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fairene · 4 months

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one of your girls / ln4

part one

lando norris x fem!reader

reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n.

part two

you are just one of his girls. a frequent regular. but something changes, and you are his favorite.

a/n ⋯ how do i explain myself...? guess i can't! this will be divided into two parts for the sake of dramatics, and truthfully i can't contain my excitement to share this with you all. reader's dresses are left to be ambiguous for your imagination, only the cut of the dress is described (perhaps a color, once, but i forget); as usual, it is always up to YOU what you are wearing;) i will be focusing on requests before the next part comes out!

inspiration ⋯ VIDEO

warnings ⋯ SMUT / 18++ minors DNI!!! language, drunk hookup, choking (slight), oral(m!receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, overstimulation, feral lando. sickeningly in love lando, but not here; non monogamous (yet), insecure reader.

wc ⋯11.3k (unedited.)

your phone rang in from your bag, the vibration shocking you from your conference room in new york. you had been visiting there for your job, meeting with clients, and overall needing to schmooze the entire fucking office. you were sick of it at this point.

and it was sunday, too. who works on a fucking sunday? you. because what’s life without the overtime pay?

until you saw lando’s contact card lighting up your screen. you blushed, instantly, thinking of just how a week ago he had you laid out on his monaco penthouse, screaming and weeping his name while he fucked you rabidly.

you answered, clearing your throat.

“hello?”

“i won! i won!” he shouted, the background noise of crowds drowning out the baritone of his voice. you raised a brow, but were quick to connect the dots. you’d been so busy with work that you’d forgotten that the race must’ve been over, you were only able to watch the beginning before you were swooped up into a meeting.

your hand flew to cover your mouth as you stepped into your office, shutting the door. you couldn’t be loud, and tears began to welt in your eyes. “did you really?”

“yes, yes! god, i’ve wanted this so bad…” he was absolutely full of rile and cheer. you could hear that from his voice clear as day. you were so happy for him. you wiped a stray tear that fell down your face and rolled to your chin.

“i’m so happy for you, lan.” you breathed, laughing when your voice hitched with emotion. you knew that he caught it, letting out his own gasp at your retention.

“you cryin’ for me?” he said your name, know damn well he had a cheeky smirk on his face. you scoffed, rolling your eyes and even he could hear the action.

“shut up. let me be happy for you.” he laughed again, deep and rich, but relieved that you picked up the phone. it was hard for him to get your attention, though you felt vice versa.

“let me be happy, then,” your brows raised at what he meant. “come to miami. tonight.”

you froze, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your work shirt. “lando…” you sighed. “you know i can’t…”

“please…!” he whined into the phone.

your resilience to him was not good. clearly.

“call my boss.” you heard him yip and pop his lips. he was giddy and thrilled that you accepted his advances. it never did take much, though, did it?

you hung up the phone before you could say anything else and settled back into your temporary station before you were back in monaco full time. the office here was more than sufficient and, you couldn’t help but thank god that you were here when lando called. the flight to miami wouldn’t be more than three hours.

your boss knocked on the door a few minutes later with her brows raised.

she spoke her name and you perked up. “you didn’t tell me you had family in miami,” she said, crossing her arms. but she wasn’t angry.

“i do.” the lie was swift. but it wasn't really a lie, was it…?

“your cousin called me, said that you need to use pto hours for a wedding…” she looked at her apple watch. “which is in a few hours?”

you gulped. “what can i say,” you shrugged, “i’m a workaholic.”

your boss shrugged, turning to leave. “take the week off, you deserve it.”

so this is what working so hard got you? damn. you practically leapt off your seat, packing away your laptop and other essentials you had brought to the office. when you were skipping down the steps of the building to the parking garage, you got a text.

flight leaves 6

> one attachment

it was lando. you opened the text as you were unlocking your door, realizing he sent you a boarding pass. he already filled out all your information. he wanted you there that bad, didn’t he? you wouldn’t even consider the two of you close friends rather than buddies who fuck.

you hearted the message and raced home to pack.

when you touched down in miami, there was a car waiting for you outside the airport. you were shocked with such lively treatment, but weren’t one to start complaining. the ride to lando’s hotel wasn’t very long, either, but it was beautiful.

when you stepped out you were greeted by the miami breeze, refreshing from the stagnant air in your humid new york building.

“thought you were gonna chicken out,” his voice was light and airy. you were so dazed by the grandeur of the building that you didn’t see lando standing there at the entrance. you immediately gaped at him, embarrassed that you were caught off guard.

“on what, this? luxury? be for real!” you stifled a laugh. he held out his hand for your bag, and you gave it to him. but it was really meant for your hand.

his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. he peppered light kisses to your neck, but not your mouth. your relationship wasn’t intimate like that, it never was. kissing was the next step to love, you told him, and you never reached for his lips with the amount of times you’ve fucked.

but he did.

there was always something about your aura that allured him. it drew him in like a moth to flame, and he would happily burn if it meant being in your presence. but he wasn’t ready for a relationship, so he told himself, and neither were you…so you told yourself.

yet you’ve explored each other’s bodies like vestigios conquerors. you knew what made him tick, he knew what made you squirm. it was a fair trade, you thought, and you had no intention of staying exclusive to him.

but you’d make it known to him that when you were both together, there were no other girls around. no boys. it would be just the two of you in your own world, but it was on a time limit.

your hand found the back of his neck, leaning into his lips, but you pulled back when you heard some whispering– paparazzi.

you said nothing as you shifted past him, ripping his head from your neck. he looked confused before he glanced towards the growing crowd around the hotel entrance, some phones being whipped out to record. but he honestly didn’t give a fuck.

but you did. the last thing you wanted was to be plastered as a whore all over your feed. you still needed your fucking job.

“what,” he said, coming closer to you. you took a distancing step back. he came closer. you didn’t move this time. “you didn’t miss me?”

him and his fucking ego.

but you did.

“want me to show you?” you spun around, full of sass. he let out a light laugh, pressing his shoulders back and straightening his posture. little to your knowledge, he was rendered speechless and his dick tightened in his pants. blood flooded to his abdomen, which had him shifting on his feet. this fucking girl.

“come on,” you cooed, nudging his arm. “i came here to celebrate, no? and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet!” you got him there. he nodded, quickling showing you up to his hotel room in miami. it was a beautiful room with a living room and a single bedroom with a king bed.

when you were up there you got a good look, running your hands over the fabric of the couch and the untouched champagne sitting on the coffee table. “this doesn’t count,” you picked up the bottle, turning to face lando from where he stood, placing your luggage on an armchair.

“what? not expensive enough for you?” you rolled your eyes at him, placing the bottle back down on the platter with the glasses. you made haste opening your suitcase, rummaging through the outfits you brought for the duration of your stay, and in particular, your dress.

you pulled out the carefully folded fabric. you held it out in front of you, impressed by the lack of wrinkles, and turned to lando.

his jaw fell agape, staring at the magnificent piece. it was a longer dress that went to your mid calf, and sparkled in the dim lights of the room. he moved closer to you, running his fingers over the fabric. you gulped in his presence.

“shit,” he sighed out, followed by a laugh. “better put it on now.” you raised a brow at him, confused. “else we won’t make it out that fuckin’ door.”

you stifled a giggle and ran towards the bathroom, changing quickly.

there was a knock at the front door when you were just finishing up your look. lando answered when you peeked your head out of the archway to the bathroom. it was carlos.

“ready yet, mate?”

lando shrugged, moving out the way so carlos could make eye contact with you. he said your name with a cheer, brushing past lando to wrap his arms around you. he kissed both your cheeks in greeting, you returned it. lando hummed to himself, wondering what that kind of affection was like from you. guess he’d never know, huh? too intimate, the words rang in his head.

fuck off.

“you flew today?” carlos asked you. you nodded.

“had to celebrate, didn’t i?” you let out a giggle, covering your stained lips when you glanced at lando who was focused elsewhere, his jaw clenching. it had your joy dying in your throat, suddenly feeling like there wasn’t any reason to smile at all.

“of course!” carlos cheered, slapping lando on the back which had him falling back to earth. “can’t believe he finally did it.” lando’s first ever formula one win was an astronomical achievement. you wish you could’ve been there in person.

“neither can i…” your voice trailed when you were focused on his freckled face. a constellation, you called it, and could lose yourself in counting them. and lando was looking at you and your beautiful face. he was addicted to you, he learned, and no girl could fuck him like you could.

carlos glanced between the two of you and raised his brows. “right, then.” he cleared his throat. “let’s get going then, yeah? got the whole grid celebrating you, lando!”

you were quick to put on your heels and grab your clutch. lando waited by the door for you, holding the door open.

when you brushed by him, he grabbed your arm and twisted you around. he pushed his head close to your chest, which had you flushing.

“lando!” you scolded beneath your breath.

“you smell like me,” he raised a brow.

shit. you thought he wouldn’t notice. “grabbed your cologne on accident. was rushing…replaced it with mine, see?” you raised your wrist for him to smell and he did, nose brushing against your sensitive skin. your veins pumped just beneath a thin layer. you felt him inhale and you had shivers running up your spine. he glanced at you again, dropping your hand.

“think mine’s better.”

he meant it. you smelling just like him had him on fucking edge. he didn’t understand why it mattered to him to such a high degree. the primal inclination soaring right over his head, but he knew you were his for the night. longer he would wish, but he would take anything he could get from you.

you only rolled your eyes at him, proceeding to walk down the hall. he caught up with you, hand coming to your lower back to guide you. when you made it to the elevator, he stuck his head into your neck again, breath hot as it fanned against your skin. you leaned into him, but stomped your heeled foot.

“lando…”

he grumbled something inaudible.

“speak, won’t you?” you gripped his chin, pulling him upward.

“driving me fuckin’ crazy.”

your breath caught in your throat. he was always touchy, but it was never this intense. the way he grumbled against the skin of your throat, the needy vibrations which plucked deeply at the strings of your heart. but there shouldn’t be any of your heart involved.

“you’re just a madman, then.”

he chuckled. “gonna lock me up?”

if only, you wanted to say, but held your tongue.

“papaya does look good on you.” you giggled, hand roaming his chest. but you were right about his madness. he was sickeningly crazy. he should be institutionalized, even, in the comfort of your home. what a hell that would be, wouldn’t it?

the drive to the club was short. it wasn’t very far from the hotel. the inside of his expensive mclaren had you dazzled, though it wasn’t really his, just a rental whilst he was in miami. still, your fingers found the pleasure of finding the leather that boarded the doors, wondering just how much leather you could adorn as decoration.

lando, on the other hand, was white knuckling the steering wheel the entire time, debating whether or not his hand would find a good home on the skin of your thigh. your dress had been too long for that, though, and he didn’t…fuck, he didn’t even know. he was anxious to be with you this weekend, not hesitating to call you to be the first one to come down to congratulate him.

he had so many other girls. why did he choose you? he didn’t know it himself, wasn’t sure if he was ready to face such intense truths, but his heart led him astray dialing your phone number. he didn’t even hesitate nor want to connect with another girl, just you.

fucking hell, and you looked heavenly in that dress. he would spend the entire fucking night shifting his pants to hide his stark boner from your eyes.

rolling up to the club, he gave his keys to the valet and you stepped out, fixing the fabric of your scrunched dress. you made your way over to him, elegant as ever, when the cameras began to flash. the amount of attention frightened you, and your phone fell to the ground. it clattered against the pavement.

lando reached down smoothly to pick it up for you, his movements lingering for a moment. when he rose, his hand grazed the back of your exposed calf, trailing up your body to rest on the fabric of your lower back, the top of your ass. you wanted to swat his hand away teasingly, but for the night…you’d allow it. the cameras flashed more and more. lando only separated from you to take a few selfies with fans, but that had been it.

his hand found your back once more, pulling the fabric down that was scrunched at the back. he also did it as an excuse to rest his hand on your ass. guilty!

and you let him. more cameras flashed. he was yours for the evening. so you’d relish in the momentary fame, but would surely be horrified by the comments the next morning. but fuck it, you looked hot in this dress and wouldn’t let these heels go to waste. let them envy you, for you were surely going to envy the next girl on his arm. what? no you weren’t. that thought was fleeting. you were shocked that you imagined of such a scenario.

inside the club was an ambiance of celebratory cadence. it was lively. the bright lights, cheering on goers. everyone seemed to swarm lando, congratulating him and patting him on the back. he was so happy here.

you attempted to shimmy out of the limelight to give him the attention he deserved, but he tightened his hold on you, digging his fingertips into your waist. you were surprised, looking at him with confusion, but he didn’t even take his eyes off of one of the mclaren engineers who attended the festivities.

playing arm candy wasn’t your specialty, but you had the basics down. smile and laugh. straight posture. being fucking perfect. easy stuff, you know? surely sitting in an office chair for your day to day would enthuse a straight spine. surely listening to your old, ratty coworkers jokes would have you rolling with laughter and smiles. surely it was the easiest thing in the world to be perfect for lando norris–

your name was called by a girl at your side. it was alexandra!

you gasped, swinging out of lando’s arms and throwing yourself into her. she caught you, looking absolutely elegant while doing it, and smiled into your hair.

“thank god you’re here!” you cheered, your hands landing on her shoulders to steady yourself. she looked stunning this evening. but she always did. you envied her for that much.

“of course!” her french accent was sweet and endearing. her voice was even softer. “none of us would miss it. i’m glad you’re here!”

alexandra and you had grown a relationship over the past few years you’ve been acquainted with lando. she seemed to always be where you were, and by coincidence, the two of you followed each other on tiktok and realized you had, if not, the same humor. you began messaging each other back and forth, and there you had it– a beautiful friendship between the two of you. being long distance best friends was hard, but it was times like these that you were grateful to see her.

lando had froze when he felt you slip from his grasp, a horrible feeling of incomprehensible dread washing over him that he couldn’t pinpoint why. he interrupted the conversation he was having to see you with your arms wrapped around alexandra, kissing both of her cheeks. his face flushed, hand tightening on the drink he was given by his mates.

why not him?

lando excused himself and clung to your side. you jumped at the feeling of his hand around your waist, eyes snapping up to meet his… irritated ones? you were at a loss as to what could warrant such a look, but you didn’t let it linger when you shifted closer to him, your hips against his thighs. he seemed to relax both his body and face, giving alexandra a smile.

she was amidst congratulating him when charles and carlos approached. rebecca at carlos’ side.

“is this a party or…?” charles remarked, luring you all to the center of the room to dance. lando glanced at you. you could feel his eyes, but you didn’t meet them. not yet. you thought that if you had, you wouldn’t be able to stop tonight. not with how good he looked, not with how he smelled.

on the dance floor was no better. his hands were all over you. it was a bittersweet homecoming to feel so close to you, so flustered. but you loved the way he made you feel. pure adrenaline. alive. your hips swayed and grinded into his own, him matching your pace with a drink in his hand. there had been one in yours too, but you downed it already.

at one point when the beat dropped, they all began to shout his name. you included. his cheeky little smile had him muster the courage to down his drink, emptying the large glass. whoops and hollers filled the club, and there were no more words to describe how magical this night was for him. he would remember it forever, and you couldn’t blame him.

he was magnificent in the spotlight. with a charming tongue, funny jokes, and charisma that had him swooping up any girl he could want. there were a pack of women surrounding him before he pulled you by the arm, interrupting your conversation with alexandra, twirling you to be plastered against his side. the women’s attention didn’t last long after that.

“cheeky, aren’t you?” you raised your lips to his ears, daring to lay one against the top of his throat. you felt him swallow, his adams apple thick and bobbing.

“don’t like to be a cornered animal.” you knew it was meant to be a joke, but there was a layer of truth to it that you couldn’t ignore. lando didn’t do well in crowds without flustering with anxiety. to that truth about him, you could toast to.

you were back on the floor with him in a matter of minutes, engaging in conversation with alexandra and charles. lando was talking to others as well, but he was firm against your back, hand on your stomach. the action had you blushing, unable to forget any time that he’d lay his hands there, asking if you could feel him. and you could. now, you could feel the imprint of his cock behind you. you didn’t know how he could last this long without asking you to fuck him in the bathroom, but you weren’t complaining.

yet!

steadily as the night progressed, he would be laced with sweat and the smell of him. a mix of body odor, sure, it smelt like lando. your lando for the night. he flashed you a smile as he leaned over your body from behind, both hands gripping your hips against him.

you returned the gesture, but were much more bashful than he anticipated. you were giving him that look. a look that he had become trained to respond to. his dick instantly hardened. pavlov was onto something, wasn’t he?

you both had been there for hours. you could only handle so many more amped up bass drops. and you were both plastered enough. it was around four in the morning when you were tumbling out, giggling and laughing at who knows what.

one of the valet club drivers even drove the both of you back to the hotel. neither of you are in the state to drive.

in the car, one of your legs was atop his, slotted between his thighs. you could feel his pulsing cock and your mouth watered at the sensation. he was staring at you through dangerously dark eyes, reflecting back your own stare of desire. it was like looking in a mirror for the both of you. ravaging and desperate to have one another’s hands on each other’s bodies.

lando took liberty and lowered his head to your exposed shoulder, pulling down a thin strap of your dress to your bicep. he kissed the skin tenderly, an action too intimate for your own good, but you were too fucking drunk to deny it.

“fucking beautiful,” he muttered into your skin, quiet for only your ears to touch. you let your fingers trace up the side of his face lazily, feeling your gaze spinning beneath his tender words.

