no way she got it off skill. she's never been above p12. f1 has changed for the worse now that a woman's out there. she's a hazard.

➥ user5: incel mindset 😒

➥ user6: bro she was in a haas. reaching p12 in that car is enough of an achievement. better than mazepin ever did, even with his daddy's money 🤷‍♂️

lewishamilton: LFG 💪🏽💪🏽💪🏽 can't wait to see you in the paddock

➥ yn0: lfgggggg 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

➥ yn0: i wouldn't be racing at all if i didn't see you do it first :)

sebastianvettel: prove them all wrong and never apologize for it.

➥ yn0: i learned from the best 🥹 happy retirement, seb!

mickschumacher: "no reason to make friends, i'm cool"??? is that line about somebody else or should i be worried 🤨

➥ maxverstappen: yeah let us know 🙄 your seat on the jet can be revoked

➥ yn0: bros...we all know who it's really about

➥ user8: you can say it's about mazepin nobody will be mad at that 🤗🤗🤗

landonorris: wish it was papaya, but i can't wait to see you in green!

➥ yn0: you know what?i think I CAN wait

➥ yn0: i'm actually going to quit f1 rn i think 😐

➥ user9: lando stop, get some help

lancestroll: hi teammate!

➥ yn0: hi teammate!

➥ user6: oh,,, this is awkward

charlesleclerc: finally 🙌🏻 i thought you would never drop this song

➥ yn0: the music is more important than my f1 seat to you 🙂

➥ charlesleclerc: encore encore encore 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

georgerussell: i would be happy for you if i didn't know this meant you'll be bullying me every race weekend

➥ alexalbon: she smells your fear which makes you an easy target

➥ alexalbon: CONGRATSSS 🥳🥳🥳🥳

➥ yn0: 🤭

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by charlesleclerc, lewishamilton, megantheestallion, and 2,191,042 others

yn0: thee "cognac queen" learns how to celebrate their FIRST EVER f1 points in italy with their honorary prince 🇮🇹 im in my gacccc, i wanna danceeee, come get yo man, come getcho maaaannnnn 🍾🍾🍾

tagged charlesleclerc

view comments

user10: WOOOOOAH WHATS ABOUT TO PLAY 😳

➥ user11: she PUT IT ON HIM last night apparently 🫣

➥ user12: he calling her BACK TO BACK????

astonmartinf1: you only win first points once but you only have one liver. please show up to the paddock next week 🥴

➥ yn0: don't worry admin i'll be there bright and early!

➥ user13: drink responsibly kids alcohol poisoning is not fun

➥ user14: aston martin shouldn't stress. it sounds like charles took very good care of her 😏😏😏

user15: i feel like i shouldn't be allowed to watch that video (i'm 23)

➥ user16: they were having a tiiiiiiiiime out in italy 🫦

➥ user17: if she was all over me like she was on charles i would be asking about marriage. he's so much stronger than i am 🙂‍��️

charlesleclerc: went courvoisier crazyyyy

➥ charlesleclerc: je suis très fière de toi (i'm very proud of you) ❤️

➥ yn0: thank you charlieee (for the mv too x) 😚

➥ user18: oh so she really got charles thinking that he's her man???

➥ user19: you were DOGGING it? i didn’t know charles had it in him 🐶🐶🐶

user20: ew this is gross. charles is in a happy relationship and we're all going to pretend like yn isn't a homewrecker???

➥ user21: i was waiting to see this comment! this is like proof she used her body to get on the grid 👀

mickschumacher: no way you put charles in a video before me...i thought we were locked in 😞

➥ yn0: mick be so for real. you hate cognac :(

➥ user22: mick said we suffered through haas together and you already forgot about me

landonorris: are you looking for a cognac king?

➥ alexalbon: boys point and laugh 🫵🏼🤣

➥ charlesleclerc: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ maxverstappen: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ georgerussell: 🫵🏻🤣

➥ mickschumacher: 🫵🏻🤣🤣🤣💀

➥ user23: 🫵🏾🤣

lewishamilton: xnda feature when you make it on the podium

➥ yn0: i'll be up there next week.

➥ user24: bring back xnda girl !!! for all of us 🙇🏽‍♀️

instagram • yn0 • 2022

liked by alexalbon, astonmartinf1, maxverstappen, sza, and 4,233,761 others

yn0: my girl is my girl, is your girl, heard that's his girl too...he's like 9 to 5, i'm "the weekend"

tagged alexalbon, lilymhe

view comments

astonmartinf1: highest race finish of your career can you drop a fire song to celebrate 🥵

➥ lancestroll: team karaoke when????

➥ yn0: make it happen and i will show out for y'all 💯

user25: this video was funny af! my favorite song from you so far 😁

➥ user26: yessss i was not expecting her to flip the song in the video like that 🤌🏻💋

➥ user27: the premise of her and alex fighting over lily was perfect 👌🏽

lilymhe: make me lose my mind every weekend 😮‍💨

➥ alexalbon: you take wednesday thurday 🧎🏼‍♂️‍➡️

➥ yn0: then just send her my wayyyyy 🤤

➥ user28: think i got it covered for the weekend ����🎶

landonorris: i'm available any day of the week with no other commitments blocking my schedule ☺️

➥ georgerussell: mate this is embarrasing

➥ mickschumacer: lando no wins & no rizz what a shame 😒

➥ user29: MICK CHILLLLL ⁉️⁉️

➥ user30: whatdidhedo to deserve that calm downnnn

➥ charlesleclerc: lando please just listen to the song like everybody else this is painful to see 😣

maxverstappen: you laced this song with something addictive

➥ schecoperez: i hear it on repeat through the wall he is not lying

➥ user31: yn ln gives you wings 🤪

user32: just because lily was in the video and yn made the focus of the song about her doesn't mean that the orginal song is okay? it's not like she stopped singing about being a side chick.

➥ user33: no, it literally IS okay. because lily and alex both said they made the song with her and were happy to be in the video 🙂

➥ user34: i don't know, lily agreeing to the video makes me dislike her

➥ user35: yeah this song was a miss not a good message at all

instagram • danica patrick • 2022

liked by 10,764 others

danicapatrick: “This past weekend the Aston Martin F1 crew celebrated yn’s P5 finish track side and, honestly, that was unnecessary. It’s not like she managed to reach the podium and personally, I feel like she doesn’t take F1 seriously. I mean, it seems like she spends more time making explicit songs than she does preparing for a race weekend. Her little songs are a distraction to the men on the grid and she appears as a promiscuous, immature, and unfocused girl. She’s not the formula one standard, in my opinion.”

I discuss yn ln’s career in the new episode of my podcast, Pretty Intense! Click the link in my bio to hear it all!

tagged prettyintensebydanica

view comments

user36: ms. patrick are you familiar with the idea of having a hobby 🤔

nicorosberg: how are you qualified to be an expert on sky sports?

user37: woman who's never raced in f1 gives her unsolicited opinion on the only black woman to race in f1 😂

user38: danica this screams jealousy girl

user39: nothing is worse than hearing a fellow girl hate like a man smh

user40: "her little songs" disrespectful as hell don't forget one of them charted on billboard's top 10 😤

user41: SHE GOT P5 IN AN ASTON MARTIN how is that not taking f1 seriously????

user42: if her songs were a distraction to the men on the grid aren't they the ones who should be described as unfocused🤫

➥ user42: anyways, yn would be doing us a favor. maybe max wouldn't win as many races if that were the case

instagram • yn0 • 2022 post-season

liked by dominicfike, keithpowers, tchalamet, summerwalker, and 7,988,531 others

yn0: "girls need love," too.

view comments

user43: OH MY GOD the drought is over 😭😭😭

➥ user44: i thought we'd never get another song after the hate she was getting for it 😫

michaelbjordan: are you interested in a private studio session?

➥ landonorris: she don't want u lil bro 🤣

➥ user45: yn's pulling with three photo's and a song,,,teach me your ways

astonmartinf1: the spine tattoo 😍 good choice to get it during the off-season 💚

➥ user46: i misjudged you aston... i thought y'all told her to stop making music glad to see the support is still there :)

mickschumacher: let’s go get some gelato?

➥ yn0: as long as you don’t snitch to my trainer 😚

➥ mickschumacher: i’ll pick you up 😇

➥ landonorris: imma bout to crash TF out ong 💢💢

patriciooward: there's a spot on my side of the garage whenever you want to watch an indycar race

➥ landonorris: oh wow is this really what we're doing pato 😐

➥ user47: the tension in this comment section scares me

jjetas2: if you're near minnesota one day fall through

➥ landonorris: win a superbowl first 🥱😴

➥ user48: LANDO you haven't won a race or a championship either 😭

judebellingham: have you gotten any better at football since the last time we spoke?

➥ landonorris: knew i supported man united for a reason 😒

lore_musetti: call me if you want a real italian to give you a tour of italy x

➥ landonorris: didn't know an italian could disrespect charles like that honestly 🤨

➥ user49: 💀💀💀

instagram • yn0 • 2023

liked by georgerussell, mickschumacher, megantheestallion, and 4,178,063 others

yn0: japanese nightlife captured in my new music video “mamushi” !!! thank uuu yuki-san for being my tour guide 💋💋💋💋💋💋

tagged yukitsunoda

view comments

georgerussell: i quite enjoy this song 😌

➥ alexalbon: bro what

➥ yn0: tEa aND cRuMPets SConEs AnD biScUIts 💂🇬🇧

charlesleclerc: triple platinum in my house rn ⭐️⭐️⭐️

➥ alexandrasaintmleux: i'm responsible for at least a million views on my own 🥱

➥ yn0: 💚💚💚💚💚

user50: at least we know that yn and yuki can qualify for formula drift if they ever lose their f1 seat

➥ user51: 95% of the driving they were doing in that video looked illegal (but fun asl i'm not a buzzkill)

➥ user52: she's a bad influence on yuki 🙄

➥ user53: i don't think you're familiar with yuki tsunoda at all @/user52

maxverstappen: yeah the song is catchy; where's mine 🥱

➥ yn0: damn you're gonna win a third championship this year and you want a song too 😱

➥ yn0: just big and greedy fr 😒

➥ user54: big back attitude

➥ user55: like sheesh leave something for the rest of us 🤯

user50: gets p3 in suzuka driving an aston 🗿-> shrugs when asked how she did it 🗿 -> makes a banger mv in japan with yuki 🗿 -> refuses to elaborate 🗿

pierregasly: yuki explain your behavior in this video

➥ yukitsunoda: no 🤗

➥ user56: maybe he would've told you if you stayed at alphatauri

➥ user57: now you're in an alpine 🫵🏻😭

instagram • yn0 • 2023 post-season

liked by charlesleclerc, logansargeant, glorillathepimp, and 9,337,272 others

yn0: he don't "wanna be" saved don't save him 🤫

tagged maxverstappen

view comments

yn0: i don't need insurance cause a bitch CAN'T WRECK ME

➥ user58: no like she's never been in a crash her entire f1 career 🤓

➥ user59: she's untouchable srs

logansargeant: WHITE BOY WASTED CHANNING TATUM

➥ yn0: hoes love me like justin bieber 👅👅👅

user60: omg an old picture from yn's haas era when max's redbull wasn't a rocket ship 😩

➥ haasf1team: good times

➥ astonmartinf1: 💚💚💚

maxverstappen: you graduated from the max verstappen school of being unstoppable 😼

➥ charlesleclerc: austria 2022

➥ georgerussell: brazil 2022

➥ mickschumacher: my dad’s 7 championships

➥ alexalbon: i have nothing to add (literally)

➥ maxverstappen: out of the five of us we have three total world championships and they're all mine 😐

glorillathepimp: go yn 🥵

➥ yn0: get it glo 👅

➥ user61: i am no better than a man

➥ user62: i want this video tattooed on my eyelids

mickschumacher: i don't wanna be saved don't save me

➥ yn0: on gang 🤞🏾🔒🙅🏾‍♀️

kellypiquet: twenty missed calls...

➥ yn0: i would like to initiate a trade! i offer: max :) in return i receive: my twin p 🤲🏾

➥ kellypiquet: i will have a bag packed for her TONIGHT

➥ user63: kelly definitely won in that trade agreement! a childfree night??? sign me the fuck up ‼️

user64: i didn't think it was possible but this song is the worst thing she's ever made 😂

➥ user65: it's weird. max is in a committed relationship with a woman and has bonded with her kid. yn's getting involved with him when she shouldn't be 🤷‍♀️

➥ user66: girl she's been around since wayyyy before kelly as max's friend.

➥ user67: she forced max into friendship when they were karting back when he thought he couldn't have racing friends🥺

➥ user66: trauma bonded besties fr

sky sports f1 • 2024 testing

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by natalie_pinkham, danielricciardo, laybankz and 5,438,023 others

yn0: (my honest reaction when the internet can't stop talking shit about me) can't i make fun music videos without being called a homewrecker or a whore? sometimes "girls just wanna" f1 !

view comments

user68: no bc she makes hot girl music and y'all dont appreciate it 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

➥ user69: if you don't like her music you're not a baddie i don't make the rules 🙅🏻‍♀️

user70: did she just make the song of the summer 😱😵‍💫☠️

➥ user71: song of the YEAR !!! and people calling her a whore smh

landonorris: what if you make an mv with me and instead of being called a whore i call you my girlfriend?

➥ mickschumacher: corny. delete your account 🚮

➥ user72: i disagree with mick, he ate that up imo 👀

➥ user73: isn't he messing around with that model/actress though…

➥ user74: you mean m*gui lol

➥ yn0: who's that

➥ user74: lando's recent sneaky link or gf i thought

➥ yn0: oh

charlesleclerc: if i were to call you one thing it would not be homewrecker or whore ✊🏻

➥ charlesleclerc: it would be hit-maker because you DO NOT MISS 😩

➥ alexalbon: one could even call her the 🐐

➥ georgerussell: grammy caliber artist

➥ maxverstappen: they compare her to lebron and simone biles in discussion of being the greatest of all time 😌

➥ yn0: just yesterday y'all said i give slut energy (affectionately) 😕

➥ maxverstappen: many things can be true at the same time

➥ charlesleclerc: false ‼️ accusations

sabrinacarpenter: girls just wanna have fun 😋

➥ user75: OMG sabrina what are you doing here

➥ user76: what in the disney channel crossover episode is going on

imessage • yn -> lando

instagram • yn0 • 2024

liked by mclaren, mickschumacher, lewishamilton, laybankz, and 8,765,392 others

yn0: dropping the "tell ur girlfriend" video tonight as celebration for lando's first win (me next please!) i DO NOT codone cheating but the song is too hard for me to pretend like it's not a banger 🤪

tagged landonorris

view comments

landonorris: you look good in papaya 🧡🧡🧡

➥ astonmartinf1: it's a little too much for our tastes 🤢

➥ yn0: i look good in any color but i do happen to prefer green 💚

➥ user77: i think lando's on to smth w the orange tho 🤔

landonorris: that's my girlfriend !!!!

➥ yn0: NO I AM NOT ❌❌❌

➥ yn0: WE WERE ACTING IN THIS MUSIC VIDEO

➥ yn0: LANDO I WILL SUE YOU FOR DEFAMATION 🤬

➥ landonorris: i'll wait for you 😔

➥ mickschumacher: she's so uninterested in you mate 🙃

user78: he gets his first win and a yn ln music video i know he's on cloud nine 😭😭😭

➥ user79: lando how does it feel to be living my dream 😩

oscarpiastri: oh thank god maybe he'll stop talking about you nonstop now that he got a video 🙏🏻

➥ landonorris: bro delete this comment

➥ user80: i screenshotted it too late 🫡

user81: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song promoting it anyways 😑

➥ user82: she doesn't condone cheating but messes with lando even though she knows he's taken by magui 😑

➥ user83: she doesn't condone cheating but makes a song about it because it sounds fucking fire 🫦👅🔥🔥🔥

alexalbon: great video too much lando for me 😪

➥ georgerussell: he really just ruined the vibe

➥ charlesleclerc: y'all just mad you haven't been in one of her videos yet 🙂‍↔️

➥ maxverstappen: i don't see how you can hate from outside of the club 🤷🏼‍♂️

➥ landonorris: you can't even get in 🫵🏻🤣

twitter • yn0

instagram • yn -> the day ones

instagram • yn0 • 2024 post-season

liked by maxverstappen, fernandoalonso, zhouguanyu24, kaliii and 12,779,436 others

yn0: hoes mad about my roster being INTERNATIONAL smh stay mad and watch the music video for "area codes" it features all the men (my FRIENDS ✨) you'll never have a chance with 😇😚🤗🤭🤤💚💚💚

tagged f1

view comments

user84: no xnda feature but she got lewis in the fucking video

user85: i just wannna know hwo the fuck she got checo to be in the video 💀

user86: idc what the haters say: she just said y'all have no motion, no aura, no bitches and what are you gonna do about it 😳😳😱

user89: she got lando and mick in a photo together??? how they've been beefing in her comments for years 😧

➥ user90: can't believe im saying this but esteban did not deserve to be punished like that 😬

georgerussell: i am the one feeding her pasta and lobster btw

➥ yn0: you don't send me money tho :(

➥ georgerussell: you are an f1 driver too you don't need my money 🧐

charlesleclerc: can you leave some talent for the rest of us 😒

➥ yn0: bro u are mozart on your days off be serious

lilymhe: cause why are u never in town 😞

➥ alexalbon: cause she'll steal you from me 😭😫

➥ yn0: i'm pulling up rn lils 🫦

lewishamilton: you want a mercedes or a xnda feature?

➥ yn0: im tryna take the mercedes seat you left behind 👀

➥ user91: omfg toto sign herrrrrrrr ✍️

maxverstappen: anything for my favorite lady 🙇🏼🧎🏼‍♂️

➥ yn0: i gotta go they just lmk that i could pick up my mercedes 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

user92: lando in two photos? sus

➥ landonorris: you said it not me 🤫

➥ mickschumacher: bro you acted like her shadow the entire night don't let it go to your head 😠

fernandoalonso: very fun song!

➥ user93: you too old to be doin all that fernando :/

➥ user94: literally choked when i saw him in the video

logansargeant: hey you did manage to get me in "one of your little music videos" 🤭

➥ yn0: if only they knew that you agreed with a bribe of two zebra cakes

➥ user95: they couldn't fathom the delicacy that is a zebra cake 🤤

yn0: stop pretending to dislike my songs and realize that the boys are my homies. you'll be a lot happier when you come to terms with that 🥱

© httpsserene 2024

[livecrow]

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

Dark!Ghost x fat fem reader

CWs: rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink(?), animal play(?), threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

(A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.)

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet, after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more? 

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people  “jus’ need killin’”. 

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither”. After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality. 

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it. 

Wrangling you was simple, it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your lack of instincts was staggering, it was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you, it only endeared you to him. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”.

Simon's main concern was not damaging you too much, he was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory, but he’s not applying enough pressure to actually choke you. You’re just forced helplessly to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led, he would simply tighten his hold, and allow up a quick nap. He’d pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel work table the metal stings you even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but your nipples is where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle. You were a bit of silly thing, he thought. Maybe it’d be a minute till you’d actually catch on.

You're his little prize. Simon will coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what y’ need clothes for?” he scoffed. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want you to answer. A dog doesn’t answer “who's a good boy?” does he? 

He’s measuring you, jotting things down. You think distantly that the pencil looks puny in his fist. While he's at it, he's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store.

Only when you think there’s finally a reprieve, you’re being hogtied. You’re trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape its bite. Simon says it looks good on you, can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing pinch. You struggle of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn. 

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of d-rings. It will be more comfortable for you and he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chaffing. 

As he admires your skin, he’ll remark offhandedly that he’ll have to ""'ave somethin' from you" too. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. Couldn’t find more supple could y’? He hasn’t decided what’ll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That’d be about the first time your consciousness flees from you.

Simon will lay it on thick, praise how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you can't blame him for any of this, really. He'll say something about kobe beef and taking good care of you. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying, it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged. 

His hands are always on you, it’s never fucking ending. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats, might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food, you don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful and to no one’s surprise it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye”. He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'".

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner, even if seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. Steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over on the floor, forced to eat off a dish without the use of your hands, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise. Still, if he’s in a mood he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess”. 

The food was prepared, but this time the kitchen knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your peripheral.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like. 

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence.

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes. 

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then. 

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side.

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue 

“They’ll say ’m ‘spoilin’ ‘er rotten’. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?”. He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whenever Simon’s put up enough with your smart mouth, he enjoys the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make when gagged are special little nonsense noises, almost like you're trying to talk like a person would. Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little. 

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze. 

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker. 

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day”.

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it. 

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes. 

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

[planetaryupscaled]

Disenchanted 6

Male Reader x Karina

Tags: 2k, cheating, creampie, cuckold, daddy kink

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

It was well past 2am before Karina and I finished our marathon sex session. The ravishing woman having run out of energy, just letting me lazily pump her cunt with the last of my load for the evening.

It was a surprise that Jaewook was still asleep throughout the ordeal, given the fact that Karina and I really didn’t hold back, I even held her face against his thigh at one point, while railing her from behind, the slaps of flesh distorted by Jaewook’s snores.

I left an exhausted looking Karina to get some much needed sleep, lying face down next to her husband, covering her silky naked form with the sheets before closing the bedroom door behind me. There was an ache in my legs as I slowly descended the wooden stairs. I must have emptied at least five loads inside her that night, my sack was still reeling from the demands I put on it, my cock slowly getting accustomed to not being snugly sheathed within Karina’s tight body.

