#follow it with whatever the fuck that second season is

[themultifanshipper]

hatesex with Daniel Riccardo x reader 🟠 reader is a sister of either max or Norris lol whatever works for you but they're at a party then Daniel and reader get to a huge argument max/Lando told them to settle it privately so they went to the guest room to talk it out and I guess you know where the story goes from here (reader getting absolutely railed by Daniel)

It’s hard to make a name for yourself in motorsports when your last name is already famous, in the form of a three time formula one world champion.

Warnings: driver!reader, Verstappen!reader, bickering, Daniel is a real dick in this one guys, but so is reader, rancid vibes, smut, PinV sex, rough sex, kinda dubious consent at first, choking, y’all know the drill, basically fighting and fucking at the same time, it's something

(Also I forgot to put the first prompt in the fic but it's the viiibe)

You'd trailed behind him, following his every step (with a few years difference) and at the age of 21 you were starting your second year driving for VCARB.

You had met Daniel back when he and Max were teammates, and you immediately disliked him.

He flirted with everything that had a pulse, and he'd jokingly made a pass at you, and you'd gone straight to tell your brother.

You were 15.

It didn't go down well, at all.

On both sides. Max was furious at him for flirting with you, and Daniel was furious at you for snitching given that he had no idea Max was your brother.

You'd always been a hot-headed child. Using your mouth before your brain was your biggest flaw.

Then Daniel moved to Renault and you didn't see him again much after that.

But you vowed that if he was still in F1 by the time you got there, you would make his life a living hell.

And it was just your luck, Perez got fired at the beginning of 2023, Yuki was promoted, and your teammate Nyck was dropped mid season. Which meant that through some kind of fucked up twist of fate, Daniel Ricciardo was now your teammate. And to make matters worse, Redbull's circus pony also had the seat the year after.

You were the Verstappen project 2.0, and Daniel was a deeply resentful motherfucker.

Forget Senna and Prost, forget Brocedes, forget the old Verstappen-Ricciardo rivalry.

There was a new Verstappen in town, and she was worse than the last.

More aggressive, more petty, more youthful, and more talented (although Max would disagree with that last one).

Daniel didn't stand a fucking chance.

You'd even tried to buy each other out of the team, unsuccessfully.

But you did have one thing over him, and he didn’t even know it yet. Max was retiring after his 4th title, and you had been given his seat.

Max of course was good friends with Daniel, which made social situations quite awkward sometimes.

Like the party you were currently at.

You had won the last race, in Australia of all places, and there was a two week break during which Lewis (coming off the high of a p2 in a shitbox of a Mercedes) decided to throw a massive party in his penthouse.

Lewis knew how to throw a party, no one could deny that, but he seriously needed to be more careful what kind of scum he let through his front door.

That was your alcohol addled mind talking as you spotted Daniel walk in, stupid shirt open showing his stupid toned chest and stupid pants accentuating his slutty waist and stupid thick thighs…

That was also the alcohol talking.

Somehow you both ended up in the same circle on the patio along with a few other drivers.

The conversation inevitably steered towards Daniel's future in F1 given that he didn't yet have a contract for the 2025 season.

“So how does it feel being outperformed by not one, but two Verstappens in your career?”

You knew the question was petty and stupid and could only lead to another one of your regularly scheduled shouting matches, but you didn't give a shit.

He stopped mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes at you.

“And, how does it feel that you're in a backmarker team 14 years into your career, being overshadowed by someone in their second year?”

The silence was palpable, the other drivers were sipping their drinks and pretending they weren't listening.

Daniel was staring at you as if he couldn't believe you would dare start this shit in front of the others.

But you were drunk and loose lipped and right now you were capable of saying anything to rile him up.

Such as-

“And, hear me out, wouldn't it be funny if I got the Redbull seat before you do? And I didn’t even have to suck Christian's dick to get it!”

The fact that you were getting the other seat next year hadn't been revealed to the public yet, or the other drivers, or Daniel.

The words hit the group like a freight train, and you almost regretted opening your mouth, but the look on Daniel's face made it entirely worth it.

His nostrils flared and he slowly got up, didn't say a single word, and went back inside.

 The circle let out a collective breath.

“No comeback” you sighed, disappointed, downing the rest of your glass.

Lando, who was sitting next to you stared at you “Is it true about the Redbull seat?”

You smirked at him.

“Maybeee”

You stood up, brushed yourself off and followed Daniel inside, with the intention of getting another drink, when you were stopped in the hallway by your brother.

“What the fuck did you say to Daniel?” he hissed as he pushed you into the kitchen. “He’s angrily ranting about Christian and I just know you have something to do with it!”

You crossed your arms defiantly and stared at the neck of his polo shirt, avoiding his eyes.

“I might have mentioned something about him being washed and not being considered for next year’s Redbull's seat…” you shrugged “He's only angry because it's true”

Daniel chose that exact moment to walk into the kitchen, and when his eyes landed on you he scoffed.

“Getting scolded by your big brother now? Must be hard living in his shadow”

Once again, your mouth reacted quicker than your brain.

“That's rich coming from Redbull's talentless cash cow”

“You only just turned 21 and you're already drinking so much everything out of your mouth is bullshit-”

“Okay, that's it!” Max yelled.

He slammed his drink down next to yours on the counter and dragged you to the nearest guest room, motioning for Daniel to follow you.

“You two are actually driving me up the wall with this shit! I don't know why you hate each other so much but I am sick of the constant bickering. You are not coming out of this room until you find some way to get along!”

He slammed the door shut on his way out and you and Daniel were left in silence.

You just stared at each other, full of contempt.

“I hate you”

“Oh, I know! You’ve made that abundantly clear!”

Silence once again fell upon you because neither of you had anything constructive or remotely helpful to say, so you sat down on the bed and picked at your nails.

He just scoffed again and started pacing around the room.

You didn’t know how long the silence lasted, but it felt like it stretched on for at least ten good minutes before you decided you’d had enough.

You stood up abruptly, planning on storming out of there without a word, your brother be damned, when you stopped by Daniel speaking up before you’d even made it halfway across the room.

“Is true about the RedBull seat?”