“i’m proud of you,” you whispered, brushing a stray curl from his sticky forehead up into the rest of his hairs. “you know that, don’t you?”

your voice had been tender. delicious to his drunken ears. though he knew he’d remember this sober– he had a feeling. how could he forget that tone of voice, your gentle touch, clearly breaking the bounds of what was too intimate.

he gulped, eyes flaring wide at your declaration. his hand found your thighs then, gripping the soft flesh with depth.

your fingers traced down to his bottom lip, puckering the flesh, but dropped to the car seat with a laugh. you brushed off his shocked expression, leaning back into the cool leather. but his grip didn’t relent. he kept his eyes on you, too, unable to find something else to fixate on. you were the object of all of his desires. he confirmed it then when he was desperate to hear more of your unsolicited praises from your lips.

he craved your lips.

lando’s head dropped to your waist, his face nuzzling into your soft flesh. he kissed through the fabric of your dress, desperate to feel you beneath such a guarding sheath from your skin. you turned your head to look at him from where your gaze latched to the window, your hand rolling down the curve of his neck.

you kept your hand there for the remainder of the drive, but didn’t look down at him. you knew you’d be face with those desperate, glistening green eyes of his. you’d fall weak beneath the light of his love, and you’d find yourself disappointed when he didn’t want what you did. a relationship, dare you think it just for one second.

the valet driver dropped the two of you off and was able to manage a cab on his own back to the club. lando tipped him a hundred euros for his time, beginning to sober himself enough to walk in a straight line and speak without slurring his speech.

you were the same. stretching your legs from the car, hands above your head in a dramatic feline stretch. lando’s eyes were on you the entire time, gaping at your figure. your ass. his lip caught between his teeth, and you caught him ogling.

your hips began to sway beneath the music of his eyes. you’re unable to resist his humorous allure, crumbling the second the second the corner of his eyes uplifted. a smile followed, his gapped, perfect, teeth shimmering the reflections of the pale moonlight.

he stretched out his arm for you to join him at his side. you sashayed there, twirling in your heels that ached your feet. but you did it for him. you’d do it all, though the alcohol was driving your thoughts.

lando swooped you into his grasp, wrapping his arms around your waist and digging his fingertips into your hips. you laughed amicably, his presence both a comfort and a feat of pride.

you mustered the strength to break his hold, trotting up the steps of the hotel. your heels were loud in the quiet, tender moments of the rising miami sun, and your giggles even more so. lando wasn’t far behind, skipping the steps to catch up with you.

you’d never seen him hit an elevator button harder. you resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it was an impossible situation to be so loud at dawn. so you bit your fist in your mouth, choking down a sound that lando yearned to hear.

when the elevator arrived he jumped right in, dragging you along– though it’s not like you hesitated– by your elbow.

he immediately began trailing kisses down your throat, the column of your neck, your collarbones, shoulders. he left no place untouched by his devout, worshipping lips. he’d often say in the heat of the moment that you were the best thing he’s ever tasted– a man feral for your sweet nectar– but you just thought it to be the post-euphoria sex high.

the british driver muttered something into your neck which had your eyes flaring wide, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

you pushed his head back, gripping at the curls near the base of his neck. “what did you say?”

he looked flushed. embarrassed. he choked on his words, shaking his head. he was clearly brushing it off.

“nothin’.”

he resumed devouring your neck, saliva dripping onto your dress, but his words bubbled.

the ding of the elevator alerted both of you. he was the one to lead the way to his hotel room, swiftly opening the door with skilled ease, and had you against the wall in minutes. he gripped at the fabric of your dress, tempting to rip it. you hissed with contempt. “don’t,” he looked up at you with heavy eyes and a half toothed smirk, challenging you. “too expensive.”

you felt him scoff against the skin of your chest. “‘too expensive.’” he mocked.

but he heeded your words, gentle with how he lowered the straps to your forearms. your head lolled against the wall, eyes glistening with liquidated pleasure. there was nothing better in the world that could feel better than lando norris’ lips against your skin. each press was a blessing, a kiss of life, hungry for the divination you relented this evening.

“so fucking beautiful,” he breathed when he shimmied you out of the dress, neatly undoing the zipper. you wore nothing under the dress besides panties, which had his eyes gawking at your taut, perked nipples. you shifted forward, desperate for his touch on your suddenly cold body.

lando didn’t wait. his cock was already painfully hard in his pants, punishing the fabric for being so restrictive. he pulsated, precum already ruining the pair.

his lips found your nipple, other palm fisting the firm flesh. you let out a sweet moan that was delicious to his starving ears, your hips bucking into his for a relenting yearn for release. he let out the deepest chuckle from his throat, finding such impending amusement for your desire.

when he was contempt with the titillation of your nipples, he moved to the skin of your belly, biting softly at the skin. enough to leave bruises for his own eyes when he’d see you next. next. there was always a next with you.

but you had other plans.

your hands reached for his face, pulling him to meet your eyes. his own blew wide, flickering to your lips, to your eyes.

“let me,” you whimpered, reaching for the buckle of his pants. he’d stop you, usually intending on getting you off with his lips or tongue before he could even cum. but tonight, he couldn’t resist your lips. you looked up at him with pure heaven written in your iris’.

he swallowed before nodding his head rapidly, his forehead leaning into yours. “yeah, yeah, please.”

lando norris wasn’t a man to beg. he didn’t have to do any of that shit for his other girls– they were always eager to please him, fuck him, suck him off– but for you…

your lips found his neck, feeling the thick muscles with your tongue. it was arousing how muscular each part of his body was, thundering with endurance.

there was a soft mewl in his throat when you slid your hand down the front of his pants, beneath his briefs, over the length of his cock. the sound excited you tenfold– wishing that you could hear it a hundred times over again. it was addicting how he wanted you.

when your finger grazed his tip, his hips bucked instinctively into you, just how yours had. he cursed under his breath, letting his head fall limp into the crevice of your neck.

you laughed into his skin, finally falling to your knees to drop his pants and briefs. his cock sprung free, red and vibrating for your touch. your touch. you often wondered how his other girls treated him. if you were better, if you were the worst. obviously not the worst if he was the one to call you after his first win, right?

one hand stroked his length, traveling to his balls, simultaneously glancing up at him. he was staring down at you, riddled with urgency, a pleading look reflecting in your eyes. his bottom lip caught between his teeth when his hand found the back of your head, stroking the sides of your face.

his thumb caressed your bottom lip. it caused your lips to open for him, and his thumb found your tongue. you swirled it around the pad of his finger, never breaking the shared look between you two. you let him go with a pop, and he found his hand at the base of your neck again, hand wrapping a makeshift ponytail with his hand.

your lips swirled around the head of his cock, swallowing the precum that dampened his briefs. he held back a rumble in his throat which annoyed you, so you took him wide in your mouth, bottoming him out in the back of your throat.

your cunt clenched around nothing when his whole body sang in praise of your lips. he faltered when you began a steady pace of back and forth, stimulating his balls with your other hand. curses fell from his lips, sinful words, and he gripped your hair tightly. with his other one, he fell forward against the wall, bracing for dear life.

but you didn’t relent. faster and faster you went, and you were awarded by his hips snapping into you, cock gagging your windpipe. you choked, tears forming in your eyes, but it was divine how satisfying it was. to see his eyes rolling back into his head, hands shaking, desperate to feel you up. from this position, below him, you could see the entire world. you had it all on the tip of your tongue.

“fuck, baby…” he groaned. you felt so good around him. warm and tight. it felt like fucking home for him. somewhere he’d always come back to. and he would. no other girl could make him feel this way, had him about to cum in a matter of three minutes. your lips were made to take his cock, and he would yell that to hell and back for the entire world to know.

he felt you moan against his cock, the sound echoing in your throat. he swallowed harshly, drool dripping down the side of his chin at the sight of you alone. you were perfect.

and when your hand came to run over your nipples, kneading at the skin of your breasts, he felt his abdomen tighten. you found so much pleasure in sucking him off that you felt the need to touch yourself. fuck, he never thought he’d see something so hot in his entire life.

he knew he’d been done for in a matter of seconds. with a firm grip of your hair, he pulled you back from his cock. you looked offended, disappointed when the drool from your lips trailed down your chin.

“not yet,” he uttered, gripping the side of your face with his other hand. his cock was angry, furious at the lack of attention. he was practically fucking edging himself. “wanna cum inside you.”

say less, you wished to say, but all that came out from your lips was a whine.

and then you were laid out on your back on his bed. the white sheets were clean and made, cold beneath your scorching skin.

lando traced two fingers up your thigh, the junction of your hips, your waist. you shivered, toes clenching at the sensation. then to your naval, your pussy, your dampened underwear. a ruined pair, no doubt. he smirked, lip curling.

“all for me, huh?”

you nodded instantly.

his hand slapped against your flushed pussy. you whimpered, grasping at the sheets.

“words, pretty girl.”

“yes!” you gasped when you felt him tug the underwear down your legs. “you, you, you, lando. all you.”

he practically purred. your folds were swollen and glistening, drenched from how his cock pounded into your mouth. “so wet,” he observed, twisting his fingers to trail up your slit, gathering the slick between his fingers. he raised the pair to his mouth, tasting your sweet juice on his tongue. your legs pulsed together, eager for friction, a quiet mewl leaving your throat at the sight. “tastes like heaven.”

“lando…” you were getting impatient now. rightfully so. he stood there with his hardened cock, teasing you with his firm fingers.

“what’dya want, baby? hm?” he asked, knowing damn well what the answer would be. yet he’d trace his hands gently up the sides of your body, fingers dancing over your nipples. you writhed.

“you.” you said endearingly. “fuck me, lan, please.”

he was so impressed with your manners that he couldn’t resist slipping his cock inside of you. atop of you he caged you in, a blessed enclosure, lips pressing to your exposed chest. you whined at the initial stretch, always finding yourself so tight around his thick cock.

“fuck, lando.” you hissed, teeth clenching at his immaculate girth. it was a pleasurable burn, and your arousal only had you clenching around him. he huffed through his nose, hot hair breathing over your skin.

“i know, baby,” he reassured you with his bittersweet voice. “y’can take me, can’t you? always such a good girl for me.”

you whined at his words, low moan bellowing in your throat. you squelched with your slick and he could feel it. he smirked, having the gall to chuckle, even. but you didn’t punish him for it, especially not when he began to move his hips back and forth, a pair of fingers coming to rub against the bundle of nerves placatated at your clit.

the sensation of feeling him slip in and out of you was impeccable. you could find no other pleasure than his cock nestled inside of you, filling you to the absolute hilt of your dreams. the imprint of his dick had him riled with lust when it ran over your lower belly.

“feel me here,” his hand came to grab yours, bringing it to the imprint of his cock inside of you. “don’t you?”

you nodded, lip catching between your teeth and opposite hand threading through his curls as if you were a needle and thread. “so good, lando, please. keep going.”

and he did. if you asked him to do anything right now, he would’ve. the slapping of skin echoed in the hotel room, filling silence with vulgar sounds from both of your lips. lando was a moaning mess at the pulses of your cunt, intent on sucking him dry from his cum. and he was an expert at navigating your clit, pinching and swirling the rough pads of his fingers.

your eyes rolled in the back of his head when you bucked your hips for a better angle. “deeper,” you said, finding a grim satisfaction at the thought of him splitting you open.

his eyes flashed to yours, bloodshot and red with lust, and shifted so your thighs were over his shoulders. your back arched for him and he was pleased to see your receptiveness. his hips didn’t falter, and neither did his hands.

this angle had been more than what any gospel could provide. more than any destiny written out for you. fucking him was written in the stars, you knew it for certain, and you blossomed into a glistening constellation before him. for he was the entire universe for you, and you just a mere fractal in the midst of it all.

but oh, how that wasn’t true. how you were the sun in which he orbited, woke up and thought of. you were the first person that he called after his father, needing your presence with him in miami. he needed this. your cunt. your pleasures, your moans. you, it was on the tip of his tongue, edging its way forward through the kisses he laid upon your neck.

you were drenched in his saliva, coated in the thick musk of lando norris. he would never say it aloud but he dreamed of the day to see his cum dripping down your thighs, full of him, the remnants of your love affair sticky and haughty with each step that you’d take.

it was a primal instinct that became so vicious. it overtook him, thwarting him into a dick-measuring contest whenever you went out with him. he’d keep you close. his, the message would be clear. no man would approach you when he had his hand on your lower back, your hips in his hands, your pelvis grinding against his own. you were his own keepsake. the light at the end of the tunnel. a brazen warrior that he’d follow into any battle.

the only battle he was intending on winning was the war of your heart, blessed be his troops.

it only took a few more harsh thrusts of his cock and twiddling of his fingers before you were painfully close to a release. he could feel it. he knew it like the back of his hand. your trembling legs, intense writhing against his hold, your breathy moans. he wished he could take a picture of you, flushed and desperate, and keep it in his wallet.

“come on, baby.” he urged, feeling the own heat of his orgasm rising in his lower stomach. he had been resisting the urge to cum for your sake, always finding a deeper satisfaction in seeing your overstimulated face after the fact.

“come for me, won’t you? pretty thing. i’ve got you,” the words of praise that were only meant for you. he didn’t call any of his other girls ‘baby’, but you wouldn’t know that. you couldn’t know. it would ruin all of this, wouldn’t it? wouldn’t it?

i’ve got you, he said tenderly. it’s what had you compulsing, drenching his cock in your slick. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the euphoria of what was lando norris’ pleasure.

he was staring at your worn out face, his own tongue coming to swipe at his bottom lip. he was ready to feast on you.

lando’s own orgasm was swift to follow. the rhythm of his hips faltered, sloppily, aggressively. the overstimulation against the walls of your cunt was delectable.

“come for me,” you begged him. it had his eyes flaring once more, shocked to hear such a request from your pretty lips. “inside me, lan, need it…”

“fuck…” he groaned, and with one last snap of his hips he was spilling out inside of you. his forehead fell into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. your chests moved in unison, catching your breaths after such an intense fuck.

you were sticky against him. his body fell atop of yours, and your hands wrapped around his back. one hand came to run up and down his neck again, which had his eyes fluttering with sleep. but he didn’t let himself, and instead moved to get a towel for you both.

he slipped outside of you, the warmth of your cunt had his expression falling. he saw your face, too, empty once he made his way to the on suite. he grabbed a handheld towel and ran it under the warm water, and crossed the space between the bathroom and the bed.

lando let it run up your thighs, between your legs. your cunt was swollen still, his cum thick and dripping from your slit. he smirked to himself, cleaning the remnants of himself from the immediate vicinity, but wouldn’t go further.

you were aware. entirely too aware of how warm you felt. how filled you were. it was filthy how good sex with him was. you could never orgasm with any man but him.

lando fell to the bed beside you, opening the sheet for you to slip in beside him. you hesitated, never having spent an entire night with him, except for a few drunk evenings. did this count? you weren’t sure. you’d certainly remember that mind blowing orgasm.

but his eyes were drooping with sleep, weary when you hesitated. you couldn’t resist, and slid in beside him, comforted by the furnace of his body.

lando’s head found home, once more, in the side of your neck. you brushed the hairs from his sweating forehead, roamed through his scalp. you ran circles through his hair until you heard the soft snores coming from him. it only took a few seconds for him to fall asleep in your arms and for once, you were perfectly content with that. if this was what your life would be, then so be it.

the british driver woke approximately twenty four hours later.

when he woke, you were not there.

he was startled as he searched for you, but there was no sign of you. he sat up in his bed, sun peeking in through the curtains. he rubbed his eyes, hand resting on the spot that you had laid in. there was an imprint from your body.

when he checked his phone, he knew he was in deep shit.

“fuck.” it really had been a full day that he slept through.

but there were no texts from you.

his gut tightened, heart beating loudly in his throat. why are there no texts from you?

he scanned the room to find a glass of water on the nightstand, previously iced from the ring of water around the side of it. and there was a note, too, with some ibuprofen. he picked it up.

had a good night

proud of you always

text me when you’re up x

and it was signed by you.

he folded the piece of paper.

he supposed it was a good night. the best sex he’s ever had, in fact, and wouldn’t forget his own confession in the elevator. he wasn’t sure if you heard it or not, but there was a part of him that wanted you to.

“you were always my favorite,” he spoke into the column of your neck.

the next time you saw lando was in monaco.

you were back home and invited by alexandra to the paddocks for the home race of charles. you accepted, of course, hoping to catch a glimpse of lando.

you hadn’t texted him much, but neither had he. you heard first from him on that tuesday morning and it had you smiling at the airport, bags in hand. you texted back, and it was sporadic from there on out. it’s been a few days since either of you’ve said a word, and it was beginning to wane on you.

alexandra repeated your name.

“yeah?” you responded, head snapping towards her direction.

“i asked if you were feeling alright.”

“oh.” you breathed, laughing it off. “of course, do i not seem okay?” alexandra shook her head, petting leo’s little head in her hands.

“you’ve been quiet, that’s all.”

and you had been. but since she noticed, you were determined to make her forget about it.

“nervous for charles,” you lied. but alexandra bought it and agreed with you, shedding her anxieties for her boyfriend’s home race.

you were standing on the balcony with her in ferrari’s hospitality. you looked elegant today, matching alexandra’s own vibe. your hands were clasped together as you were leaning down, watching the drivers go in and out for their free practice.

alexandra was still ranting about how nervous she was for charles when you saw him.

the papaya was noticeable from anywhere.

lando

lando and company.

a girl trailing behind him. her hair was done neatly, blonde, painfully thin. you grimaced against your will, face scrunching with a bitterness you had never felt before.

alexandra tapped your elbow before she looked down at what you were staring at.

“asshole.” she remarked, scoffing.

you raised a brow. “you think so?”

alexandra nodded as if it was obvious. “don’t know why he brings them around,” she sighed. “not when he could have you.”

you never felt so flattered before. you blushed, thanking her for saying something so kind. though you denied having feelings for him. she knew it was a lie this time.

lando glanced up at the balcony, finding your eyes inevitably. he could feel your stare at the back of his head.

and he fucking waved.

the girl beside him looked up, too, but she did not.

you could see lando’s smile from up here, but in your intensive bitterness, you did not wave back. you stood and turned to go back into ferrari’s hospitality, not thinking twice about your decision.

the rest of the weekend you spent in bitter earnest. you’ve never seen yourself in such a state. but you plastered on a smile for alexandra and charles, entirely too elated when he crossed the finish line first in monaco. you held her as she weeped with joy.

and, of course, you were invited to the festivities for the evening. your attitude was soured by the girl latched to lando’s arm throughout the entire weekend. but he looked so nonchalant with her, careless. none of it mattered. you’d put on your best dress for the evening.

in the club you were found nursing a martini in your hand, not quaint on the taste, but were keen on getting wasted. you didn’t want to deal with whatever shit storm of emotions were brewing inside of your head. seeing lando with another girl was not new for you to witness. it was the norm, in fact, and you never thought about it otherwise.

but something changed that night of his win in miami. you knew it. he knew it. the words he uttered into your neck in that elevator was sending you up the wall and skyrocketing into the abyss of the universe. and you believe that somehow, he would find you.

he would find you.

lando saw you instantly when you entered with alexandra and charles. rebecca and carlos paired together, too, leaving you the odd one out with no arm candy on display. good, the thought was impulsive.

the girl beside him was giggling at something he said. but it wasn’t meant as a joke. he was convinced that she just had no idea what he was talking about, and was eager for a good fuck from him. he knew his skills of pleasure were not in comparison to any low life dude, but no girl could fulfill the void of receptiveness. of yearning desire.

so when he tilted his head back to down the rest of his drink, he grimaced at the taste, and turned back to the girl he brought with him. but he kept stealing glances at you in your short dress. it was like you were punishing him– were you? he suddenly felt like a dog, a bad boy, reared and chained to the dog house outside your house of a heart.

but you didn’t see him. not for a while, actually. you were intent on staying true to your morals– staying away from him this evening. he only brought trouble for you. confusion. you were sick of this back and forth, and most importantly, this rotten feeling of jealousy. it wasn’t a good look on you, or so you thought.