Opening the doors and slipping into the early morning air sent a ripple of energy spiraling through my senses. My eyes perking up suddenly at the rush of cold wind now billowing all around me as I retired back inside my homely lodge just in time before the heavens opened up with rain coming splashing down on the wooden roof. In many respects, tonight had been more extreme than the Yeonjun, Hajoon affair, it was with her husband, one she shunned for most of the night. Not that Jaewook caught on at first, but I had a feeling he was starting to connect the dots, the longer the three of us fucked. It was the little things, like the eye contact she gave me while we made love, not the same if any when it came to her husband. It was almost like he was, as she described Yeonjun and Hajoon before, a prop. It would not be too long till that final blow would be dealt, to my knowledge we were going to tell Jaewook in a few hours, not knowing what the best time to spill the beans was, if ever. Little did I know the blow would be dealt far sooner than expected and in the most brutal fashion imagined.

—

“Hey...can I come in?” Karina said, amidst the increasingly loud pitter patter of the rain outside.

I must have fallen asleep, checking my watch it was now half five in the morning with the birds already chirping outside.

“Hey...sure...come in.” I replied, getting up and ushering a soaking Karina in.

She was drenched, wearing nothing but a white bra and matching underwear, as she strolled into my posh glamping abode, a wicked smile strewn across her face.

“Karina, you are soaked...” I said, wrapping a towel around her and bringing her into the warmth by the fireplace.

“More than you know.” She chimed back, looking at me with those deep brown eyes of hers.

I felt like she wanted to tell me something, something important, there was a level of excitement emanating from her that I could not quite pinpoint.

“So...I had a talk with Jaewook” Karina said, “it’s over...”  with finality, running her hands along my arm.

“Um...what...I thought we were going to do it tog...” I started.

“It’s better this way.” She replied with a smile.

“How...did he take it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not good at first, there were tears, his tears that is and then anger, then tears again. I left him in the bedroom to think it through, but I am pretty sure he has passed out again.” Karina said.

“Wow...so...” I replied.

“So...I guess that’s that...” Karina said, closing the gap.

“I’m yours...” She followed up.

“Seriously Karina, you wanna fool around after such a big decision has bee...” I started again, before getting interrupted by a kiss.

Her soft lips melded with mine, as if we were made for one another, the warmth of the fire stoking our bodies as I pulled her closer for a deeper embrace.

“You know...we were meant to do this together right?” I said, staring at her beautiful face.

“Guess...I’ve been a bad girl...” Karina replied, placing her hands on my chest.

“You know what happens to bad girls right?” I replied, catching onto the sudden erotic turn of events.

“What’s that?” She said, biting down hard on my lip as I felt her hands roam into my pants and grab harshly at my sack.

“They get...punished...” I replied, moaning at her touch while simultaneously man handling her to the bed.

“Wait...” Karina said.

“Film it...” She followed up with a cheeky grin.

I walked over to the side table, propping up my phone and pressing record, making sure the lens captured everything. This was to be our second video, and I wanted it to be hotter than the last.

“Ass across my lap, young lady.” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Karina presented her pert derriere to me.

“You ready?” I asked, palms already about to strike.

She looked at me, over her shoulder, in anticipation, sucking down on my thumb from my free hand.

“Don’t hold back...be rough with me...Daddy.” Karina said, seductively, before tensing her rear for me in quiet trepidation.

I drove down with full force, not holding back as I connected with Karina’s ass cheeks, the ripple effect causing a loud slapping noise to ring off the walls.

“Ahhhhh...Daddy...” Karina wailed.

“You like that?” I replied, coming down harder this time, slapping her rear while squeezing her red raw flesh under my hands.

“Yes...AHHH...harder...ahhhh.” Karina screamed, her rear now getting battered from my slaps.

Karina started whimpering with each subsequent smack, her body trembling under my grasp, till the brunette turned around over her shoulder, eyes watering slightly at the force of my strikes.

“Fuckkk...fuck me now.” Karina said breathlessly.

I was lost in the moment, my hand still shaking after smacking her ass red raw, staring down at Karina’s tight body, I slipped out of my boxers and rammed myself as far as I could into her married cunt. My tip piercing her silky folds with ease as I split the mother of three open with my cock, my crown roughly smashing up against her cervix with a thud as I bottomed her out. Karina felt different this time, kinkier in her requests as if the ante had been dialed up a few more notches as she pushed back onto my deep hard thrusts. Her walls sucking my shaft off as I drilled her mercilessly into the mattress, adding a few more slaps to her ass each time I pumped her cunt with more of my dick.

“Pull...my hair...” Karina said between moans, sucking on my fingers as I pried her mouth open with one hand and yanked on her hair with another.

It was the roughest we had ever been, but she loved it, arching her back to allow me to penetrate her pussy to the fullest, filling her pink chamber with my meat as I stuffed her unfaithful cunt with cock.

“Ughhh…Minho...yes...fuck...dadddyyyy...” Karina moaned, her eyes locked on the camera as I railed her in the prone position.

It was just in that moment that the front door swung open. her husband Jaewook standing a few feet away from us, a look of horror on his face. He could not comprehend what he was seeing, words failing him as he just watched, slack jawed as Karina and I stared back at him.

“Moree...give me more...” Karina demanded.

We were too far gone, not giving a shit about other people’s feelings at this point, we just needed to get off.

“You like that?” I asked, spanking her rear.

“Uhhh...yes...just...like...that...daddy.” She replied, biting her lips.

“Better than your husbands?” I asked, through gritted teeth as I fucked more of my straining cock into her tight pussy.

She raised her head, looking Jaewook deep in his tearful eyes as I penetrated her cunt.

“Worlds...better...” She replied with little remorse, pushing back on me as I flipped her over onto her back.

“Spread your legs baby.” I said, rubbing furiously at her throbbing clitoris.

She complied, parting her bronze thighs for me as I pierced her folds with my dick once more. I could sense her eyes ever so often glance over at a frozen Jaewook, his face not showing anger or sadness anymore, but acceptance as I spread his wife’s legs wider, spearing her cunt with deep rupturing strokes.

Karina’s cries of pleasure were mounting, her body was shaking as the brunette hung her head of the side of the bed, allowing me to plough into her marital pussy over and over again, ripping through her pussy with a hunger what needed to be satiated. My cock irrigating her womb of air, the more meat I fucked into her, forcing it out in a hurry, causing a highly erotic farting noise to ring out from between her legs.

I slipped my fingers into her mouth, pumping my dick deeper into her womb, feeling the warmth of her cunt urging me for release as we locked eyes.

“I want to feel you cum...” Karina moaned.

“Wai...” Jaewook spoke, his voice feeble in the distance.

We ignored his plea, locked in our own mating ritual as Karina pushed her hips towards me with each thrust, goading me into seeding her pussy.

“Fuck a baby into me...” Karina whispered, into my ear, loud enough for the killer blow to be heard by Jaewook.

It was enough to set us both off as I fucked my cock deep into Karina’s cunt, exploding at the tip as my pent up sperm peppered her cervix, leaking into her uterus as I injected her twitching womb with my thick milk.

“Ughhhh...baby...fill me...fill...me...up.” Karina groaned.

Her own orgasm triggering as I pumped her pussy fill of cum, my seed dribbling out the sides off her slit as I felt a rush of fresh fluids rush against my cock. She was gushing, the mix of my seed and her juices now coalesced as I force fed her married pussy more of my meat and sperm, right in front of her husband. I felt wave after wave of my cum, pump into her luscious cunt, spurt after spurt painting her insides in my sticky white milk.

Karina was dripping from the rear, as I finally stopped twitching inside her. The slickness of her womb bore the fruits of our labor as her gushing ceased, the stickiness smeared all over her inner thighs, dripping down her red raw ass cheeks as she got up and lay beside me in a huff. We stared at each other for a long moment, forgetting our unwanted guest for a few seconds as his sobs started again. Looking over, Karina purposely strode over to him, still leaking her womanly fluids form her slippery well fucked pussy.

“Jaewook...it’s over.” She said firmly, before turning to me wearing a smile on her face.

I looked at her, amazed and slightly shocked at the brutality of it all. Everything was caught on camera, the sex, the moans, the spanking, the lot. Rolling her hips on my lap while Jaewook took a last look at his wife, she turned to me, taking my tongue between her lips and sucking me firmly.

“Now...fuck me till I pass out...” Karina said, slipping my spent cock back into her freshly claimed cunt.

In that moment, she belonged to me, and she knew it, presenting her body to me for me to claim, claim her mind, body and soul, Karina was mine.

[physics-of-one-piece]

I Take Care of You Now

Doflamingo x Reader

Summary: After a night of a heavy snow storm and rainfall on the North Blue Sea, Doflamingo gets woken up by the scraping of a snow shovel on deck.

A/N: A little short one-shot that I’ll implement into the main Red Suit Doffy Fic Merlot & Primroses but it can stand as a stand alone, too, so I decided to send it here. As I said in a post, Doflamingo’s core values he was raised with are something he sticks to. Also... I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell I'm going to hell I'm going to heeeeeeell...

but at least the Heavenly Demon is there 😊🤭🫡

P.S. I wanted to post this at 8pm it's 4pm, the Save Draft went into Post but it's complete so.... Enjoy? 🤣🤣 (I hate you, tumblr) (cry laughs)

Word Count: 3k

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Female!Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Doflamingo POV, North Blue Era Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Fluff, Humor, Cuddling For Warmth, Mentions of Fratricide, Nightmares, Longing, Doflamingo is in Love, Protective Doflamingo, Post Minion Island, Girldad Doflamingo, Dadmingo, Soft Doflamingo (kind of), Donquixote Family, One Shot Fic

Doflamingo is back in the snow again. The white thick layer of it crunches under his boots as he walks. There is snow falling, wild and strong, chilly wind pushing at his face.

There is someone lying on the snow. He knows who it is. The blackened feathers give him away; Doflamingo’s clumsy little brother.

At last, Doflamingo reached him. Rosinante’s lipstick-painted mouth is moving. No sound is coming out of Rosinante’s lips. Doflamingo squats down beside his brother. Maybe if he’s closer, he’ll hear the words his younger brother is saying.

Rosinante’s mouth keeps moving, shaping the words over and over again. He keeps looking at Doflamingo, but no sound is coming out.

What is he saying?

I love you?

I hate you?

I’m sorry?

Don’t touch my wife?

I’ll kill you?

Which is it?

Doflamingo should’ve learned to read lips.

Doflamingo wakes with a gasp, sitting up in his sleeping bag. His face is wet, covered in sweat, and he barely registers a yelp from Baby 5 who’d slept atop his stomach and hugged him for additional warmth during the storm falling off him and on his lap covered by the sleeping bag’s duvet.

Doflamingo realizes he’s without his sunglasses because the world isn’t tinted red. The sudden assault of colors and sunlight illuminating through the portholes makes him blink. Continuing to pant, he reaches for the white-framed sunglasses and mounts them atop the bridge of his nose.

He pants for a little longer, then swallows down. His throat feels dry. He needs to get some wine.

“Young Master?” Baby 5’s careful, hesitating voice reaches his ear. “Are you okay?”

Doflamingo puts on a smile, if not for his sake, then for Baby 5’s. He hates seeing her distraught or hurt. A child should never worry about an adult. It's the greatest disgrace.

“Just a bad dream.” he replied, huffing. “Could you get me a merlot from the wine cabinet?”

“We aren’t allowed to open the wine cabinet.” Baby 5 said, frowning.

“I’m giving you permission,” said Doflamingo. He needs wine, right now. “So go get the merlot for me.”

“Y/N-san said you shouldn’t drink that much...” Baby 5 murmured, continuing to look at him worriedly.

“Who’s the captain here, me or my sister-in-law?” he asked, chuckling. It’s rich of you to scold him on his alcohol abuse when your own husband had been a nicotine-inhaling addict. Rosinante went through one entire pack of cigarettes in a day. How on earth you wanted to kiss his brother or even marry him, Doflamingo would never know.

“You are, Young Master!”

“I don’t know…” mused Doflamingo, making a show of doubt. “Maybe I should let my sister-in-law lead…”

“She doesn’t know how to sail! Or how to be a pirate!” said Baby 5 panically.

“Is that so? I guess I’m staying as captain, then…” He gave a dramatic sigh, fighting not to burst out laughing on the spot. “Too bad, I was looking forward to retirement…”

“You’re not even old!” Baby 5 yelled.

Doflamingo laughed.

“Young Master?”

“What is it?” asked Doflamingo.

“Do you think (Y/N)-san hates living with us?” asked Baby 5.

Doflamingo blinked. Now, he knew you would rather throw yourself in the sea than say anything negative to the kids or be hateful toward them. It was one of your weaknesses he used in his favor to endear you to living with him, after all. What made Baby 5 think that, was what he wanted to know.

"Did she ever say that?” Doflamingo asked.

“No,” said Baby 5, shaking her head. “But... she gets sad a lot... and she seems to like being alone rather than with the rest of the officers.” She cast her gaze away, looking truly sad. “It reminds me of Corazón. He didn’t like hanging around any of us, either...”

Doflamingo was rather impressed. Baby 5 started truly being aware of her environment and how people act around each other. Her observation skills were getting very good for someone as young as her — even Buffalo, who was six years older than her, wasn’t this aware of people.

Doflamingo found his chest swell with pride.

“Don’t worry. Unlike with Corazón, I’m keeping a close eye on her. You forgot she’s a civilian. Civilians are terrified of pirates on instinct. All her life, she’s heard terrible stories about pirates, so of course she won’t feel safe with the officers, or Pica, Trebol, Diamante or me right away. We’re big, we fight, we kill, we rob, we torture, and we have Devil Fruit powers. Civilians run from that, because they’re powerless.”

“I forgot about that,” said Baby 5. “That she’s a civilian.”

Doflamingo laughed. “How so?”

“Because... She’s really fierce!” insisted Baby 5.

Doflamingo chuckled. “She was a marine’s wife. Of course she’s fierce. Just because she’s powerless doesn’t mean she’ll let herself be stepped on. It’s what I like about her.”

Yes. Doflamingo liked that about you very much. It turned him on. Very much. Doflamingo licked his lips.

“Why does she seem sad with me and Dellinger, too?” asked Baby 5, pouting.

“You’re orphans. You had nowhere to go, and became pirates. She pities you, because she thinks it’s unfair toward you. She’s sad because she knows that’s how cruel the world can be.”

“She pities us,” said Doflamingo, shrugging. “It’s not coming from a bad place like others do. Her pity is genuine. She doesn’t mean anything ill with it.”

“I don’t want her to pity us.” said Baby 5. “I want her to -”

“To what?” asked Doflamingo, tilting his head down to the girl, intrigued.

“To love us.” said Baby 5.

“Fufufu! She does love us. She’s just too stubborn to admit it. After all,” Doflamingo smiled. “No civilian is supposed to love pirates. That’d be treason.”

“Really?” Baby 5 asked, eyes full of hope. “She loves us?”

“Really. So don’t worry, okay?” said Doflamingo.

“Okay,” said Baby 5, her smile blooming back onto her face.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her head. “Now, go get me my merlot. And get yourself some bottled water, too.”

“Yes, sir!” chirped Baby 5.

While Baby 5 headed to the kitchen and the wine cabinet, Doflamingo cracked his neck, then got out of his pink sleeping bag. The sleeping bag beside him — where you slept last night — was empty.

He frowned. What was taking you so long in the bathroom? Maybe it was that time of the month for you. He knew there were supplies in the women’s bathroom, so he wasn’t too worried about that.

He’d give you a few more minutes before he went looking for you.

His long legs cracked as he stretched them out, same with his arms.

Baby 5 came back, carrying his bottle of wine and bottled water for herself. Doflamingo took it, undid the clasp, and chugged it down in droves, basking in the liquid pouring down his throat and into his stomach, warming up his body.

“Did you see my sister-in-law?” Doflamingo asked when he was done, bottle half empty now.

“I don’t know,” replied Baby 5 sleepily, rubbing at the crust in her eyes, giving a little yawn. “Maybe the bathroom?”

“Go wake the cook to make us breakfast and hot chocolate,” he said to Baby 5.

“Yes, sir. Um, Young Master...”

“What?”

“I think there’s someone on deck,” whispered Baby 5.

There was scraping on the deck outside. Doflamingo’s Observation Haki didn’t pick up any threat from the person. It could be a fishman or someone stranded on the island.

“It could be a Klabautermann,” said Doflamingo, chuckling. Now wouldn’t that be interesting.

“Klabautermann?” repeated Baby 5.

“It’s a legend.” Doflamingo explained. “If a ship is very loved by the crew, it develops its own spirit in the shape of a fairy.”

“Fairy?!” asked Baby 5 in excitement.

Doflamingo chuckled in confirmation, tracing his gaze over the officers and top officers strewn on the floor of the galley, counting everyone else who was present. You were the only one missing.

“A human-shaped fairy wearing a white sailor’s coat and a pair of shoes.” he explained. “It carries a small wooden hammer, because it fixes up a damaged ship. Ours isn’t damaged, though.”

At least, Doflamingo hoped it wasn’t.

“Oh,” said Baby 5. “I thought it would be a pink flamingo wearing Young Master’s sunglasses, just like the figurehead.”

Doflamingo laughed. “It could be! That’d be fun!”

“What if it’s a ghost?” she asked with slight fright; she’d heard too many ghost stories from Law and Buffalo.

Doflamingo gave Baby 5 one of his grins, the malicious ones which he knows comfort her. To Baby 5, violence equals protection.

“You think a ghost can beat me?” he asked her. “They’re free to try, fufufufufu!”

After some more coaxing and assuring her everything would be fine, Baby 5 left for the kitchen again to wake the ship cook.

Doflamingo grabbed his feather coat where it lay spread on the couch, stepping over a sleeping Gladius and Diamante.

Now, why were they all huddled up in the galley with sleeping bags?

The simple answer was bad weather.

They’d been in a heavy snow storm last night. It was Dellinger’s first heavy snow storm. He cried and ran around in a panic the entire time. He had to be grabbed three times from launching himself overboard and into the sea. Dellinger connected the sea with safety, because it was always safe for him to go into the sea; he always fled there if he was about to get scolded — it was becoming a real problem and at this point, Doflamingo was going to listen to Trebol’s advice and tie the toddler with a rope. If Dellinger went in the sea under those stormy waves yesterday, forget about pulling him out, they wouldn’t be able to find him.

For the past three years, they rarely went this far up north on their voyages, and although most of the adults of the crew were used to responding to and traveling through overbearing hail and rain, the kids were not. They were too prone to making mistakes in the novelty of navigating the waves bigger than Sea Kings despite knowing how to navigate.

The kids had been absolutely terrified.

The storm proved impossible to navigate. Doflamingo put his family and its safety above everything, he wasn’t going to risk them all because he wanted to get to the next island on time. He decided it was best to hunker down near a mountain pass to the closest island than continue to navigate through the storm.

After setting anchor on the nearby, snow-covered coast of the island, everyone had huddled down in the galley beside the largest fire stove to keep warm, bringing in sleeping bags.

Now, after putting on his black overcoat to deal with the cold outside, Doflamingo quickly opened the doors, left the cabin, and closed them just as quickly. He made his way up the stairs and to the cabin on the quarter deck, then exited out into the open winter air.

There was a person on the deck, pushing the snow down the deck and overboard into the sea.

Doflamingo nearly had a heart attack.

After a moment, he realized it wasn’t the ship’s spiritual manifestation.

It wasn’t a Klabautermann. It was you.

Doflamingo called your name. You leapt six feet high at the sound of his voice, which made him laugh. You deserved the fright; you gave him a fright first.

You turned your face up to him. Doflamingo smiled down at you.

“Hey,” you said shakily, like you weren’t out in the cold and shoveling snow from the deck. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” demanded Doflamingo.

You look at him like he’s asking a strange question. “I’m shoveling the deck.”

…

What?

“Why?” asked Doflamingo.

“Cause there’s snow on it.” you said.

For a moment, Doflamingo was so confused his brain stopped working.

Because there’s… snow?

Why on… why on earth would you be the one shoveling the snow?!

Doflamingo deployed his strings, leaving the wooden, ice-laden balcony of the quarter deck, reaching you with a single leap. He stood on his strings beside you, because he wasn’t going to walk on the solidified ice undoubtedly hiding under the layer of snow.

“You don’t do that.” said Doflamingo firmly, his thoughts racing thousand miles per hour, the cogs in his mind rushing with what could only be described as Celestial Dragon confusion. “I take care of you.”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life.” you say, shrugging.

Rosi, I’ll bring you back to life and put thirty bullets in you this time. thought Doflamingo, clenching his teeth, his jaw hurting from how hard he did it.

Doflamingo took the shovel from you easily.

“Hey!” you shouted. "I need that!"

“You don’t anymore.” said Doflamingo, crossing his arms over his chest, looking at you with the sternness of a captain. He stepped down from his string onto the deck to stand in front of you — as he suspected, there was ice under the snow. “I take care of you now.”

“Doffy -” you started, but he would have none of it.

“You’re not allowed.” said Doflamingo, because what else is he supposed to say, how else is he supposed to let you know you are too precious to do grunt work? You are not to do any grunt work, ever, for as long as Doflamingo lived and breathed. His parents would roll in their graves if they ever heard he let you do any labor, and Doflamingo experienced a full-body cringe at the mere idea of allowing you to exhaust yourself. Unforgivable. Impermissible. Therefore, not allowed.

By his words, clearly you thought he thought you incapable because you are a woman, completely misunderstanding him as you said indignantly, “I am allowed -”

“You’re too cute to be out here in the cold, querida.” said Doflamingo.