You realized for the first time how shitty his situation actually was. And it probably wasn’t made any better by your constant insulting him. And breaking the news to him like that, in front of everyone was probably humiliating, and quite frankly a very shitty thing to-

“Because if it is you definitely don’t deserve it. It should go to a driver that’s earned it with experience, not Max’s second rate bitch of a sister”

Okay, never mind then.

You turned around to face him. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem” he started, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against “is that you don’t deserve that seat, I do.”

“Well despite you sucking Christian’s dick for a decade, he doesn’t agree.”

Daniel stepped towards you, towering over your frame menacingly but you continued “I’ve scored double the points in the first half of this season that you scored in your entire time at this team, so whether you like it or not, I’ll be taking Max’s seat next year.”

He growled and leaned down so that there was barely an inch between your faces. “Say that again, I dare you.”

“Which part? The part about me being better than you? Or the part about how you’ve been bending over for any team boss that’ll have you? It’s not exactl- mmf!”

He’d grabbed your neck and crashed his lips to yours, silencing the onslaught of painful truths he couldn’t accept.

You reflexively grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer, other hand weaving into his hair and pulling, making him grunt as he easily slipped his tongue into your eager mouth.

Fuck it felt good. It had been a while since you’d been able to find a random person who didn’t know who you were to have sex with, so you were slightly pent up. You could feel your body temperature rising as you started getting breathless, and Daniel bit your bottom lip.

You suddenly realised where you were and pushed him backwards roughly.

"I won in Australia"

“Fuck you” he panted.

“Never” you spat at him before attempting to walk past but he intercepted you and pushed you roughly onto the bed.

“Fuck you, fuck your trophy and fuck this fucking dress”

He took advantage of your disorientation to climb on himself and turn you over, hiking your hips up and shoving your dress up. 

“The fuck are you-“  you were interrupted by your panties being dragged down unceremoniously.

You gasped as a finger came to dip between your folds to feel the dampness that had pooled there. “Daniel don’t you fucking dare-“

“Pretty fucking wet for someone who claims to hate me” he slipped a finger in easily pumping it and out a couple of times before adding a second.

“I do hate you, and if you think anything you could possibly do will change that then you’re even more delusional than I thought” you managed to say through gritted teeth as he added a third, before undoing his belt and pushing his pants down just enough to get his hard cock out.

He popped the tip inside and slowly, inch by inch, slip into your tight heat.

I took everything you had in you to not make a sound, you refused to give him the satisfaction.

When he nudged your cervix you shuddered, but your lips stayed firmly sealed.

“Say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart” he said, voice cracking with how good your walls felt around him, he’d waited for this moment for a long time.

You didn’t make a sound though, and he chuckled as he pulled out halfway.

“Thought so”

He thrusted back in roughly, making you choke on a moan as he continued at a relentless pace and his hips slapped against yours.

You whined quietly and he leaned over you, hips never faltering, to whisper in your ear “what was that beautiful? I didn’t quite catch it…”

After a particularly hard thrust you moaned properly for the first time and he laughed.

“Fuck you” you spat and his hand went to wrap into your hair to pull your head back as he mouthed at your neck.

“I am fucking you, and you’re going to come on my cock. Because even if you get the seat, I’ll get the satisfaction of knowing I have something Max doesn’t. This sweet fucking pussy, drooling helplessly around my cock while he’s in the other room.”

Each thrust was harder than the last, and your eyes were rolling back into your skull as you tried to maintain some sort of control.

But you were failing miserably, Daniel somehow hitting all the perfect spots as your legs gave out and you were forced to lay flat on the bed while Daniel pushed your head down into the pillows and he bullied his cock into your weeping cunt mercilessly.

“Daniel, fuck!” you whimpered, you high quickly approaching after the change of angle “Shit, I’m gonna…”

You were right on the edge, but Daniel pulled out suddenly, ripping your orgasm from your grasp.

“What-!”

He turned you over and pressed you into the mattress by your neck and shoved his cock back into you before you could protest further.

“I want to see you come undone on my cock, see your pretty face as you lose control.”

You gave him the most hate-filled look you could muster, but it quickly slipped away when he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder to deepen the angle.

Small whimpers escaped you despite you biting your lip to keep quiet.

That displeased Daniel greatly, so he grabbed your jaw and leaned over you.

“Open.”

He was so forceful you had no choice but to comply and he shoved two fingers in your mouth and pressed down on your tongue to stop you from concealing your noises.

“Wanna hear you baby, I want Max to hear how his precious little sister is actually a whore. How Christians new driver is fucking ruined on my cock. How despite how much you think you hate me, you’re going to scream my name while I fill you up.”

Your hands were scratching down his back at this point, only encouraging him to go harder, and your abandoned high quickly came back full force.

You moans got higher in pitch and Daniel used his other hand to rub messy circles over your puffy clit, essentially throwing you over the edge as your orgasm knocked the wind out of you.

Your cunt spasmed and clenched around Daniel and there wasn’t much he could do to hold off his own high as he came inside you, head falling to the crook of your neck as his hips finally grinded to a halt.

He didn’t move for a while as you both lay there catching your breaths, slowly coming to terms with what you’d just done.

“Max is going to fucking kill you” you said, and he snorted before pulled out.

“Oh please, Max is in love with me. Besides, who’s gonna tell him? You?” he raised a cocky eyebrow as you pursed your lips.

He was right, you sure as hell weren’t going to tell your brother about this.

“Whatever, you’re paying for my plan B. I’ll send you the bill.”

He just chuckled as you quickly got to your feet to pull your dress down and straighten yourself up in front of the large mirror in the corner (God, Lewis was a freak) before going off to find a bathroom to clean yourself up properly in.

In the corridor, you ran into Max, who crossed his arms and blocked your path.

“Well? Did you two sort it out?”

“No” you growled and he sighed dejectedly.

You didn’t have time for this though, you could feel Daniel’s cum leaking out of you and running down your leg, so you pushed Max out of the way and rushed to the nearest bathroom.

Unbeknownst to you, Daniel came out of the bedroom right after, and just as Max looked at him he was still putting his belt back on.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what that meant, Max saw red as Daniel froze, the older man noticing him a beat too late.