“dance with me?” alexandra asked you. you accepted, of course, grabbing her hand and holding it high above the crowds as she led you to the dance floor. you were both twirling and laughing with your drinks in hand, purely electric with the rap music. charles joined her, gripping her from behind. you couldn’t help but watch, gulping down the feeling of envy.

alexandra noticed. she knew what you were going through, even if you wouldn’t say it aloud. your ‘relationship’ with lando has gone on for far too long without any real commitment. everyone knew he was your favorite girl to be around, except you. you were the only one, apparently, who didn’t know that lando looked at you like a goddess reincarnate.

and when you shook off your thoughts of envy, your eyes found another pair staring back at you.

sharp emeralds, piercing through the musk of the club.

your breath hitched, catching solemnly in your throat.

the blonde was grinding up against him, throwing her head back against his shoulders. one hand was on her hip, the other with an empty shot glass in his hand. the girl was enjoying herself, at least, and you wondered if he fucked her the same as he did you.

his eyes didn’t leave yours as his hips swayed in motion with hers. his hair was disheveled, a coat of sweat gleaning on his forehead.

the pair of you were waiting to see who would break first. who would succumb to the challenge. you wanted so desperately to win, to grab another random man and kiss on his neck, but you were detested.

the air inside the club felt heavy, and the world would collapse on you. the weight was too much on your shoulders as you became lightheaded.

“i need air,” you said to alexandra before you fled from the dance floor, leaving your glass on the counter.

the air of monaco was brisk when it pierced your skin, your thighs, your shoulders. but it was a much needed refreshment from the confines of that fucking club. you felt nauseous, sickened by lando’s eye contact with you. how dare he.

you looked around before turning the corner of the club, seeing a pair of men smoking a cigarette.

“care to share?”

the men glanced at one another and the one holding the pack nodded. he handed you one and you placed it to your lips. he held out the lighter, too, and lit it for you.

you weren’t one to smoke. it was a drunk cigarette kind of night.

they insisted on you staying with them, talking each other up to be some pair of scrouges who deserved your attention. you politely declined their advances and walked the other way, feeling colder when the tobacco hit your lungs.

when you blew out your first puff, it wasn’t long before the cigarette was ripped from your lips.

“hey–”

“this shit isn’t good for you.”

lando.

he found you out here. rather, he chased you out. the minute he saw you turn your back he scrambled, pushing past every person that came in his way.

you scoffed, unable to look at him as you crossed your arms.

“you don’t know what’s good for me.”

he paused, sucking in a tight breath. his jaw clenched. the cigarette was thrown to the ground, crushed beneath his foot.

“rude–” you uttered, cut off when he grabbed your elbow. that had you looking at him. and his expression didn’t disappoint.

his eyes were widened, pupils blown wide as he looked into your own. his lip trembled momentarily, jaw entirely too tight for his own good.

“what’s going on with you?” he wondered, holding eye contact with you.

“nothing.” you answered instantly, brushing him off. but he didn’t accept that.

“‘nothing,’” he mocked. “you’re not a very good liar.”

you hummed. “thanks.”

the conversation widdled down, but he wasn’t about to give up.

“tell me,” he requested, his face pulling closer to yours. you had to give it to him. he was determined. but you were too.

“there’s nothing to tell.” you bit back.

“i care about you. come on–” your name fell sweetly from his lips. he was prepared to grovel at any second now.

but you cut him off. “ohhh…! yeah, right, you care? pfft, no need to pretend, lando.”

he pulled back, shocked that you got in his face. your words were cruel, but he felt the double meaning behind them.

“what?” he asked, softly. you knew then that he was hurt.

but jealousy was a monster.

“i wish i was as stupid as you think i am.” you rambled, hands thrown up with emotion. but you were done with this conversation. “fuck it, i’m leaving–”

but he used his other hand to ground you before him. “don’t.” he pleaded. eyes watering.

“what? like you’d notice?”

then the bells chimed in his head. an alert that he understood what this was. he was stupid in not knowing what was happening before him.

you’re jealous.

“didn’t take you for a jealous type.”

you scoffed. “you’re ridiculous.”

but he shook his head and tsked. “can’t believe it, baby, that you hid it for so long.”

“fuck you.”

he blew out a huff of air as if he were wounded, hand coming to run over his chest. it was a fatal one, that was for sure. you tried again to push past him, but to no avail nor universe would he let you go.

“come home with me.”

his words were determined, sincere, though there was a layer of softness to it. like unsweetened honey that poured from his lips.

you stared at him. “what?”

he laughed. “you heard me. let me take you home.”

you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. couldn’t tell if he was mocking you. your facial expression dropped from its intense anger.

“don’t…” you started, feeling the heat of emotions that you’ve been burying come to the surface. your eyes swelled with tears but fuck, you promised you’d never cry over him. “don’t be mean, lando.”

his smile dropped. he knew then that you weren’t playing around, messing with him in the ways you usually had. what was this feeling inside of him? guilt? he wanted nothing more than to fix whatever he’s done. the instinct blazed a fire through his veins, igniting a deep rooted reaction that he feared only you could bring out of him.

his hand came to cup your cheek. you flinched backward, staring at the palm of his hand through your wet lashes, but allowed his touch.

“come here…” his hand dropped from your cheek to hold out for you to melt into. an invitation for a hug.

you hesitated, shifting closer on your tip toes. when you were in close enough reach, he grabbed you, earning a yelp.

his body was warm. he pulled you flush against his chest, his head coming to rest on your shoulder. his hands were wrapped firmly around your torso. was he shaking?

he was. lando was wrought with a surplus of emotion when he saw your anger diffuse. he loved to feel all of your emotions, it reminded him that you cared about him. but when he saw it disappear, faze into an abyss of melancholy, his heart set into overdrive. he never got such a rush of adrenaline before. not from racing. not from anything else in his life.

you relaxed into him, shutting your eyes. there was a wet stain from the single tears that fell from your face on his shirt.

but you didn’t care. he smelled so good. it was lando. your lando.

“let me take you home.”

your nose buried into his shirt. his stubble dug into your neck.

“your place,” you muttered. “i want to go to yours.”

his place was always for special occasions. but to your unbeknownst knowledge, you were the only girl he’s ever taken there. the only woman he’s fucked in his bed.

he stuttered. “yeah,” he cleared his throat. “yeah, of course we can.”

you didn’t even end up texting alexandra goodbye. you were too wrung tight with your jealousy, coined poignantly by lando himself. he was quick to catch on to your attitude shift, but you could tell he was frightened. at least you wished for it to be.

but he was. his heart plummeted when your anger reached him. it did more than touch him, it ripped him apart, had his heart bleeding in plain sight. anyone could see it except you. it was never you who saw the love beneath his eyes.

lando’s apartment was just how you remembered it to be.

open space, loosely decorated. it was rather bland.

“you kept it!” you ran your fingers over the displayed teddy bear, one that you had won for him at a fair.

he shut the door behind you two, locking it. he let out a soft hum. “‘course i did.”

he said it like it was obvious. he would never get rid of anything that you’d give him. you squeezed the teddy bear in your palms, but dropped it when you felt lando’s arms wrap around your waist from behind.

his lips found your neck in an instant.

“i missed you.”

you tensed. back arching, you turned your head to look at him, angled perpendicular to his face burrowed into the junction of your neck and collarbones.

“really, now?”

he chuckled against your skin, fanning his warm breath through your body. the hairs on the back of your neck rose instinctively, choosing to hold your breath instead of express anger. though you couldn’t help the huff through your nose.

“you’re so vicious when you’re jealous, darling.” he thought this was funny. it angered you even more, attempting to writhe out of his hold. but he didn’t relent, keeping you taught against his chest. asshole.

“am not.”

he tsked.

“sure.” he continued his trail of kisses down your neck. you fell into him, head lolling back and eyes rolling. fuck, his lips were always so good. he was so good to you.

“am not.” you said again, biting back a moan when his hands came to your forefront, parting your legs for his hands to rest between your thighs.

“whatever you say.”

your hips grinded against his own in retaliation which had him humming in soft praises. his fingers trailed the lining of your panties, other hand holding your hip firmly .

“because i’m not–” the moan that was pulled from your throat was pure divinity to lando’s ears. his fingers had run up your slit, teasing your entrance. blood ran down to your body, fueling your cunt to a puffy state. your weight went lax against his hold, which he was perfectly capable of supporting you.

“not what?” he dared you to continue, not when he had you numb in his hold already. he was clearly cocky. you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“i’m not–” you were determined. but lando was coming back in full force. his middle finger teased you, pushing between your slick, finding the warmth of your walls. you sucked in a tight breath, feeling just how wet you’ve become.

“so wet, baby,” he said into your ear. “what were you saying?”

“fuck–” you sighed, whining. “i’m not jeal–”

and then he seized the bundle of nerves around your clit, curling his middle finger inside of you. you cursed, sweat beginning to bead around your forehead.

“mhm.” lando proved himself right when you couldn’t mutter out a sentence, becoming dumb on his fingers alone. he began a steady pace with just a singular digit, flexing in and out of you supported by your natural lubrication.

“more–” you pleaded. it had him standing up straight, reacting to your soft pleas like he was a dog to a treat. pavlov, and all that shit. he found himself staring down at the sight of your two– his finger etching in and out of you, drenched in your sweet nectar. if he was no better than a dog, why was he about to drool?

“yeah? you can take another?” you were rapidly nodding against the back of his shoulder, biting your lip.

“yes, please. please, lando.” you mewled, gripping at his forearms that caged you in. you never wanted to be chained down, but for pleasure like this, you felt as though you could make an exception.

he obeyed. adding a second finger was close enough to your release, and you knew that was barreling forward at any minute. if he kept this assault of your clit up and the delicious curl of his fingers, you would melt into a puddle.

and you knew he would. if lando started something, he would finish it. the only priority for him was to make sure you reached an orgasm. that was a promise, forever and always.

he found himself bucking his hips into you, the sight of you weak in his arms becoming too much for him to handle. the friction between his pants and your hot cunt was too irresistible. what can he say? you were just pure bottled heaven.

his thumb had been applying more intense pressure to your clit. your face was entirely flushed now, brightened from his attention. he was entirely to carnal to hear the noises you made. noises for him to hear, no one else.

but his pace was slow. teasing. you felt like this was a punishment. your lip curled, face contorting with both pleasure and angst. “please, please.” you whimpered.

“what, baby? what do you want?” smug. always so smug.

you gripped his hand that was flexing inside of you, tightening your grip. he chuckled deeply.

“wanna come? that what you want?”

your head bobbed up and down, breaths coming in fast pants. “need.” you corrected him, and he thought that he would fall dead at your feet. his jaw clenched, muscles in his arms flexing, and he would give you want you needed.

you needed him.

that was all that he needed to hear from you.

you turned your head to look up at him with your bloodshot eyes, dreary with lust. lust for him. your lashes fluttered against your brow line, lip quivering with a singular wish.

he wanted nothing more to kiss you.

“fuck.” he groaned, your thighs were drenched in your slick, a sight he thought could never be hotter. and when he curled his two fingers sweetly, your hips bucked aggressively. he knew exactly how to navigate your body, but it was always so thrilling to see you react in such a way.

“yeah?” he smirked, “that good?”

“so good, lan,” the nickname you used for him was not intentional. it had his dick throbbing in his pants. fuck.

your words of praise would only have him working harder. he didn’t even need to add a third finger when your stomach snapped with tension, coming loose all over his fingers. your vision blurred, legs shaking rapidly. you cried out, head lolled against his shoulder. he held you tightly, and you didn’t miss how he stroked your hip with his thumb. a soothing action.

how he could ever find this kind of pleasure in another woman, he didn’t know. but the challenge begged– could he ever admit that?

his fingers remained buried in your cunt whilst you rode yourself free from your high. it was impossible to look anywhere else but you.

and when he removed them, showing you the mess you made, his popped them into his mouth. it was such a vulgar statement, but you found yourself blushing. he sucked on his fingers, letting them out with a pop, clean as a whistle.

“heavenly.” he reaffirmed. “no girl compares.”

you froze, still delirious from your orgasm, but it had you spinning in his hold. he was slightly blurred in your vision, but you could make out his faintly cocky expression.

“really, huh?”

your attitude would have him rising, cocky attitude falling away instantly.

he gulped. “guess so.” was this it?

a smile grew on your face. your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, grooming through the back of his head. he smiled lazily, lip catching between his top teeth.

but things like this didn’t last forever, did they?

there was a pounding knock at the door. it had you frightened, shifting your panties back into their rightful place. your fingers fixed your appearance the best you could, whilst lando adjusted his dick in his pants.

“open the fucking door, lando!”

it was a woman’s voice.

your brow raised.

“i know you’re in there with that bitch,” the woman seethed. you could feel her anger through the door– but you could feel your own flying through the roof. bitch? you didn’t fucking think so.

you pushed past lando who was about to open the door and he called your name, attempting to stop you.

the door flew open. “bitch?”

the blonde girl stood there. she clearly didn’t expect you to open the door. but she didn’t back down; fine.

“yeah. bitch.” you straighten your posture. “he told me not to worry about you–” what? “and here you are, fucking him.”

not quite, you wanted to correct her.

“fuck off,” he said the girl’s name. “me and you aren’t a couple.” but she rolled her eyes anyway.

“you promised me a good fuck, lando,” she had such a venom to her bite. it had you bristle. “i didn’t think you’d stoop so low.”

“hey, now, don’t be–” lando started, but you were done. you had enough of this night. you turned back into his apartment and grabbed your handbag, your phone, and threw on your heels. you didn’t hesitate brushing past the pair.

lando called your name.

but you only turned your head over your shoulder. your gaze read an entire sentence that he felt up his entire body.

two can play this game.

3K notes · View notes

waaayoutofline · 5 days

Text

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1490

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda, darling, come here, please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Darling, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they��re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

#wanda maximoff #mcu #fluff #wanda x reader #blurb #wanda maximoff x reader #future AU #one shot

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sevenop · 3 months

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Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: And The GRAMMY Goes To…

A/N: And even though you may be incredibly comfortable with Billy in every possible way, singing is kind of taboo. You've never sung in Bill's presence due to your shyness, but everything changes when you're so absorbed in the music in your headphones while cleaning that you don't notice her return. And you sing. Singing her songs, dressed head to toe in her stuff. Eilish goes crazy.

You're always looking forward to being alone. No, not that your feelings for Eilish are a theatrical sham, absolutely and categorically not. It's just that singing next to the seven-time winner of the prestigious Grammy Music Awards is pure suicide for your sense of confidence, despite all the mind-blowing love you have for O'Connell herself. "Made worse" by cohabitation, because living with a girl who has great taste in music and who has music playing literally twenty-four by seven in her house is a factor that clearly doesn't make it any easier to hide your little secret. So yes, you do look forward to being alone, even though you feel genuinely sad when Billie isn't around.

Literally a month has passed since the last time, and you're thanking all the gods when Eilish suddenly calls up the label to sort out some sort of issue with the promo that has started. With the recent release of third album, it's almost impossible to hold back the smile at the moment of forgiveness: the excitement is still bubbling in your blood, reinforced by the realization that you can sing your new favorite songs at the top of your lungs without any embarrassment.

"Are you up to something?" - the blue seas opposite look at you with warmth, and the smile on your face is beautiful mirrored on her face. Billie has always been perceptive and empathetic.

"Nothing but cleaning."

"Am I allowed to start being jealous of my dirty clothes yet?" - Eilish quirks an eyebrow upward skeptically, but the smile never leaves her face. - "I've never seen people so excited about cleaning."

A gentle kiss on aquophore-covered lips, a whisper in her ear asking for a quick return and you are beyond suspicion - the obsidian-black Dodge is riding, leaving you alone with your only devoted accomplice in the face of Shark. The phone screen flashes a green Spotify icon almost instantly. Your time has come!

×××

"Come on, boy! Sing along with me!"

And even if you don't hear the dog barking in the noise of the music that beats in ear headphones, him contented muzzle and actively wagging tail are more than eloquent. Having bravely dealt with dirty things, you suddenly found that you temporary have nothing to wear, so you borrowed the first oversize shorts and a colorful T-shirt from Eilish's wardrobe. Next tasks - dusting, loading the first batch of washed clothes into the dryer, and mopping the floors, what are you doing now. The last item on your makeshift list. Euphorically singing the last track, playing the third album for the second time, you release your playlist into free swimming, controlled only by Spotify algorithms. After a couple of trucks, you hear a familiar rhythmic thrill and a languid exhale - "Oxytocin". So good.

Shark hurriedly runs somewhere, but you don't pay it any mind, only intercepting the mop handle like a microphone stand.

×××

"My girl, I'm home!"

It's the only thing Billie says before she stands frozen at the doorway to the living room. Her hand intercepts the car keys she'd been coquettishly twirling on her index finger at the last moment, for the sudden sight before her is far more coquettish and startling. Shark barks happily, running up to her, causing Billie to shush the pet with a hasty shush. Her hands immediately fumble for her cell phone in her shorts pocket - it's a sin not to capture at least a few seconds.

"Cause as long as you're still breathing, don't you even think of leaving," you sing languidly, almost touching the handle of the improvised microphone with your lips.