Those words momentarily rendered you mute, and you stared up at him in shock, which made you even more adorable.

“I’m doing whatever I wanna do!” you protest, and it reminds Doflamingo of a bunny stomping its little foot on the ground.

“You get inside,” says Doflamingo, ignoring your words. You could think whatever you wanted, Doflamingo would rather put a sea prism bullet in his own leg than let you freeze outside and let you shovel the deck; he had Buffalo, Machvise and the others for that. Doflamingo wasn’t raised to allow you to do such things; he was raised to coddle you, provide for you, protect you, spoil you, and by his title as saint, he will. “I’ll get you some hot chocolate.”

The ship swayed under a wave, giving a small lurch.

The two of you slid on the solidified ice the deck had become overnight. It was only Doflamingo’s instincts and long arm that helped him grab onto you and pull you to his legs, keeping you from falling. You were completely unaffected, most likely used to such fumbling with Corazón — you didn’t even squawk in alarm, just took it like it was a common thing, to slide on the ice and risk falling and hurting yourself.

That was it. You weren’t listening to him. You were going to get a cold, and with your average civilian balance, break your skull. Time to change tactics.

“You made me do this,” said Doflamingo, sneering down at you.

“Do wha — AAAAH!”

Doflamingo reached down, wrapped his arm around your body, and lifted you up. Once he lifts you above his waist, and continues lifting you higher, that’s when you give an almighty, terrified shriek which startles the seagulls above the crow’s nest.

Doflamingo laughed, and put you stomach flat over his right shoulder, like he would a bag of gold, but you are a much more precious treasure he has than any gold.

There. Much easier. He should’ve done this from the start. Maybe he should carry you like this all the time. He smiled at the idea. Yes. That’s what he’ll do. You wouldn’t try to wiggle out of his grasp if he carried you this high; you’re too scared of hurting yourself by the huge height drop between his shoulder and the ground.

He straightened up, deployed his strings, and stepped onto them, walking on them rather than risk it with the ice.

“Doffy.” Your voice was shaky, terrified and breathless. Doflamingo failed to stifle his laugh. How adorable. “Doffy, put me down.”

You clutched at his spiked up, thick fluffs of hair. He sighed contently at the feeling, his chuckle rumbling through his chest as he grinned.

“Doffy! Put me down!”

“You’re not allowed!” he said firmly, but calmly all the same. He wasn’t angry, just concerned.

“Because I’m a woman?” you asked.

“No,” said Doflamingo simply. “Because I take care of you now.”

“I take care of myself!” you say indignantly as you’re being carried away on Doflamingo’s shoulder and back toward the warmth of the ship’s below deck with warm heating, comforting sweat and frosted, fogged glass.

He really needs to make sure with Diamante and Machvise the Numancia didn’t take any damage.

Doflamingo hears a giggle in his ear. He recognizes the sound, from a far-away memory long gone. He whips his head over his shoulder, and freezes solid.

“Don’t worry, Doffy.” said the little boy with blond bangs covering his eyes. He was sitting atop one of the posts of the sail, his arms tucked into the sleeves of a little purple feather coat over his light blue raincoat. He’s swinging his little feet back and forth where they dangle in the air from the sail. Something strange wells in Doflamingo’s eyes. His throat clogs up; he can’t speak.

The little boy sent him a big smile resembling the sun. “I’m okay.”

Doflamingo was hallucinating. He was definitely hallucinating. He needed to catch up on his sleep if he was seeing his eight-year-old baby brother and hearing his voice in his ear.

He headed inside, ducking as he went.

Baby 5 was tucked in his pink sleeping bag, back to sleep. The duvet wasn’t pulled all the way over her, so Doflamingo used his free right arm and lifted his finger, sending out a string to the duvet, lifting it up to cover Baby 5’s shoulders. Doflamingo hoped she at least woke up the cooks and that they started on breakfast and hot chocolate for the family. Doflamingo manoeuvred around the sleeping bodies of his family, stepping over their sleeping bodies easily.

In the end, you settled down after he put you on the couch in the galley. He noticed your chattering teeth, trembling body and red nose. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, took off his feather coat and draped the massive weight of it over your shoulders. The pink feathers completely enveloped you, tickling your cheeks as you looked up at him in surprise, the warmth the feathers suffused you in chasing away your trembles.

Doflamingo didn’t linger on the way you looked up at him, bundled in his feather coat and drowning in his scent, because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from leaning down and kissing your lips to chase away the cold frost from them, too.

Instead, he slipped your arms into the thick, warm fluff of pink feathered sleeves, pulling the lapels over each other to keep you warm.

The sleeves were too long for you, and the end of the coat touched the ground of the cabin.

He went to get you both some hot chocolate and brought it to you to sip on in warm cups. The blissed smile you smiled and the relaxed sigh you released after your first sip of the hot beverage put him in a better mood.

He settled himself beside you on the couch with his pink mug filled with his hot chocolate. His thigh touched yours. This time, you didn’t inch away from him as you usually did when he sat down beside you during meals or in inns.

Doflamingo would much rather have your lips to keep him warm, but he’d settle for hot chocolate. For now.

He took a careful sip, and his body relaxed. He closed his eyes, basking in the bliss, his forehead smooth, free of any stress.

Feathers settled around his left shoulder, and his left sleeve fell over his arm.

When he turned to look down on you, a teasing comment on his tongue and a grin on his lips, you were looking up at him, and your eyes rendered his thoughts into a disarray.

“So you aren’t cold,” you said, lifting your arm high and stretching it all the way to adjust the left side of his coat atop his shoulder, which consequently meant you got closer to him, until your left shoulder leaned against his chest; if you leaned a bit further, you’d be nestled under his right arm.

“How do you walk with this?” you ask him, fussing over the coat. “It’s heavy.”

“It’s only nine kilograms.” he said. It was a comforting weight on his back; he was used to having it draped over his shoulders.

You deadpan at him, then, after a moment, say, “No wonder your neck’s starting to crane.”

“Drink your hot chocolate,” he said.

You snickered. “Yes, captain.”

You hugged the right part of his feather coat to yourself, draping it over you, covering your legs and entire body in the pink feathers. Doflamingo wondered if you liked the lingering scent of his cologne on the coat.

“It’s warm,” you whispered, closing your eyes, peaceful.

Doflamingo slipped his left arm into the sleeve of his feather coat, draping the front of it the same way you did. The two of you were swathed together in his pink coat.

You were right. With you nestled against him and swathed in his coat, it was warm.

Doflamingo didn’t feel cold at all.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @daydreamer-in-training

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope 4/5

Okaaaay, so there's 5 parts instead of 4! I realized that the last part was over 6k words, so we're splitting it into two! The last part will still be posted next Friday, so this will keep us on track!

Summary: The picnic has an uninvited guest that you're uniquely suited to greet.

-------

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone able to catch Marie,” the Lord says, brows raised. His golden eyes track Isla across the garden and he whistles when she jumps to tag his former knight. “That was not within the capabilities of a Villager.”

Ivan scans the crowd around them. Most of the townsfolk are too far away to eavesdrop and the ones close enough to potentially hear are engaged in their own conversations. “Careful, Brennan. If the Director hears you speculate…”

“Yes, the Director,” Lord Brennan sighs. He brings his teacup to his lips, but doesn’t drink. He contemplates Director Sarah where she crouches with a glass of water near Annie. “You know this is the first time we’ve met?”

It’d been a fight to get Sarah to agree to today at all. Ivan chooses his words carefully. “Your predecessor did not have the sort of…kind interest you do.”

The former Lord’s interest Sarah shared with them was a lot more horrifying. There’s a reason that Isla at only fifteen years old is the eldest at the orphanage.

“That’s one way to put it,” Lord Brennan agrees. He settles back into his seat and sighs in satisfaction. He watches the children gradually grow tired of their game and drift towards the dessert table. He grins when the townsfolk naturally make room for them, a few of them even fetching treats from the center of the table for the littler ones. “See my people together? It was very good of me to lure you and Marie to my territory.”

“You gave us a castle,” Ivan says. They weren’t so much lured as bludgeoned with generosity. Some days it feels like they blinked and ended up standing amongst fine silk and filigree.

“It’s a manor as far as paperwork goes,” Lord Brennan says.

“It has buttresses.”

“A very fortified manor.” Lord Brennan finally sips his tea and sighs again. “This tea is from our fields, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s delicious.” The full canopies of the trees enveloping the estate rustle in the wind. The sun shines warmly overhead. Lord Brennan takes another drink. Delicious. “The land’s come a long way since we ousted my father, hasn’t it? Plentiful harvests, an established trade route, a new school. If it weren’t for the demons, my work would be done.”

“I would prefer you had no work then,” Ivan says dryly.

“Me too.” Lord Brennan sets his tea aside and rubs his eyes. “Any updates?”

“None,” Ivan admits, frustration leaking through his words. His face is still amiable and the disconnect between his tone and his visage is jarring. “We investigated the wolf tracks in the woods and only found carnage. No signs of the demons themselves.”

“So they are demons?”

“Regular wolves wouldn’t be able to evade a squadron of your knights, my lord.”

“Neither would demon wolves,” Lord Brennan says. He rubs his chin, brow furrowing. “I don’t like what that implies. Any sign of larger foes?”

Ivan doesn’t want to discuss this here. Marie’s eyes are on him, sensing his rising distress. He smiles and waves to her. “Besides the horned rabbit migration?”

“Is it a migration?”

“Isla saw five within the first four weeks of summer,” Ivan says.

The Lord’s attention falls on the teenager. She’s patiently letting one of the other children – Hera? The one who’d curtsied to him like a little noble – weave flowers into her braid. He tries to imagine her fighting a horned rabbit and his lips thin. “I’ll call for reinforcements from the capital.”

“Marie and I can—”

Lord Brennan waves Ivan off. “No, no, I’ve asked too much of you already. Aren’t the two of you too busy in your retirement already? I thought you’d be settled with a child by now.”

“It’s not good to rush these things,” Ivan says as he has the last three times Lord Brennan has asked. This time it’s Ivan who sighs. “It took Marie and I a good few months to win Director Sarah over after our misstep.”

“Asking about Destinies, was it?”

“Implying we’d value any child less for not being a knight like us,” Ivan corrects.

“There seem to be a lot of unusual Destinies in the orphanage,” Lord Brennan says. He’s not an Identifier but he’s got a good eye. Though no one can know for sure until a child either develops their mark or comes into their power at fifteen, he’s seen more than a few signs of a Scholar, a Guardian, and a Teacher. Once again he finds his gaze being drawn back to Isla. She’s got a child under each arm and is running from Marie again, the game having resumed after their snack break. “That one is a Guard, at least. Nobody else would have physical abilities like that.”

Ivan ignores the Lord’s comment. “It’s been worthwhile getting to know them all.” His smile turns a little more genuine. “They’re all good kids.”

“Surely you and Marie have an inkling of who’ll be a good fit?” When Ivan doesn’t reply, the Lord clicks his tongue. “You can’t choose all of them.”

Ivan’s voice is a study in nonchalance. “Can’t we?”

Lord Brennan opens his mouth only for no words to come out. At length, he has to laugh. His knights do like to keep busy. “You’d need a castle.”

“You did give us one, my lord.”

“I suppose I did.”

The two men lapse into a pleasant silence. It is good to see the townsfolk this cheerful. This town is the furthest from Lord Brennan’s own castle and he rarely has a chance to visit. The first time he had had been very different. The people still bore the wounds of winter in gouged cheeks and brittle smiles. Now he sees the glow of health everywhere he looks.

He contemplates the Director once again. She’d been the only one back then to not seem pleased to see him ride in on his white horse. Even now he can feel the chill of her scrutiny as she stood defensively between him and the orphanage. None of that chill is present today. Her smile is as sweet as his tea while she tends to a scrape the little Scholar sustained in this round of tag. “Ms. Sarah is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“I know we can’t adopt them all,” Ivan blurts out. He doesn’t seem to have heard Lord Brennan. His gaze is turned towards his own inner conflict which is why he also doesn’t notice the blush dusting the Lord’s cheeks. “It wouldn’t be fair to them. Marie and I decided to adopt a child who would benefit from what little we can offer. Military arts and luck.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Lord Brennan says with raised brows. “You and Marie offer a lot more than a Knight’s experience. Haven’t you shown that already in your actions?” He’s not aware of everything his former knights have done, but he’s heard plenty from the children today. He didn’t think Marie had the patience to teach anyone how to read.

Ivan’s hands fist. “It’s not enough, it’s not—the little boy. Josiah. He’s so smart. I don’t even know where to start with him and even Marie says that he’ll soon outpace her—”

“Well,” Lord Brennan says, “Neither of you are Teachers, true, but there is a school for that--”

“And Annie wants to know why bread rises and why the sun sets and how many seconds are in a day—”

“All kids are curious—”

“Hera staged a whole theater production for my birthday and all we could do was clap—”

Is he missing something? “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“We don’t know any actors or directors to introduce her to!” Ivan cries out. He quickly lowers his voice, but can’t hide the stress around his eyes. “What could we give to a child like her? Like any of them?  Marie and I are out of our depth. It would be so much simpler if one was a Knight!”

The Lord tentatively offers, “If Isla’s a Guard--?”

Ivan gives a cry of distress that he barely capture in the palm of his hand. “Isla! That girl feels like my daughter already, but…she’s been through so much. She doesn’t need a father who teaches her how to fight or a mother who teaches her how to withstand a siege! She deserves to never have to fight again. What could we offer her? What could we possibly give to her she hasn’t already learned on her own?”

A light goes on in the Lord’s head. He takes in the festivities with new eyes. The town’s Baker, Blacksmith, Teacher… His friends have invited every possible parent they could in hopes of providing for the children in ways they felt incapable of doing themselves. As noble as that was…“Ivan, being a parent goes beyond the skills you can give a child. It’s more than fostering talent or an offering an apprenticeship. It’s—”

A horse’s scream drowns out the Lord’s next words.

Ivan is in front of Lord Brennan with his sword drawn before the horses and their blood-splattered riders even round the side of the castle.

-----.

 You throw Annie and Josiah behind you the moment you hear the sound of hooves galloping towards the manor.

“Isla, what—” Josiah starts to ask and then cuts himself off as the innkeepers and their entourage burst into the party.

You smell blood before your eyes register the terrible red staining their fine clothing.

“ORCS!” Mr. Innkeeper screams over the frightened snorts of his horse. He stumbles down from his mount and staggers towards the Lord. “They overtook our carriage—please, my wife, she’s hurt—”

Mrs. Inkeeper is holding her side and seemingly barely holding onto the saddle horn. “Our guards won’t be enough to hold them off—”

“Inside,” Sarah hisses into your ear. She points after Hera who’s already shepherding the younger kids into the building. “Now.”

“—an army—”

“—fast—”

“—waiting for us—”

You move faster than you’ve allowed yourself since you arrived. This is no time to take care in hiding your abilities; there are roars coming from the forest unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. Your senses seem to dial up with your heartrate and you can hear the clash of steel against rock and flesh. You scoop Annie into your arms and leap after Josiah and Sarah.

Mr. Dallen’s face is pale as he ushers you all into the manor. He holds the door open for the townsfolk. The hall fills with the sounds of panic and sobs as fear washes through you like a tidal wave. There have never been orcs south of the mountains, there have never been demons bigger than a horned rabbit in the last twenty years, even when the Winter froze the river—

Mr. Dallen waves down Marie as she sprints to the large doorway. You think that he’s going to pull her inside to safety, but instead he thrusts her bow into her outstretched hands.

“Do not open these doors,” she commands. Behind her the knights are assembling into a formation, their Lord at the center. Ivan stands before them all, barking orders to ready their spears as the trees in front of them begin to sway. Marie pulls a dagger from under her skirts and slices the bottom half of her dress clean off. She kicks it away from her feet as she talks. “Take everyone to the basement—”

“Ma’am, the escape tunnel still isn’t cleared of debris—”

Marie swears so violently that half the townsfolk gasp. She grabs Mr. Dallen by the shoulder, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and her husband. “Then we will draw them away. The moment you think you can, run to the wagon. Get the children to—” She bites her lip. You can see the devastating truth flash through her mind. There isn’t anywhere to go. “Damnit. Bar the door and arm everyone you can.”

Mr. Dallen’s lips are bloodless as he nods. “My lady.”

Marie turns to everyone. Her voice is unlike anything you’ve heard come from her lips; it’s harsh and barking. A commander giving orders much like Ivan is doing outside. “Listen, everyone. We are in danger. Our best estimate is that 25 orcs are marching on the manor. There is no guarantee of survival. The moment this door is breached, it will mean the knights have failed. You must be prepared to fight. Do you understand?”

Twenty-five? Your hands ball into fists and your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard of entire villages being wiped out by three.

“Then we’ll fight with the knights,” the Baker says. He pushes away from the center of the group and marches to the wall. He pulls down the crossed axes, keeps one, tosses the other to the Blacksmith. She catches it easily. “You’ll need everyone who can hold a weapon.”

Marie never voices her protest. You can see the strain of holding it back in her tense shoulders and her poignant silence. At long last, she nods. “You’re right. Stay behind the knights. They know how to handle the frontline better than you.”

There’s a flurry after that. The townsfolk divide in half. Those unable to fight slide back as those who can start scavenging for weapons. Mr. Dallen grimly pulls two long daggers from under his coat while pointing your neighbors to decorative swords, to ornamental spears, to the heavy coatrack just inside the parlor.

Grimly, you stride past Sarah, ignoring her hiss and darting hands. You can leave the weapons to the villagers, there’s a large knife on the dessert table you can use—

Marie slams a hand against your chest. You stagger back at the weight of the blow, breath knocked from your lungs. You’re more stunned than hurt as you gape at her.

“Children stay here,” Marie says. Her eyes narrow. “No exceptions.”

“But I’m—”

“We don’t have time to argue!” She pushes you further back, clearing the doorway for the armed villagers to run outside towards the knights. “You’re strong Isla, but this isn’t your fight. Stay here. Guard the door.”

The winter wind howls in your mind. You splutter. “But I—”

Marie spins away from you. “Director Sarah.”

Sarah’s arms slide around your shoulders. “Yes, lady.”

 The closing of the door feels like a blow in itself. You stare sightlessly at the unyielding wood as your emotions rage. How could she? You’re strong, you can do more, you can help, you’re the one who kept everyone from starving—

“We need to barricade the windows,” Director Sarah is saying to the townsfolk. Half of them gaze at her uncomprehendingly. Her hands slide from your shoulders slowly, as if testing that you aren’t going to leap outside. When you don’t move, she lets go entirely. “Isla, move the furniture. Hera and Josiah, find something to tie it down with.”

You move on autopilot. There are other hands alongside yours as you push the sofa and armchairs in front of the windows, the townsfolk coming together to defend the manor. Hera darts between you all and pulls the curtains closed, reclaiming the curtain ties to use as rope. She’s got a grim determination in her eyes that looks uncomfortably familiar.

Your attention is on the noise outside. The orcs are slow, but loud. The roars change to squeals and bellows of challenge. Branches break and there’s a terrifying, splintering crash as a tree falls. Metal rings as the knights raise their shields. You can see it all in your mind’s eye, the knights in a defensive line across the length of the garden, the Lord securely in their center. Ivan is shouting about this being what they’ve trained for, that there are more of them than there are orcs, that this city won’t fall—

And the Lord is speaking too, quickly and quietly to Marie. The escape tunnel? Damnit, I should have sent more men—

It will be fine, Marie says. Her bow sings as she holds it ready and you know the way her muscles flex and her eyes narrow from experience. We won’t let a single one of those monsters past us. We won’t--

The knights bellow alongside the orcs. Your heart leaps and your focus is jarred. You’re standing in front of the door again, your hands balled at your sides. Everyone can hear the battle now and the townsfolk scream when the orcs’ battle cries shake the manor.

“Quiet!” Is that your voice? It is. Your eyes slide to the frightened faces behind you. “You’ll distract the knights.”

Sarah steps up alongside you. “And let the orcs know exactly where we are.”

The villagers quiet into aborted whimpers and muffled sobs.

The battle rages, louder and louder. Are orcs big? They sound big. When you close your eyes you can hear the way their feet pummel the earth. Do they have weapons? Metal clashes. A knight screams that their hides are too thick. The Lord shouts back to aim for their eyes. A table splinters, a bow sings, there’s a liquid gasp—

BOOM!

You slam your hands against the door, muscles straining as another blow lands against it. The wood convulses under your hands and the lock creaks. The villagers scream.

“No,” someone whispers. “No, they found us.”

You’re eight and the snow spirits are howling for blood. Your shoulders ache with the effort to hold the door against the wind. The cold is biting at your fingertips and there is an old hope dying in your chest--

Small hands slam against the door next to yours. Hera is snarling and swearing, Josiah is crying. Sarah is telling the kids not to worry, Isla and Hera and Josiah won’t let them in –

They’re here. You’re not alone.

“GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

The orc’s bellow isn’t nearly as loud as Ivan’s roar.

The blow you’re bracing for never comes. Ivan goads the orc to follow him, to leave the manor alone, to eat the man readily available to him—

It does not sound like the knights are winning now.

“My Lord!” Marie’s voice is strained.

“Do not fall back, they’ll corner us—”

“Who is that? Who is—”

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

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

Thanks for reading! If you'd like read the last part of Isla a week early, please consider supporting me on Patreon(X)!

[imaginesig]

You Would've Done It Too

Ollie Bearman x Verstappen!Reader

SMAU

We all know Mad Max, but what if his younger sister is worse? And what if her on track enemy isn’t always that?