Well, so much for keeping it on the down low…

The rest of the season was going to be interesting…

[huckleberr1es]

ight i watched season 1 of why women kill and imma be real. im gonna drop season 2. season 2 didnt need to happen. as far as im concerned it was a single season gem of a show with no mediocre follow up.

[sodacowboy]

I think it’s funny that I usually Strongly Dislike childhood friends to lovers most of the time and yet that’s exactly what Sol & Lazul are

[gutsby]

If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

[dollfacefantasy]

would you write a threesome w leon and chris… because… like maybe leon is your (older,,, like death island) boyfriend and he introduces you to his friend chris!! and idk you three end up having a threesome (consensual)… and you’re embarrassed because. you’ve never done this before n you’re all clingy with leon (maybe daddy kink??) n he’s like comforting you as he and chris fuck you at the same time ?!?!?

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader x chris redfield

summary: your boyfriend leon wants you to get a little more comfortable with his friend chris.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, double penetration, oral (f receiving), fingering, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, dacryphilia

word count: 6.6k

a/n: thank you anon for sending this idea, it's right up my alley fr. also thank you for sending it again after i fumbled the bag the first time🤭🫶. the next threesome fic will be coming soon, i just ended up having more inspo for this one lol. hope you guys like it. reblogs and comments are super appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

“I’m just saying I think you both would really like it if you gave it a try,” you say, a bright smile on your face as you walk up the path to your and Leon’s shared place. Him and his friend trail behind you with equally pleased looks, the friend in question being Chris Redfield.

“No way. I did try it, and it was boring. Slow and drawn out. Also, it’s so unrealistic,” Chris says.

“Booooo. It’s not even slow. Stuff happens in like every single episode, at least in the early seasons,” you argue in an attempt to convince the pair to watch one of your favorite shows, “I just think there’s a lot you guys would like about it if you weren’t so impatient.”

“Babe, it’s got like, what? Over five seasons? I don’t have that kind of time,” your boyfriend replies.

You playfully roll your eyes and unlock the front door, stepping inside followed by the two men you were with. “Whatever. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna go change cause this skirt is like super itchy,” you tell them.

Before you can walk away, you feel a familiar palm swat your ass. “It’s like super cute though, shows off those pretty legs,” Leon teases, his tone affectionately mocking.

You whip around to shoot him a glare, face hot with a mixture of emotions, mainly embarrassment with a pinch of arousal. 

“Leon,” you whisper, giving him a look that says not in front of Chris. 

He simply chuckles at your quiet protest and shakes his head with amusement, ruffling your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead before sending you off. You catch Chris’s gaze as you turn to leave. To your surprise, he isn’t rolling his eyes or visibly wishing for the two of you to get a room. He’s smiling. His expression is different from the one you were used to seeing on Leon, but it still held the same patronizing adoration that soaked your panties in seconds.

Brushing it off as your imagination, you scamper down the hall to the bedroom. You hum to yourself as you drop your skirt and kick it into the laundry. Rifling through your drawers to find something more comfortable to wear, your hands search through some different clothes before settling on a pair of loose pink shorts. After pulling the soft garment over your legs, you look in the mirror and then decide to slip your bra off too.

Sure, some people would frown on that move, but you were in your place and it’s not like Chris is a total stranger. He was one of your boyfriends closest friends. You’d hung out with him and Leon together multiple times, and from what you gathered, he was pretty cool. It’s not like the two of you were best friends yourself. Like your boyfriend, he was quite a bit older than you. But just as you bridged that gap with Leon, so far it seemed like you managed to bridge it with him too. To say the least, he didn’t strike you as the type to have an episode over your nipples peeking through your shirt.

Unbeknownst to you however, while your thoughts lingered on the men down the hall, their conversation centered around you as well. They had taken to the couch, sitting close to each side and leaving a space for you in the middle.

“She’s a cute little thing,” Chris chuckles, watching the hallway you had gone down.

“Mhm,” Leon confirms simply. He was scrolling through the tv, trying to find that show you’d been talking about.

His friend looks over at him. “You sure she’ll wanna do this?” he asks with some uncertainty in his voice, “She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who’s had a whole lot of experience with this type of thing.”

“Trust me, she’ll be into it. I can’t even tell you how wet she gets just from talking about shit like this,” he reassures, “You just gotta let me ease her into it.”

Chris opens his mouth to respond, but he cuts himself short once he hears your footsteps approaching. You bound back into the room. Your eyes catch on the way they’re sitting, closer than you would expect. They still left room for you though, so what does it matter, right?

You hop onto the couch and tuck yourself against your boyfriend’s side, gently kissing his jaw as you get comfortable and curl up on the cushion. He smiles down at you and returns the affection. He pulls you closer, but your feet are still brushing Chris’s thigh with how close he is.

“We were thinking we could watch an episode of that show you were talking about, see if we really would like it,” Leon tells you.

“Really?” you ask, a little surprised, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine, baby. Chris doesn’t feel like driving home just yet, and you know if you’re happy, I’m happy,” he says.

You look over at Chris who nods. With that, Leon puts on the show. The familiar intro music plays and you watch the screen as a scene that you’d seen a million times plays out. You sink into his side, settling against his warm body. The episode plays, and you point out little things you like or remember something specific about. Both men nod and chuckle at your excited remarks.

Even though the couch and cuddling are comfy, your legs start getting a bit cramped from being curled up for an extended amount of time. You squirm around a bit, wanting to just stretch out. Chris prevented you from doing that as his bulky frame occupied the space your legs could be.

Leon smirks as he notices your restlessness. He shifts around a bit himself and leans back further into the couch. His feet rise up and land on the coffee table a few feet away, his legs stretching out in front of him. He doesn’t even have to see your face to know your eyes catch on his limbs. Their state of being outstretched only makes your need to do the same more intense. He gives Chris a quick glance.

“You uncomfortable, honey?” the larger man asks you.

Your eyes dart up to meet his. Hearing that pet name coming from anyone else but Leon left you flustered. You tried to reason that it didn’t mean anything. This was clearly another instance of you overthinking. Maybe Chris was just the type of guy who said that sort of thing? The kind that called cashiers sweetheart or darling. The kind who’d put your hand on your waist when saying excuse me. You didn’t remember him acting like this any of the other times you’d met him though. He was always polite with you, but that was about it. Maybe you just didn’t notice before?