Billie only swallows, realizing the hot knot between her legs tightening the longer she watches your performance. In her eyes are hungry blue flames, ready to lick you from head to toe. The impulse to strip you of her own clothes, so insanely appropriate for you but interfering with her contemplation now, is interrupted by a clever idea. Her phone dives back into her pocket. A few hurried steps outside of your attention and she's already at the rack of numerous statuettes, a few more and you almost gasp at the last words of the song, seeing the weighty Grammy statue right in front of you, clasped in her hand, followed by the feeling of Eilish pressing against your back. Insanely close. Insanely hot. Your hands grip the phone shakily, poking at 'stop' and the mop promptly sheds to the floor, hitting audibly. You've been caught red-handed.

"I think this is rightfully yours, girl," Billie whispers and grins deftly into your ear, interlocking your fingers on the cold gold of the gramophone.

"Billie, I-"

"Shh, you better tell me how long it's been since I've known about this," her tongue makes a hot stroke on the curl of your ear, biting down gently on the lobe, catching your ragged exhale with pleasure, - "How many concerts have I missed already, Y/n?"

You're at a loss, not knowing what to say. Eilish's hands, tugging at the edges of her own T-shirt, which you're wearing, don't seem to be helping you concentrate. Oh yeah, add to that the fear that you might drop Grammy on the floor right now if she continues.

"I... I can't exactly say, I do this whenever... when you're not around, I'm sorry."

Eilish's hands only lead higher, up to your chest, placing a hickey on your neck with some mysterious throaty purr and licking it off immediately, burning you with her heated breath. You reflexively give her more access.

"Wow, how much did I miss," - the bite on your collarbone, your new quiet moan, - "Can I count on a private concert?".

The three tattooed fairies on her left arm flicker, barely releasing your gaze downward - the knot on her your shorts immediately comes undone, giving her easy access.

"Sing to me, Y/n. Sing all my songs."

And you sing. Only for her. In bedroom, mixed lyrics with moans.

#billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish

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cobragardens · 1 year

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CORRECTED & UPDATED Clothes + Equivocation = Romance: The Husbands in 1793 (Part 2)

From Part 1:

Crowley and Aziraphale share clothes as a common interest. They don't have the same style, but they're both aware of current fashions, and Heaven and Hell aren't. You can't tell me Hastur or Uriel would recognize the significance of Crowley saying "Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble" about someone else while wearing black stockings and cravat and waistcoat himself. And that means Anything the husbands communicate to each other through clothing choices goes undetected by their masters.

SO. With all this in mind, let's go through the 1793 scene again and look at what the husbands communicate to each other without using words or actions to do it, and how their clothing choices help them do that.

Hello. I'm here and I know you're in a spot of trouble. I like you.

It's you! I'm so happy you're here!

Sheen's voice and face when Aziraphale says Crowley's name in this moment makes me think that Aziraphale is in love with Crowley--the demon Crowley, not the angel who became Crowley--long before he consciously realizes it in 1941. The way Sheen has Aziraphale say Crowley's name is so soft.

The way you're he way you're lounging there and what you're wearing are uncomfortably sexy and also incredibly inappropriate for the Bastille at this moment in history. I suppose this is very on-brand for you.

Crowley: I listen when you talk about your interests and goals and keep track of your general whereabouts and pursuits.

Either they've spoken with each other recently or Crowley has been keeping tabs on Aziraphale. Aziraphale isn't upset that Crowley knows what he's been up to, which suggests the former, which in turn suggests they're in semi-regular (every few years or decades) contact at this point.

Also we've now got a general idea for when Aziraphale opens his bookshop.

Okay, brief tangent while I point out two things here.

One, my favorite thing about Aziraphale is that he is a sensualist. This is libertine behavior, y'all. He 'popped across the Channel' during the Reign of Terror because he wanted a specific carnal experience of a specific really lovely food.

And two, even when Aziraphale does weird, frivolous, silly, ill-advised things like this, things that clearly baffle Crowley...Crowley never makes fun of him. He never laughs at him. He always has this look of disbelief on his face, like Am I hearing this?--

--but Crowley never, not once, shuts Aziraphale down.

Until Aziraphale asks him to go back to Heaven.

Anyway. Back to our scene.

Aziraphale: I am unwilling to abandon my sartorial sensibilities even when it threatens my corporation, and I am insane, so I think this is reasonable. At least I'm not wearing a Slutty Monarchist outfit.

You're happy to see me, aren't you. You're relieved to see a demon. Go on, say it.

Tennant's delivery of this line cracks me up. It is so gloating and flirtatious and smarmy and indulgent of Aziraphale.

I am very happy to see you and lucky you're here, and I am willing to say so sincerely even though you are gloating about it.

And then there's the exchange where Crowley very carefully doesn't answer Aziraphale's question about why Crowley's in the area but also reassures him that he didn't cause the French Revolution and Aziraphale can still like him.

We can't speak openly about this. It's dangerous for me.

Message received: I won't mention what you did again. But I want to show my gratitude and spend time with you; is it safe for us to get lunch together?

Yes, but one of us is going to have to change so we can walk the streets of Paris without getting arrested again, and I'm the one doing the rescuing here so it's not going to be me. Your 'standards' will have to take the hit.

Fine, you've got me over a barrel. But hey, if I have to wear the silly hat anyway I might as well go all the way and wear your colors. Except not monarchist. And not slutty.

Oh, I don't know, I thought you looked pretty slutty too. (Meaning 2) I'm having this guy killed for touching you, btw. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. I see you are having the guy who assaulted you killed in a copy of the clothes he would have killed you for wearing. I wholeheartedly approve of this (Meaning 3), your sexiness in those clothes notwithstanding. The utter insouciance of Crowley's little sniff and the inquiry about what they'll have for lunch drive home hard that Crowley could not be more unbothered by Aziraphale having the man who tried to harm him beheaded.

What really tickles me about this line is not only that Crowley's joke has three distinct meanings, but that Meaning 1 (the meaning that exists without reference to Crowley's clothes) is the opposite of Meaning 3--Anybody wearing clothes like that deserves what they get (Meaning 1) versus It rocks how you just killed someone who tried to kill you for wearing those clothes (Meaning 3)--and yet because of the clothes he's wearing, both meanings come through with perfect clarity, dependent only on whether the listener(s) can see his clothing and know its significance. Aziraphale can, and does, so he receives Crowley's real meaning. Hell/Heaven can't, and don't, so they just hear Meaning 1.

And then we get Aziraphale's pleased little smile and look of tranquil interest as he watches Jean-Claude dragged off to his death. Its such an interesting facial expression for an angel watching a demon have someone killed having someone killed, isn't it?

Crowley has just told him they're probably being listened to by Hell. That means Aziraphale, Crowley, and the audience all know this is the most Aziraphale can safely react. Aziraphale can't show any overt approval of anything an agent of Hell does, because by definition anything a demon does is demonic and angels must be against That Sort of Thing. In light of the fact that Aziraphale is the one who causes Jean-Claude's death, I now argue that this responsibility not to react too positively to something the other side has done falls on Crowley, and that the reason he makes this joke is primarily to tell Aziraphale I see what you've just done, and I like it without identifying aloud what exactly has just happened for their presumed eavesdroppers because an angel arranging a human's murder is the sort of thing in which head offices might take undue interest.

The awareness that their conversation is not private means the audience and Aziraphale know they need to be watching and listening for multiple meanings from Crowley, and it also means the audience and Crowley know we need to be watching Aziraphale's face closely right now. And that little smile shows us that Aziraphale has received Meanings 2 and 3 of "he was asking for trouble."

Or, at minimum, Meaning 3; even if Aziraphale picks up on Meaning 2--You looked really sexy in your vintage clothes, you crazy weirdo--that's not a message he can afford to react to at all. But he does react to the other coded communication Crowley is sending when he says "Dressed like that, he was asking for trouble" while dressed for trouble himself: I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Immediately. People who think your clothes give them the right to hurt you can go to Hell, and I am delighted you just sent one of them there.

You just had someone beheaded for assaulting me, I acknowledge and am pleased by your delight at my cleverness. and I could not be happier. Would you like to come enjoy one of my very favorite sensual pleasures with me?

***

EDIT: To be honest I like this reading better than my original, incorrect understanding of the story despite the fact that it is slightly less romantic, both because I love the idea of Crowley as a thirsty witness to Aziraphale quietly being a vengeful badass, because it gives us a glimpse of something important about Aziraphale's character that we don't get to see elsewhere: Aziraphale doesn't have a problem with killing per se.

We learn from the business with the Antichrist that, like Crowley, Az. can't bring himself to kill children. We learn from his perturbation at the Flood and the Crucifixion that he doesn't hold with killing innocents. He gave away his flaming sword. But this scene establishes that Aziraphale will actively cause someone's death if he feels they deserve it. That seems like an important character note for him that may become relevant in Season 3 (feathers crossed that it happens).

And I think there's something else in there too, something about how Aziraphale kills Jean-Claude, not with outright violence but with a trick. One party thinks he's in control of the situation; with a wave of his hand, suddenly a turnip has turned into an inkwell an executioner has turned into the condemned--or at least it seems that way long enough to get the job done. It's a bait-and-switch, like stage magic, and it slots right in to the motif in Good Omens of sleight-of-hand, of characters wearing other characters' appearances (for more on this, see fan theories re: Maggie is possessed), of supplying false meanings to an audience to disguise the true actions going on behind the scenes.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens analysis #good omens clothes #good omens costumes #ineffable husbands #aziracro #azcrow #azicrow #good omens equivocation #good omens 1984 #good omens clothing and equivocation #good omens 1793 #good omens clothes and equivocation 2

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thisismeracing · 10 months

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Charlieverse | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader ― Word count: 2.1k ― Warnings: mentions of alcohol and Halloween costumes (clowns, werewolves, and others). ― Summary: When Yn decided to go to a Halloween party with her best friend, Charles Leclerc, she did not consider that some of the fantasies would be so close to reality that they would terrify her. But one thing Yn had no idea about too, was Charles’ feelings for her. All Hallow’s Eve is not the most romantic scenario to confess your feelings, but it might be just the perfect one for them.

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There are many sayings about how sharing is caring, and how life feels bigger and better when you do so.

Charles knew this all too well.

He was used to sharing everything with you since he was a kid.

It all started after you forgot your snack at home. He was only five years old then, but he had two brothers so he knew exactly what to do. Little Charles offered to share his bag of colored goldfish and grapes with you. The next day you shared your coloring pencils with him. It started with simple things, and it grew as you both grew older. All through the school years, Charles and you were inseparable, even with his crazy racing schedule. You would take notes for him, he would bring you stories, and you would study together until late hours. You shared your fears, deepest feelings, and even the shame of being underdressed when invited to a party such as now.

“I had no idea people would go this hard,” you state, watching as the Taxi driver came to a halt in front of the big doors. Gathered in front of the mansion were people dressed as all kinds of gore Halloween beings, some of the makeup seeming too real to your liking.

“We can go back home and change if you want,” there’s Charles' tranquil voice. He is always the one to keep his patience even if the world is ending, and you love that about him.

You shake your head, “We would never find something else in time, plus, we’re together, so… here’s to another good story,” you point to your matching costumes, and Charles smiles.

You’re both wearing Spiderman costumes. Though it felt like the best choice, the easiest one, you should have guessed it was too easy and, therefore, not ideal.

Charles gives you one last wink before putting on his mask. You do the same just as he opens the door for you, and hand in hand you walk through the crowd into the house. You cling to your best friend’s arm trying to stay as far away as possible from some of the costumes.

“You sure you’re ok over there?” Charles asks when you’re halfway to the kitchen, and you tighten your grip on his hand.

You nod, “Yeah, just.. That werewolf costume seems too realistic.” And there’s no need for you to explain to him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand, his favorite track, his most played song. Charles knows that someone planted a seed of fear about some creatures when you were little, and some of the stories have stayed with you even after you grew. It is a bit curious how despite your fears, you still love Halloween, at least the kind of parties you go to where people will dress in a way that clearly shows that they are human beings and meant no harm.

Were you supposed to guess that a certain crazy clown costume was a mere costume after seeing people being killed by those?

You wouldn’t stay to answer that question.

When you finally reach the kitchen, both of you take off the mask to your friends, hugging and making your rounds. Charles grabs you two a drink and you choose to stay there instead of mingling and risking bumping into scary figures.

“Can you get me another of these?” You mouth to Charles pointing at your empty cup. From across the kitchen, he nods, and a few seconds later he’s in front of you with a full cup.

“They were out of ice, is it ok if we share this one?” he asks over the music and you nod. You’re sitting on the counter, and when Charles turns to your friends he stands right between your legs. One of your hands goes to his shoulders, and you keep talking about your costume as if your heart weren’t hammering inside your ribcage, almost coming out from your throat the second his hand finds your knee, holding it so your anxious bounce can cease.

You gulp trying to keep your attention on whatever your friend is talking about because all your mind can focus on is your best friend’s hand on you, his body radiating warmth into yours. And not that it is unusual for Charles to touch it, quite the opposite, he loves to hug and kiss those he cares about, but it’s just lately your heart seemed to wish for a different kind of sharing.

It wants to share the secret touches. It wants to claim hungry kisses, tears of happiness, loud silences, and whispered mysteries. It is as if your heart created a reality where you had all of this with Charles.

Your own Charlie-verse.

The party keeps going in full swing, and Charles never leaves your side for over thirty minutes. He comes and goes always checking if you’re ok and if you want to go with him, but you choose the safety of the counter and your crowd of friends. The conversation is good, and so is the booze, from the kitchen you can see a bit of the living room and the pool area through the glass doors.

And it’s only when part of the girls decide to go dancing that you hop off the counter, and grab Charles’ hands following him in the direction of another crowd of friends. You’re tipsy enough to lace your fingers with his and to tighten your grip when you pass people dressed as clowns, werewolves, and with fake open wounds.

You end up in the pool area in front of Charles, he holds your body protectively against his, while his other hand has a cup you’re still sharing. The conversation is between the group, but every once in a while something will catch his attention and he’ll whisper about it in your ear, to which you’ll slightly turn your head, chuckle, and then answer him.

Though you felt a bit out of place at first with how everyone’s costumes seemed so extra compared to yours, you and Charles have had a lot of fun. So much so that you have given up going back home and decided to share a cab to his apartment.

Half of the ride a tipsy Charles is lecturing you with his “I told you so” about how he suggested you slept at his place and you denied it before the party. You just rest your head on his shoulder and pretend you are listening to his non-stop rant.

As it happens, the driver seems a bit uninterested in Charles’ rant because he turns the music on, and the last song that starts playing when he makes the curve into Charles’ street is Michael Jackson. You shriek and start jumping on the car seat.

“Chérie, it’s late,” your best friend tries to reason, but you just giggle.

“You have soundproof walls.”

“But not windows,” he tries again, and you playfully roll your eyes before getting out of the car wishing the driver a good night.

“Annie, are you okay?” you start to sing as you reach the elevators, and Charles just fakes a sigh, holding you close by the waist.

“So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” you sing loudly until you reach the penthouse.

“Love, that’s not Smooth Criminal’s dance, that’s Thriller…” Charles holds back his laughter when you start a made-up choreography in his living room. “Oh mon dieu, you’re so precious.”

You giggle, smacking a loud kiss on his warm cheeks. While you make your track to the bathroom Charles goes to the kitchen.

“I’m using the guest bathroom! Go shower on the main one, you stinky!” you scream from the corridors and you hear his scoff, almost able to picture his eye roll.

You go through your shower on autopilot, brushing your teeth, and reaching for one of Charles’ shirts that are on the guest bedroom bed. Your visits have been so frequent you have everything you need there, but tonight you didn’t want one of your pajamas, you want to indulge in the daydream that your mind is harnessing.

When you reach your favorite Monegasque bedroom you can hear the shower still running, so you settle in the middle of his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere in your head, there’s still music playing and your body seems to have kept a bit of the buzzing from the party. The distant noises coming from the open windows, along with the wind hitting the curtains lull you into a soft slumber, that only goes away when a door closes, you guess it's his closet, you smell his body wash and shampoo before he steps close to you.

There’s too much happening inside your head, so you choose to stay in silence while your best friend watches you attentively, eyes finding yours in a beat.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t have much in his head. He only has you. Your smell, your laugh, your voice, your body on his bed wearing his shirt.

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” his mouth works faster than his brain does, and just like that you’re staring at him in confusion.

It’s like his brain is shortcircuited.

Charles gets up from the bed.

He walks to the door, then turns around and comes back to your side. There’s a crease between his brows and you have known him long enough to identify it as worry.

“Sharls, what’s going on?”

“I’m not drunk ok? Before you say anything, I’m not drunk, I’m just tipsy like you,” he starts and you nod from your spot on the bed. “I am so sorry, but I have to tell you this, and I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same, but I have to take this out of my chest, Yn.”

Sensing how serious the situation is you sit up, legs crossed one over the other, hands tucked under them.

“I- uhm… See- It’s like this, I-”

“Charles,” you call.

“I’m in love with you,” he spills in a single sentence, but then he keeps going. “I love you so fucking much it’s starting to hurt the fact that I’ve been keeping it from you. And I don’t even know when it started, but I’m so used to sharing everything with you, I just.. I wanted us to share more. I wanted to share my bed with you, and my clothes, and-” he points with his fingers before you could say something, “And I know we already share those things, but I want to do it differently. I want to share romantically. I want to share my heart with you, Chérie, all of it. But I’ll understand if you’re confused or overwhelmed by my outburst, in fact… shit… I should have waited in case you wanted to go home right? Please, tell me that if you don’t feel the same you’ll at least get the farthest guest bedroom, I promise I won’t bother you, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen in the morning and I-”

“No,” you interrupt.

“Pardon?”

“I said no, I won’t sleep in the farthest guest bedroom.”

“Oh- then let me drive you, just…– fuck I can’t I drank… uhm I’ll–”

“No, Charles, stop,” you get on your knees on the mattress and reach for his arm, bringing his body close to yours.

“No, I’m not sleeping in the guest bedroom because we’re sharing a bed tonight. No, I’m not mad about your admission, I’m sharing my heart with you too. Romantically,” you confess.

His shoulders drop in relief, and you giggle, threading your fingers on his soft strands. Charles mutters something you can’t understand because you’re too focused on how his face seems different from this angle, after all the confessed words. He’s still your Charles, but he’s also a new Charles, and this knowledge brings a new feeling to your heart and stomach.