HEAVILY inspired by: Enemies or Lovers by @claypgeon and DR creators on tik Tok for radio ideas

f2updates

liked by user3, user91, user93, and 917,828 others

f2updates: Y/n Verstappen and Ollie Bearman made contact at todays GP. Both drivers are well, but forced to retire their cars

tagged: no one

user1 now this is real racing

user2 im glad that Ollie is finally giving Y/n's aggression back

user3 right?? Verstappens gone too long without someone humbling her

user4 I hope she can be tamed like Max and really put her drive to good use

user5 you know they’re both pissed

User6 these post race interviews are about to be HEATED

load more

f2updates

liked by user4, user2, user7, and 719,822 others

f2updates: Y/n Verstappen and Ollie Bearman's comments on the incident today

tagged: no one

user1 lmao Y/n and HITECH can whine all they want, all Ollie did was exactly what they've been doing to the grid all year

user2 the jabs at each other give me life

user3 I live for this rivalry

user4 yes Ollie 👏👏 humble her

load more

f1

liked by: carlossainz55, user5, Olliebearman, and 927,828 others

f1: Prima driver, Ollie Bearman, will replace Carlos Sainz this weekend

tagged: prema_team, olliebearman, scuderiaferrari

user1 I wonder how y/n is feeling about this

user2 why bring her up, this ain’t about her

user1 because she's been negotiating with different teams to get a contract and try to drive in a free practice but now Ollie gets to race for Ferarri before she gets any of that

user4 and he gets to race against her brother, something Y/n has publicly said she misses and prays to do again

user3 Y/n isn't any better at racing than him, id argue they're equals, nor should she get special treatment because of Max so she can wait her turn

user5 ahhh I can’t wait!!!

User6 I’m gonna miss Carlos this weekend 😭😭

user7 please please please Ferrari have a good strategy for him🙏🙏

load more

f2updates

liked by user82, user5, user89, and 718,828 others

f2updates: Y/n Verstappen commenting on Ollie Bearman's temporary move to F1: "It's truly an amazing experience (to drive F1). Ferrari sees something in him, so best of luck. I've defiantly noticed a lack of headaches this weekend."

tagged no one

user1 the was she still has to make a snarky comment

user2 I mean they are rivals 🤷‍♂️

user3 most civil I've ever seen an interaction between them

user4 I don’t understand why someone went out of their way to get a comment from her, let Y/n race and comment on herself and let Ollie shine without dragging the mood down by asking his rival for a statement

load more

Pre-Race

Post-Race

ynverstappen

liked by: pauladon_, hitechgp, user5, and 817,929 others

ynverstappen: That's how you do it the HITECH way

tagged: paularon_

user1 ig we don't need to ask how she's celebrated the win

hitechgp perfect 1-2 weekend!!

maxverstappen why the last slide

ynverstappen I had to inform the people of my opinions

Maxverstappen anyway, I’m so proud!!

ynverstappen 🫶🫶

Carlossainz55 congrats on p1 little-stapppen

Redbullracing performance so good we were left speechless 👏👏

user2 as much as I love a good rivalry it was nice to have a gp where Y/n and Ollie weren’t fighting and making digs at each other

User3 I agree

load more

olliebearman

liked by prema_team, user87, kimi.antonelli, and 728,928 others

olliebearman: P3 for my little buddy 🧸

tagged: no one

user1 awww the bear

user2 always a good day when we get a Y/n and Ollie podium

user3 its the only time they're ever civil when near each other

Prema_team very proud of your performance 🤝

user3 help im jealous of a stuffed bear

load more

f1

liked by ynverstappen, maxverstappen1, user4, and 828,928 others

f1: Y/n Verstappen has been called up to replace Williams's Alex Albon this GP! She's already been seen in the garage looking right at home

tagged: hitechgp, ynverstappen, williamsracing

williamsracing we can't wait

Alex_albon she's gonna smash it!!

user1 please bring Williams back to the glory days

user2 Verstappen? Nice try, welcome back Nico Rosberg

user3 she looks so good in blue

user4 Y/n lead Logan to the podium

user5 yes ma'am 👏

user6 give Max a run for his money

load more

f2updates

liked by user4, user83, user93, and 293,939 others

f2updates: for her free practice session, Y/n Verstappen has run into issues with her car

tagged no one

user1 her radio killed me: "Um guys somethings wrong I don't think the car likes me very much"

user2 looks like she's causing as many problems there as she does here

user3 please please please I NEED Williams to sort this out so she can still race

user4 she handled the situation very calmly and professionally, very impressive

load more

f2updates

liked by user53, user9, user93, and 928,894 others

f2updates: Ollie Bearman comments on Y/n's absence after his race: "Very unfortunate to have troubles so early on. I guess the car could tell she was a hot head haha. I know all of us drivers are hoping the problem clears up"

tagged: no one

user1 I wish they would stop bothering the other for comments, if the situation doesn't involve both Y/n and Ollie then they shouldn't make a statment

user2 exactly it feels like the media is trying to get them to lash out at each other

user3 exactly they aren't friends, but they don't go out of their way to cause problems and people need to realize that

user4 yk he felt so pleased with the hot head joke

user5 "I know all of us drivers are hoping the problem clears up" he's trying so hard not to get into it with pr

load more

ynverstappen

liked by logansargent, paularon_, williamsracing, and 928,829 others

ynverstappen: Williams, what an honor it was to be chosen to drive for you this past weekend! I hope I've shown my appreciation through my performance and actions. Alex, sorry for almost ruining your car, get well and kick ass next weekend mate!

tagged: williamsracing

maxverstappen1 you were amazing! I'm so proud

ynvserstappen ❤️❤️

landonorris very impressive battle we had!! still pissed I lost to someone who overheated the car her first lap but yk

ynverstappen thank you for putting up a fight! so happy to beat you Mr. Nowins user8 I need more public Y/n and Lando interactions

user1 the purple helmet ate

user3 its so funny to me that she just happened to get called up the weekend she had a special helmet

user2 lmao she saw the Nico jokes

ynverstappen had bestie hunt the jacket down for the bit (its now my favorite piece and I will live in it forever, thank you Britney)

user4 someone tell her she showed her appration and more

user5 right- she gave Williams their highest qualifying and ending positions

user6 since Logan is leaving can we get her on the grid next year

user7 if you want to rush her and have her burn out like Logan then sure, but I say just give her a contract and get comfy in F2

load more

ynverstappen posted a story!

caption: to quote the note left, "they're crochet so you'll remember this weekend forever"

replies:

paularon_

seems like he knows his stuff

I cried

maybe its time to put these ruse behind mmh

don't take my fun away from me

and he really does piss me off

oh I know

I just don't know how he still puts up with you, mini max

hey max was worse

are we sure??

bff_username

ugh what I wouldnt do to have what you do!!

it really is the best

I mean he puts up with your shit better than I do

ok now first Paul and now you

you know im working on it, getting all the Jose out of my veins takes time

and im so proud of you for it

maxverstappen

who.

bff/n

thats a lie

you wouldve tagged her

who.

overprotective much 🙄

im your older brother its my job, now spill

I will at dinner in a few days

f2updates

liked by user5, user39, usrr93, and 829,839 others

f2updates: in what felt like a rendition of the Norris-Verstappen insident, Y/n Verstappen and Ollie Bearman had a collision in their battled for 2nd, behind Paul Aron in first. The collision caused both to lose significant places in this race, but both were able to return

tagged: no one

landonorris wannabe @/ynverstappen

ynverstappen fuck off Norris

user1 welp cannot wait for the media digs from this

user2 there goes our time of peace

user3 at least this time it was clearly Ollie's fault, I mean he pushed Y/n off

user4 bffr it was a defenive move, maybe she should have stayed straight rather than turn into him? user5 turn into him?? Ollie kept changing his path in turns before and did it again here, all Y/n did was stay on the track rather than turn off

load more

f2updates

liked by user4, user93, user3, and 839,094 others

f2updates: Y/n Verstappen and Ollie Bearman's comments on their collision today

tagged no one

user1 praying for every f2 driver tonight that they dont run into each other in the hotel or else I fear it may end in a screaming match

user2 just once I need these two to be able to swing on eachother

user3 it'll settle everything once and for all

load more

ynverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, paularon_, kimi.antonelli, and 928,845 others

ynverstappen: he's hot, you would do it to

tagged: olliebearman

olliebearman I love you schat

ynverstappen I love you too!! Best (almost) year ever, love

user1 im sorry its almost been a YEAR

paularon_ finally im free from this torture

kimi.antonelli you can say that again

ynverstappen nah he's still my #1 opp

olliebearman no one pisses me off quicker 🫶

maxverstappen1 I dont like you. you're not good enough for her. you never will be. I'll personally carve out another appendix so I can't drive you into the barrier if you ever hurt her. y/n you're learning to back flip right now.

ynverstappen a bit much?

olliebearman nope perfect amount, I understand very clearly

landonorris max almost passed out

landonorris please post more im enjoying myself

user2 LMAO LANDO

user3 this was not on my 2024 bingo card

user4 kinda upset we'll never see them swing on each other

load more

olliebearman

liked by ynverstappen, kimi.antonelli, user1, and 844,294 others

olliebearman: only person id wear red bull for ❤️

tagged: ynverstappen

ynverstappen only person id wear Ferrari for 💙

olliebearman forever grateful 🫶

carlossainz55 im hurt

Charles_leclerc me too

maxverstappen1 Y/n take that off and burn it now.

ynverstappen no 🫶

user1 im crying they work out together 😭

user2 I just wanna know when that second picture was taken

olliebearman before she got caught leaving the Ferrari garage

ynverstappen and y'all believed the outfit change 🤣🫵

load more

hitechgp and prema_team

liked by ynverstappen, user45, kimi.antonelli, and 834,253 others

hitechgp: I guess we're related now or something??

tagged: ynverstappen, olliebearman, paularon_, kimi.antonelli

prema_team family karting day??

user1 not neither team knowing what to say

ynverstappen so fun!!

kimi.antonelli no not "so fun" so scary you almost killed us for the win

ynverstappen and I looked good doing it

olliebearman yeah you did 😍

paularon_ bring back the Ollie that would've cussed her out over that

load more

[everparanoid]

how genshin men hug you

various genshin men x gn! reader

characters: Alhaitham, Diluc, Itto, Neuvillette, Wriothesley

Alhaitham isn’t one for hugs, but he’s not against you snuggling into him as he reads, seated between his legs. You might have to ask him several times for a hug, and more often than not, you’ll be met with a ‘no’. However, on those rare occasions when he’s feeling tired and lazy, he might just pull you into a hug as he lounges around. If you try to talk while he’s resting his head on yours, he’ll shush you, not wanting his break to be disturbed. So, with Alhaitham, it’s less about the hugs and more about quiet, shared moments.

Diluc is a man of few words, but his hugs speak volumes. He may be reserved, even in private, but he won’t hesitate to give you a hug if you ask. He might not initiate them often, but he does enjoy these moments of closeness with you. His hugs are warm and comforting, making you feel safe and cherished. They might not last long, but they’re always memorable. If you were to hug him when he returns from defending Mondstadt in the middle of the night, he would welcome you into his side. He’d wrap an arm around you gently, allowing you to listen to his steady heartbeat, a reassuring reminder that he’s returned safely.

Itto is a true enthusiast when it comes to hugs. He’s the kind of person who will envelop you in a warm, enthusiastic embrace, regardless of where you are. Public or private, it doesn’t matter to him. His hugs are playful and full of energy. He’ll lift you off the ground, spinning you around in a whirl of joy. Especially after a rare victory in a Beetle Brawl, you can expect a celebratory hug from him. His hugs are innocent and endearing, often accompanied by a wide grin and exuberant cheers of happiness. It’s clear that Itto enjoys these moments of shared joy just as much as you do. His hugs are not just an expression of affection, but a testament to his vibrant and joyful spirit.

Neuvillette is a man who is reserved and formal, and he’s not familiar with the concept of a hug, even though he’s seen them during his time in Fontaine. The first time you hug him, it might be a bit awkward until he gets used to the close contact. Every time Neuvillette hugs you, it’s gentle and cautious, as if he’s still trying to figure out the correct way to do it. He doesn’t often ask for hugs, but when it starts to rain, that’s your sign that he could use one. His hugs can be unusually long because he doesn’t understand the socially acceptable duration for a hug, and you don’t want to correct him. Alternatively, they can be short but meaningful. If he’s feeling down, he might hold on a bit longer, and of course, you’re perfectly fine with that.

Wriothesley is a man who cherishes private moments of closeness. He’s the type to give you a full-body hug, much like the comforting embrace of a teddy bear. If he happens to retire to bed before you, he might fall asleep on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist. More often than not, you’ll already be asleep when he comes to bed. In these instances, he’ll spoon you into his arms, providing a sense of security and warmth. While he may not be one for overt public displays of affection, when it’s just the two of you, he’s all about the hugs. You might often find yourself sitting in his lap as he reads the newspaper, one arm casually draped over your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder. It seems that Wriothesley has a particular fondness for your body heat, especially in the chilly depths of Meropide.

masterlist

Reblogs w/ tags and comments are very much appreciated! If you enjoyed this, feel free to follow me! <3

Also, if you like my writing and wish to support me, please consider buying me a coffee via Ko-fi!

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 8 continuation of your little date, I hope you enjoy! Also haven't proofread it because I didn't want to make you all wait another week for it. Sorry. You're welcome to point out errors to me. English words were hard this time, sorry if some of it is redundant. Part 7 | COD Masterlist | Part 9

Simon watches you from the corner of his eyes while you two walk alongside each other through the park. You’re tossing a ball for Wraith and the guard dog basically turned into an overgrown puppy at the sight of the toy.

It’s gotten late and after you spent the entire afternoon in the Café talking, Wraith needed a walk. Instead of saying goodbye you invited Simon to tag along. That’s a win, right? It’s a big step. You voluntarily decided to spend more time with him and Simon can feel himself vibrate with excitement.

“So an ex-soldier. What exactly did you do?”, you ask him while you toss Wraith’s ball for the thousandth time. You turn your pretty face towards him and he meets your eyes, puts his hands into his pockets and slightly shrugs his shoulders.

“Spec Ops.”, is his simple answer and you furrow your brows.

“Spe- what?” The confusion in your voice is adorable and Simon balls his fists, stuffs them deeper into his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid (like pull you in and kiss you breathless).

“Special Operations. We weren’t really deployed somewhere permanently, instead they sent us wherever we were needed. Lots of stuff I am not allowed to talk about.”, he explains and wonders if you’ll be scared of him again.

When he looks at you, your eyes are wide. “Oh.”, you mutter and seem to think hard. It grows quiet for a minute and a small smile finds its way onto Simon’s lips. You’re chewing your lips again, seemingly troubled and who the fuck allowed you to look so adorable doing that.

“What is it, sweetheart.”, he asks, his voice warm and soft. He really hopes you can’t hear the lovesick undertone.

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask.”, you explain and grin self-conscious. He wants to lick the awkwardness off your lips (whoa okay, he really needs to get his thoughts in check).

Instead of doing that like a total creep, he tells you: “You can ask whatever you want, sweetheart. We’ll see what I can answer.”

You nod and think again. So far you haven’t protested his continued use of petnames. He enjoys it, enjoys claiming you with words in a subtle way. The only thing he’d enjoy even more would be you claiming him back. With words, marks, a collar, anything as long as he gets to be yours.

By now you’re walking closely besides him, and every now and then your arms brush against each other. It sends a shock up his arm every time, makes his neck tingle and his jaw clench in an effort to hold back, to not overwhelm you. The last thing he wants is to fuck up with you. As much as he wants to hold you he’d rather endure torture again than make you uncomfortable by coming on too strong.

“Why did you retire?”, you finally ask. “You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not!”, you immediately add in the same breath and Simon chuckles a bit at that.

The way you’re glancing at him seems nervous. It’s oddly endearing, like you’re nervous of misstepping with him. He quite enjoys that look on your face. Making you nervous in a way that doesn’t stem from fear is weirdly thrilling and he wants to keep doing it (would you be nervous if he pushed you up against a tree? If he used his height to his advantage and had you at his mercy? Would you be nervous if you had him at your mercy? God, he wants to be at your mercy).

“’s alright, sweets. Had a mission that went south, can’t really go into details. After that they set us up with a comfortable new life and told us to start over.” He can see the curiousness plain as day in your eyes and he wants to kick the officials who’re keeping him from just telling you everything.

Maybe someday he’ll do it anyway. Fuck if anyone can dictate him what to talk about. He’ll definitely tell you someday. Once he’s yours and sure you won’t run from him for revealing his past.

You cock your head at that. “Can you tell me about your team?”, you ask instead of prying and he could kiss you for that alone (he’s not sure he could have denied you, had you asked with your sweet voice and big curious eyes).

He nods at you and your face practically lights up with a big smile at the opportunity to finally get more info. He’s tempted to tell you every single confidential thing he knows, just to see you light up like that again.

“The lads are all in town. We’re four. Johnny, the fucker, owns a bakery. Flirts with everyone that comes in. People dig the accent.”, he begins and you perk up.

“Accent? It’s not the Scottish one, is it? What was his name…”, you seem to wrack your brain for it. “Mac…. Mac…”

“MacTavish.”, Simon supplies and you beam at him.

“I know that guy! His bread is to die for.”, you claim and Simon can’t really tell you that he already knows you frequent his friends bakery (he might have seen you there when he went to visit Johnny at work; might have worked out the times you go to Johnny’s and visited him more often around that time).

“He seems really nice but…”, you trail off and when you don’t continue Simon gently nudges you with his elbow to go on (you don't seem bothered by the contact, and he's surprised by himself for daring to do that so casually), curious what you might have to say about Johnny. You hesitate.

“Go on, sweetheart.”, he urges gently.

 “… he kinda intimidates me.”, you finally admit and suddenly Simon is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Johnny intimidates you. Who would have ever guessed.

Johnny, who only recently teased him that ‘the cutie’ would never warm up to him because of his scary mask, intimidates you. Yet scary Simon is the one you’re taking a stroll in the park with. He desperately wants to rub it in Johnny’s face.

“Don’t tell your friend about it, but I can’t ever seem to remember his name. My friends and I refer to him as MacFlurry.”, you add, blushing but grinning mischievously.

Simon stares at you for a second and he can see the smile slowly drop and the apology forming on your lips when he starts laughing. He clutches his ribs, doubling over. Oh he’s gonna have so much fun with this information.

After a few seconds your laughter joins his as you’re helplessly giggling along, his booming laughter infectious.

“That…”, he laughs. “That’s great. Fucking MacFlurry.” He practically wheezes in laughter. Shit, he wants to marry you. Right here, right now.

Your giggle is beautiful and slightly bashful. Simon wishes he could catch it in a jar so he might listen to the heavenly sound again and again.

Finally he catches his breath and straightens up a bit, his eyes are twinkling, creases all around them from smiling so widely. He wants to tug you in close and thank you for existing.

“You know, sweetheart, I could always introduce you to MacFlurry and the others. We’re meeting up this evening. Wanna tag along?”, he blurts out before he can reconsider and your eyes grow wide and alarmed.

[paperbackribs]

tags: steddie, nsfw, the homoeroticism of knowing you could treat them better

🥵🍆💦

"Okay," Robin smirks at Eddie as she pops the open button on the microwave in Steve’s kitchen, "But you understand how pathetically gay you sound right now, yes?" She pulls out a fragrant paper bag of popcorn; she says that she likes to have an extra bag before retiring after one of their movie nights.

Eddie scowls, forgetting that Steve's in the next room as he becomes revved up over a pet peeve that is less pet and more a wild animal, "It's not gay to appreciate a work of art." He gestures wildly, the lights above catch on his heavy silver rings, "It's not gay to understand that a sweet, beautiful boy is tragically unloved."

Robin snorts, pulling open the edges of the paper bag, releasing a plume of buttery steam, "No, pretty sure that's pretty gay. Next thing I know you'll declare 'no homo' while sucking his dick."

"I'd suck his dick better than Brittany or Betta or Betsy or whatever her name was," Eddie declares, sore at the memory of Steve's broken brow as he'd explained that his latest date had ridden his face and then gave him a pat on his shoulder, explaining that it was a nice time but not to expect a callback.

What an idiot, Eddie fumes to himself, neglecting to notice the shifting shadows in the hallway behind him; who doesn't enjoy a man who vehemently and vocally declares his love for going down on his partners? Eddie would kill for a partner willing to suck him dry.

Eddie may have blamed the deficiency on the female of the species, but Steve had allowed Eddie in the inner sanctum a few months ago: letting him know that it wasn’t only Robin and Eddie who were vehement friends of Dorothy, even if it was only Steve who enjoyed the full spectrum of the rainbow. And while B-whatever-her-name-was may be the source of Eddie’s ire right now, he knows that Steve has had likewise lousy luck with men whenever they’d ventured for their weekend nights out to Indy.

Each and every time Eddie had to endure Steve’s sad face a week or two later as he’d admitted that he thought his night’s partner may be up for more than just a brief bit of fun. And each and every time he’s been left dumbfounded because—

Eddie pulls at his hair, trying to work it out because—

Well. He can only imagine that every single person that’s walked away from Steve’s beautiful lips couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a fucking canon with the intelligence left over in their little pea brains. Because Steve Harrington is a goddamn catch and every one of them has let him escape their grasp.

Eddie’s too busy scowling down at his Reeboks to see Robin look over his shoulder and softly laugh. She scoops a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she swiftly leaves the kitchen, calling out, “I’m claiming the spare bedroom tonight—the one at the far end—see ya.”

Eddie looks up at the last minute, wondering at her sudden exit.