“Um… I’m fine. Just a little cramp,” you explain.

He smiles at you, that same kind from earlier. “Well, I don't bite. You can stretch your legs out if you want to, princess,” he teases.

Princess. Ok that was definitely something. That name was reserved solely for the man whose arm was around you, and it usually came out only when he was prepping you to take his cock. You typically heard it as a coo when you were already crying out your own special name for him. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. The two just went hand in hand. Honestly, you couldn’t really hear one without the other following close behind.

That’s why you get all timid and shy so easily. You were pretty sure Leon had psychologically conditioned you or something. Just a few touches in the right place, some words whispered in your ear in the perfect hushed tone, and you were a goner. Suddenly, your brain would feel soft and malleable. Urges appear within you to sit in his lap and cuddle. You’d just wanna look up at your daddy with dazed eyes and have him stick something in your mouth.

And sure, it wasn’t like you were brainwashed or something. You still possessed self control. It wasn’t like he’d pet your head and call you his baby, and you’d instantly lose yourself over it. It was just a slow slip into this side of your personality, and being around Chris didn’t exactly deter those feelings from coming out either because just look at him. He looked like he was meant to be called daddy. Whenever Leon would tease you in front of him, it felt like you soaked your panties even quicker than normal.

You're snapped out of your analysis of this moment when you feel a large, warm hand wrap around your ankle. He pulls your leg out, and in-turn, drags you closer. A soft squeak escapes you as your body slides down Leon’s. Your back is still resting against his side, just lower. More of you is spread across the sofa, and your calves were fully in Chris’s lap.

You look up at your boyfriend to see his response to his friend’s action, but he didn’t even seem interested. He barely spared you a second glance in your new position, simply adjusting his arm to accommodate the new location of your head. He wraps it below your jaw and has you rest your chin on the bend of his elbow. His fingers start rubbing soothing, little circles on your shoulder. Meanwhile, Chris’s large palms merely rest on your legs. He gives you a smile before turning his eyes back to the tv screen. You quickly follow suit. If he wasn’t thinking this was weird, you weren’t going to make it weird by dwelling on it.

For a while, it’s fine. The three of you continue watching the show, albeit a little more quiet than before. Leon’s hand remains on your shoulder and keeps up his light touches. Your body relaxes again though as you let go of any nervousness you had. But then, Chris starts moving his hand too.

His palm smooths out over your lower leg. His other hand rubs your ankle, his fingertips coasting over the joint. One is moving in long strokes while the other stays in tight circles, but both go at a sensual pace, slow and teasing.

Your head turns to look at him again, but you find his stare is still on the characters of the tv show. You watch his hands move. They’re now essentially massaging your legs. His hand that had been lower has risen and works on the muscles, digging his warm digits into the flesh.

You squirm a little, trying to alert your boyfriend that his friend was touching you in a way that seemed more than friendly. It doesn’t work though. If he does see, he doesn’t mind because he simply leans down and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your head before reverting to his same position. You almost felt crazy for a second. This wasn’t normal, was it? Had you just lived your life not knowing that it was a regular thing for a boyfriend’s friend to give you a massage like this? Was Leon ok with it cause he was there so it couldn’t go too far? You really had no clue.

If you were being honest though, Chris’s hands didn’t feel bad. Not at all. They felt really good. They were big and warm and moved with strategy. They hit all your sweet spots. Kinda made you wanna crawl into his lap so he could rub more of your body, but that was the problem. This wasn’t right. You felt that saccharine heat creeping up your spine and seeping into your head, but you shouldn’t be feeling that for anyone else besides the man behind you.

Now guilt casts a shadow over you too, and the pair of emotions was a volatile mix. You didn’t even realize it, but your nipples had started to stiffen. Your thighs shift against each other, and had you really been paying attention, you would have seen the way Chris’s lips slightly quirked up into a smirk. Your body gets a little tense as you run through the possibilities of what you should do in this situation.

As if Leon could sense your thoughts racing, his hand lowers and starts rubbing your arm. Deciding to remain where you are for now, you press your cheek against his bicep for comfort. Not that you could see, but just like Chris, his expression grows smug. His hand readjusts again so it’s closer to your chest. Your eyes widen as he basically starts feeling you up. His hand squeezes your breast before his fingers circle your nipple, gently tweaking the hardened bud. 

At the same time, the hands on your legs start moving higher. The broad strokes begin meeting your thighs too. Little bumps of anticipation erupt across your skin. You already knew your center would soon be slick. 

Your head feels hot now. It made you feel a weird kind of dizzy. Even though it was only a few hands and simple touches, it was so much. Combined with the fact that it was so unusual, you started feeling overwhelmed. Your pulse pounds in your ears and your hands feel tingly. You feel a whimper rising in your throat. When he finally glides his hands up to the hem of your shorts, your legs jerk and you scoot back.

By the time Chris looks over, you’re already in Leon’s lap, arms around him, face buried against his neck. He’s worried for a second that something was seriously wrong. Profuse apologies rush to the tip of his tongue, but Leon signals him to just wait.

“Oh, baby, what’s wrong?” he coos, a hand sliding beneath your shirt to rub your back. Of course, he knew the answer already. He knew exactly how you got with this kind of stuff which is why he knew exactly how to handle it.

You end up simply shaking your head, unable to articulate the exact reason for your distress. Because really, nothing was wrong. Everything felt right. But it shouldn’t feel right? Maybe that’s what was wrong. That’s too much for your mouth to get out while you feel like this though.

“Aw, is my pretty girl feeling shy?” he whispers and strokes your hair.

You nod, pulling back a little to reveal your face and look up at the familiar set of eyes you found so much comfort in. He gives you a small kiss of reassurance before continuing to coax you with his low and soothing tone.

“Oh sweetheart, why are you shy? You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” he says.

“Because…” you start softly, nervously glancing at Chris only to see him watching the entire exchange. You force your attention back to your boyfriend. “Because Chris is here.”

His chest rumbles with a low laugh. “Oh, princess. That’s not a reason. Didn’t you like how Chris was touching you? Wasn’t he making you feel good?”