When his lips find yours, soft and warm, a contrast with his cold hands on your jaw and waist, he presses your bodies closer and hums in pleasure. You smile, unable to contain your happiness. He kisses you like you��ve never been kissed before, and when the air has made itself scarce, you part the kiss, foreheads still touching.

“So, Charlie, are you okay? Are you okay, Charlie?”

Charles throws his head back and laughs.

He knows how insufferable you could get once a song gets stuck in your head.

“I was struck down. You’re such a smooth criminal, Chérie. Stealing hearts around so easily.”

It is your turn to laugh.

“That was cheesy, but I loved it,” you mumble before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you.”

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, lovelies! I hope you liked the piece, I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Delia (@struggling-with-delia on Tumblr) for proof and beta-reading this <3. Let me know your thoughts on this piece *mwah*.

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘

▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

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©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

#f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #millie writes #cl16 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one imagine #charles leclerc fluff #f1 fluff #charles leclerc one shot #f1 2023 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you

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stellocchia · 14 days

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I've been bullying my boy Killer too much lately, so you guys are getting some fluffy headcanons for a change:

At some point, he picks up body painting. Color's bones are too sensitive for that kind of stuff (paint getting into the small cracks would NOT be fun) so Delta is his favorite canvas

Dust, Cross, and Epic also get themselves painted sometimes (Dust does face only, while with Cross and Epic it depends on their mood), while Horror has the same issues as Color. That said, Horror and Color appreciate the view, and Color has gotten plenty of cool pictures out of it

Killer can see Beta, XChara, Phantom, and all of Color's souls, mainly because they're all somewhat connected to the players/creators. As in they're a direct result of their actions. He uses this ability for evil exclusively (aka pulling pranks on his friends and getting them to snoop for him so he can know what the perfect present would be for them)

He doesn't remember his original birthday at all. He remembers very little of his life. Still, his friends insisted that he couldn't be without one so he chose the 20th of April (4/20, because he's a dumbass). Epic approved. Everyone else groaned

He hates surprises, so his first birthday was meticulously planned and approved days in advance. He loved every second of it. They took him to a natural reserve in an AU he never explored before and they hiked there the whole day. Killer got to pet a bear. Even the guide was surprised he didn't get mauled for it, but Killer gets Disney Princess privileges

He says his comfort food is specifically the grilled cheese sandwiches Horror makes. Truthfully, he can't taste anything, but Horror is so happy any time he hears it and any time he's cooking them (he used to make them for his bro all the time before the food crisis) and that's enough to make them Killer's favorite

He loves using makeup. He met an Underlust Sans one time at a shop who is also a small content creator and he started appearing in his videos as literally just a canvas for all the experimental makeup. He's quite the heart-throb with the viewers. He's got pretty boy privileges. (His friends were just happy to see him becoming more social, because he clearly is a very extroverted guy and he was suffering mostly staying inside all the time)

He and Color sometimes disappear for days at a time, getting lost in their explorations, so their friends have gotten them any piece of equipment they could think of that could aid their survival. And Horror has been learning how to make dehydrated food so it will be easier for them to pack more provisions

Stage 3 has built an excessive amount of dens, all filled to the brim woth pieces of clothing belonging to its friends. This is partially because all of those fuckers keep enabling it. They see those big empty eyes staring at them and immediately give it a pile of clothes they're not using at the time. Stage 3 has several dens in each of their homes

At some point, Stage 2 gets particularly clingy with Delta (may have something to do with Delta punching Nightmare in the face for daring to get close to Killer again). Both of them deny that that's what's happening, but it's common to find them latched onto each other in the weirdest of places. Their favorite place to totally-not-cuddle is the top of the fridge

Stage 4 finally gets some friends. Not owners, friends. They're kinda like its pack. It would have hated that at the start, but, after a while, the responsibility of keeping its pack safe became enough to keep it happy and in line. Color's still wearing the heart locket just in case though. But they usually don't need it

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fennecfics-the-simp-king · 7 months

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Cuphead Show! King Dice & Devil x Reader preferences (romantic):

Heyyyy I’m gonna be posting more x Reader stuff here. Also some words are censored because Tumblr is a meanie and won’t let me swear in my fanfiction-

The gender for (Y/n) is vague, but it does have menstrual cycle preferences mixed in, along with some talk about these two respecting pronouns and that jazz so, yeah.

Hope it’s a fun read, I might post more of these guys.

Being in a (romantic) relationship with The Devil would include:

• It’s actually hard for him to fall in love or even trust others, so it’ll take a while for him to say “I love you”.

• Though the first time he’ll ever say “I love you” (most likely after a few months of you two dating) it is immediately followed by a scrunch of the face and him going. “That was… strange..”

• He forces you to live in Hell with him, and only lets you visit Earth on special occasions. Family stuff, friends, but other than that YOU’RE STAYING!!

• He’s so dramatic whenever he has to cut his nails. He’ll run away from you, or hide. Once, while trying to find him to cut his nails, you found him on the ceiling.

• Despite hating his nails being cut, he will literally beg you to paint his nails. He won't just do one color though, he likes to change it up a bit. Sometimes he'll ask for grey, gold, red, but he loves the black nail polish!

• Whenever he has to do stuff that he doesn’t want to do, he tries to argue that he’s the devil and because of that, you can’t tell him what to do.

• One of his favorite activities is burning bibles, so...you have to deal with being woken up to the smell of smoke at 3AM.

• He's still not fond with current technology, but he does seem to enjoy Netflix.

• Devil giving you weird pet names: Darlin', succub!tch, shmoopie, baby-cakes, cow-pie, and tortoise-pigeon (Being the main nickname).

• If you ever need to practice your makeup on someone, Devil won't mind. He likes how it makes him look.

• Surprisingly enough, this guy brushes his teeth regularly. He got them pearly whites. That, and he doesn't want to loose his sharp teeth, they're his favorite, apparently they make him look intimidating.

• Devil is a man of art, very therapeutic for him. He loves to paint, sometimes he’ll want you to pose for him. And he's actually quite quick when it comes to painting.

• Both you and Henchmen helping him whenever he basically gets electrocuted by the sweater. The two of you are practically the only people he trusts, with Dice being the third.

• He doesn't care what gender you are, or if you're trans. If you're still you, and if you're not lying about anything, he won't care. Along with that he also doesn’t KNOW anything about that stuff, so you probably gotta help if you want him to understand.

• Even though he's the devil, he would never want you to feel bad about yourself. He loves you unconditionally, he would kill anyone who makes you feel that way, steal their soul, eat it, then spit it back out ‘cause it’s clearly rotten!

• If you go through the menstrual cycle and are having bad cramps, he gets very…awkward. He’s not very affectionate with others so he has no idea how to comfort people. He’ll most likely just have some of his little demons looking after you for a few days.

• He tries to use correct pronouns, he mostly slips up though, and he won't realize. You just have to be there to correct him for him to actually notice.

Random example:

(He's showing you to someone)

"Yeah, she's really adorable, isn't she?"

"It's 'they'.”

"...AHHH!" *frustrated demon noises*

• He’s not frustrated at you or the fact you use different pronouns, he’s frustrated at himself for not doing it right. So don’t worry.

Being in a relationship with King Dice would include:

• Probably says “I love you” way too fast, and by that I mean on the first date.

• If you wear makeup he’ll experiment with it whenever you’re asleep. (The masculine urge to wear your partner’s makeup)

• One of his favorite parts of your body happens to be your hands. He loves how perfectly they fit into his. Sometimes he’ll preform a type of show using his hand and your hand as the actors.

• If you go sit in the audience him during Roll The Dice. He'll immediately see you in the crowd and blush for the rest of the show.

• When he knows you're in the audience, he'll say this while announcing to everyone: "Ladies and gentlemen! ..and (Y/n).." (he'll whisper your name under his breath, but loud enough for the microphone to pick it up.)

• King Dice ALSO giving you some (semi)weird pet names: Darling, fuzzy dice, you adorable gambler, my wild card, little poker, and pumpkin.

• The personification of drama.

• Has a lot of gossip and info on the other famous people of Inkwell. Will tell you this gossip. You will listen. You have no choice-

• This man may seem like he knows how to do shit on his own, but he actually needs help with most things. Such as you having to help with this man's bow-tie every morning, because he just cannot figure it out for the life of him.

• Perfectionist, such a damn perfectionist. He won't go on with his day without him looking perfectly chipper, and he also spends hours in the shower. Really making sure to run up those water bills.

• A little sensitive about his age. If you ask him about it, he’ll say "that's not important" which is an oddly a creepy answer-

• If you wake up early, you'll find Dice in the bathroom just looking at himself in the mirror with a blank stare. If you actually enter the bathroom, he'll be so terrified that he jumps INTO the shower and closes the curtain to hide himself.

• He's mostly insecure about his pips, or dots. He knows he's getting old, because his color is fading. So...he buys lipstick to cover the faded coloring. But you smudged it once while he was kissing you, and he reacted like he was dying.

• He fiddles with his mustache when he's nervous and yet hates if tell him it makes him look like a villain.

• Much like his boss, if you go through the menstrual cycle he gets ungracefully awkward. But he tries to be very casual about it, despite his awkwardness being obvious as hell.

• “Oh, it’s that week?” Silent for a second. “Do you need me to get you anything or ..no?”

• Will buy you everything you need. And since stuff like tampons were fairly new in the 1930s and therefore most likely a tad expensive, thankfully he does have the money for it.

• If reminded, will carry some on him for you. If reminded that is, I’m putting emphasis on “IF REMINDED” for a f—king reason! Guy’s on autopilot all day, he’s famous but also has pretty much everything done for him, and so he doesn’t have to think about much.

• If not reminded he will completely forget and therefore freak the hell out if asked if for some.

• Like The Devil, he has no idea what being Non-binary means, or Bisexual, or anything related to that. I’m not saying he’s straight….He’s not, he just doesn’t know there are words for stuff like that other than ‘homosexual’ and a few other words I can’t mention-

• So, he'll mess up a few times when trying to use the correct pronouns, except he'll correct himself very VERY quickly.

• "He- THEY.. are my partner. I said they, of course I did. I would never say anything other than they.” Silence for a few seconds before then saying in a much more serious tone: “I said they.”

• He cares. He’s just stupid/j

#cuphead show x reader #the cuphead show #the devil x reader #king dice x reader #cuphead devil #fennecfics #gn!reader #gn!y/n #the devil cuphead #x reader #fanfiction

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oklotea · 1 year

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MY FAVORITE TINTIN SIDE CHARACTERS

ARRGRGWHDHEH I'M VERY VERY PROUD OF THIS I'M NGL!!!!!!! I LOVE THE WAY I COLORED THE CHARACTERS, I LOVE THE POSES I DREW THEM IN, I MADE SOME DECENT COMPOSITION IN THIS ONE!!!! HATE THE EDITING I DID I FUCKING SUCK AT EDITING

Anyway, I'm going to ramble about these guys and you can't leave until I'm done ok? Ok.

First of all, MY BOY MY SON MY PERSONAL LITTLE DEMON, ABDULLAH!!!!!!! he is very endearing to me!!! But I really do wish we could've seen more of him!!!! He looks mischievous enough to sneak on adventures along with the marlinspike crew himself for shits and giggles!!!!! HIM AND HIS DAD'S DYNAMIC IN LAND OF BLACK GOLD IS MY FAVORITE IT MAKES ME SO GIDDY AND HAPPY. like no matter how obnoxious and annoying Abdullah's pranks can become, his dad will forever love him unconditionally. MY FAVORITE DYNAMIC. I MISS THEM SO MUCH.

A little note, even though a lot of poc representation in tintin is pretty influenced by the stereotypes of the time, and a bit of orientalism, tintin and the land of black gold is also the first time in my childhood where the words "assalamualaikum" Was muttered in any piece of animated media. It definitely wasn't perfect, but that was important to me as a Muslim child. Maybe that's why Abdullah and his dad hold a special place in my heart!

Next up we've got ARREGEHFHFHHGHJ!!!!!!! CHANG!!!!!!! MY FRIEND FROM SCHOOL WHO HELPED END A CRIME RING IN SHANGHAI!!!!!!! I adore him and his personality so much!!!! HE WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS AS A KID AND HE STILL IS TODAY WHEN I REWATCH BLUE LOTUS!!!!!!!! The way that the moment he was saved by Tintin in that flood he pledged his undying loyalty to Tintin will never not be sweet to me. HE IS SO TALENTED AND CUNNING, HE SAVED TINTIN FROM CERTAIN DOOM MULTIPLE TIMES IN THE LITTLE TIME THEY'VE SPENT TOGETHER, AND IN TINTIN IN TIBET, TINTIN SAVES HIM ONCE AGAIN (Tintin in tibet is also a very memorable and special episode for me) AND JUST-- ARGEHDBEHF I CAN CONTINUE ON AND ON ABOUT HOW CHANG SHOULDVE BEEN INCLUDED IN MORE ADVENTURES!!!!! actually Tintin has TONS OF CHARACTERS who should have been given more important roles in a lot of different stories!!!! Idk maybe that's just a wish that will never be fulfilled.... Still I can dream!

And last but DEFINITELY not least... THE MILANESE NIGHTINGALE HERSELF, BIANCA CASTAFIORE!!!!!!!!!!!! AGHHDHEHFHJDHV MY GORGEOUS MY BEAUTIFUL MY LOVE MY EVERYTHING I MISS HER SO MUCH

SHE WAS A HIGHLIGHT FOR ME!!!!!! AND SHE IS VERY UNDERRATED!!!! I love seeing how much she treasures her friends, how she's so dramatic about everything, how she has such an unapologetically loud and large presence and personality everywhere she goes, how she is genuinely passionate about her singing and her art, how she clearly knows her worth and won't settle for less from anyone.

Every time she was on screen she always made me feel very happy and warm inside, also I really like her voice!!!!!

AND HER DESIGN!!!!! ARRRGHWHFHH HER DESIGN!!!

I'm ngl, she was the hardest for me to draw. But at the end I'm quite satisfied with the results!!!!

She would be such an amazing friend. SHE'S ALWAYS BRINGING GIFTS AND BEING CONSIDERATE WITH HER FRIENDS, AND SHE WOULD NEVER HIDE JUST HOW MUCH PEOPLE MEAN TO HER

PLEEEEASEEEE CASTAFIORE I MISS YOU SO MUCH GIRLFRIEND COME BACK TO ME-

Anyway, the last picture is how I'd imagine Chang and Castafiore's first meeting would go. She as always, acts as sweet and polite and extra af as she always does, let's Chang know that Tintin's talked a lot about him! And then she would bring out some biscuits and pastries she bought as a gift for everyone, and then she and Chang would sit together while eating, and they get along really well, CHANG HAS A WICKED SENSE OF HUMOR THAT CASTAFIORE CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF, (haddock would be completely dumbfounded with how good at talking to Castafiore Chang is, and how anyone could talk to her for so long) but little did haddock know, in their conversations, Castafiore does a whole lot more listening than speaking, especially when Chang starts to tell his back story, and all the things that have happened to him and Tintin. After Chang ends his story, he looks up at her after a while of being lost in his story, and mascara is dripping down her face silently, her mouth is agape, and for a few moments couldn't say anything.

Suddenly she burst out loud, pulled Chang into a hug, and sobs after listening to the horrors this sweet kid has gone through.

In over a few hours she seems to have grown a strong attachment to this kid, she'll probably send a package filled with gifts a few months later, along with a long letter talking about what she's been up to and her wishes that Chang will succeed with anything he's currently busy with, and that he shall take care of himself well.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the small character appreciation I was able to share for some obscure/underrated characters! And that they will occupy your mind just for a little while. I love these three so much, tintin shaped me as a person, tintin made my childhood, I hope you have a great day.

Click for better quality!!!!!!

#bianca castafiore #chang chong chen #tchang tchong tchen #chang #abdullah #prince abdullah #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #tea art 🎨#oklo makes a post

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thoughtsonlou · 4 months

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I just got back to my hotel after the Away From Home Festival and I needed to document my thoughts! This is the third festival in a row that I have attended and so far, this was my personal best experience. In Spain, I had planned poorly and ended up feeling dehydrated and sick, Italy was a travel nightmare (and the worst merch stand experience I have ever had), but Mexico was organized so well. Starting off, I actually got my bracelet this time (unlike Italy where most of them got thrown in the trash??). The merch line was short and efficient (I got a beautiful t-shirt—Louis’ merch never misses). The entire area was lively with colorful food stands, banners, lights, a giant AFHF sign in front of some stone. There was plenty of space, but it still felt like there were a lot of people there. The atmosphere was so chill, I loved it. Surprisingly, I never felt hot, the sun went down quickly and there was a gusty breeze most of the night.

Now for the music…

I completely missed Rodrigo Leal. I could hear Gibby while I went through the line outside (and I saw him later getting photos with fans). I thought he sounded great. I listen to some of his songs sometimes. Reverend and the Makers were better than I thought they would be. The lead singer fumbling with the Mexican flag was a bit comical, but they sounded tight as a group. Honestly, Dylan was kind of my favorite (of the openers). I didn’t really vibe with her music before the concert, but she was great on stage, and I respect that she cut all the Harry stuff. She added a rock edge to her more pop-y songs, and it changed them for the better. I don’t know she was just so charismatic on stage I dug it. Kevin Kaarl was clearly adored by the audience. Unfortunately, I don’t speak a word of Spanish, so I did not understand anything (and may have taken a bit of a snooze on the ground during his set). However, that is not to say I thought he was bad, quite the opposite. It was a nice change of pace, and his voice was moving. I love the DMA’s and were stoked that they were performing this year. They did not disappoint. I was a little distracted because Oli was like fifteen feet away from me singing along and dancing it was really cute 😊. It was so cool to have such a big band there at Louis’ festival. Ooooh the lineup was certainly my favorite of all the AFHFs I have been to so far. Spain is a close second, but I truly loved every act here, and in the case of Dylan, found her way more compelling in person.

Now for Louis…

He is pretty isn’t he. I can’t believe he essentially wore the poster as his outfit. His hair was perfect, and his skin glistening.