The air shifts again but Eddie doesn’t realise it until Steve’s right behind him. "Her name was Bella," Seve says in a low caress, close enough that his warm breath rustles Eddie's loose curls.

He stops, frozen, the touch of Steve's words making Eddie ache for something that he's wanted for such a very long time even as he’s unwilling to allow himself to think that Steve could mean anything by leaning in so close. But he can’t help but shiver, a tiny movement that brings his lips against Steve's sharp jaw, nearly stuttering, "Who?"

Strong arms wrap around him, bringing the broad planes of Steve’s chest against Eddie’s back, blunt fingers coming up to grip his jaw, directing Eddie’s lips to just under Steve’s.

Eddie freezes again in desperation, every single fantasy converging at once to break his brain and body while he tries to understand that the arms, hands and fingers wrapped around him are not an invention of a daydream.

"I’m saying,” Steve says patiently, eyeing Eddie with a dark gaze over his firm grip, "That I want you. Not Brittany or Betta or Betsy."

Eddie swallows around the knot in his throat.

"Just you," Steve repeats, a steady weight holding down his words that has Eddie’s gaze flying up to meet the hard pressure of hazel eyes bearing down on him. A force that has Eddie’s heart knocking heavily against his ribs, his breath shuddering against his frame, pressing taut and bullying against the thin of Eddie’s skin as he meets Steve’s expectant gaze.

And suddenly Eddie is angry.

Furious.

He’s had to endure weeks and months of listening to Steve be sad. Listening to Steve tell of glum exploits where women and men haven’t appreciated his freely-given love. Where it hadn’t mattered how quickly and devotedly Steve would put himself forward, that his partner would pat him on the back and distance him or herself after.

Eddie is furious and he glares at Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes, so close to his own and suddenly wide at the clear fury in Eddie’s eyes. Steve stumbles back, “What…” But Eddie lowers himself decisively, knees falling to the ground with a clear thump and thighs spreading as he knows with a deep conviction that he’s finally interpreting Steve’s actions correctly.

He looks up with dark eyes and presses into the tentative hand that falls against Eddie’s nape; Steve’s brows pull together, doubt drawing at them, “Eddie…”

Eddie glares up at Steve with all the strength of emotion running through him like the swift currents of a river. “No Steve, that’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He determinedly wraps his fingers around the zipper of Steve’s Levi’s and, as Steve chokes out his name again, Eddie glares up at him, daring Steve to take his prize away. “No, I’m done. You’ve given me permission now. You’ve given me a sliver of hope, and you’re not fucking taking it away.”

Eddie swiftly draws down the zipper, pulling down denim and soft cotton until Steve’s already hard cock bobs in front of him and he reaches forward quickly, hand already at its base and mouth open as he’s about to swallow him down but Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s curls, gripping him tight.

“Do you want me?” Steve breathes and Eddie somehow finds it in himself to glower deeper, scowling up at Steve while refusing to speak. Inching forward until the tip of Steve’s cock hovers over Eddie’s open mouth. Steve curses and a heavy pearl of fluid drops from the tip to Eddie’s outstretched tongue. Eyes closing in contentment, he hears Steve choke as Eddie almost hums around the welcome flavour.

“Right,” Steve rasps roughly before pushing forward to rest against Eddie’s lips, he traces the heavy beads from his weeping slit against the petals of his mouth, breath running ragged before pressing further.

Eddie gasps, stretching his lips wide and pushing in and forward to embrace the cock intruding his mouth. His lashes flutter as he finally has the heavy weight of Steve’s cock resting on his tongue, stretching his mouth obscenely open before peering up to check where Steve’s at.

He needn’t have worried because Steve’s own mouth is hanging open with eyes darkly trained on Eddie. “So fucking pretty,” Steve gasps, gripping Eddie’s head to pull him closer. Choking Eddie as he moans, “Yes, fucking, yes, baby. Take it.” And Eddie does. Gratefully. Happily. Fucking swallows and devours and pistons back and forward until the bitter musk dripping from Steve’s dick is greedily consumed, taken within.

Steve cries out, throbbing powerfully and pouring into Eddie. Spilling and overflowing, fucking against his face until beads flood and stream out of his mouth. Eddie lets out a long, guttural and broken sound, grateful for the blessing that Steve fills him with.

He’s so consumed with the feel of Steve in him, surrounding him, that he barely registers the hardness in his own black denim until Steve drops to his knees too, meeting Eddie face to face before falling forward, fingers working his zipper open and mouth swallowing him whole.

Eddie gasps at the sudden sensation of the hot welcoming cavern of Steve’s mouth. He bucks, lightning shooting up his spine and overwhelmed at the attention as he thrusts once, twice and another before shuddering as he releases into Steve’s warm embrace.

Gasping, Eddie’s head falls forward to stare down at Steve in wonderment. In clear awe as he stares down at the beautiful boy in his lap. Mind blissed but still a niggle worries at the back of his mind, enough to have his hand reaching forward to Steve’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing him up to meet Eddie.

“Sweetheart,” the endearment drops from Eddie’s mouth without his permission.

Steve’s lips tug up, spreading in a grin and widening his eyes, “You want me, don’t you?” He asks, almost breathless.

“Yes. Fucking yes.” Eddie has nothing but honesty to his name at this point.

Steve smiles. Smug and fucking so proud of himself. He leans forward, “Then take me,” he whispers.

And Eddie does.

❤️ More steddie here

[bratbarzal]

Let It Happen (LH43) 2/3

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

WC: 17k

>PART ONE<

Turn me into something tragic, just for you I let it happen.

General Warnings: after the first part you're probably thinking how could there possibly be more snark? you're about to find out. same with idiotic shenanigans, they're not quite finished with those!! fluff, cursing, sexual references, and fade to black type smut!!

A/N: DON'T HATE ME FOR MAKING IT 3 PARTS I'M JUST AN ADHD GIRLY WHO CAN'T READ 30K IN ONE GO BUT APPARENTLY CAN WRITE IT??? part three will be tomorrow I pinky promise!! I was nervous about splitting this whole thing up bc I really did write a whole romcom lmao!! I know long fics aren't to everyone's taste but I know no way of life other than the art of yapping!! Sorry that this took a little longer than expected there were a couple of scenes I couldn't get right but I hope you guys like this half as much as you did the first part!! and again I'd love to hear any thoughts!! reading your messages and your reblogs and your tags made my month and ily a lot!! like I said, I promise part 3 will be tomorrow, I didn't want to force so much at you in comparison to the first part!!

“I’m bored.”

Luke hadn’t thought he would regret staying at home when he had told Jack he wasn’t feeling well enough to drive out to Detroit for the Zach Bryan concert - if anything, it was an effort to push him and Ellie a little closer. She took Luke’s place, roomed with Jack in their hotel and everything, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives in all the videos dispersed into the group chat. But that was all before he came downstairs, eyes on the pictures of the all-you-can-eat breakfast the group were partaking in before coming back, and opening the kitchen cupboards to see them bare, with a few protein bars and boxes of granola tossed in like they’d been ransacked for the apocalypse. 

He’d had fun last night, though.

Even after the movie had ended, when the two of you had stayed up on the couch, talking about life - about hockey, about school, about his brothers, about your mom - if he’s honest, it had been the closest he had felt to another person that wasn’t one of his brothers in a really long time.

He really felt like you were connecting.

So much so that he’d retired to his bed for the first time all summer with a big, dopey grin on his face. Had laid awake scrolling through astrological compatibility after the two of you had drifted onto that topic after the movie finished, talking for maybe two hours before you had yawned so big he thought you might swallow him whole.

He had thought he knew you, before.

Had thought that those brief observations made from back in college, about your coffee preferences, your perfume collection, your taste in music, had painted a somewhat blurry picture of who you were - of all the things that blended together to formulate you - but he had been so wrong. 

And he had laid in bed last night thinking much deeper about the girl who was laying only a couple rooms down the hall - a few walls away. 

The girl who had come downstairs, bare feet padding softly into the kitchen, and had poured out two glasses of juice and handed one over to him without even asking. 

“Hi Bored, I’m Luke,” he smiles as he accepts the drink from your hand, the expression deepening as you roll your eyes back at him, this time with a glimmer of fondness slipping through the surface of your facade. 

You reach past him into the cupboard for the box of granola, and he grabs one of the protein bars before closing it, your bodies moving around each other in tandem like a well choreographed routine - easy and effortless in a way that calms whatever nerves he might have had around this new development in your relationship being one-sided.

You had never seemed uncomfortable in the house, or around the rest of the guys, but you had never been like this. 

“I was thinking,” you drag out, voice sweet and alluring, like you even have to put it on to convince Luke of anything, “we could go out on the boat,” you glance back at him as you pour out your cereal, lashes fluttering to complete the act, “You have your license right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, settling himself down to lean at the kitchen island as you cross to the other side, taking one of the stools, “But I’m not really supposed to take it out on my own.”

You hum as if you’re thinking, crunching your food before asking, “Is that brotherly advice or is that the law?”

“Advice, I guess,” he shrugs, pushing forward ever so slightly onto his forearms, where he can feel the tense of his muscles, and can see the diversion of your attention. 

“And you always do what your brothers tell you?”

When you tilt your head, the sun shining through the kitchen window reflects on your irises, making them sparkle, and he can see all the different hues in there, as if you’re using the elements to try hypnotise him into compliance.

You’re so pretty, you don’t even need the special effects.

“I’m a good boy,” he smiles teasingly, with a tilt of his own head, driven by infatuation and admiration, keeping your gaze and trying not to shudder visibly when your eyes drop to his lips. 

“You wouldn’t be on your own, though,” you pout, “I’d be there. I was a lifeguard for the past three summers, you know.” Of course he knows. “I promise I’ll save you if you get thrown overboard.”

You don’t have to say the following sentiment that the two of you share - that if he were to be thrown overboard, it would undoubtedly be by your own hand. 

“Yeah, you’d give me mouth to mouth?”

You scoff, leaning down onto your forearms and mirroring his position, careful not to knock your bowl. “Unfortunately for you, Hughes, they don’t advise the use of that method, anymore.”

“And you always do what people tell you?”

It’s one of his favourite things to do with you, he’s noticed - turn the tables, use your own wit against you. It gets him a reaction, every time. A rush of something real that washes over you, has you fixing your shoulders and biting back a smile. 

Although you don’t bite this one back. Luke doesn’t think that you could, even if you tried. Your eyes even crinkle a little in the corners, and Luke doesn’t see the danger in it - too lost in the way they reflect the glorious sunshine back at him in dazzling sparkles - until one drops in a wink as you retort, “I’m a good girl.”

Touché.

He thinks his heart might have skipped a beat. He can all of a sudden feel every last crumb of the previous bite he took from his protein bar lodged in his throat, and he needs a drink, so he pushes himself up from the counter to try at least gain a height advantage over you, and forces down some gulps of his juice.

The look you’re giving him isn’t doing him any favours - the height difference working against him as your eyes look up to meet his, round and pleading despite the cunning genius he knows is buried within them. 

“Fine,” he huffs, rolling his eyes as your smile grows wider, “But we need to be back before my brothers so I don’t get a lecture.”

“Yes!” You squeal, pushing up from the stool, “I knew you weren’t as boring as you seem!”

He frowns, despite knowing you’re just teasing him for this exact reaction, and watches as you clean up your bowl, discarding of the mushy granola and rinsing it out. 

“I just need ten minutes to get ready and then we can go!”

“You have five.” He grumbles, watching as you rush out the room and listening for the stomp of your feet up the stairs. 

He’s probably going to regret this. 

—

The bikini had been your first strike - baby blue, the type that ties with strings around your neck and back - when you had come down the stairs, the slap of your slides echoing against the wood and diverting his attention from his phone to your emerging figure. Your t-shirt was clutched in your hand, your tote bag in the other, and he had just stood there, mouth agape, until you rolled your eyes and stormed straight past him, calling, “Thought we were on a time crunch, come on,” behind you.

Your second strike had been the way you had waited until you were on the boat to apply your sunscreen, sat next to Luke, who was trying to keep a steady hand on the wheel as he drove his way down to a clear spot further out on the lake. Luke who was biting his tongue from offering to help you, and could smell the sweet melon scent of the lotion as it sank into your skin. 

And the third had been the way you had been smiling down at your phone, distracting him with the pretty curve of your lips as he steered over the water. 

Three such minor infractions already had him regretting the decision to bring you out here alone.

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” He asks, trying not to sound as jealous as he feels at the thought of it being another guy.

“It’s Cole,” you tell him, eyes still on your phone.

“You and Cole text?” The boat jolts slightly as his hands tremble, and he diverts his attention to you.

“No, he’s got Ellie’s phone.” You type something back before turning the device to show him a selfie Cole had taken in the hotel lobby, Jack asleep on one of the benches in the background and Ellie posing in front of his sleeping figure.

“Why’s Cole texting from Ellie’s phone?” Luke asks, eyes back on the water as he steers the boat, long fingers curled around the wheel and muscles flexing. 

“They’ve been hanging out,” you tell him, “They were together when we got back from the club the other night, he was in our room.”

“And you’re only just telling me this now, because?”

“Oh, my bad, control freak, didn’t realise you needed the whereabouts of everybody in the house,”

“Jack’s been off all week,” Luke mutters, remembering his brother’s reaction when he had told him he was staying at home instead of going to the concert. He had called him out on staying home just to be around you, saying he’d regret missing out on such a huge experience, like there won’t be a hundred other concerts in his lifetime, and that you wouldn’t even appreciate him doing it. “Making all these passive aggressive comments,”

“No way! Jack Hughes? Passive aggressive?” You gasp, shuffling in your seat to give him more of your attention, “What next, is he gonna start acting like the world revolves around him too?”

“Don’t get cute,” Luke rolls his eyes. It’s starting to make sense, him chewing his ear off like that - even though the two of you had literally caught him out on a date, if he feels like Ellie is moving on with his best friend, he’s bound to feel some sort of way about it. “If they were together when he came home from that date, maybe he saw them,”

“They were hardly getting it on with the door wide open, Luke, they were playing cards.” You scoff, “Plus, he has no right to be upset, he was literally on a date he told nobody about.”

“He gets in his head about stuff like this,” Luke reasons as he slows the boat, bringing it to a stop in the middle of the water so he can focus, “Talks himself in circles until it makes him so dizzy he does something stupid.”

“You think that’s what he’s doing?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like assuming the worst of my brother, though.”

“Alright, let’s say Jack is only being a dick because he thinks Ellie and Cole are hitting it off,” you stand up now that the boat is steady, kicking your slides off and ambling over to the benches at the back, out from under the cover of the roof. “What are we supposed to do about it, we can hardly keep them apart, keeping track of Jack and Ellie is hard enough without throwing Caufield into the mix. He's sneaky.”

“We’d only technically have to follow Ellie, still,” Luke says as he follows you to the back of the boat, thankful your back is to him when you start to push your skirt down your legs, and you can’t see the way his eyes go three times their usual size, he’s almost anticipating a swat to his chest for when you turn and notice. “They can still hang out, just not one-on-one, one of us could keep an eye on them, take it in turns.”

“That sounds an awful lot like hard work, Hughes,” you huff, taking a seat on the leather bench and stretching your legs out before lounging back, “Can’t your brother just grow a backbone and ask her out? It would save us both a lot of hassle.”

“I’m working on it,” he throws himself onto the bench opposite yours, thinking of all the times he’s tried to cut the conversation with his brother short by just telling him to grow a pair. “I guess you’re right, we can’t stop them being friends, it would be hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical?”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re friends.”

“You think we’re friends?”

“You don’t?”

“We watch one movie together and now all of a sudden you think we’re besties?”

“I think we’re friends ‘cause you like my company, you wouldn’t have asked me to bring you out here if you didn’t like being around me.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re deluded.” You smile, pushing your sunglasses down from the top of your head to the bridge of your nose and relaxing back. “I like tanning and being on the water. You’re a glorified chauffeur at this point. Not a good one, either.”

“I got us out here no problems, didn’t I?”

“I had to hold on the whole way, you were throwing me around like a loose can in the trunk of your car.”

“Yeah, well the water was choppy,”

“A good workman never blames his tools, Hughes.” You smile over at him, and the innuendo makes his cheeks go hot. Definitely regretting bringing you out on the water with no escape about now.

“Did you really ask me to bring you out here just to lay out in the sun?” He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, watching as you angle your neck to face him. 

“Is that a problem?”

“It is if you’re gonna be a grouch about me being here.”

“I thought you’d be all quiet and brooding like you usually are.”

“Me?” He laughs, “Quiet and brooding?” He doesn’t think anyone has ever used the word quiet to describe him in his life. He knows you can’t be serious - all you’ve done for weeks is blast him for getting on your nerves.

“I’ve literally seen you talk once before this summer.”

What the hell do you mean by that? You barely knew who he was that day he approached you in the club. 

“That’s ‘cause you’d have to notice me to see me talk.”

“You’ve never talked to me.”

He did talk to you. Several times, in fact. That day outside your dorm with Ellie’s gift basket, a couple times in class - but they’re all insignificant, minor exchanges of words he would quite like to forget, if he’s honest. Mumbling and stuttering and, quite frankly, embarrassing, to say the least. A far cry from the confident man he’d like to think he has become. “Why would I talk to you?”

“That’s rude,” you pout, and he straightens up immediately.

“No, I just mean, like,” he waves his arms out in between the two of you, gesturing over and shaking his head. “You’re you. We were never really on the same level for me to be talking to you.”

You bring your glasses back onto the top of your head, pushing your hair out of your face and squinting against the sun to level him with a glare. “Aren’t you a big time athlete?”

“I am now. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then.”

“You never gave me a chance to.”

“You could have approached me.” He thinks you’re just biting back for argument’s sake, if he’s honest - there isn’t a chance in hell you ever spared a thought for talking to him or giving him the time of day. You barely even looked his way - and he definitely would have noticed. 

“So could you.” You frown. 

“I tried once.” He distinctly remembers the one time he did approach you, away from class and apart from the first time he met you, dialled up with liquid courage and driven by the way you were dressed as a sexy Patrick Bateman, and he finally felt like having the right conversation starter around his love for American Psycho might have helped him kick something off with you, or at least got you to acknowledge his existence. He would have even taken you calling him Lu again. “At a Halloween party in Freshman year. You blew me off. I barely got a word out before you were storming off.”

“When you were dressed as Scooby Doo?”

His lips part and close repeatedly like a fish bobbing it’s mouth, blinking slowly at you as he realised just what you even having that memory meant. “That’s a weird thing to remember for someone not interested.”

“A giant dork in a dog costume is a pretty hard thing to forget.” You grin satirically, “I never said I wasn’t interested, you just caught me at a bad time and never tried again,”

“You wanted me to try again?”

“I want you to be quiet. Aren’t you due a nap or something?”

“You can’t seriously tell me you asked me to bring you all the way out here just to lie out in the sun and do nothing,” he groans, watching you return back to your previous position, body bathing in the sunlight and sunglasses pushed back down onto your nose. 

“What, did you think we were gonna play mermaids?” He can’t see the roll of your eyes anymore, but he knows when it happens by now, just from your tone of voice. 

“You can do that back at the house, we have loungers out by the pool,”

“It’s not as peaceful as this.” You sigh, “Plus, the trees around the back block the sun this time of day. I’m getting pale cooped up in the club all week, I have catching up to do.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Lay back and relax,” you advise, nodding toward the bench he’s perched on the edge of, reaching your hand down into your tote and blindly tossing the bottle of sunscreen in his general direction, “You could use some sun, too. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you do my back later.”

Luke, surprisingly, folds - doing as he’s told and lounging back into the leather, and he begrudgingly thinks a little too much about how right you are. This is peaceful. The soft whoosh of water against the boat, clear blue skies, no yelling or arguing or people competing around him. Just you, and the sunshine, and the smell of melon-scented sun lotion seeping into his skin.

It isn’t long before he drifts off, his head resting on his folded arm, the heat of the sun warming him like a blanket, and the last thing he sees before his eyes close is your head turned his way, lips parted slightly as you sleep, yourself, skin glistening and your chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. 

When his eyes open again, you’re sat up, holding your hair up with one hand and fanning yourself with the other.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice thick with sleep as he sits up, his skin peeling uncomfortably off the leather. 

“I’m hot.” You whine, turning to him with a pout.

He scoffs, resisting the urge to say something corny like, I know you are, before he points out over the side of the boat. “If you look to your right, there’s a large body of water you can cool down in.”

“I’m not getting in there!”

“Why not?”

“Lake monsters, for one,” you scoff, releasing your hair and he watches it fan out over your shoulders in soft waves.

“They’re only native to Scotland, I heard.” Luke stands, looking over the side and into the steady waters to gauge how safe it would be to go in without a vest. The water is still, he’s never had any problems in this part of the lake, and he’s confident the two of you could at least take a dip without there being any concerns - you were a lifeguard, after all, and he’s always been a strong swimmer. 

“Aren’t there fish in here?” You ask, beside him now as you peer over the edge yourself. 

“There’s actually a cool hack to check, do you want me to show you?”

You eye him sceptically but nod, anyway, and he holds his hand out to help you walk to the back of the boat, stepping down onto the stern where it’s easier to reach into the water. 

You’re careful not to let him fall behind you, clearly cautious of the fact that he could push you in. Instead, he stands beside you, squats to reach down over the edge and run his fingers through the ripples that form. He stands back to full height and you squint to look up at him, the sun blaring from over his shoulder and reflecting off his sweat-slicked skin. 