“I guess…” you admit.

“See? You don’t have to be embarrassed around daddy’s friend. He only wants to play with you because you’re so cute,” he teases and lands a barrage of kisses on your cheek.

You were going to freak out about him using the d word in front of someone else, but looking over at Chris, he didn’t look at all shocked. His eyes were soft and comforting as they watched you, but you were still a little uncertain. You turn your face back into Leon. He keeps rubbing your back and holds you a little closer on his lap.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, baby. I just think you’d have a lot of fun,” Leon says softly, “You know how wet that pretty pussy gets thinking about someone else watching you with daddy, joining in because he just can’t resist a good girl like you.”

He was right. He knew your fantasies like the exact situation playing out in your living room right now. But it was scarier when it was real. You didn’t have the control anymore. That's what made it exciting too though.

“It’s just Chris, honey,” he continues reassuring you, “He’d never hurt you. He thinks you're as precious as I do. But even still, daddy’s gonna be here the whole time. You know I’d never let anything hurt my girl.”

You soften up more, relaxing under Leon’s touch and tender words. As you’re thinking it over, leaning towards going through with this, Chris scoots closer to the two of you on the couch. He tentatively places his hand on your leg and caresses your skin.

“It’s up to you, babydoll,” he says, “I only wanna help your daddy make you feel good.”

Oh god. He was a natural at this, talked down to you just the way you liked.

“See, princess? There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Leon says. He strokes some of your hair back and watches as you look at the other man, deciding whether to let him in or not. He chuckles in your ear. “He’s acting cool, but you don’t know how bad he’s been wanting a turn with you. I’m sure you’ve seen him staring. Sometimes I think he’s practically drooling watching you. You know he goes home and strokes his dick raw, wishing it was your pretty little hands instead.”

It’s obvious there’s some truth to Leon’s statement from the way Chris remains silent. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you mull it over. Why was it so bad? You wanted it and they both wanted it. Why should you stop yourself?

You look up at your boyfriend and nod, silently communicating that you wanted this. He smiles and shifts you in his lap so that you’re in a more accessible position. One hand rubs your inner thighs while his other arm stays wrapped around your body to hold you close. 

Upon seeing your confirmation, Chris comes even closer. As he gets situated, Leon leans in and connects his lips with yours in a few soft kisses. Your noses brush and breathing deepens. He strokes your cheek before pulling away and looking in your eyes.

“Why don’t you try that with Chris, baby? Give him some of those kisses he’s been dreaming about,” he breathes.

Your focus shifts to the man sitting to your boyfriend’s right. Eyes casting down, you bring your head forward, and Chris closes the gap. Your breath hitches when you feel the unfamiliar lips meet your own. They’re noticeably different from the pair you were used to, but it wasn’t a bad different.

You move your lips with his, shuddering a little when you feel him grunt. He struggles not to take more than what you give. Leon watches on with a grin, stroking your hair and making sure it was out of your face. Your hand maintains an iron grip on him the entire time. 

“Such a good girl,” he purrs in your ear.

All three of you had long stopped paying attention to the tv, so Leon shuts it off. He then leans in to suck little love bites onto your throat. You whine into your kisses with his friend. The sound causes you to open your mouth, allowing Chris to slip his tongue in to meet yours. You moan and reciprocate the advance. His smiles against your lips as his hand glides up and gropes at one of your breasts, drawing another whimper from you.

Several hickeys later, Leon removes his mouth from your neck to admire his work. His fingers drag over the wet, darkened skin. He licks one more stripe over the area before leaning back and pulling you with him. You’re slightly out of breath, eyes dilated, and lips a bit puffy.

“Aw, look at that face,” Leon teases, talking more to Chris than you, “She loves her kisses. Sometimes I think she likes it more than the actual fucking.”

“I could tell. All those sweet sounds she was making,” Chris chuckles. His chest rises and falls in a pattern similar to yours.

“Oh yeah, so sensitive, my baby,” Leon coos, “You wanna go sit in Chris’s lap and give him some more kisses?”

You shake your head and tighten your grip on his hand. They both smile at your timid display.

“My mistake. You just gotta give her some time to adjust. She’s not used to anyone but daddy. Isn’t that right?” Leon jokes.

You nod and snake your arms around him, hiding your face against his chest again. He couldn’t get enough of how clingy you became when you felt like this.

“No, no. No more being shy. C’mon, his lips still have your spit on ‘em. There’s no reason for you to hide,” he teases you and guides your head back up to see your eyes, “You still wanna do this, don’t you?”

You nod again, looking up at him with those loving eyes.

“That’s what I thought, so how about this?” he starts. He gets your arms to unlock from their position around him and tucks his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “How about we show daddy’s friend more of this precious body, yeah?”

You lift your arms and allow him to tug the fabric up and over your head. Your breasts spring free, but his hands are immediately there to cup them, knead the flesh, and tease your nipples. From his place next to the two of you, Chris’s eyes drop to the swell of your chest.

“You’re even prettier than Leon told me, baby,” he coos before leaning in, giving you one more kiss and then trailing his lips down the side of your throat. They glide over the warm skin and across the expanse of your chest.

Your boyfriend’s hands drop from your breasts, letting Chris’s take their place. You shift and lean back so your back is pressed to Leon’s chest, giving the other man more access. He fondles them before latching his mouth onto a nipple, his tongue swirling around the little peak. A little sigh escapes your lips to the pleasure of both men.

“I think she likes that, Chris,” Leon croons, his hands rubbing up and down your sides.

Chris sucks on the pebbled nub a bit more before alternating to the other one. He spends less time over there before just kissing all over your chest.

“Got such pretty tits,” he grunts, laving a tongue across your skin.

Your face heats up at the compliment, and of course, Leon knew without even having to look. He could tell by the slight way you squirmed your hips on his lap.

“Aw, princess. You like when daddy’s friend calls you pretty?” he coos. Once he sees your little nod, he continues. “How about you let him pull down your shorts and see how cute your cunt is next.”

You agree to this with no hesitation, trying to elevate your hips so he could remove your clothing. Chris smirks at your overt desire. In a quick move, he scoots back and pulls by your hips so that you’re laying across the couch again. Your head is on Leon’s thigh so you can look up at him while your fingers remain tightly interlaced with his.