My top five songs from the night (in order of the setlist) were: MEGAMIX—All this time is the perfect song argue with the wall, and the live album made me appreciate the intro and transition between att and sibwawc even more than before, I though all of those sounds were prerecorded track, but I saw Steve messing with one of those sound board thingies in real time… neat! WALLS—this song just makes me emotional, especially when the crowd is so into it like they were tonight. BACK TO YOU—as much as I love a sappy moment, a festival set should be energetic and fun, and that’s what back to you is, she had me jumpin’. SATURDAYS—I admire that he has the confidence to sing alone at the microphone with hardly any backing instrumental for that long, it is so pretty, but when that build up pays off it is soooo good, the wall of sound was really taking the pain away on this Saturday. SILVER TONGUES—trust I meant it when I said, ‘I don’t feel like going home,’ what a jovial song I’m smiling just thinking about it, this song fills me with warmth!!

The instrumental outro is sick, and I can never remember what it sounds like, so that was fun to hear. I was trying not to be a grouch about the 1d songs, but why is night changes there for real? If he replaced it with We Made It, or HEADLINE?!?!?! this would be a darn good setlist. Drag me down is actually pretty good in my opinion. Where do Broken Hearts Go is fine live, but I dislike it in principle (if you’re going to sing a 1d cover, at least pick one you wrote on?).

The worst part of the night was when Chris walked right in front of me during night changes.

The best part of the night was going balls to the walls during Silver Tongues.

Truly the night (especially Louis’ set) flew by! I had a great time and cannot wait to see what is in store for next year :)

#faith in the future #afhf 2024

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whatthebodygraspsnot · 4 months

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Hi! I would fling myself off the roof for:

Number 3: "I want to taste you so badly."

And/Or

Number 8: “Kiss me, I can't wait any longer."

Please! 🙏🏻

P.S. You’re one of my favorite writers and you do horny so damn well. So uhhh…thank you and please never stop! 😊

"I want to taste you so badly." additional tags: lovey dovey shit, petnames, drunk horny ian, public sex, they're tucked away in a hedge maze but the risk is still there, this got long somehow oops you can find a fill for #8 here :)

It’s Debbie’s wedding day. And as Mickey stands in this restored historical property that she and her bride somehow managed to score, he’s gotta give props where props are due.

This shit is fully realized. Fairytale but classy. Dreamy lights strung over stone facade. Fresh, color-coordinated bouquets in the middle of every linen-draped table.

Damn.

He apologizes - he was not familiar with her game.

Now that the ceremony and dinner are over, he’s got a lot of time to sniff everything out and appreciate it. Lots more elbow room, what with his husband off on the dance floor with his family, celebrating their first wedding that’s finally gone off without a hitch. A historical moment.

“We really gotta show up for her, Mick,” Ian had started saying at the mere whisper of a wedding date. “Make moves. After everything she did for ours.”

And even after his tease, “Alright, you put on the dress - I’ll start bawlin’ my fuckin’ eyes out,” Mickey had agreed. Of course.

And now they’re here. Everything’s come together with a lot of elbow grease and a little light florist-threatening where it may or may not have been needed. (It was. Debbie was more than fine with it.) Everything’s going according to plan, and that includes his husband’s drunk little shimmy over to him, Mickey clearly in his sights even before the music transitions into something slow and romantic.

The song change has something flashing in Ian’s posture, like he’s delighted by the fate of it all as he reaches his hand out for him, still a few good feet away.

Goofball.

Mickey has no choice but to give in, endeared as all fuck as he helps close the distance and is immediately wrapped up in drunk husband. Flushed skin… Nice cologne… Those big hands slip under his suit jacket and fully wrap around him. Pull him in close. “Hey there, handsy…”

“I love you,” Ian murmurs into his neck, in a way of greeting. Sappy motherfucker. “Love the fuck outta you, Mick…”

Mickey allows it. Fuck anyone who’s got something to say - it’s not his fault they’re like this. He is gonna make fun of him a little, though. “Uh huh. Love you too, ya lightweight.”

His own drink sloshes up the side of his glass - high enough to envision the table’s bouquet getting a whiskey bath.

Yeah, he’ll just set this down real quick.

“Havin’ fun, huh…” He’s seen it with his own eyes. Has been enjoying it, actually, watching Ian tear up the dance floor and be stupid with the rest of the Gallaghers. “Gettin’ all sweaty…”

Ian hums, unbothered by this as he leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Could get sweatier…”

“That right?”

“Saw a room in the back…” He nudges his nose along Mickey’s. Brushes their lips together in suggestion as they fall into the slow, swaying rhythm of the love song playing overhead. “Getchya outta this suit…”

It’s a good idea, obviously. Mickey fucking loves this idea. But, “Told me to keep ya on a tight leash tonight,” he teases. “No funny business ‘til we’re back at the hotel. Remember any of that?” To further his point, he reaches behind himself, dragging those wandering hands back up as they start to drift downward under his jacket.

His response goes about as well as he imagined it would when Ian had proposed it this morning. “Who said that.”

“You, darlin’.”

“Mm. Mm-mm…” he denies, his hands beginning to creep back down the small of his back in spite of it all. “Not me…”

Mickey huffs out a laugh. Allows the touch just a little longer, but then corrects him again, before too much of this very good idea becomes a possibility. “Hang onto that, stud.” For later. Much later. When the song isn’t changing to something uptempo and just screaming for Ian to participate. “Go help Lip - poor bastard just pulled somethin’, looks like.”

With a great big inhale, Ian makes his displeasure known. “Come with.”

But, “Will in a bit,” Mickey counters. “Wanna check out back.”

“Out back…”

“Heard they got a statue of some naked dude out there.”

He can feel the smirk of suggestion that’s starting to creep across those lips. “Oh…?”

Gotta stop him before he starts up again. Distract him - ease back so he can look right into those heavy-lidded eyes while he sets the plan. “I’ll check it out - let ya know… Meet ya for another slow one soon…”

This seems to strike a chord in Ian’s wine-soaked brain. The deal of the century. And as if fate is reaching out its hand again, the music switches over to a song that’s got the inner circle shouting for Ian on the dancefloor.

“Go,” Mickey insists, kisses him back when Ian plants a quick one on his lips.

“Fine.”

Another kiss. “Okay bye.”

“Bye.”

“Love you.”

“Love ya.” One more.

And then he’s high-tailing it back into the crowd, leaving Mickey to watch after him with a fond shake of his head.

He picks his drink back up. Takes a sip, indulging in just a few more moments.

Damn, he loves that motherfucker.

_ _ _

It’s not that Mickey wants to deny his man - especially not when he’s all drunk and horny and love-struck like this - he’s only doing it because Ian asked him to. You know, before getting sloppy off pinot noir.

He’s in good hands in the dance circle, though. His opportunities to act up drop astronomically without his better half being there to touch up on.

And all marble dick jokes aside, Mickey does actually wanna snoop around outside. So that’s how he finds himself here, a good unknown amount of time later, posted up at the edge of the garden’s miniature hedge maze.

He hears someone call it a labyrinth in passing, but it’s a fucking hedge maze. Labyrinths are supposed to have monsters and shit in them, aren’t they? Debbie probably woulda had to pay extra for that.

Mickey pushes it from his mind and takes another drag of his cigarette, watching the smoke drift up into the stars. It’s a clear night. Perfect weather. Real quiet out here too, most of the celebration locked away in the estate.

It’s why he can hear the steps coming up behind him so easily, the stride and weight of them already getting his chest to swell with pleasant, familiar anticipation.

It only grows when he turns around - when he’s met with Ian’s playful little grin as he stops in front of Mickey not to kiss him like he expects, but to pluck the cigarette from his lips, without a word, before making his way to the labyrinth’s entrance a few feet away.

Mickey watches after him. Feels that pleasant anticipation curl into something curious as Ian takes a drag, flicks playful arch of his eyebrow Mickey’s way, and then slips through the opening in the hedgeline.

An invitation to play.

Oh, fuck yeah.

Mickey pushes forward, eager to not let Ian get too much of a lead on him. As soon as he steps into the maze, though, it becomes clear that won’t matter at all.

Because right away, he’s forced to make a decision between left and right, with no signs of which way Ian just chose.

Alright then, left it is.

“Ay,” he calls out, just on the off chance he’ll get a response. Shit’s twisty-turny in here. Tall, perfectly trimmed hedges that have gone dark green in the shadows stretch out before him. “Red…”

Of course Ian doesn’t answer.

He turns again. More choices. Right this time. “Gonna make me call a search party for your drunk ass…” he calls, only half kidding.

Another choice - straight, left, or right.

The stomped out cigarette keeps him on track - straight ahead - pulse beginning to quicken with his steps.

Because this is fun, but he doesn’t know how long it’s gonna stay fun. Doesn’t know exactly how many more blind turns he’s got in him before things start to get a little too real.

“Ian…” One more choice - he’s decided. One more turn and then if he’s not right in front of his husband he’s gonna make it everyone else’s problem. “Ian, if you don’t-...”

The rest evaporates into thin air as Mickey’s steps gradually fall off, all his determination leading him through the corridor and into a hidden resting place tucked in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s small - moonlit and flanked on all sides by the tall hedges. And in the middle…

Holy shit, there it is.

Mickey takes a careful step forward. Takes in the statue erected in the middle of the clearing - all the dips and curves of the pose - how he lounges back on one hand, the other raised to the crown of leaves around his head.

It’s weirdly profound.

Strangely breath-taking.

Gets Mickey so caught up in the moment of it all that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it’s too late - until he feels the hand wrap around his arm and tug, gently pulling him around until he’s come face to face with the man he’s been searching for.

His mouth falls open and Ian helps himself without a word, pinot noir and hunger on his tongue. Mickey laps it up. Lets himself be eaten alive, heat rushing into his chest and his face and his-

Ian lets out a tasty little breath as Mickey shoves him away, light and playful with it, but still hard enough to get a few steps between them - room to breathe and size each other up.

And fuck, he looks like something out a movie.

The shrubbery walls are tall, but the two of them are out of shadow’s reach, silver moonlight settling over Ian’s flushed face…his kissed, parted lips…how a couple bangs have fallen over his forehead…

Somewhere between the dance floor and here, he’s gotten his tie undone completely - has left it hanging and the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, his suit jacket just begging to get pushed off his shoulders right where he stands.

Holy fuck.

If this is what labyrinth monsters look like, Mickey might not mind getting lost.

“You lookin’ for me…?” Ian smirks, and it’s crazy how something so normal can sound so slutty when he’s panting like that.

Now is the time for Mickey to stop this. Now is the time for Mickey to remind him that they’re supposed to be behaving until the wedding is over.

“C’mere,” he says instead, already rushing forward - already wetting his lips and parting them so Ian can lick right into his mouth again.

It’s sloppy. Handsy. Ian is drunk and horny and love-struck and it’s too hot to deny anymore. It was never gonna happen anyway.

Dewy grass gets trampled under their dress shoes as Ian walks them backward without breaking off. Mickey can’t see but he trusts him - even like this - anticipates the sturdy marble before his lower back even slots against it. And then he’s trapped, blissfully, between the infamous naked statue and his husband’s crowding warmth.

“Fuck, Mick…” Ian breathes out. His fingers work at the knot in Mickey’s tie so he can loosen it - pop open the first two buttons of his shirt - tuck his fingers into the edge of his collar and then pull, burying his face into the newly exposed side of his neck.

It’s got Mickey lighting up, all the way from the tips of his toes. Of course he goes right for his weak spots. “Jesus Christ…” This statue better be good at keeping secrets.

Because Ian’s mouth is running, words and lips pouring over Mickey’s skin, “Need you, baby…” up and up and brushing over his ear, “Wanna taste you so bad…”

A shudder works up Mickey’s spine, even as he hears himself say it. “What, here?”

“Here.”

“Now?”

“Now.” His warm palm cups Mickey’s cock over his pants and starts rubbing just to prove it. “Right now. In here. Lemme taste you - I don’t wanna wait anymore…”

And Christ, he’s supposed to say no to that?

No fucking way.

Mickey reaches down for his belt, undeniably hard where Ian continues to give him attention. “Quick,” he insists, though. “People been goin’ in and out all night.”

That doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be a problem for Ian. He’s already getting on his knees - fucking up his slacks with wet grass stains - helping Mickey get his belt open and pants down just enough and fuck…

“Fuck…”

Fuck…Ian’s licking him up and swallowing him down right away, getting him good and sloppy like it’s the only thing he wants to concentrate on right now. His drunk ass really has been craving this.

Mickey lets his head tip back into the moonlight. Lets out a bitten groan from the tight, wet heat working up and down his cock. Feels his breath quicken as those fingers slip through the spit that’s dripped down to his balls, and then slide further back to start circling over his hole.

“Oh fuck,” he huffs out, his laugh breathy and surprised. “Fuckin’-...Jesus, Ian…you horny bitch…”

It’s affectionate, of course. They both know it. If anything, it just makes Ian lean into it harder, something low rumbling in his chest before he draws his hand back to spit in it - loudly - and then goes back to playing with his hole.

Yeah, he’s definitely a monster.

But he is quick, Mickey will give him that. They’re moving fast, the combination of time and Ian’s drunk, hungry mouth making things sloppy in a way they haven’t really been since they were teenagers.

This is so much better though. Obviously. This is fucking perfect, nasty in that shameless way. That ‘you’re my husband and I think you’re so fucking hot and I’m gonna do whatever I fucking want to you because I know you’re just as into it’ way. Jesus, if his teenage self could see them now-

The sudden redirection has Mickey spinning - literally - gets him facing the statue, his arms coming to hold himself up in its lap as Ian tugs him backwards ass-first and-

“Jeeeesus…” Mickey’s eyes roll shut in pure, utter pleasure, reaching to hold himself up by the crook of the statue’s elbow as Ian’s tongue starts lapping over his hole like he’s got no time to lose.

They don’t, really.

Realistically. No matter how time is going in and out in this fucked up little maze.

Anyone could make a turn at any of the four hedge breaks and walk right into this - Mickey, bent over in some naked statue’s lap, his ass completely out and being absolutely devoured by his husband while three fingers deep.

Another shudder runs down his spine, his toes curling in his shoes.

Wait a minute, is that hot?

Fuck, he’s getting close.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Mickey finally gets his hand squeezed into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, freeing the things he’s hidden there just for this.

He gets the corner of the gold packaging between his teeth and then tears, carefully, only spitting the extra bit onto the ground once he’s turned over his shoulder and held the rubber within reaching distance.

It’s got Ian coming back to Earth a little bit.

Has him pulling away, his mouth and chin glistening in the moonlight as he blinks owlishly at the condom, then looks up at Mickey, then back down to the condom again, processing with heavy breath and stilled fingers.

Mickey can already hear the shit he’s gonna get for this later. All sorts of mess about how he said he’d keep Ian at bay but then brought condoms and lube anyway - in his fucking jacket no less.

“Okay, but I was right to. Was I fuckin’ not?” he defends himself.

And Ian has absolutely nothing to say to that right now - he couldn’t possibly - instead he focuses on the task of wiping his face while standing and getting his pants open and grabbing the condom Mickey undid for him, unrolling it on himself as quickly as possible.

It’s all while Mickey gets the packet of lube torn open and put to work. Because suddenly time is very real to him. It’s slamming forward, the crickets seeming louder than ever but holy fuck, is he turned on. He might want this shit even more than the one who’s been slobbering after it all night.

So he hangs on, literally, going back to grabbing at the crook of the statue’s elbow as Ian slicks up the condom and then presses forward, sinking inside him perfectly.

Fuck yes…

“Oh god, baby…” he breathes out, and it’s shaky and right in Mickey’s ear - right where it sends tingles down his whole body.

Mickey bites down over his bottom lip, his nostrils flaring as Ian starts to fuck him against the statue. It’s just like everything else tonight. Good and greedy and sloppy, wine slurring the usual rhythm of his hips, but it doesn’t matter one fucking bit when they’re both this turned on.

It also means it’s gonna boil over quickly, both of them just a little too desperate to hold anything off. And that’s okay too. Mickey’s here for the ride no matter how it goes - how quick and fumbly and messy it is. Sometimes it’s more fun that way anyway.

This is one of those times. This is Mickey falling forward into the statue’s lap again, reaching blindly above him for Ian, who swoops in to press his lips to the side of his neck, words slurring and heated and sexy.

Mickey gets his hand in the top of his hair and he knows he’s fucking it all up - the gel is getting all over his fingers - but that doesn’t matter right now because the new angle’s got Ian’s cock rubbing up just right inside him, pleasure pooling and curling in his belly and drawing everything to a steamy, delicious boil.

“...m'gonna cum,” Ian moans and it’s one of the most romantic things they’ve ever done, Mickey thinks - fucking in this garden labyrinth - coming together under the stars and the watchful eye of some beautiful, fucked up little statue.

It’s definitely up there, at least. And Mickey’s not gonna factor in that he’s got marble cock and balls in his face as he starts to catch his post-orgasm breath.

From where he’s slumped on top of him, Ian buries his face right back into Mickey’s neck, his declaration winded and endearing. “Fuck… Love you so fuckin’ much Mick, oh my god…”

It’s enough to have Mickey buzzing - aftershocks and true, sometimes disgustingly obvious adoration.

“Love ya too,” he breathes out. Then, “Kinda wanna put my ass away though…”

A giggle tickles at his neck, Ian clearly entertained by his request. “Gonna come dance with me…?”

God… “Uh huh…”

It’s all he needs to say for the great weight atop his upper half to release, Ian finally granting them both enough room to pull up their pants.

They straighten themselves up with coy little grins at each other. While Ian re-ties his tie for him, Mickey tries to slick all that red hair back into something not obviously post-fuck.

And this might actually be the most romantic thing they’ve ever done, he decides instead. Even when they both finally declare each other ready for the dance floor, but find themselves lingering at the different openings in the hedges.

Because wait…

“Fuck…” Mickey realizes. “How the hell do we get outta here?”

[ send me a smutty one-liner ]

#thank you for gassing me up hehe #gallavich #ray writes #smutty one-liners

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cloudwhisper23 · 9 months

Text

Greg asked him to meet at the Pizzaplex. He acted like it would solve everything. But to Tony, there was no fixing things. There was only the betrayal he'd suffered at the hands of both Ellis and Greg. He'd said yes anyway though. The damage was done, and Tony had learned from his mistake. He could be friends with Greg, but he wouldn't trust him.