It makes your eyes sparkle again, and it’s almost enough to make him change his mind from what he’s about to do - only, before your powers of hypnosis can work on him for the second time in a matter of hours, he quickly grasps onto your hips and launches the two of you into the water. 

He has the same misguided confidence he had when he squirted you with that hose - a burst of energy that he immediately succumbed to before he could think rationally about it, and it’s the same energy that forces deep and hearty laughter to rumble from his chest as you squeal on your way into the lake. 

The two of you land with a big splash, and emerge simultaneously, you running your hands through your wet hair to push it back out of your face.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“You said you were hot, I was trying to help!”

“You are so dead!” You exclaim, splashing him with a swat of your hand against the water.

“Oh, look, a fish!”

“Ew, no!” You yell, squirming forward to try and dodge it, unintentionally leaping right into Luke, the heat of his firm chest under your flattened palm, an arm curling over his shoulder to steady yourself. 

His arms curl around your body by instinct, wrapping around your waist and holding you against him until you realise his trick, and your hands press on the top of his head until you’re pushing him under the surface with a yell of, “So dead!”

Laughter ripples out of him, from the pits of his stomach to the parting of his lips, and comes out in bubbles against your skin as you hold him down, your body thrashing to get away from his until you break free from his hold, and he rises back from under the water.

“Get back here, you’re not getting away with that!” He calls after you, launching himself forward to catch you.

“No,” you squeal, trying to gain momentum as you leap away, only for his arm to curl around your waist, pulling your squirming body back against him with a splash. “Let me go, you brute!”

“Tell me you’re having fun or you’re getting dunked,” he commands, lips beside your ear as your back is held flush to his chest, your skin still warm from the sun and smooth against his. 

“You dunk me and I’ll leave your ass to the lake monsters,” you warn him, still squirming in his hold.

“Like you could drive the boat, you need me,” your body seems to still the lower his tone gets, succumbing to his hypnotising powers, and he can feel you square your shoulders against him. 

“Yeah right,” even Luke can tell how much your denial is forced from the shiver down your spine, “Jack can do it, how hard could it be?”

“You’d really hijack the boat just to avoid admitting you like my company?” He asks as he lets you go, and you turn immediately in the water to face him. He tilts his head when your gazes meet across the water, and your eyes flicker between his as if trying to read him like a book.

“Today’s been nice,” you admit, with a dramatic roll of your eyes, “Last night, too. Not specific to your company. Just being away from everybody else."

“So that’s the key?” He dares to swim a little closer, just enough that you won’t notice him reducing the proximity between the two of you. “You wanna get me on my own?”

“You-,”

“Wish,” he finishes, your eyes meeting in a steady gaze despite the bobbing of your heads to stay afloat. He’d like to think it’s more than the water that has brought you back this close to him, legs kicking beneath the surface, his hands itching to hold back on your waist to help, “Yeah, I do.”

If he has managed to stay more or less in place while treading water, then it can’t be the current drifting you toward him, and you’re so close now that he could hold you, if his brain could just link to his hands to give them the courage to do so. 

You like being alone with him - you’ve pretty much just admitted so - feel comfortable enough that you change your plans to fit him into them - just like you had last night - you wanted him to talk to you in college, you noticed him, even, enough to remember the fact that he never did. 

There has to be some base level of interest there for you to be this close, in the first place. To move into his house, to agree to spend your summer in his company, to spending more time with him than he’s noticed you spending with your supposed best friend. 

And just as he convinces himself of it, and his thoughts link to the movement of his hands underwater, inching closer to grip at your hips and pull you all the way toward him, a shrill ringing carries all the way from the boat to Luke’s ears, turning both of your attention back to the vehicle.

“Shit, that’s Jack’s ringtone.” He groans, “They’re probably back by now.”

The two of you swim back toward the boat, and he pulls himself up onto the stern before lending you a hand to get up, yourself. 

There are a bunch of texts from his brother.

Where are you at?

Did the demon get you in your sleep?

Where’s the boat?

Please tell me you’re dumping her body and she’s not dumping yours.

You’re dead either way when you get back!

“Shit, we better get back,” he grumbles, rushing to the front of the boat to get it started again. Before you sit beside him, he feels the draping of a towel across his shoulders, and his heart thuds at the small smile you give him when his eyes meet yours.

“Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, nonchalant despite the rampant beating in his chest, and the thought of his brother chewing his ear off when the two of you get back. “You’re worth the headache.”

He winks, teasingly, and his eyes go back to the water before he gets the chance to see your cheeks flush. You’d probably just blame it on sunburn, anyway.

You don’t speak much on the drive back, but Luke can feel your eyes on him, can practically hear your mind whirring with a million thoughts - only because his is doing the same. 

Why does he has to have a brother with the world’s worst timing?

He would have kissed you.

At least, he thinks he would have.

His hands were reaching out. He would have pulled you in by the hips, held you against him, raised so that your faces were finally level, and he would have made a move. He can feel it in his bones, still thrumming with almost-arrogance. A knowing, sure feeling that he can’t shake - one that tells him you would have kissed him back.

But he’ll never know, now.

When the two of you get back, Jack is waiting on the dock, and you gather your things before Luke helps you off the boat. He ushers you past his brother, knowing you’d be down to argue all afternoon, if necessary, but he can take this one on his own. He doesn’t want you hearing the sort of venom he knows his brother can spew out when he’s mad like this.

You brush past Jack on the edge of the dock, who thankfully waits until you’re back at the gate and out of earshot to start on Luke.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

“What, I’m not allowed to have fun when you’re not here?” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes at his brother’s theatrics.

So he took the boat out, it’s really not that deep, he thinks. He’s an adult, he has his license, there really shouldn’t be a problem.

“I know you’ve seen Jennifer’s Body, you shouldn’t be out on the lake on your own with her,”

“Implying she’s a demonic serial killer might be a little over-dramatic, even for you,” Luke huffs as he starts to make his own way back.

 “Trust me, it’s not.” Jack stops him with a hand gripping at his elbow. “Whatever trick she’s pulling on you, Luke, you need to wise up,”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She isn’t interested,” Jack tells him, “She’s using you to pass the time until someone better falls into her lap, and you’re falling straight for it. Letting her convince you to stay behind and miss hanging with the rest of us, taking the boat out on your own, don’t you think it’s weird how she never had any interest in talking to you before it started benefitting her? Before you made it to the big leagues?”

Luke narrows his eyes at his brother, shoulders slumping as the words seem to weigh on them, like a heavy towel draped across to dry him and rub away all the affections you had blessed him with over the past 24 hours.

But it isn’t Jack’s words that are ringing around his head, this time. It’s yours. 

You never talked to me.

You never gave me a chance.

You never tried again.

Maybe you did have some level of interest before. Maybe his intuitions earlier had been right. Maybe it’s still there. 

“It’s none of your business, Jack,” he grumbles, not allowing him a second to rain on this parade. “You don’t even know her.”

“Don’t come crying to me when she breaks your heart, then.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

If you’re thankful for any rule at the house, it’s the rule for knocking before you come into any bedroom. Quinn knocks most mornings to let you know breakfast is being prepared, or before he goes on a store run to ask if there’s anything you or Ellie need. Jack knocks for Ellie, and now Cole does too.

You can always tell when it’s Luke though.

Repeated and incessant, a constant rapping of knuckles against the wood until you answer, instead of any sort of pattern or rhythm.

“Can I come in?” He asks as soon as you open.

“No.” You tell him every time, but to no avail. 

“Thanks,” He swerves into the space beside you, careful not to shove past as he makes his way into the bedroom. “We have a problem.”

“Yeah, they’re called boundaries, Hughes.” You scoff, slamming the door and following him. “You can’t just waltz in here like you own the place.”

“I do.” He frowns, “Own the place. This is my house."

“Your brothers own it, actually.”

“What are you, Michigan Census Bureau?” You mimic the words back to him, your face scrunched tight and your voice as whiney and annoying as it can go, and he pushes his hand in your face, just light enough to cover it and not actually smack you because he doesn’t have a death wish. “The problem. You have to focus,” he clicks his fingers in front of you, and you swat his hand away with a frown.

“Click at me like a dog again and I’ll bite your fingers off.” The look on your face is one he should probably fear, but there’s a nagging instinct he can’t fight to keep pushing your buttons. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it feels wrong to ignore.

“Is that supposed to turn me on?”

“The problem, Luke, get on with it.”

“Right.” He sighs, throwing himself down on the bed, “I can’t find Cole and Ellie anywhere. I think he took her out.”

“What?” You reach forward and push at his shoulder, “You had one job, Hughes!”

It had been his turn to take watch, as the two of you had agreed the other day out on the water, but it was really starting to get tiring, having to play third wheel to a situation he really didn’t understand, and he needed a recess. Five minutes just to recuperate, he didn’t expect them to make a break for it so quick. 

“I left to make a sandwich! I’m allowed to eat, you can’t expect me to starve it goes against my rights!”

“You’re such an idiot,” You scoff as you rush toward the closet to find something to wear, your plans of a self-care day now flushed down the toilet thanks to Luke’s insatiable appetite. “You couldn’t watch them for an hour without succumbing to malnutrition?”

“Why can’t you be on watch for once?”

“I was doing my nails,” You retort, wiggling your freshly painted fingernails in his face, crimson red to match your toes, and the colour Luke feels his cheeks turning at the sight of them. “Because thanks to someone the gel started lifting after spending my entire afternoon the other day with my hands in a soapy bucket.”

“You’re the one who took the detour to beat Jack home and got my car all dirty.”

“Whatever, turn around.” You’re already lifting your tank over your head before Luke gets the chance to comply, his mouth falling agape before he can control it at the sight of you stood in just your bra and pyjama shorts in front of him. The instruction only registers when your tank top hits him in the face, dropping into his lap so he can look up at your scowl and swivel in his place on the bed. “They’re probably at the mall, she was saying she wanted to go to the art supply store there.”

“So what, we’re gonna just bump into them? Won’t they think it’s weird we’re showing up there after we both said we were staying in today?” He tries not to look into the corner of the room, where he knows the mirror placed there will show him the reflection of you changing - although what’s the use in hiding anything, now? He’s already seen it.

He’s also seen you in your many different bikinis over the past few of weeks. Has been up close and personal, even, holding your body against his out in the lake. 

But your bathing suits aren’t slightly sheer and frilly around the edges, and don’t push up on anything - not that they really need to.

But thinking about that isn’t gonna do him any favours. 

Old men playing chess, animals in the shelter, getting slammed into the boards at high speeds - thinking of those should get his mind back on track.

“Nope, we’re gonna follow them.”

“I thought you said that spying on people is childish.”

“It is when you’re talking about lurking in bushes and hiding behind menus, Luke.”

When he sees you come around the front of the bed to grab your sneakers, he decides on his own terms he can turn back around, careful not to let his eyes linger too long on the expanse of your legs beneath the skirt you’ve now changed into. 

If it wasn’t for the other afternoon spent working together to wash his car, or the evening spent watching movies, sharing a bottle of wine and indulging in those sticky face masks or the way you had quite literally drifted into his arms in the lake the other day, he would probably feel like a creeper for the way his one track mind has persisted. But, despite your efforts to convince him otherwise, he isn’t deluded. 

There’s something brewing between the two of you. 

It’s in the twitch of your lips that now follows every time you roll your eyes, and the magnetised force in which your eyes track him whenever he enters the room, where you had been entirely indifferent before - you’re warming up to him, he can sense it.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I wanna see what it is they keep running off together for,” you shrug as you braid your hair into pigtails in the mirror, your gaze flickering back to him, “Every time we interrupt them, they just keep sneaking back off again. Maybe if we find out what it is they’re doing, we’ll be better at keeping them away from doing it.”

“And how are we supposed to stay hidden?”

“Easy, we have to wear something we usually wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

“I’ve seen you in that exact outfit like twelve times.” He gestures with a lazy hand to the outfit you have on - white t-shirt, navy skirt, socks that go just above your ankles and the same pair of sneakers he must have seen you in every day the last year you were both in college together. 

Not that he was paying that close attention.

“I know. Can I borrow that quarter zip you wore the other day? You know, the one that’s the colour of baby poop? Super hideous, really gross-,”

“Har har, real funny,” he whips the tank top he’s still, for whatever reason, clutching in his hands at you before throwing it onto the bed, and storming toward the door, calling out a, “Let’s go,” over his shoulder and not bothering to check if you’re coming when he starts to make his way downstairs - the echo of your giggling laughter following him down the hallway tells him as much.

—

“Are you sure she said the art supply store?”

Luke’s neck is starting to hurt from craning it above the shelves in search of Ellie’s curls, this being the second art store the two of you have checked. Somehow he’s the one looking out while you peruse the shop, now cooing at a section of crotchet animal kits and pointing them out until he mutters out some half-hearted cute, or nice.

“There aren’t many things I could have confused it for, Luke, unless you know of anything that rhymes with art supplies?” You pick up one of the kits, turning it to assess the difficulty by the pictures on the back before putting it back on the shelf.

“Maybe she said she had parts to buy?”

“Alright, smartass,” You scoff, shouldering past him to make your way toward the exit, clearly having no luck in finding them here. She definitely wouldn’t have parts to buy for anything, she’s hardly Fix-It Felix. “You can buy me lunch and we’ll see if she’s put anything on her story yet.”

“I’m starting to think they’re not even at the mall and you’ve lured me out of the house under false pretences for free food.” The diffidence he’s giving is entirely forced as he drags his feet behind you, following you out of the store. “If you wanted me to take you on a date, you could have just asked. It was probably the stop for a smoothie that had us missing them in the first place.”

You gasp, and before he has the opportunity to retort with something just as annoying, you grab his hand and tug him with you behind one of the giant plants that are beside the coffee stand, keeping a hold of him as you poke your head around the corner.

“There they are,” you whisper back, your fingers still clutching at his as he crowds into the same space to make sure he too is hidden behind the sprawling leaves.

“Oh so hiding behind bushes is alright if it’s your idea?”

“Shh,” you frown, your hand releasing his and pressing over his mouth, “They’ll hear you, Loud Mouth,” and his eyes follow the pointed finger on your other hand to where Ellie and Cole are walking together toward the store you and Luke just left - side by side, sodas in hand, smiling and laughing and nudging at each other. 

In better circumstances, he’d be thinking about how he’s pressed to your back, bending to accommodate for the height difference, your head tilted to make room for his to lean in for a better look, and your hand still resting on his face, not really covering his mouth but more caressing his jaw in an absentminded fashion as you watch the two of them. 

But all he can think about, disturbingly enough, is his brother - and how hurt he’d be to see what’s happening between his supposed best friends. 

“We’re following them, right?” He asks lowly, his face not too far from yours, and when you turn your head to the side to look at him, he feels like your gaze is softer than usual when it takes in how hardened and dark his is.

“Definitely,” you agree, stepping away from him and turning to face him properly. “If you saw me out of the corner of your eye, you wouldn’t know it was me, right?”

Wrong, Luke thinks, but that’s only because he’d be able to pick you out of a line up in a pitch black room by now - blind folded, spun around a few times for good measure and facing the wrong way.

When he had found a Mets jersey on the rack in the Goodwill you had dragged him to in search of a disguise, and your words from earlier about not being caught dead in something had rang in his head, he had thought it was perfect. And then you had waltzed over with the same jersey, and your eyes had lit up.

“We can’t wear the same thing,” he frowned, unable to hold the weight of the expression for too long when he saw just how excited you were getting. “That’s hardly blending in."

“No, it’s perfect!” You exclaimed, “Ellie would never expect me to match anyone!”

He had thought the shirts were too much before you threw in the identical orange baseball caps you had found, and at that point he was cursing whatever scorned woman it was that dumped all her ex’s shit into the thrift store.

The two of you look cute in your matching gear, he can’t deny that, he just wishes you could have found something that made him feel a little less dirty, maybe Wolverine blue and yellow, if you were gonna dress up as a couple.

Luke doesn’t like how you still make his throat dry in Mets gear.

He reaches out to adjust the cap on your head, pulling the bill down to cast more of a shadow over your face, and combining that with the way your braids, the ones you said you’d never usually wear but seem to suit you anyway, come out the bottom of either side of the cap, he figures anyone else would have a hard time immediately placing you. “Probably not,” he shrugs, making sure to keep an eye on the apparent lovebirds still hovering in the entrance of the art store. 

“Great.” You smile victoriously, “Put your arm around me.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” You scoff, “I’m hardly asking you to ravage me outside the Pretzel Peddler, Hughes, make haste,” you shoo him forward, taking control of the situation and forcing yourself under his arm as the two of you stumble back toward the art store. 

Remaining incognito isn’t entirely hard when the two of you are moving as one, you stuffed under his arm and him able to hide his face in the top of your head if he thinks either Cole or Ellie are likely to see you.

Following them is easy, able to maintain a short enough distance that you can both eavesdrop on their minimal conversation, and there isn’t really a problem until they break apart. 

Ellie goes toward the back of the store, Cole towards the front, and you whisper to Luke that it might be best for you to break apart, too - if you both follow one of them, the other is more likely to catch you - and so you drift after Cole, and he drifts after Ellie, and while the two of you can still see each other, there are a lot of unidentifiable hand gestures in place of where you can no longer talk. That is, until Cole heads further down the other end of the store, and you slip completely out of view.

It’s less fun, spying this way, watching as Ellie browses the shelves, looking over all the sketchbooks until she finds the right one - as if he hasn’t seen a stack of around 5 of them in their room back at the house - swerving so fast on her feet that Luke stumbles on his own to get away, rushing around the bend before she can see him. 

When he rounds the corner of the aisle and sees you heading straight for him, eyes wide and step rushed, he rushes, too, tripping forward until the two of you collide, your stance thankfully much sturdier than his. You grab him by his shirt to make sure he’s steady on his feet before you pull him with you as you fall against the shelf behind you, standing on your tip toes and tugging him down to meet your lips with a surprised grunt.

What the fuck?

Your hands move up to cup at either side of his face, holding him in place as you angle to slot the bill of your cap to the side of his so they don’t bump and fall off, and he loses himself in the warmth of your kiss before he even realises that he’s halfway gone. Your hands cover both of your profiles, and Luke thinks that if you are caught, there’s no way for them to identify the two of you unless Ellie has the orange-red colour and long, supposedly almond - or so you had told him - shape of your nails memorised. Because who would pay such close attention to something like that?

A hand falls to your hip, another to your waist, and he’s teasing your back into an arch with his touch, only distantly hearing surprised exclamations of oh fuck, and sorry, from either side of the aisle.

He pays no mind to the sound of rushed, retreating footsteps, trying to press his tongue between your lips for a further taste of very berry smoothie and sugary balm that he can feel the stickiness of, that he wants his lips to be coated in forever.

He savours the seconds after, where you drag out the show just to make sure Ellie and Cole have actually disappeared, and he pushes his luck one more time, deepening the kiss until you pull away, your hands on his chest shoving purposefully. 

“What was that for?” He asks, breathless and dazed as he takes in your appearance, lips swollen and wet by his doing, pupils dilated.

“PDA makes people uncomfortable, right?” you shrug, like it’s the most obvious explanation for the way you just kissed the life out of him. Like there was nothing else you possibly could have done to get out of that predicament. And his heart thumps as he remembers that those are his words, uttered in a tease way back in the restaurant at the club. “They were hardly gonna stick around and watch, I don’t have Caufield down as a voyeur.”

Luke watches as your eyes drop briefly to his lips, and he swears he sees the flicker of a smile twitch at the corners of your mouth. His fingers come up by instinct, pressing tentatively at the sticky residue that coats the outline of them.

“You tell anyone I did that and I’ll gut you like a fish, Hughes.”

He nods, still in a daze, if he’s honest, and stays in place while you nudge past him to follow in the direction where Ellie and Cole disappeared. 

When he does finally come to, shaking his head to pull himself out of the way his brain is trying to relive the last few minutes, he follows, too - maybe less discreet in his movements, this time, in the hopes that another close call might just gain him another kiss, too.

You’d like to think you have good intuition when it comes to others and their actions. You can see straight through people, a shift in their expression, a twitch in their smile, a glint in their eye - it makes you protective of the people you surround yourself with, keeping only a close-knit group of friends, and keeping everyone else at arms length. 

Friends who you know when they’re upset, or down, need someone around, or need space. It’s how you know Luke has been avoiding you all week, and how you know even more just to leave him to it. 

Not that you’re friends.

It started with long days at the rink - not that you lament his training, but you know he hadn’t been that deep into his regimen so far this summer. Quinn had been the one to drop you off at the club that last couple of days, and Luke hadn’t joined the group when they had played a round of golf and stopped by the bar for some refreshments after.

You’ve seen him around the house still, usually shooting off to God-knows-where, eyes locking in the hall as he passes you like a ship in the night, until he shifts his gaze with an awkward smile.

If he wants to be childish about one stupid, meaningless kiss, you have no choice but to let him.

You’d hardly forced yourself on him. He could have pushed you off if he didn’t want it. Instead, he’d pulled you even closer, even tried to slip you some tongue! And it had kind of been his suggestion in the first place.

You wouldn’t be so bothered about it if you had something to do with Ellie gone for the next week - her little sister’s birthday taking precedent over your summer plans, and the family taking a trip out of state. You can’t even go out, trapped inside due to the unforeseen storm - and you hate thunder, it reminds you too much of all those tumultuous nights locked in your room, listening to your parents fighting, the wind and rain doing little to drown it all out.

But all you have is the house, and with the house comes the movies - the ones he had promised to watch with you.

You had both written down your top ten, yours in his notes, and his in yours, and the damn page has been haunting you every time you unlock your phone. And that’s how you’ve given in so easily. It has nothing to do with the fact you miss him - it’s just pure boredom and curiosity that has you watching Happy Gilmore on your own on a Friday night.