The larger man peels your shorts off and then your panties. He gazes upon your dripping cunt. His thumb drags up and down through your slick in an exploratory touch.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes, circling your clit. His hand moves down again before he slides two fingers into your hole. “You’re gonna take our cocks so well. Pussy this pretty is made for that.”

You suck in a gasp that turns into a long whine as his digits fill you up. His fingers were nice and thick, filling you up just right. Your eyes flutter, and your head presses against Leon’s thigh. Chris starts pumping them in and out, stroking your inner walls.

“That’s right, baby,” Leon reassures you, “He’s gonna open you up, and you’re gonna feel so good.”

A breathy whimper falls from your lips. Your hips rock a little, but Chris allows it, enjoying your enthusiasm as you become more comfortable. You feel his fingers curling within you in motions that drive you wild and have your hands grabbing at the edges of the couch cushion beneath you.

“There you go, sweet baby. Am I doing it right?” Chris asks teasingly. With your frantic nod, he works a third finger into you. Your eyes roll back and you choke out a moan.

Leon smiles down at you and strokes your hair. His bulge grows harder, watching you get so wound up for his friend.

“Make sure you rub her pretty little clit, Chris. She loves that,” he says, “Might be a little sore since she likes to play with it so much.”

Chris grins at that, taking his turn to tease you now. “Is that right? You like playing dirty, princess? I bet you can’t help it. Cute girls like you get needy so easy. Can’t think without making yourself cum every few hours, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper and nod.

“I’ll be gentle then. Think your sweet spot just needs some special kisses,” he coos.

He bends down so his mouth can be level with your cunt, a bit of a challenge with his size, but he manages. His lips meet your clit and give you some soft kisses. A little flick of the tongue and the light movement of his flesh against your sensitive bundle of nerves has your walls fluttering around him, little mewls escaping your lips.

Then, with a harsh suck to your clit, he works a fourth finger inside you. Your legs kick a little, but he simply slides them to rest on his shoulders. Every little twitch next to his head has more of his blood rushing south. Your hips buck too as you adjust to the minor stretch.

“You’re daddy’s perfect girl, you know that right? Girl of my fuckin’ dreams. Doing so good for me right now,” your boyfriend says from above you. His eyes watch on fondly as Chris slides basically his entire hand in and out of you. “Think you can cum for Chris, baby? Gush all over his fingers so it’s nice and easy for him and daddy to fill you up?”

You nod quickly. 

Chris sucks harder on your clit and flicks his tongue against you with more fervor. His hand finds a rhythm that you seemed to like, had you twitching more than before. He could hear your voice rising to a higher pitch.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Make your daddy proud,” he murmurs against your folds.

You really don’t know what it was, but that phrase does you in. You turn your face against Leon’s hip, dig your fingers into his palm, and erupt into a frenzy of whining and bucking your hips. 

Chris continues his efforts, relishing the sensation of your slick coating his fingers and palm. His lips gradually loosen on your swollen bud. He gives it a few more licks before sitting up and gazing down at your blissed out body.

They both give you a second to rest before Leon sits you up on the couch. He gives you a quick kiss and looks into your eyes, hazy from release.

“Think you’re ready for daddy and Chris to fuck you?” he coos and rubs your cheek.

“Mhm,” you hum, returning his loving stare.

“Of course you are. My sweet girl,” he says.

The two men don’t waste time undressing themselves. Clothing piles up on the ground as they match your nudity. Both of them stand as they undo their belts and drop their pants. You’d seen Leon’s dick a hundred times by now. You watch him pull it out and give it a few strokes. The tip flushes bright red like always, a couple familiar veins span up the side. You turn your attention to Chris, looking upon a sight you hadn’t seen before.

You’re snapped out of your post-orgasm stupor when you catch a glimpse of the appendage hanging between Chris’s legs. Just like every other part of him, it’s noticeably thick. The length was good too, sure, but it wasn’t the main attraction. His cock didn’t get as red as Leon’s, but it still had the veins. He even had a few beads of white, sticky precum leaking from the head.

“Oh, you like what you see, baby?” Leon teases when he notices your wonder, “I’m sure Chris would be happy to let you suck on it next time.”

“Daddy, it’s not gonna fit,” you say, looking up at him and ignoring the tempting idea of giving Chris a blowjob.

He smiles down at you, simultaneously condescending and affectionate. “Of course it will. C’mere, princess,” he says. 

In no time at all, Leon’s back on the couch, guiding you on top of him. You crawl to meet the place he’s directing you. Lowering yourself against him, your front rests against his and your head lies near the crook of his neck. The warmth of his body comforts you but not enough to push out your concerns completely.

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you nice and comfy on daddy’s cock, and then Chris will just slide right in,” he reassures you, “You’re gonna feel so good. You just let me take care of everything.”

His arm had already slithered beneath your hip to line up his shaft with your entrance. He runs the tip through your soaked folds then pushes in. A whiny moan escapes you, and your arms wrap tighter around him. The feeling wasn’t a new one, but it still felt so good. He works himself in and out slowly, hips rocking off the couch in small thrusts.

“That’s my girl, taking it just like you’re meant to. I’ve got you trained so well,” he murmurs against your hair.

The entire time, you feel Chris’s eyes on you. His pupils fixated on the sight of Leon pumping in and out of your gushing cunt. You hear him spit down onto his hand and know he’s started to stroke himself in anticipation. Other than that, he stays quiet, locked onto you sucking up every inch of your boyfriend's cock.

Leon continues gliding in and out. You feel the muscles in his chest and neck straining with the pleasure your pulsing walls give him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Chris did a good job with you,” he groans. His breaths become ragged as he staves off true euphoria. This couldn’t end too quickly. “You know, babydoll, I don’t think you said thank you to Chris for making you feel so good. That’s not very nice.”

You whimper as your brain registers the implication of his words. At the moment, you were more focused on rolling your hips with Leon’s, but you force some words out of your mouth cause you’re a good girl after all.