Part of him figured it was more Greg than Ellis who had really changed his story. Ellis wasn't dedicated enough to writing to really even care about how the story turned out. He trusted Tony to handle it. Maybe that was part of the reason it stung so much. Ellis hadn't cared that Greg wanted to change things.

Which meant that Greg had more to make up for, and was probably why he was trying to hard to make Tony feel better. But if he really wanted to cheer Tony up, why would he take him to the Pizzaplex again? Bad reminders were not going to help.

Something about it nagged at Tony. The Pizzaplex was GGY's hunting ground, if his suspicions were correct. Entering that territory without the crowds made Tony nervous.

He shoved a pocketknife engraved with his father's initials into his sweatshirt. Just in case. It couldn't hurt, right?

Greg seemed just as nervous as Tony felt when he got to the Pizzaplex. "Hey."

"Hey." Tony nodded to him, fidgeting with the carved wood in his pocket. "What's the plan?"

"Fazerblast." Greg smiled. "You can handle some games, right?"

Tony's mouth twitched, but he said, "Sure. Where's Ellis?"

"Ah, Ellis isn't coming today. I figured we could meet up with my other friends. The more mature ones."

Tony's brow scrunched. He'd had that exact thought before, of Ellis being too immature. But he never voiced it out loud. It wasn't worth the problems it would cause, even if Tony thought it was true. "Do I know any of them?"

"Not really. They like to hang out at Fazerblast."

"You only like it there because Freddy's your favorite," Tony replied as they entered the mall.

Greg scoffed. "I'm not that shallow. Fazerblast is fun. Ellis is the one who has all the fun at the arcade cabinets. I go all over."

"Right." Tony shrugged.

"Hey, come on. We're here to have fun, remember? Loosen up." The scrutiny Greg had given him at school returned.

"Sorry." Tony pointedly didn't look at Greg.

"Tony." Greg grabbed his arm. "Seriously. Are you going to be a buzzkill?"

"Greg." Tony replied flatly. "You ruined my story about the Pizzaplex, and to make up for it, you took me back to the Pizzaplex. Forgive me if I'm a bit upset."

"What do you want to do then?" Greg seemed irritated. What do you want from me? Tony heard instead.

"I don't know."

"So just trust me. You'll have fun, I promise."

Tony didn't respond to that, but he let Greg lead him all the way to Fazerblast.

"Where are your other friends?" Tony asked, but Greg kept moving. "Wait, this isn't-"

"There's a shortcut to skip the line. Trust me."

Tony was getting more and more concerned the more Greg said that. He took them through a creaking door and up a rickety staircase. Tony tentatively put a hand on the railing, peering over. "Greg, we're above Fazerblast."

"Astute observations as always, Tony." Greg tugged his sleeve impatiently. "We're almost there."

Almost where? Greg said they were going to Fazerblast, but they clearly weren't going to play Fazerblast. Instead, they followed the catwalks to a security office. "Gregory-"

"You've gotta trust me, Tony."

No, I really don't. But he still let the other boy lead him through the door. He scanned the room quickly, weary of the fact that someone had clearly been living in the room. The name Vanny was spray-painted on the wall in capital letters. "Who's-"

Something hit him in the back of the head, and Tony curled in a ball. I shouldn't have trusted him, he thought in a daze as he glimpsed the familiar color of Greg's shoes. He also spotted animatronic feet, but the pain ringing in his head reduced his ability to say much on his own.

Scrambling, Tony backed himself up into an arcade cabinet. "Wha-"

"Tony, Tony, Tony." Greg clicked his tongue, forcing Tony's head up to meet his gaze. "You've gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble. You almost gave me away! And we couldn't have that."

"Who..." Tony blinked, trying to restore his vision. "You're GGY."

"Looks like you can still think." GGY chuckled. "Are you ready to have some fun, Tony?"

"Not if it's anything like what you did to the others," Tony gritted out.

He was grateful that Ellis wasn't mature enough to connect the dots, not mature enough to care about the hyper-realistic nature of his story. He was grateful Ellis was complacent where Tony hadn't been. Otherwise, they'd both be stuck in this situation. I'm so sorry, El. Tony thought, gripping his pocketknife tightly.

He knew he'd have to stab Greg to escape, and despite the regret he felt deep in his heart, Tony had never felt more alive.

GGY stepped back, cursing under his breath as Freddy Fazbear growled angrily and hoisted Tony off the ground by his shirt. The pocketknife was warm in Tony's grip, blood dripping off the blade as he gasped for air.

"So much bite, Tony!" GGY wiped the blood off his neck. "But you do have more than one option here, you know. We can be friends forever! But you have to follow the rules." Carefully, he pulled the pocketknife from Tony's hand and tossed it across the room.

"I'd rather die," Tony spat when Freddy dropped him.

GGY shook his head. "I think we can change your mind. Freddy, let's go."

Tony blinked as Freddy's stomach hatch opened. GGY grinned at Tony. "I wonder how well you'll fit."

"Wait, no. Don't do this!" Tony stumbled back as GGY tried to drag him forward for Freddy to lift him up. "Let go of me!"

His cries ceased as GGY hit him, this time knocking him out.

When he woke, his hands were bound behind his back. Wriggling determined that his ankles were tied as well. Tony scowled at the gross, burnt tiles.

Wait a minute. This wasn't the Pizzaplex. How did-

The sound of someone else moving made Tony freeze.

"Well, look who's awake!" GGY peered into Tony's face. "Can you guess where we are?"

"This isn't the Pizzaplex..." Tony mumbled. He didn't want to play this stupid game. GGY grabbed his chin and shook it. Tony yanked his head free and looked closer at his surroundings.

There was a show stage, similar to the one the Glamrocks performed on. Arcades were littered around the room, and one wall housed a kitchen area. "We're... in an abandoned pizzeria?" he guessed.

"Not just any abandoned pizzeria!" GGY replied cheerfully. "My sponsor's old pizzeria. Or, I guess, his son's pizzeria." GGY wrinkled his nose slightly at that. "This is where the magic happens!"

"Magic?" Tony replied doubtfully.

"Once you agree to let him into your head, you won't stress about anything else for the rest of your sorry, miserable life!" GGY tapped the tip of Tony's nose. "He will give us instructions, and using our natural personality, we fulfill the demands to keep things running smoothly. When I saw what you did with that short story, I just knew we had to recruit you!"

"And if I refuse?" Tony glared. "You'll do what? Kill me?"

"Well..." GGY studied Tony's face. "We don't really want to kill you, but if you don't join us, we'll have no choice. Ellis would be a great alternative if you said no, don't you think? He already knows the lore of GGY, after all. Courtesy of your story."

"Stay away from Ellis." Tony jerked at his bonds, angry that he couldn't strangle the life out of GGY right there.

"You're the one who makes the decisions."

"If I join you," Tony muttered angrily, "you stay away from Ellis."

"Naturally. We want you, Tony. All we're doing is giving you incentive." GGY grinned. "So you agree then?"

"I'll do it."

"Great! I'll get everything all set up."

Tony's shoulders sank. He didn't know what this cult wanted from him, but their goals couldn't be good. Not if it included killing people.

#cloud writes #tony becker #fnaf ggy #might do a part two of this #who knows #a continuation of the story GGY from the fnaf books #although it's starting to give me au vibes already #ooooh

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doe-eyed-fool · 2 months

Text

Prey | Chapter Twelve

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Alastor slowly starting to get back into the swing of things, he was as acting more like his usual self again, much to your relief and delight. In fact, Alastor was doing so well, he told you he'd be stopping by your place tonight to take you out.

It was surprising. You didn't expect Alastor to do this, after all, the two of you agreed to keep your relationship a secret after all.

As you were getting dolled up, you were still thinking about the conversation you both had after. You were over at his home when Alastor brought it up.

"A date? But Al, if people saw us together, they'd start to suspect something." Alastor only hummed and shrugged the worry off.

"Well, maybe it's about time people knew. I love you so dearly after all, why not let the whole world see how much I do?"

"But you're usually so private...Is this because of Joe?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. You didn't miss the way Alastor's shoulder's tensed, you had to hold back the urge to smirk. "Al?" You sing his name when he didn't answer.

"Perhaps. The man needs to know you are spoken for." Alastor mutters. "That being said..." He takes your chin with the tips of his pointer and middle finger. His lidded eyes stare into your own as he spoke lowly.

"Him and every other man will see that they will never get the chance to have you. You're mine, and mine alone."

His voice made your legs weak, your heart flutter in your chest. But something in his eyes, it gave you a strange feeling unlike anything you've felt before. You've never seen Alastor so...possessive.

You finish applying your lipstick, setting it aside as you stare at yourself in the mirror. If Alastor really was ok with taking you, having everyone know that you two are a couple, well, that was more than fine with you.

You stood from your vanity and smoothed out your dress. You made sure you dressed yourself in Alastor's favorite color, red. He loved seeing that color on you. He always said how much he loved how it showed off your eyes, and how beautiful they were.

You gave a little twirl, making sure everything looked right. Then there was a knock at your door, and your heart skipped a beat. You rush to the front door excitedly and opened it, smiling brightly as you saw Alastor.

"Good evening, my dear. You look positively breath taking, I must say." Alastor smirks. You felt your cheeks grow warm. "Oh, Al." You giggle. "You look as handsome as always, love." Alastor thanked you as he led his arm out for you to take.

You link your arm with his, shutting the door behind you as he leads you away. "So, where are you taking me?" You ask. Alastor tutted. "Ah, ah. If I tell you, it will spoil the whole evening. You'll just have to see for yourself, darling."

You playfully roll your eyes. "Oh, alright." You lean closer to Alastor as you both walk. As you made your way into the more populated part of the city, eyes were in the two of you instantly. You couldn't help but feel tense, though, Alastor seemed completely unfazed.

You began to notice the more elegantly dressed people walking by, the fancy shops and restaurants, clearly this wasn't your element. "Al. I hope you aren't planing on emptying your wallet on me tonight." You say with a light laugh.

"And so what if I do?" Alastor smirks. "Well, I'd have to repay you somehow." You tell him. Alastor shakes his head with a chuckle. "My dear, are you unfamiliar with how courting works? It's a man's job to treat a lady to whatever her heart desires on dates like this. I do plan on treating you well, this night."

You blush. "Oh but, you know me. I never could accept a gift without giving something back in return. And besides, you've treated me better than I could have ever hoped for."

Alastor raised your hand to meet his lips. "Darling, I haven't even began to treat you as you deserve to be. But I plan on changing that after tonight. Just you wait..."

The rest of the night went along wonderfully. Alastor took you dancing at a lovely jazz lounge, then to a fancy dinner, and finally ending the night with a light stroll in the park. The lights from the lamp posts above, softly lit the stone path before you. Aided by the flickering of fireflies, dancing in the air.

The clouds were clear, showing off the beautiful deep dark sky, littered with shimmering stars. The full moon above it all, gave off a calming cool glow. Alastor looked down at you, and swore you've gotten even more stunning from just moments ago. Your eyes alone, rivaled the beauty of this wonderful nightly display. They took his breath away every time he'd look into them.

You seem to have caught onto his staring, as you glance up at him with slight confusion. "Is there something on my face?" You tease. Alastor smiles softly. "Yes." He leaned down and planted a kiss on your cheek. "My lips." Flustered, you pat his arm playfully. "Alastor!" You laugh airily.

Suddenly, Alastor stopped. You look up at him, his love drunk expression so clear under the light of the lamp post you both stood under. "My darling, I'd just hate for this evening to end. Every second spent with you, are always cherished to me. You make my heart beat with life and new purpose. The feeling you give me is like a drug, one, I can never get enough of. I never want to be even for a second without you."

"Alastor..." You mutter, face hot by his words. ".I wish to have this feeling always, with you. And so..." Alastor took your hand in his, dropping down to one knee as he keep his eyes on yours. Your free hand rose to cover your mouth in surprise.

"Y/n, my love, will you marry me?"

Tears brimmed in your eyes at the question. Your whole life, you had been by Alastor's side. You two shared so many memories. You stood by him during the good and the bad times. You laughed together, cried together. Never once have you ever parted.

So many times, you wish you could be with him every waking moment of your life. And now, you can.

It was a dream came true. And if this was a dream, you never wish to wake from it.

You threw your arms around Alastor, pulling him into a tight hug. "Yes! Yes I will!" Alastor wrapped his arms around you, taking in the moment. You said yes. He smiled against your neck.

You said yes. You were all his, only his.

Forever...

You hum a sweet tune as you walk down the hall, the same giddy feeling stuck with you ever since you agreed to marry Alastor. And because so did so, you really had no reason to refuse his offer now. If you two were to be married, you'd need to live in the same home. And so, you and him made arrangements for you to finally move in with him.

It could take a few weeks, to move your belongings to your new home. But Alastor quickly put any worry or stress aside, hiring movers to do the hard work for you. So here you were, soon to be Mrs. Thurman, in your husband your shared home.

Husband. Alastor was going to be your husband.

You descended the stairs, a bright smile on your face. You found yourself smiling more and more these days. Alastor always brought a smile to your face, but now that you were soon to be wed, it seems as if you could never stop smiling.

You damn near skipped into the kitchen to meet your fiancé. "Good morning, love." You greet him, placing your hands on his shoulders, gently resting your head on his back.

"Good morning, dearest." Alastor responds softly, not taking his eyes off the vegetables he was cutting. "I trust you slept well?" He asked. You sigh softly. "Best sleep I've had in a long time. But..."

"Hm?" Alastor hums. You reach to gently take hold of Alastor's chin, and turned his head towards you. "I wish you would have stayed in bed, just a bit longer. Waking up next to your betrothed in the morning is one of life's pleasures. Wouldn't you agree?" You say sweetly. Alastor chuckles before setting the knife down, placing his hands at your waist.

"I couldn't agree more, my dear. But I figured I should get an early start on the day. I'll be working rather late tonight." He tells you, causing a slight frown to form on your face. But Alastor was quick to quell any concerns.

"I assure you, it's just work this time. I mean it. I believe I'm starting to get a new wave of inspiration, but I'd like to be in the studio to let those creative juices flow." Alastor places a hand at your cheek. "I promise you, my love, I will be back in the morning. Just in time for you to wake up to my devilishly handsome face."

You laugh lightly as you shake your head. "Alright. I'll hold you to it." You then focus your attention to the ingredients on the counter next to Alastor. "So, what are you cooking up this time?"

"Crawfish etouffee."

You raise an eyebrow. "For breakfast?"

"For dinner tonight. I'm preparing the ingredients ahead of time so you won't have to worry yourself with it. You remember how to cook it, yes?" Asked Alastor with a teasing smile. You roll your eyes playfully. "Yes, Alastor. I might not be as good as a cook as you, but I do know how."

"As for breakfast, I'll get started on that momentarily."

"Oh, Al. You should let me do that. You woke up so early just to do all this." You stood on your tip-toes and kissed his cheek. "Any request, love?"

"Nothing sweet. I know the temptation to make waffles smothered in syrup and whip cream is strong, but do try and resist."

"I'm sorry you're boring." You smirk.

"And I'm sorry you have a sweet tooth stronger than a six year old's." Alastor retorts.

You chuckle before rolling up the sleeves on your dress. "Just be glad I know how to make your coffee just how you like it. Not many people can say that about their significant others." You then tie back your hair from your face. "So, how about I make you a ham and collard greens quiche? I'm starting to get good at quiches now."

"Sounds perfect, darling." Alastor says with a smile.

After breakfast, Alastor kissed you goodbye. But before he left for work, he made sure to give Mimzy a call, you'd need some way to get to her lounge to preform tonight. Thankfully, Mimzy agreed to have one of her boys swing by to pick you up.

Once you got ready, you step out onto the front porch to wait for the driver, who would be arriving any moment. As you waited, you took a seat on the porch swing and looked up at the night sky. Then suddenly, you felt a chilled brush at your arm.

You look over, but there was nothing there. You shrugged it off, assuming it was only the cold night air. However, the chilly feeling only grew stronger, as it traveled from your arm, to your back, and to the base of your neck.

You move your hands up and down your arms, in attempts to warm yourself up. Where on earth was that driver? You stood up from the swing and walked down the steps, looking left and right. "Did he get lost?" Alastor did live somewhat in the woods after all. But there was a clear path that lead from the street up to this house.

You sigh and tap your foot at the ground. Then that's when you heard it. A faint breathy call from right behind you. With a gasp, you whipped around, only to be met with the looming house you walked out from. You furrow your brows and let out a frustrated huff.

"Mimzy, just who are you hiring now adays?" You mutter before starting your way back up the stairs. You were going to have to call Mimzy, and inform her of her driver's absence. Just as you made it up to the door, that same call could be heard, only a little louder this time.

You turn your head in the direction of the sound, nothing still. Now paranoid, you quickly reach for the key, hidden under the doormat. As you grabbed it, you heard an ear piercing scream.

You drop the key and backed away, your trembling hand covering your mouth, keeping any noise from escaping you.

'What was that!? It sounded like a person!' You thought in a panic. 'Is...Is someone out there? Are they hurt?'

A low groan then filled your ears, this sound was the closest of any your heard...or thought you heard yet. And it was coming from the side of the house. Your hand slowly fell away from your mouth, you took a few hesitant steps to the edge of the porch, the wooden railing keep you from going any further.

You lean over and turn your head right, the cellar was all that you could see poking out from the house wall. The groaning slowed to a stop. And there was that terrible chill again.

Your heart was racing in your chest. Was...was someone really out there? What else would that scream come from? What was making all that noise?

BEEP!

You scream and nearly lost your balance over the rail at the sudden noise of a car horn. You look over your shoulder, a car waited parked in the driveway. You swallow hard, and back away from the rail. You could feel how clammy your palms had became, your whole body trembled.

You gave one last look back at the cellar, before quickly heading towards the car.

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader

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aresverse · 2 years

Text

PROMISE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Pedri González x BIPOC!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Being in your room for the first time makes Pedri realize how your relationship is changing.

This is my first time writing for Pedri, as well as writing in a longggg while. Enjoy. :)

I do not own this gif, full credit to creator.

Pedri stood outside of the doorway, watching you get comfortable in your own room while he shifted from side to side on his feet. His hands twitched with anxiousness and he could feel the slick sweat begin to moisten in between the space of his fingers. He had never been in your room before, only dating you for a few months now and because of the strictness of your parents, he’d only now been granted access to the upstairs of your home.