You don’t miss him.

That would be ridiculous.

Luke Hughes is annoying. 

His taste of movies is annoying.

The fact that won’t talk to you is annoying.

“Hey, I thought we were gonna watch this together.”

Or not.

Luke leans against the doorway, possessing the kind of casual indifference that only a man could, frowning and pouting as if he’s not the sole reason you’re cooped up on your own watching a damn movie about golf of all things.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” you bite back, arms crossed over your chest and brows furrowed in frustration. 

“Why would I be avoiding you?” He asks as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him, your eyes darting straight to long, slender fingers wrapped around the handle. 

“Because you kissed me, and then all of a sudden started acting like I don’t exist to you.” You accuse with a pointed glare, figuring one of you has to have the guts to talk about it. 

“Actually, you kissed me,” he smirks, perching himself on the edge of your bed, “And then told me in graphic detail you’d pretty much murder me if I ever spoke about it again, so I,” he frowns, “Didn’t.”

You can’t help but scowl at how stupid that sounds. He can’t seriously think you would murder him. If you were the murdering type in the first place, you’d have done it long ago. You even tell him as much.

“I don’t know, you had this scary look in your eye, kind of didn’t want to test that theory,” he shrugs, reaching in the pocket of his hoodie and throwing a bag over to you. 

M&Ms. Your favourite.

“You gonna scoot over?” He asks, raising a brow and widening his eyes as if he’s pleading, as if you’ve been the one giving him the cold shoulder.

You roll your eyes and shuffle across the bed, making room for him beside you that he occupies way too quick, legs stretching out in front of him, all the way down the bed, as he gets comfortable.

You try to focus on the movie, as if you have any clue what’s been happening so far, anyway, but you can see him out of the corner of your eye, an arm tucked behind his head, his chest stretched out, and his jaw tensing as he chews on the candy he’s already stealing from you.

He’s had a haircut. Shorter on the sides, and it makes his face look a little more defined. Still curly - maybe even curlier - and softer than before, in a way that you’d want to run your hands through it, if you were a crazy person, of course.

And he smells good, too.

You’re starting to think this has been his plan all along - for distance to make your wretched heart grow fonder, or whatever - and you find yourself tensing your own jaw as you grind your teeth and try to tune back into whatever Adam Sandler is yapping about. 

“I sort of was avoiding you,” he admits, and you can still see him out of the corner of your eye, looking down at you, now, although you don’t look back.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, shifting a little to face you more, “I thought you might have felt weird about kissing me.”

“I didn’t.” 

“Okay then.”

“Alright.”

“We can talk about it, if you want?” He suggests, and that’s finally when you look at him, with his lips twisted nervously and his brow raised, anticipating your response. 

What’s there to even talk about? You kissed him as a distraction. He knows that. You know that. 

“I’m good.” You tell him, a short, forced smile to ease the tension before he smiles back.

“I know something we can talk about,” he leans in, “Considering how little you care about this movie.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“How you had a big fat crush on me in college,” he smirks, eyes darting between yours, the flash from the tv screen highlighting all the different hues of blues and greens in his irises.

He’s not gonna catch you out, though.

“You’re delusional.” You tell him, your own eyes narrowing, almost like a defence mechanism. He seems to be quite good at reading you, and you’re not letting him in that easy.

“So you keep saying,” he pouts, pensively, “But then it’s you never talked to me, Luke, and I remember small random details about you, Luke!”

“I don’t sound like that,” you frown, taking slight offence to the squeaky voice he puts on, more than likely to distract you from the closing distance. He speaks again before you can realise you really should be putting more effort into denying such ridiculous accusations, before he completely slanders your good name. 

“You’ve been avoiding me all week and I missed you, Luke-,”

You don’t know why your mouth is all of a sudden on his, but if you take a second to think about it, you’ll spiral out. His lips are soft, and your noses slot perfectly beside each other - no painful bumps or clumsy collisions. Just a plain, normal kiss between two people who tolerate each other. That’s all.

When you part, his eyes drift open softly, his lashes - infuriatingly long as they are - flutter open, and his irises glaze over as if he’s under a spell. 

“That was-,”

“To shut you up,” you mutter, rolling your own eyes and forcing a scowl. “You were starting to give me a headache.”

He nods, that dumb look still in his eyes, and you feel your jaw clenching almost achingly at how it makes you feel.

“And I care very deeply about Gilmore’s happiness, so if you could cut it out with your yapping, I’d really appreciate it.”

“His name is Happy-,”

“I didn’t ask.”

When Luke is on the ice, most of the noise around him usually tunes itself out. Aside from the scrape of his skates, and the thudding of his heart, he can usually dial out the crowd, the chanting, the booing, the chirping, whatever it may be - all distractions to the end goal.

The one noise he never can ignore, though, is that of the goal horn, blearing throughout the arena, bouncing off of every corner until it hits him like a freight train, and he thinks they ring a little louder when it’s him that scores.

And with that horn, he can fine tune himself back into his surroundings. To shouts and cheers and applause, a sea of red and white jerseys jumping up, the Devils logo brandished across their chests, and his work being praised by the masses.

He somehow has the power to zero in on you, too. Arms raised, up a little in the stands, not too far that you’re just a speck, but not too close that you’d be a distraction.

A wide smile on your face, adoration in your eyes, and 43 on your arm. 

“Luke!” Your lips read, drowned out by the crowd, but he can still make it out, calling out to him like you’re the only other person in the room. “C’mon, Luke!” 

He smiles, as big as he ever has before, and points straight at you, dropping a wink like you could possibly catch it from out in the stands, and taking a bow.

“Hughes, you big lump, wake up!”

He groans as he’s shaken from his sleep, soft hands gripping at his arms and jolting him awake.

“What?” He doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, but he thinks it’s the weight of his furrowed eyebrows keeping them closed. 

“I need a favour,” you whisper.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“It’s 2am. I don’t do favours before 9.”

“C’mon, please?” He opens one eye to your pleading face, and then another, when he catches the teary reflection of the moonlight in your eyes.

“What is it?” He straightens up, rubbing the sleep from his eyelids and straining to make the rest of you out in the dark. 

“I need you to look at the window in my room, it’s whistling.”

“It’s just the storm, it gets like that when it’s windy,” he sighs, sinking back down a little into his pillows. He had thought you were in danger, or something.

“Can’t you fix it?” You plead, soft fingers still squeezing a little at his bicep, and his chest starts to feel heavy just from the tone of your voice - but it’s 2am. You had him up until midnight watching Wall-E, and he has a morning skate with his dad at 6am. 

“Do I look like a handyman?” He huffs, also a little aggrieved at the fact you had disrupted his rather nice dream. “Just go to sleep and ignore it.”

“I can’t.” You whine, “I can’t sleep if there’s a storm, they freak me out. And I can’t ignore it when it’s literally screaming at me through a broken window. And I’m on my own in there, it’s scary.”

Luke presses his palm firm into the socket of his closed eyes, trying to rub away the exhaustion that is urging every fibre of his being to fall straight back asleep. 

He can’t fix the window. It’s been like that for as long as him and his brothers have lived here - always the dud room left to whoever rocks up last to the house - and even if he could, he’s comfortable, and warm, and if his bare feet touch the cold, hardwood floor, he won’t be able to get himself to drift back off. 

He sighs, shuffling beneath the sheets before grasping them and flipping them over, making room beside him and muttering a grumpy, demanding, “Get in.”

“Luke,” you whine, and he can see your pout even through his closed eyes - lips plump and plush and if he gets even a glimpse he’s going to start thinking about kissing them, again. “You’re really not gonna help me?”

“I don’t offer my super comfy bed up to just anybody,” he reasons, making a little more room, “C’mon, you can barely hear the rain in here, it’s this or the couch downstairs.”

“Can’t you take the couch and I take your comfy bed?”

Luke opens one eye to look at you, eyes glimmering nervously in the crack of moonlight that sneaks through the curtains, lip tugged between your teeth, and relents, immediately. “Do you want me to take the couch?”

He could probably go sleep in your bed, if you’re really that bothered. He doesn’t do too well with noises while he sleeps, but he will if he has to - if that’s what makes you feel better. But you had just said it was scary being alone, and he’s counting on that to make a case for himself to keep his super comfy bed in his whistle-less bedroom.

“No,” you grumble, shoving at his arm, “Move over a little more.”

He relents, making as much room as he can for you to crawl into his bed before he flips the sheets back over on top of you, waiting for you to get comfortable before he melts back into place.

His legs extending into yours is purely accidental, but he doesn’t move them when you don’t flinch away, taking a second to adjust his positioning until he realises something. 

“You’re not wearing pants.”

“Neither are you.” You mumble back straight away, turning to face him, the bare skin of your calves brushing his as you move.

“It’s my bed,” he shrugs, his body on its side and his arm beneath his pillow, the space cramped now that you’re both squeezed in, and he’s trying to give you room, but he swears you have space on the other side. “I don’t wear pants to bed.”

“I don’t either.” 

“What if there’s a fire?”

“I think I’d rather succumb to the flames than let your brothers see me in my panties.”

He just hums, sleepily, trying not to overthink how you wouldn’t mind him seeing you in them. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the press of your skin to his. 

“Do you want me to go put pants on, Luke, would that make you happy?”

“Don’t ask such a ridiculous question.” He huffs, sinking into his pillows and getting himself back into the right position to drop back off into a deep slumber. “Go to sleep.”

The soft patter of rain against the window lulls him, and he slowly feels you relax beside him, a few minutes of silence settling between the two of you - comforting and still - before you break it. 

“Luke?” You whisper, this time barely audible, like you don’t even want to be heard - and it’s that thought that has him ignoring you, sleep clutching his eyes closed anyway, so close to drifting back off. 

He feels your body shuffle against the mattress, still not enough to lure him back into full consciousness, but he’s aware enough to know your every move.

And he’d like to think he can predict them, imagining you shuffling to get comfy and hoping he’s too deep in his sleep to care if you nudge him while doing so.

But he could never predict the soft press of your lips to the corner of his mouth, and the gentle, almost non-existent muttering of a thank you against his skin. 

He only lets himself smile when he can feel you settle back into the bed, body laid beside him, bare legs brushing against his under the sheets.

You are so welcome, he thinks, that soft smile curving into something much deeper as he succumbs to sleep, body melting into an oozy, gooey, consuming mess beside your own. 

Luke should have known you’d get your own back on him for the whole avoiding thing.

The two of you had been sweet for a solid week, movie nights every other night, especially after you had shared his bed, you’d even made him lunch to come back to the day after. And he had started driving you to and from work, again.

And it’s the drive home from work one day that he sees something in you switch.

“It’s just gonna be a couple people, you’ll probably even know some of the girls from college.”

“It’s your house, Luke, you don’t have to explain your parties to me.” You shift your knees back to face the dash, where they had just been angled toward him, and you cross your arms against your chest. 

“We can pick back up on movie night tomorrow, I don’t have any training all day so we can do a marathon, if you want.”

“Ellie’s back today, so I don’t know.”

He frowns, tightening his fingers around the wheel as he watches you retreat all of a sudden, like you’re annoyed with him, or something.

And then as soon as he pulls up outside the house, you’re climbing out of the car before he even has a chance to come around and open the door for you, storming up the driveway and disappearing inside.

He tries not to let it get to him. Tries to lose himself in the festivities of the night - a house party thrown on whim at the discovery that most of the brothers’ mutual friends were in town. He was excited to see his boys from Michigan, Ethan, Dylan, Luca and Jacob, who all climb out of Ethan’s truck with a 6-pack in hand, and crowd around Luke, embracing him with brotherly pats on his back and ushering him into the kitchen to partake in their pre game ritual - a round of shots to line their stomachs. 

He still keeps a close eye on you once the party is underway. Watches you and Ellie, watches when Cole joins the two of you, and you laugh at whatever dumb jokes he’s trying to tell you. Watches your gaze flicker his way throughout the night, and leave just as quickly, and he has to shrug off the chirps of his friends when they notice, too.

He later watches you catch up with a couple of the girls coming from your sorority, and that’s around the time he loses you, lost in a round of beer pong that fills his bladder quicker than he could have anticipated.

He excuses himself up to his room, the music dying down the further upstairs he gets, and relieves himself with an inebriated bop of his head to whatever melody he can still hear blasting through the floorboards. 

He zips his jeans back up, and ambles over to the sink, washing his hands under the faucet until the sound of his door opening has his heart falling into the pit of his stomach. 

“Jesus,” he gasps, shutting off the water and turning to face where you’re stepping into the room and closing the door behind yourself. “You ever heard of knocking? What are you doing upstairs?”

“Was just checking you weren’t like jerking off in here or something,”

“What if I was, were you planning on watching?”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, pulling a face to feign some sort of offence, but Luke watches as you fidget, tucking your hair behind your ears and shuffling on your feet. 

“Like you’ve been watching me all night,” he smirks, tossing the towel he had used to dry his hands back onto the hook and taking a step into your space, backing you against the counter, your shoes no longer shuffling along the floor. It feels like it’s been days now that you’ve been off with him, even though it’s been a mere few hours, but in those hours, he’s had a lot of time to think about your relationship, or lack thereof.  “Think I haven’t seen you? Can’t take those pretty eyes off of me, can you?”

He’d first noticed when you came downstairs with Ellie, earlier, pinned to her side and gossiping about something, no doubt catching up on her week away. You kept glancing his way, subtly at first, eyes darting over and shifting back just as quick to your best friend, faking interest and nodding along until you looked back over. Your efforts were more noticeable as the two of you moved around different corners of the room, interacting with different groups and still meeting eyes across the expanse of space between you and him. 

His heart jumped every time.

And then Victoria had arrived, just before he had been recruited to play beer pong - an old hookup from his college days. She had always been more of a friend than anything else, and Luke had no interest in reigniting whatever dampened spark they once had, she has a boyfriend now, anyway, but when her hand grazed his arm, and he looked over to see your glare zeroed in on the exact spot she was touching him, he thought he’d have a little fun with it.

Nothing too extreme, a few loud laughs, a little longer spent with her than initially anticipated, but she had been more than happy to regale him with stories about her new relationship, so pretending to pay attention didn’t seem like such a bad idea if it was going to make you do something.

He had a sneaking suspicion as to what had turned your mood, earlier, and he was about to have fun testing his theory - that you had been jealous at the mere mention of other girls being at the house.

He didn’t think it would culminate in you following him all the way up to his room, confronting him in his bathroom with nobody else around, but he’s hardly mad about it, now.

“Shut up,” you scowl, but your tone is weak, and Luke knows he’s got you. Chin tilted up to meet his eyes in defiance, gaze locked on his as he moves closer, and he’s thankful, for the first time tonight, that the boys had forced him to take those shots when the party started.

He wouldn’t have the courage to challenge you like this, otherwise - an inebriated cockiness taking over, puffing out his chest and filling him with the same sort of misplaced bravado he’s been convincing himself to muster all week.

“You already know how to make me.” He mutters, lowly, the proximity of your face to his giving his tone a breathiness that he hopes comes across more seductive than slurred. His mind is stuck on that kiss from the other night, when he had apparently irritated you so much that you felt that was your only option. 

You blink slow, eyes dropping to his lips, and before he can blink, himself, you close the distance.

This is different to before - incomparable to a kiss given just to hide your faces, one just to stop him from talking and another when you had thought he wasn’t conscious. 

This is heated, and intentional, and intense. 

Dainty fingers clutch at the front of his shirt, pinching slightly at his skin before taking a hold of the fabric, and there’s no possible way for you to play this off as something less.

Your lips are firm, slotted against his, and moving before he knows it - his tongue licking at the seams until they part, and you grant him access to the sweet taste of fruity liquor inside your mouth. 

Large hands take residence on your hips, sliding daringly backward until he’s gripping at your ass, long fingers stretching down to trace the hem of your skirt, denim thick but not immune to his absentminded efforts to chase the feeling of more. 

He’s expecting you to come to your senses, anticipating the grip of your hands to turn into a shove, and the sweetness of your taste to turn sour when you start to yell at him, fire in your eyes and venom on your tongue - but all he hears is you moaning into his mouth, all he feels is the press of your torso against his as your back arches into his touch, his fingertips grazing the top of your thigh as your skirt moves in his hold.

He’s greedy with the way he touches you after that, hands cupping, fingers kneading, nails scratching even just to leave his mark, and he barely notices yours slipping down, down, down until the cold press of your fingertips grazes his abdomen, stomach tensing at your touch. 

He groans a little, his movements halting as you manage to distract him from his ministrations, using the leverage you have on his body to press and push until your lips part - swollen and wet with his spit.

His heart thuds in his chest, thump thump thump echoing in his head as he watches you - holds his breath and stares at you with his own lips parted, the taste of you lingering in a way he doesn’t want to swallow too soon. 

He waits for your face to turn, for that hypnotised look in your eyes to turn into a glare, the distance between you bringing some much needed clarity - but the shift never comes.

Instead, you push yourself away from the counter, and he finds himself looking straight down as your hands make their way back to the hard ridges of his stomach.

“What are you doing?” He stutters as your fingers start to tickle lower.

“I wanna give you a hand.”

“Give me-,” he splutters, his own hand stopping yours in its tracks. “Am I dreaming right now? Is this a trick?”

“No,” you persist, pushing your hands despite his weak, half-hearted efforts to stop them. “You did me a favour, why can’t I do one back?” 

“Because that’s not-,” He can’t believe he’s trying to turn this down, the lump in his throat protesting the words that try to come up. You just kissed him. You just let him hike your skirt up and push you against the bathroom counter, let his fingers go so far beyond the realm of reality that he thinks he’s still lost in a dream - and he can’t figure out why he’s even questioning it, anymore. “There’s a pretty big difference between me letting you sleep in my bed and you jerking me off,”

“It’s only a big deal if you make it one, Luke.” You shrug, pausing at the waistband of his pants. Every nerve from his ribs to his toes tingles, the teasing touch of the tips of your fingers sparking something unshakable within him. “Do you want me to help you out or not?”

“Are you high or something?”

“No,” you chuckle, meeting his eyes again - sparkling and beautiful, a hidden vulnerability flashing across them at the insistence of his hesitant rejection. “Are you? You’re really gonna turn me down to just jack yourself off in here on your own?”

“Please don’t call it that.” He pleads, the last thing he needs right now is any sort of reminder of his brother. Not when you have your hands on him. Not when you could conceivably get on your knees right before him. Not when his deepest darkest fantasies could play out after so many years of pining after you. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He lets out a panicked stammer. “Not no. I meant no, like no to your question, not no period.” 

“What?” You step back with a frustrated huff, taking your hands away, close enough still that he can reach out and grab them, holding them between the both of you.

“I want-,” Good lord, he wants a lot. He can still taste you on his tongue, still feel the press of your kiss on his own swollen lips, and his head is spinning so far out of control he doesn’t think he’ll be able to knock any sense back into it any time soon. “Are you sure?”

“Oh my God, Hughes, just pull your pants down and let’s get on with it.”

Luke pulls you in for one more kiss before he relinquishes all control, and hums and whines as you work his zipper down, the sound bouncing off the tiles and reverberating around his skull.

He doesn’t know how you can so easily go back to normal after. 

He can’t understand how you could just lift yourself back onto your feet when the two of you were finished, adjust your skirt around your hips, and leave him alone in the bathroom, panting, flushed and barely coherent, all evidence of your tryst swallowed down like the moans you had forced him to suppress - all except the faint bruises on the lowest part of his stomach that you had sucked into his skin, the ones he hopes grow darker as the days go on, the ones he feels pulsing as he rejoins his friends in the kitchen. 

He had once again promised not to utter a word to anyone - but it doesn’t stop the thousands of them that swirl around his brain after, the ones that linger there all through the night, resurface through the week, and etch themselves into the very core of his being. 

Thousands of words in hundreds of languages, mixing to form romanticised poems he might never understand.

All he does understand, is that he’s so far gone for you now, it isn’t even funny. 

Far gone is starting to seem like the understatement of the century.

Luke can’t get enough of being around you, and it’s so detached now from the two of you only ever hanging out to scheme about Jack and Ellie that he can’t even remember the last efforts you made to do anything about their relationship.

He’s now just focused on whatever relationship the two of you are building between yourselves.

Watching movies in his bed, comparing commentary on your favourites, asking for his opinion, and him asking for yours. And he likes how gentle you are with the things he loves. Movies are kind of his thing, and sharing them with someone else - sitting and watching them and waiting for some kind of reaction, good or bad - could be intimidating with anyone else. 

But you’re so attentive. You ask questions, you remember things, and you try to understand why he might love a film, and try to see things from his perspective, rather than stamping your own opinion over his and ruling anything out.

You’re open-minded, even though you pretend not to be. You’d given Happy Gilmore a second chance, even, and Luke never had you pegged as the second chance type.

You talk a lot more to him on your drives to and from work - not that you didn’t talk before, but this is different, entirely. You have actual discussions, around more than just what’s happening at the house, or what’s happening at work. 

The two of you talk about college, about your major, your plans for after school. You talk about hockey, about Jersey, about his friends and teammates back there, and the life he’s built away from the one you pretend you never knew. 

And the way he feels about you starts to consume him in ways he never thought possible. In ways that make him sort of understand where Jack had been coming from all those years, when he’d never shut up about his feelings for Ellie, and how he thought about her all the time, and wanted to be with her 24/7.

It’s what has him hovering around at the club after he and Quinn had played a round of golf, waiting outside for Quinn to give the keys back for their caddy, and spotting you chatting to Cara at the side door to the restaurant.