“Sorry daddy,” you say, cut off by a whine as he pokes a sensitive spot, “T-thank you, Chris.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he responds. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, but you don’t have the chance to linger on it since you feel his broad palm land on the small of your back. His fingers rub the skin gently, as if to keep you calm while he positions himself on his knees behind you. You whine again and cling harder to Leon.

“You can say thank you better than that, baby,” he teases, trying to keep any fear away from you. He presses a kiss to your temple as well and rubs your back, “What are you thanking him for?”

“Thank you for making me cum, Chris. Your fingers and kisses felt so good,” you whimper, adding on the last bit before Leon could correct you further.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he repeats with excessive adoration, “You deserve it for being such a good girl. Besides, that pussy was so fucking sweet, makes me want another taste.”

You squeeze around Leon and bite your lip as your lower belly erupts with butterflies. And then you feel it. You feel the hot tip of Chris’s heavy cock nudging at your entrance above Leon’s. You tense and dig your fingers into the flesh of his back.

“Just relax, baby. You’re gonna be just fine. Daddy’s right here,” he coos and holds you tighter against his chest.

“You ready?” Chris asks softly.

You squeeze your eyes shut but nod, waiting to feel the stretch.

And it comes right away. You gasp as another cock enters you. Whining, your hands scramble to grab at something. Leon takes one and squeezes it lovingly, pausing his thrusts. You bury your face against his skin, your chest erratically puffing as you try to accommodate the sizes. Both men are groaning, eyes fluttering or rolled back, muscles flexing as they take in the tight, wet heat engulfing them.

“Doing so good, pretty girl, so good,” Leon mutters.

You can’t fathom any kind of response. The burning sensation of both of them was still so intense and from what you could tell, Chris wasn’t even all the way in yet. He was still pushing forward as far as he could. At a certain point, you can’t fight off the tears pricking at your waterline. Your free hand clamps over your mouth as a choked cry tumbles out.

“So fucking tight, I could cum right now,” Chris grunts.

Leon’s hand covers your right hip, tracing tiny soothing circles over your skin. Chris occupies your left, digging his fingers into the flesh. The subtle difference between the two sides drives you further into the throes of ecstasy.

When Chris manages to bully his cock nearly all the way inside you, as deep as it could go at least, Leon feels your hot tears sliding off your cheeks and pooling on his chest.

“Oh, poor baby,” he croons. He lets go of your hand for a second to swipe a few drops away, but then he takes it back. “You ok, honey? Too much for you?”

You weakly shake your head that it wasn’t too much, sniffling between whimpers. They’ve both stopped now to let you get used to the entirety of them. The site of your connection pulses with need on all three accounts. You feel Chris gripping you a little harder in an effort to keep his composure.

“My tough girl, so brave for daddy. Makin’ me so proud,” he whispers and kisses your hairline.

“So fuckin’ pretty too. You look gorgeous all filled up like this,” Chris moans from behind you.

His gaze remains on his and Leon’s cocks splitting you open. He starts rocking his hips a bit, groaning at the combined feeling of your slick walls with Leon’s length rubbing against his. Leon starts moving again too.

You let out a sound that’s between a yelp and a moan. Both of Leon’s arms snake around you to keep you engulfed in his embrace. He’s more vocal than usual, the mix of stimulation getting to him as well.

“That’s right. You keep crying for your daddy. Let me hear how much you need me. Just cry it out like the good little girl you are,” he mumbles against you.

Once you’ve become comfortable with the stretch, it starts feeling better than you’d imagined. In tandem, they’re stroking every part of you. They slide in and out, back and forth, pulling soft whines from you. The only noise apart from the three of you grunting and moaning, is the obscene noises that come from them pumping into your wet pussy. You feel your ability for coherent thoughts slipping away. You just wanted to be full of your daddy and his friend.

Chris smacks your ass while picking up his pace a bit. “Now she’s getting into it,” he says.

You get a little louder to both their enjoyment. Grabbing at Leon a little more, you shudder while hearing moans bubble up from his chest and out of his mouth.

“That’s cause you’re such a good girl. Right baby?” he asks, his voice breathier, “So good at whining for your daddy’s cock.”

You nod without a second thought. You’re panting a bit as the thrusts start hitting just right. Your expressions and the tightening of your cunt give you away. You hear both of them groaning and getting a little more primal with their movements.

“You feel that, Chris? She’s getting closer. Can always tell by the way her pussy starts trying to keep me in. So desperate for some cum,” Leon says.

“Yeah. I can feel her cute little cunt begging for it,” Chris growls.

They’re both going harder, making your mind get all fuzzy and causing more tears to fall, although by this time they’re purely tears of pleasure. Your cries are whiny and needy.

“My baby, my baby,” Leon grunts while lacing his fingers in your hair, “I want you to cum for me, ok? Wanna feel you cumming all over our cocks. Show Chris how good you make me feel every single night when you start clamping down on me.”

You don’t finish right then. It takes a handful more thrusts from each of them to hit the right buttons and work you over that edge, dropping you into a pool of euphoria. The bliss washes over you, and as Leon described, your pussy squeezes around them in waves. They’re both moaning now, grabbing you harder, sighing and gasping. You twitch on top of Leon, and he holds you close and helps you through it.

“Look at that sweet face. Always so pretty when you let go,” he mumbles just for you to hear, “Keep cumming, dolly. Want you feeling like you’re in heaven.”

Leon’s the first to blow his load, shooting it deep inside you. He pumps it in while you’re still releasing. His own hips twitch and buck while that hot, sticky liquid flows from him. 

Chris takes a bit longer, savoring every last moment he has inside your precious cunt. He keeps thrusting after you’ve finished, making you squirm with the slight overstimulation. Leon hisses too, feeling the friction from his movements against his dick.

When he finally does cum, your body is overtaken with a shiver. He fucks it deep into you. His thrusts don’t weaken while he spills it inside of you. He keeps moving in powerful strokes until he’s satisfied.

After he’s truly done, Chris leans down and kisses the space between your shoulder blades. “So good, pretty baby,” he praises softly before pulling out.

It feels weird just having Leon’s dick in you. It’s your normal but so strange now too. He slides himself out next though, so there isn’t too much time to fester on that. Sitting up, he pulls you with him while covering your face in kisses.