He hadn’t moved a muscle, not even when you noticed. “Are you sure this is okay?” Pedri mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to act nonchalant, hoping that you could feel the calm and collected exterior he was trying to fake.

Unfortunately for him, you already knew him like the back of your hand.

“Pedri,” You laughed softly with a shake of your head. “Of course, it’s okay. Entra, por favor.”

Pedri couldn’t stop the noise of discomfort that rose from the back of his throat, as quiet as it was, while he slowly walked into the room. His eyes didn’t meet yours yet, instead focusing on the room that he’d only seen few bits and pieces of in the selfies you’d send him. He looked around—trinkets of your favorite interests tastefully decorated, photos and posters taped around the room, and perfectly painted walls of your favorite color that just made sense to him.

His eyes finally met yours, his lips curling upward as he tried to emulate your smile, but he was far too overcome with bashfulness to meet you half way. He sat down beside you on your bed, after you had patted the spot next to you, with his hands planted on his lap as he looked anywhere but you. “I, um,” Pedri stumbled over his words slightly, a quiet laugh escaping his lips to ease how fidgety he felt now. “Me gusta tu habitación.”

You murmured a gentle ‘thank you’, now concerned about his coy disposition. Your index finger tucked underneath his chin as you turned his head to face you; his brown eyes were soft, but his teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, a habit that he couldn’t kick when he was nervous. “¿Qué pasa, cariño?” You asked, brows furrowing as your lips flipped into a worried frown.

Pedri shrugged, unable to find to words, though they danced along his tongue. He was nervous and he knew he was being painfully awkward—something the sweat on his hands wouldn’t let him forget. He couldn’t stop the quick beats of his heart, something he’d only feel when he ran along the pitch, but also when he looked at you. You made his heart beat dangerously fast and being so close to you, in your safe space that he’s never been in, had only made him realize how serious the relationship was getting.

It was scary, but so exciting to be in love.

He knew this, recounting all the advice his father gave him of ‘knowing when you’re with the one’ in his head, but he couldn’t stop feeling how shot his nerves were.

He couldn’t mess things up, not with you.

“Tengo miedo.” Pedri sighed, quickly mumbling about how stupid he felt after. He shook his head, trying to remove your index from underneath his chin, but you didn’t budge—forcing him to look at you. He resisted for a moment, not wanting to expose how vulnerable he felt, but the knowing look in your eyes was something he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

It didn’t make it any easier when you began to quietly encourage him, letting him know that it was okay for him to speak when he was ready, and that you wanted to listen to him.

“I love you.” He spoke, breath hitching as his body trembled. He repeated it again, clearly this time, fiercely and matter-of-factly as it was the second time he’s ever uttered those three words to you. “Te quiero mucho. Being in your room.. it..it makes me realize how serious our relationship has gotten and I’m scared that things will..fall apart or will mess up after all of this, and I don’t want that to happen because I love you.”

You released a puff of air that you didn’t even notice you were holding in; such release when you finally breathed again, smiling at Pedri as you brushed some of his hair on his forehead away softly with your fingertips. He returned the grin, his soft and embarrassed-like, unable to hide the blush that crept along the apples of his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about that, mi amor, I promise.” You reassured him while your hand fell into his, interlocking them. “No matter what happens, you never need to worry about us. I love you too, Pedri. We’re okay.”

“¿Promes?” He asked, sticking out his pinky finger in front of you. Your pinky interlocking with his sealed the deal enough for him, making him sign in relief, but the reassurance of your lips pressing against his finger had made him realize he was in his head and just needed you to talk him down, like you always did. He leaned in, both of your lips inches away before he pressed a soft kiss against your lips, taking your breath away.

“Promise.” You murmured against his lips, shivers running down your spine as your mouths moved with passion, as if it were only the two of you on the planet. A tender moment that both of you needed most.

#pedri #pedri gonzalez #pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri gonzalez imagine #football imagine #my fics!

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bananaactivity · 1 month

Text

CLEARLY these two are my favorite of the ROR line up as I’ve only been able to create redesigns I truly love of them, every body is… kinda goofy looking ngl.

I know there designs are so different that it’s kinda crazy but I literally love them so much!

If you don’t know already Morgies the tall one with a red mullet and Hook is the buffer one with a beard.

I’ve explained my choices in design for Hook but that was literally my first post sooo…

Facial features are based off of the actors face normally. You can see that clearer in my Carlos design, but Hook has Colleys thicker eyebrows and Morgie has Lindell’s faint freckles. However if you look below you’ll see just… how completely changed they are:

The difference is so wild

But my designsfor both are based of of these two preexisting depictions of Morgana and Hook respectively.

Btw something about Live action Hooks is that they just… EAT SO FRICKIN BAD LIKE WTF. This has got to be some universal rule that a live action Hook variant must eat and be so so cool at ALL TIMES. ( for me it’s less about sexy and more about they look so cool)

( Anyway This is Morgana La Fey from Troll Hunters and Mr. Needs no introduction you know who that badass mf is)

More of my changes also come from character design things. Like the exaggerated lashes and visable water lines. I like to differentiate noses, eyes, eyebrows, and chins because I feel that’s something that really helps combat same face syndrome. It also helps when I make related characters, so they don’t look like carbon copies, I’ll trade some features in and out and swap them around. I give most characters baggy eyes, because I like the definition it gives them.

I also like to make color palettes similar and opposing, and add some traits that show small insights to the character. Hook and Morgie have warm color palettes for their clothes, however Hooks skin is warm, while Morgies is cold, a sign to his unnatural human form and his association with necromancy ( tho when he was just learning how to hold this form as a youngling he was much paler, now he has spent so much time with real mortal people he has learned to blend in with more realistic skin tones and knows how to flush his skin as if he has blood under it like them)

As a fun little thing tho they swap this theme with their eyes. Hooks eyes are cold and icy blue, while Morgies are chocolate. Of course even though his natural eyes are more like a yellow snakes eyes they are still warm yellow to Hooks cold blue. And they share the same taste in jewelry to opposite the other couple in their group. Hook and Morgie wear gold as their preferred choice of color for jewelry . Maleficent and Hades wear silver. Uliana wears wtv tf she wants, she doesn’t care. Also Hook and Morgie wear warm colors where as Hades and Mali wear cool colors. (Clothing is different from skin, so even tho Morgies flesh form isn’t natural and can never have the right look of skin fully he can still just wear normal clothes) Again Uli don’t care and wears what she wants to look as cool as she wants.

Here their ages are 19 and 20, with Morgie being older, and Hook is the shorter one during this time because, again, Morgies form is meant to be more unnatural due to his unorthodox creation, and even though my art is a little squished, Hook is the 2nd tallest of their group( making Morgie very abnormally tall) .

However there’s a 15 year gap where Morgie had been terrorizing his cousin Archie of Camelot and his chief warlock Marvin Merlinson and he forgets to age his human form. I’m giving him a cool gold armor set like Morgana from Troll hunters so that’s basically what he wears for like 15 years. So when he reunites with his old friends Hook has grown really tall and got a little grey, so before he gets out of his armor he has to change his form real quick so it doesn’t freak his friends out that he still looks like, mid 20s and theyre all late thirties pushing early forties. But he desires to stay shorter then Hook because that’s new and… intriguing.

Also Morgie is now also British like Hook!! (Arther is literally a BRITISH story! Why isn’t Morgie a CELTIC LAD) like I know the whole thing is that Brit’s suck with their plain ass beans with toast and black fucking pudding ( despicable shit 0/10 would not recommend) but King Arther and half sister are so cool, everyone was stupid for not knowing who Morgana Le Fay is 😤

Hook is from Oxfordshire and Morgie was “born” in Cornwall but raised in the kingdom of Avalon. (Don’t ask about why England exists in the same world as Auradon)

If you have any questions about these twos past life and relationship with each other feel free to ask me anytime!!

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say-al0e · 2 years

Text

Bad Day

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Rooster knew that wedding planning wouldn’t be fun. He didn’t take into account how difficult it would prove when family got involved.

Warnings: Abusive parents (no details, but implied), parental mental disorders (again, no details, but mentioned), bad/nonexistent relationship with family, Rooster reflecting on his family.

Pairing: Rooster x fem!Reader (I think can technically be read as gender neutral but, just in case, tagging as fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.3k

Top Gun Taglist | Requests are open!

The sound of slamming doors was not one often heard in your shared home. The few times it happened, it was an accident or the subject of a quick apology. Most of the time, when either you or Bradley arrived home, it was to the sound of music or idle chatter as someone spoke on the phone. Others, it was silence, though that depended on how the day had gone.

When Bradley arrived home to a flurry of movement and noise, he knew that whatever it was was bad. He assumed it was work related, as it so often seemed to be lately, and stood quietly as he watched you storm around the kitchen. Your anger would ebb, or boil over enough for you share your feelings sooner or later, he just had to wait it out.

His entrance was quiet and went unnoticed. You were too caught up in the emotions roiling in the pit of your stomach to feel the weight of his gaze as he took the time to observe you. Little had changed about the kitchen since he’d left for work - a pile of wedding magazines your mother sent were scattered across the counter, a few samples of card stock you’d picked up for invitations remained in a heap, and the notepad you’d been using to keep track of it all had a flurry of ink smeared across it - and he began to wonder if that had more to do with your mood than work.

The pair of you had yet to set a wedding date - his schedule was a little more set these days, since returning to Top Gun as an instructor, but there was never really any guarantee when planning something so far out - but he knew the planning wasn’t exactly your favorite thing.

Still, he was surprised when you finally turned and met his eyes. Yours, while usually so bright and full of life, were rimmed red and clearly exhausted. It had been a rough day, that much he could tell, but he knew he needed to wait for you to start the conversation.

With little hesitance, you shook your head. “All of this shit looks the same,” you huffed, voice breaking slightly as you gestured to the pile of magazines. You could feel your bottom lip begin to tremble as you scrunched your nose in an effort to stop the tears stinging the backs of your eyes from materializing. “And it’s all so fucking expensive, for just one day.”

To his credit, Bradley managed to keep a straight face. He knew you. He knew that it was uncharacteristic for you to get so worked up - just last week, you’d said the same thing, only it was accompanied by a laugh and a half-hearted plan to just elope in Vegas - and he did little to hide his frown as he stepped a little closer.

This wasn’t about the cost of the wedding or the similarity of the items and he knew that. So, he asked, “What happened, honey?”

With a sigh, you folded your arms over your chest and shook your head. “My mom called. She wanted to know what color palette we were hoping to use and if I’d given bridesmaids any thought. If I hadn’t, she was going to suggest my cousins. Then, she asked about the place settings and flowers and dinner. There’s so fucking much involved in planning a fucking wedding and it all just looks the same and she keeps asking, even though I’ve told her I’ve got it a thousand times.”

When you announced your engagement - well, when your mother noticed the ring you wore and stopped long enough to ask - she threw herself in headfirst. The constant conversations, more communication than you’d had in years, was taking its toll on you. That, in and of itself, was of no surprise to him. In fact, he’d seen it coming, even if he’d hoped he was wrong.

Still, Bradley knew that your relationship with your family was tenuous, at best.

The beginning of your relationship was slow, a little cautious, and the topic of family was avoided for as long as either of you could stand. He wasn’t sure how to bring up his parents and neither were you. However, your story came a little later than his.

Nearly a year into your relationship, you explained why you were so reluctant to tell him about your past.

If Bradley said any of it was a surprise, he would’ve been lying. He’d figured it out - as much as he could without being given specifics - but it wasn’t any easier to hear when you finally told him. Your mother, while physically present, was distant and difficult. She’d been married a half dozen times and each relationship seemed worse than the last. There was a myriad of mental illnesses and other concerns, none of which she sought help for, and Bradley was stunned at how little she seemed to care for you.

While hearing about your relationship with her was tough, your relationship with your father was worse. It was practically nonexistent and for good reason. You’d spared him the details but he understood why you cut him out of your life.

As difficult as it was, growing into adulthood without his parents - whom he loved beyond words - Bradley knew he was lucky to have had the parents he did. They loved one another fiercely and him even more. While he would give anything just to see them one more time, he was able to understand that not everyone was so fortunate. His heart ached that you were one of the unlucky ones, especially because, given the circumstances, you’d grown into one of the best people he’d ever met.

Since announcing your engagement, he’d been able to see what an interaction with your mother did to you - what she was like, how difficult she could be. This, however, felt different. So, he waited a beat and ventured a step further into the kitchen before asking, “What else happened?”

Bradley watched as you swallowed, blinked a little too fast to hide the emotion, and leaned back against the counter. For a moment, you chewed the inside of your cheek as you willed yourself not to cry. “My mom gave the other person responsible for my existence my phone number.”

That was the thing he’d been afraid of. While Bradley - and everyone else who knew the story of your father - understood why you cut him out of your life, your mother refused to see reason. It was only a matter of time before she did something like this but, still, he’d hoped this day would never come. “Shit.” He sighed, the sound quiet, as he leaned against the counter beside you and tipped his head to glance at you. “Did he call?”

“Mm.” You heaved a heavy sigh but kept your eyes on the tile floor instead of glancing at him. You knew that if you did, the tears would start and you would be rendered speechless. “I didn’t answer the first time for obvious reasons, but he annoyed my mom so much that she guilt tripped me into answering. She called after he did, well, four times while I was on the phone with him, and I snapped at her because he was a fucking dick, as per usual. Now, she’s pissed at me and he said he’d call back in a few days.”

There was little Bradley could say that would help - he knew that this wasn’t the moment for practical solutions or encouragement - so, he remained quiet and allowed you space to release everything you were feeling.

“I just…” With a harsh exhale, you shook your head and lifted a hand to wipe your eyes. “He calls and he asks what the weather’s like here, how I like my new job, if I like California better than Virginia, what you’re like. He’s pieced together my life from other people and he asks me these questions like he knows anything about me, like he’s entitled to know anything about me. All the while, he completely glosses over the fact that I spent the majority of my teens and early twenties completely afraid of other people because of him. He glosses over the fact that I hate every memory of my childhood, what memories I do have, because of him. He glosses over the fact that even though I know people love me, I still question it because of all the times he told me no one ever would. He glosses over the pain he caused because he feels entitled to a relationship and I know he’s only doing it because his time is almost up and he doesn’t want to die alone.”

Bradley remained quiet, gaze soft and so fucking heartbroken that you couldn’t stand to look at him as you shook your head. He stood still by your side, completely aware that you would want physical comfort but only after you’d gotten what you wanted to say out.

“That’s such a shitty thing to say and to feel, I know, and I hate it. But… Fuck, he asked when the wedding is and when he should be here, what color tie he needs to walk me down the aisle. He talked about not being able to walk very far anymore but said he’d do it, just to get me there, and it’s all such fucking bullshit! I don’t care if he really wants to make amends. It’s been years. He destroyed my life and he doesn’t get to do this shit, just because the end is near. I want an apology. I want an acknowledgment that he hurt me, physically and mentally, and then I want him to fuck off. I don’t want a relationship. He’s not invited to this wedding and I’ll be damned if my mom guilts me into having him or brings him herself. I don’t want either of them here, honestly. I love you and I’m so excited to be your wife. I just don’t want the best day of my life to be spent afraid of my fucking parents.”

When silence settled over the house, disturbed only by your uneven breathing, Bradley closed the distance he’d left between you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you into his chest, pressed as close as he could get you, and sighed as you wrapped your arms around his waist and gripped the t-shirt he wore.

The way you shook in his arms made his heart break. He’d been toying with the idea of offering to elope since asking you to marry him - neither of you cared that much about the wedding itself; his parents had a small wedding, limited to their closest friends and family, and that was what you’d both wanted. Now that he knew the headache an actual wedding would entail, Bradley knew what needed to be done.

“Forget the wedding.” Bradley felt you tense, if only for a moment, before you lifted your head to glance at him. There was a confusion there, a little bit of hurt, and he was quick to shake his head. “Forget the actual wedding. Let’s just elope.”

“Bradley.”

Bradley moved his hands to cup your cheeks, touch soft as he brushed his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m serious, honey,” he declared, eyes searching yours. “No day is worth feeling like this. All I want is to be your husband. We can have a party later, invite our friends. The wedding can just be us, though. No fancy clothes, no stupid place settings, no monogramed napkins, no one to ruin the day. We can take a road trip, go to Vegas and get married by Elvis. All that matters is that we love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives together.”

There was a moment of silence, a beat in which the weight of the world seemed to melt from your shoulders, before you frowned. “What about Mav, Penny, the others?”

“They can come, if they want,” Bradley offered, shrugging slightly, though you knew how important it was to him that Maverick and the others were a part of the day. “If you want them there. But we’re the only ones who have to be there."

“I want them there,” you assured him, “if they want to come, I’d love for them to be there.” The entire group had become as much of a family to you as they were to Bradley and you could’t imagine your wedding day without them.

Bradley nodded, pleased with the outcome of the conversation, before he smiled. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Marrying my best friend in Vegas, I hope.”

With a laugh, Bradley returned his arms to your shoulders and pulled you into another embrace. “Sounds like a plan, honey.” He ducked his head, just enough to press his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss, before he pressed his forehead to yours. “You wanna call Phoenix while I call Mav and Hangman, rally the troops?”

“I love you a lot, Bradshaw. You know that, right?”

“I sure hope so. It’d make this whole thing kinda awkward if you didn’t,” he teased, grinning when you rolled your eyes fondly.

Moments like that, little things that Bradley did to make you smile when you felt your worst, made you realize that if you only got one thing right, it was choosing Bradley.

In the end, he was right. The wedding itself didn’t matter. No place settings, monogrammed napkins, or fancy outfits were were important enough for either of you to lose sleep over. The only thing that mattered was that you loved one another and wanted to spend the rest of your lives together. The people that mattered would be there - physically and in spirit - and, at the end of the day, you were just happy to have fallen in love with someone who loved you back just as much.

___________________________________________________

Author’s Note: The next fic I write will be light, I swear. Anyway, this won’t be everyone’s thing and that’s fine. I kinda want to write the elopement now, though. Anyway. Happy Monday.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot

#rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun one shot #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick x reader #v's fics

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