He waves as soon as you see him, and his heart jumps when you immediately excuse yourself to skip over, a bright smile on your face that he never thought could be directed his way.

“Hey!” You greet him, cheerily, ponytail swaying behind you as you come to a stop in front of him. 

“What time are you getting off?” He asks, foregoing any small talk and cutting straight to the chase. 

“I’m on the lunch shift today, so 3,” you pout, checking the watch on your wrist that he knows reads just past 1. “You don’t have to wait around though, I can catch a ride from somebody else,”

“No, I’ll take you home.” He assures you, “I need to go to the mall, I’ve got to get a present for a baby shower, I was hoping you’d help me.”

“I don’t know how much help I’d be, babies give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah, same,” he chuckles, “Maybe we could grab dinner or something, instead?”

“I was gonna pick up a dress for the party next week, so maybe we could do that first?”

“And then dinner?” He asks, a hopeful raise of his eyebrows that is spurred on by the way you’re biting back a smile.

“Yes, Luke, then dinner.” You chuckle, beaming up at him when his face breaks out into a full-blown grin.

“Sick,” he replies, “Yeah, cool,” he nods as he watches you step away, amusement gleaming in your eyes, “I’ll be out here at 3.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Luke watches as you make your way back to the side door of the restaurant, meeting your eye when you look back at him and relishing in the way he can catch the flush of your cheeks all the way from the fountain. 

He smiles to himself as he turns on one foot, light in his step and light in his head, nodding to the guy who is painting the railings leading up to the club foyer and swinging on his feet as he waits for his brother.

If he had a little less self-awareness, he thinks he could start leaping and swinging from the nearest lamp post like a scene straight out of Singing In The Rain.

He hasn’t felt elation like this in a long time.

He hadn’t uttered the word, exactly, but this is as close to a date as he might get, and his entire body is buzzing at the thought of it. 

“Are you coming?” Quinn calls out as he descends the steps at the front of the club, keys in one hand and a water bottle in the other.

“Uhh,” Luke drags out as he not-so-subtly looks back to where you and Cara are talking by the side door. “I think I’m gonna check out the gym.”

“You know it’s just a bunch of old guys on machines in there, right? Plus, I thought we were going in the morning with the rest of the guys?”

“Right,” he mutters absentmindedly, “I meant the pool.”

“You hate indoor pools.”

“The sauna?”

“Your little crush is getting out of hand, huh?” Quinn chuckles, elbowing at Luke’s side to get his attention back.

“It’s not a crush.” Luke huffs, lips pouted as he tears his eyes away from you with great effort. 

“I think we’re past the point of you denying it, Luke,” his older brother gestures to the wall Luke had been staring at when he came outside, “You’re literally watching paint dry to pass the time until she finishes work-,”

“No, I mean like I had a crush on her,” Luke sighs, “Before this summer, when I just thought she was pretty and hot and I could never pluck up the courage to do anything about it. It doesn’t feel like a crush anymore. Or maybe it does, I don’t know, I kinda feel like she’s crushing me, to be honest.”

He gives a nervous laugh when he says it, but it’s not enough to cover up the way he really feels - not when it comes to his big brother, who puts his keys back in his pocket just so he can spare a hand to reach out and pinch at Luke’s cheeks, teasing, “Lukey’s in love,” before he swats him away.

“Hardly,” he scoffs in denial, although he doesn’t really understand why he’s fighting the thought of it so hard.

It’s not exactly a preposterous idea. Love might be an overestimation - you haven’t exactly let him all the way in - but like seems like an understatement. Obsessed seems dramatic. Infatuated?

“I don’t know, I like spending time with her, like talking to her, is all,” he shrugs. He likes a lot more than that, but confiding in Quinn after how his last encounter with Jack about the whole thing had gone has his back up, a little. “I feel like she might like me too.”

It’s the first time he’s said it aloud to anyone else. He’s chirped you about it enough - taken note of the various shades of pink he can flush your cheeks when he does, darker and darker as the days go on - but he’s been abiding by your request of staying quiet about any of the specifics.

And it’s been hard. Oversharing is kind of his thing, usually, and keeping information from his brothers isn’t exactly something he loves doing, not when he’s been cursing Jack all summer for doing the same.

“Jack thinks she’s using me. He doesn’t like her.”

“Jack doesn’t like that he can’t beat her. Like he can fire a thousand shots at her and nothing goes in, he isn’t used to that.”

“Oh, but I am?” Luke scoffs, although he isn’t entirely sure if he is offended. “Are you calling me a loser?”

“No, Luke, I’m not calling you a loser.” He chuckles. “It’s like hockey, right, you and me, we chase people down. Don’t give in until we’re caught up and we can disarm someone. That isn’t Jack’s game. He’s usually the one being chased, you know? Usually the one ahead.”

“He’s not that bad on the other side of the blue line,” Luke scoffs, although he gets where his eldest brother is coming from. He hasn’t really thought about it in that context - that you and Jack don’t get along because you’re alike - but it makes sense now that he thinks about it.

“He’s not like you, though. You get some weird thrill out of going after people you have no business going after, you have since you were younger, taking down kids 4 or 5 years older than you and twice the size for fun. Makes sense you’d want someone so far out of your league.”

Luke looks back over to where you’re still stood with Cara, and just manages to catch your eye before you look away, pretending he hadn’t caught you. The smile erupts slowly onto his features, close-lipped and soft, but he feels the joy of it all throughout his body. 

“I think I’m wearing her down.”

Stolen glances across whatever room the two of you happen to be in, smiles that you’ve only ever sent his way, feather-light but purposeful kisses on the corner of his mouth when you think he’s asleep, seeking him out in his bathroom after seeing him with someone else - yeah, he’s getting there.

“Good for you, Luke,” Quinn chuckles, patting his brother on the back, “As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He does. At least he thinks so. 

You feel weird.

It’s the only word you can think to describe the mood you’ve been in for the past week.

Well, weird and off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it, either, but it’s throwing you off your game. 

There had been a second the other day where you had thought you might have gotten to the bottom of things - when you’d come inside from sunbathing with Ellie and had found Luke in his room, packing a bag for his trip to Vegas for some award ceremony he and Quinn were nominated for. 

Clarity had hit you like a brick to the head, panic swirling in your chest at the thought of him being gone for a whole week, but then he’d looked up from where he was perched on the ground, had given you a lopsided grin, and had ushered you over to help - and the speed in which you had started to feel normal again quickly diminished any thoughts of Luke being the cause of your weirdness.

But it has been hard to shake, even as unidentifiable as it may be, and the longer you feel this way, the worse it gets, bubbling up like anxiety that keeps your jaw tight, and your lips pressed together.

It culminates the night of the boys’ party - a celebration of Quinn and Luke’s nominations, and a good luck send-off of sorts that Jack had wanted to throw before they left. 

You had started the night off fine - kind of attached at Luke’s hip, him muttering teasing remarks into your ear about you clinging to him ‘cause you’re gonna miss him when he’s gone, and catching up with a couple of the guys from Michigan. You might have even been having fun at one point, smiling into the red cup Luke had placed in your hand at the beginning of the night that you still hadn’t drained, as you watched him shoot pool and he kept smirking up at you as he leant over the table.

You shouldn’t be feeling anxious when he looks at you like that, but God, do you feel something.

And then your phone starts to buzz in your pocket, and assuming it’s Ellie, who, once again, is away with her family - this time in Europe for a couple of weeks - you pull it out.

But it isn’t Ellie.

It’s your dad.

And the heart that had been thudding in your chest at the mere capture of Luke’s attention just moments ago, is now dropping out of your ass.

It isn’t a call, thank God - you don’t think you could handle that, feeling the way you currently feel - but an email.

Your dad hasn’t called in a while. He rarely texts, either.

This is how it is, now. Emails and Facebook posts you happen to come across, like you’re some distant co-worker or an old family friend.

Not his only daughter. Not the kid he abandoned in search of a better life.

When you open it up, there’s no subject, no body either to the email, just an attachment. 

A family photo, him, his new wife, and their two boys, stood in front of the Eiffel Tower, edited into a postcard that reads, Wish You Were Here!

And resentment bubbles within you.

I could have been, if you’d have invited me.

You shove your phone back into your pocket and do a quick glance around the room to check if anyone might have noticed the tears welling in your eyes, but you’re safe. 

Luke’s attention is on the table, the rest of the boys’ attention is on him, and you slip away before he has the chance to meet your eye - to see straight through you in the way only he knows how, and make your way to the kitchen in the search of something stronger.

When you push your way through the door, whatever weird feeling that has been consuming you for the past week culminates into something bigger.

Something darker, and heavier, and angrier, like a tornado of emotions tearing through your very core, picking up every last bit of restraint on it’s way as your eyes narrow onto it’s next target.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jack pulls back in a daze from the blonde who’s face he was just suctioned to, brows furrowed as his intoxicated gaze zeroes in on you.

He slurs out your name, glaring like he’s trying to get his eyes to focus before they roll dramatically, and he runs a hand through his messy hair.

“Jesus, what do you want?”

“Maybe for you to have some respect, or is that a little too much to ask?”

“Could you give us a minute?” He asks the girl in front of him, who scowls at you before walking off, shouldering past you to exit the kitchen as you stare Jack down. “Why are you being such a psycho?”

“I’m sick of you messing Ellie around, Hughes, I’m not gonna just stand around and let you play with her heart like she means nothing to you anymore.”

“She’s not even here,” he scoffs, “She won’t find out unless you tell her.”

“And you think I won’t? She’s my friend, Jack, we tell each other everything.”

“Yeah? She tell you how she’s into Cole?”

“No. Because she isn’t.” You’d cleared that up with her a while ago, asking her straight up if something was going on - and she had said no. She wouldn’t lie to you.

“Then why do I keep getting told that she is? Why is everyone seeing them out together all the time? Why is she texting him tonight and not me?”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re making it your mission to stick your tongue down other girls throats all the time. This entire summer, you’ve done nothing but avoid your feelings so much that maybe she thinks you’re not into her. Maybe you need to pull your head out of your ass and talk to her like a grown fucking adult and stop playing stupid games with her heart.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“And you should be fucking listening. If you keep messing her around, you’ll lose her for good,” you threaten, with a jab of a pointed finger into his chest.

Jack looks flushed, cheeks pink, lips puffy, eyes red-rimmed and hair a mess as he looks back at you - and it’s like he’s functioning in slow motion, you can practically see the cogs turning in his inebriated brain as he comes up with some way to jab back, some way to make you hurt the way the thought of Ellie leaving does to him, just to avoid admitting you’re right.

“What, like how you keep messing my brother around?” 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, stepping back when he jabs a finger at you.

“You heard me,” he snarls, “Leading him on like some lovesick puppy while you couldn’t care less about him.”

“Is that what he said?”

“No, funnily enough he won’t even talk to me about you,” Jack’s glare sends a shiver down your spine, one that overrides the buzz of pride at him following your instruction - you know this level of animosity comes from the swirling of intoxication and frustration, he doesn’t actually hate you, the two of you have gotten on somewhat in the past couple of weeks, despite him making out otherwise, but this is different. This makes you feel small, like a speck of something fragile, ready to be stomped and crushed under his irate foot. And it’s not the kind of small you usually like. The kind of small where you compare yourself to the bigger picture. No, this hurts. Aches. Itches in a way that you need to relieve, immediately. “But I bet that’s your doing, because that’s how toxic you are, making it so he can’t even confide in his brother about his feelings. Feelings that you just want to stampede all over like they’re nothing. Break his heart like it’s some kind of sport.”

That isn’t true. 

That’s not who you are.

That’s not what you’re doing, not what you want.

You know how it feels to have someone break your heart like that, you’d never do that to Luke.

“Go fuck yourself, Jack.” Is all you can mutter out in defence of yourself before you’re shouldering past him, barging through the uninterested crowd and stomping out of the kitchen.

You think it’s the need to feel bigger that has you poking your head into every room in search of him - the person who had ingrained the notion of needing to feel bigger to feel better to your memory - only able to find comfort in a mop of messy curls that sits on top of a head higher than the rest. It’s what has you grasping at his hand when you do find him outside on the deck, dragging him wordlessly - and thankfully enough, without protest - back through the rest of his house, and to his room before you push him down onto the bed, instructing him to move up and sit against the headboard before you straddle his lap.

You kiss away his questions, fingers clumsily working at the buttons of his shirt until you can tear it off, swallowing down his confusion into your own mouth as he shrinks into your advances.

When you start to grind down into him is when he gains back some level of consciousness, large hands grasping at your waist and pushing until your lips part with a loud smack. And you’re both breathless, panting against each others mouths as he tries to figure you out, looking up at you with a furrowed brow and swollen lips.

“What’s going on?” He asks, eyes darting around you in concern.

Concern that makes you feel larger than life - makes your chest expand and your heart swell and your lungs fill with so much air that you feel like you might float away. To have someone look at you like that, care about you like that, want you for more than what bare bones you’re offering to him, what everyone else wants you for, it makes you feel gigantic.

Like a hot air balloon, carried to far away lands by the flames of his affections.

And if they shut off, you’ll drop into oblivion. Breaking suddenly from the airy mechanics that keep you afloat, plunging at great speeds until you inevitably hit the earth with an almighty, painful splat.

You never did like falling.

“I want you.”

His face scrunches a little as he thinks - thinks a little too hard for someone who’s been pursuing you all summer - and before he can question it, you reach for the hem of your top, pulling it off until you’re left in just your lacy bra, your skirt riding up as your legs fall to either side of his hips.

It’s the most you’ve ever given him aside from being around him in your bikini and the one time you had changed and he hadn’t turned around quick enough, and before you can feel self conscious about it, you feel his eyes rake down the long expanse of your bare skin.

And the way he looks at you now makes you feel even bigger - a hunger in his eyes that tells you he could spend the rest of his time on earth working his way through every inch of you, savouring whatever parts of you that you’ll let him get a taste of, and he’ll never let you go.

“Please?” You’re already technically on your knees, what harm can begging do if it just makes him do something?

You don’t want to talk about it like you know he’s about to ask, don’t want to have to explain why you sought him out, why, for once, you didn’t care that people might see the two of you holding hands, you marching him to his bedroom and him following like exactly what Jack had said - a lovesick puppy.

You just want him. Want to feel bigger. Want to feel wanted. 

Want to give in to the part of you that has been dying to fold to him all summer, to let him close that gap, to break down the barriers you’ve been desperately guarding.

He cranes his neck to press a sweet kiss to your lips - one lacking the intensity from before, but not the adoration he always manages to pack in there - the kind that twists at your gut until you can’t take it anymore.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, kissing him again. “Give me something to hold onto when you’re gone.”

You figure if you use his own words against him - words uttered teasingly, but truthfully, earlier - he’ll give in.

The thought of losing this, of him leaving and finding something better, of distance being wedged between you for the first time all summer and finally giving him clarity, making him see you for what everyone else thinks you are.

Maybe if you give him what he really wants he’ll hold on a little longer.

It’s not like you don’t want it, too.

“You only had the one drink?” He asks, responding with fervour, the pressure of his kiss starting to build. “The one I got you?”

“Didn’t even finish it,” you kiss him again, “Stone cold sober,” and again, fingers trailing between you to work at the button on his jeans, “Want you now.”

“Yeah,” he lifts his hips and helps you pull his pants down, a clumsy shuffle to temporarily part while he wriggles them off, “Want you, too.” He mutters before leaning in to kiss at the corner of your mouth, “Wanted you for so long.”

There’s a voice inside that itches to tell him, I know, but it’s quickly shut up by another - a voice that’s louder, a voice you can’t ignore anymore when it comes to Luke.

A voice that tells you, you know nothing.

>PART THREE<

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[bullet-prooflove]

The Last Time: Jack Reacher x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @castle-of-ruin @baconeggndcheez @alishageorgia @hal3ynicol3

It’s past midnight and the stars are twinkling up in the sky as you and Reacher lie on a sleeping bag in the woodland near your house staring up on them. The trees rustle in the light breeze, the sounds of the forest a peaceful rendition.

Reacher’s fingers threaded through yours. The flames from the campfire illuminating his features, highlighting the freckles on his face. He’s more weather worn than you last time you saw him, his cheeks are grizzled, his skin a little more tan. He usually stops by every couple of months, shares your bed, walks your dog before he takes off again. He’s a nomad at heart, he always has been.

“This has to be the last time.” He says finally, swallowing hard against the well of emotion in his chest. “I can’t keep coming back here.”

You don’t say anything, not when he squeezes your hand just that little bit tighter or when he turns his head to survey your expression.

You know what the problem is.

Reacher is starting to settle.

His visits have been more frequent over the past year, he stays for longer, starts keeping things at your place. Nothing more than a couple of pairs of boxers and a t-shirt but they’re still there, still his. It’s the biggest commitment he’s made since retiring from the Army.

The man you first met arrived with only the clothes on his back, he didn’t need anything else and now he has a drawer in your dresser and his own mug in your cupboard.  

“Is that why you insisted we camp underneath the stars tonight?” You ask him quietly. “You wanted it to be special?”

“Something like that.” He tells you, his voice a little rough. The time you have together is incredibly meaningful to him, you’re the closest he’s been to another person in years which is why he has to let you go. He can’t afford to have any attachments, not with the way he attracts trouble.  

He rolls onto his side, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes.

“I want you to remember me.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours. “Remember all the good we had together.”

He makes love to you that night, under the stars, the light of the campfire bathing your bare skin as he drives you to the pinnacle of release before he pulls you away again. He wants to keep you in freefall for as long as possible, to prolong the experience because Reacher, he isn’t ready for this to end, no matter what he tells you.

Your thighs clench around his hips, drawing him deeper. You can feel that climax building inside of you again, each wave washing over you, drowning you. Reacher’s hand comes to rest on your jaw, guiding your mouth back to his. He needs you to be immersed in him when you come, consumed completely because this is the memory he wants to leave you with, him loving you with everything he has.

He feels the exact moment the ecstasy hits you, you grip his dick so fucking tightly that you take him over the edge with you, his release spilling deep inside. He still doesn’t stop, he fucks it deeper, kissing you, touching you because Reacher, he’s not ready for it to be over, not yet.

“Jack…” You say quietly, your fingers threading through his hair as he buries his face into the curve of your throat.  “This doesn’t have to be goodbye.”

But it does because Reacher, he can’t the thought of losing you and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if he stays.

Reacher? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[drvscarlett]

The Tortured Drivers' Department

— combining another one of my favorites. I'll be taking notes and writing fics about which TTPD song do I associate with the drivers ( + I will be including the retired ones). This is the main list and I'll be linking them when I finished writing them. Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Also give TTPD a listen. Its so beautiful and a masterpiece

Fortnight

— i love you, its ruining my life (Lewis Hamilton x Mercedes!reader)

The Tortured Poets Department 

— At dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one people put wedding rings on. And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding (Pierre Gasly x ex!reader)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys 

— 'Cause he took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart left all these broken parts (Lando Norris x reader)

Down Bad

— Fuck it if I can't have him (Charles Leclerc x kpop idol!reader)

So Long, London

— You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? (George Russell x secret girlfriend! reader)

But Daddy I Love Him

— "I'm having his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces (Alex Albon x Horner!reader)

Fresh Out the Slammer

— Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you (Esteban Ocon x childhood bestfriend!reader)

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine) 

—I need to forget, so take me to Florida (Logan Sargeant x heiress!reader)

Guilty as Sin?

—What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? (Oscar Piastri x bestfriend!reader)

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

— I was tame, I was gentle till the circus life made me mean (Nico Rosberg x Lewis Hamilton)

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

— they shake their heads, saying, "God help her" when I tell 'em he's my man (Daniel Ricciardo x longtime girlfriend!reader)

loml

— Oh, what a valiant roar. What a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion (Max Verstappen x childhood sweetheart!reader)

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart 

— Lights, camera, bitch, smile (Zhou Guanyu x model!reader)

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

— And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive (Yuki Tsunoda x Actress!reader)

The Alchemy

—'Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me (Kimi Räikkönen x assistant!reader)

Clara Bow

— This town is fake, but you're the real thing (Sebastian Vettel x Ferrari heir!reader)

The Black Dog

— I am someone who, until recent events you shared your secrets with (Mick Schumacher x driver!reader

imgonnagetyouback

— I'm an Aston Martin that you steered straight into the ditch (Fernando Alonso x wife!reader)

The Albatross

— She's the albatross, she is here to destroy you (Jenson Button x revenger!reader)

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

—So if I sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet. Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon? (Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!reader)

How Did It End?

— The deflation of our dreaming leaving me bereft and reeling (Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri)

So High School

—You knew what you wanted, and, boy, you got her (Charles Leclerc x reader ft Max Verstappen x childhood friend!reader)

I Hate It Here

—I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind (Kimi Räikkönen x interviewer! reader)

thanK you aIMee

— And then she wrote headlines in the local paper laughing at each baby step I'd take (Mark Webber x reader)

I Look in People’s Windows

—What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time (Sebastian Vettel x reader)

The Prophecy

—Don't want money, just someone who wants my company (Pierre Gasly x politician's daughter!reader)

Cassandra

—So they killed Cassandra first cause she feared the worst (Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader)

Peter

— Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried to hold onto the days when you were mine (Lando Norris x reader)

The Bolter

— "Oh, we must stop meeting like this" (Max Verstappen x hollywood starlet!reader)

Robin

— You have no room in your dreams for regrets (Oscar Piastri x girlfriend!reader)

The Manuscript

—One last souvenir from my trip to your shores. Now and then I re-read the manuscript. But the story isn't mine anymore (Carlos Sainz x McLaren employee!reader)