Everyone is laid back right now, letting the post-high wear off as you all come down. You stay curled up to Leon like you always did after finishing. He rubs your back like normal, knowing your head was most likely still up in the clouds. Eventually, all of your breathing steadies and returns to a regular pace.

Your hazy eyes open and gaze over at Chris. “Thank you Chris,” you say, tone a bit dreamier than it usually is.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he says, smiling at you.

“Look at you, so polite,” Leon teases, “By the looks of it, you’re gonna be sitting on Chris’s lap soon enough and leaving me on the sidelines.”

You shake your head and nuzzle him. All of you take a brief moment to finish the descent back to normalcy. Chris stands to pull on his pants again. 

“We’ll get there one of these days,” he jokes.

“I don’t know about that. This one’s a daddy’s girl before anything else,” Leon says, before smooching your forehead.

[totallyboatless]

All of the actors for the Six of Crows storyline are remarkably well cast, but gonna focus on Kit Young for a second because that dude has something so fucking special. There's a subversive joy in his choices as Jesper that just kills me. Like at the end of season one with the line: "Tell me you have a plan. I don't care if it's a lie."

Reading that in your head without having seen his interpretation, the instinct is to go a little ragged, sardonic, exasperated - something to tell us that the character does actually care but just fucking can't deal with this shit right now. But Kit puts a pleading inflection on the line, his Jesper truly wants to be lied to, bringing it around to comedic desperation.

And it's not just with this line delivery, those facial expression reactions he does elevates every scene he's in. My favorite underrated moment is when he gives Wylan a confident wink and thumbs up when they're both getting the shit beat out of them. The juxtaposition of Jesper indicating "this is going exactly according to plan" when it's clearly not brings so much fun to the scene.

But the scene I keep coming back to over and over that I'm blown away by is under the carriage, when Jesper remembers Wylan. I could see so many actors taking those line directions and putting some angst behind them. We know Jesper was hurt when Wylan left in the morning, we know he blocked it out because his ego was bruised and he didn't want to face the pain of it. It would have made perfect sense for the line reading to have an edge to it, any indication of a grudge.

But Kit's face is lit up with nothing but fondness and joy as he remembers. And obviously actors aren't islands, the writers and directors have big influence - and they clearly are in line with a joy-filled Jesper, since the first thing they have Jesper say isn't "and you left me," it's "and you brought me stroopwaffles."

Jesper isn't a clown, but he's allowed to be one when he wants to be, and Kit leans into choosing joy with such effervescence. It only serves to make the dramatic scenes that much more heart wrenching. I hope we get a lot more Crows on screen, but whatever happens I'm excited to follow Kit's career, what a talented dude.

[diejager]

how does a (monster AU) phoenix! reader sound? ...I kinda imagine 141 (except price) getting a heart attack when reader takes a bullet and bursts into flames and then a heap of ash, and then (im pulling a harry potter description of pheonix but its ur choice) the most ugly bird or something pokes their head out of the ashes and they're like '...oh'.

I remember watching Fawkes burning and turning to ash before he popped his head out. So adorable.

Ashes Cw: burning, death, rebirth, tell me if I missed any.

Ghost knew when someone was lying, able to sniff out a liar within a mile. Your dimmer smile, shorter laughter and exhaiusted expression, nothing seemed to make your days better than a warm bump of tea once or twice a day to sooth the ache in your bones and the strain in your muscles. He’d approach you with a clear mind, wanting to get to the bottom of your sickness, why you’d occasionally cough, voice weak and breathy until it cracked. You told him you were fine, that it was just the weather affecting you, but he’d seen this kind of sickness before, a cold that sunk into the bones and clogged every sinuses with intent —sick and vulnerable.

He wasn’t alone in this thought, Alejandro and Gaz shared similar doubts, coming forth to Price with their fears rather than sneaking around like he did, but Price had waved them off, telling them that it was a seasonal thing, you got sick from time to time and rose back from it as if death failed to catch you. This did not seem like something simple and mundane, Ghost could see death follow you like it followed him, it was ever present, so much so that Alejandro and Horangi - the two with the weakest nose out of the four - could smell it ooze off you like a dark miasma plaguing your body.

It seemed as if the both of you shared something that the others weren’t privy to, a low whisper in the dark that they failed to catch or the secret you shared through confidentiality higher than even a colonel. The captain knew you before you joined them, forming a tight connection through past trauma and fuck ups. Perhaps that’s why Price seemed almost chipper about your saddening state.

It seemed that Ghost was kept in as much darkness as the rest, the higher ups had kept it hidden from him, from König and from Alejandro who should’ve had the jurisdiction to have access to your documents. Especially after seeing you burst into flames after being shot in the neck by a surviving sniper (Ghost was quick to shoot him down), body gone in a coud of ash and dusted feathers. He panicked, but he wasn’t the only one to rush towards what remained of you. Despite their panicked mumbles and frantic thoughts, Price had reassured them that it was normal, that you were still alive —all they had to do was wait a few seconds for you to reappear.

Appear you did, a small, ashen head, beak the length of a child’s thumb, small ad brittle, big, rounded eyes blinked at them, narrowed in confusion until you called, a tiny croon from a chick’s throat. You shuffled your way through the mess, featherless wings flapping as you hopped towards Price, who quickly met you half way, picking you up with one nimble swoop.

“Look at you,” Price cooed, pressing his thumb to your forehead, feeling the soft, newly grown feathers that glowed white, “About time you burned, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” it was the only thing he could answer with when his mind was building up these theories, every little thought in his head went to understand what and how you were made. It was as close as Soap’s Steamin’ bloody Jesus or König’s dumbfounded Was.

“Is that why you told us not to worry, Captain?” Gaz’s ability to think clearly in adrenaline-inducing moments was a blessing, able to restrain his unending thoughts to connect two together and conjure up a sentence - a few words, a mumble or a plea - to understand whatever happened to you. “What happened?”

Price let out a deep rumble, a laugh from his belly, deep and amused, a striking contrast to their worried frowns. He handled you softly, petting and pinching at the young feathers growing on you while he turned you around, showing them how Price held you with such careful ease and soothing smile. Ghost doubted that Price didn’t have any prior experience in caring for you, seeing how loving he was with you —like a lover caring for his sickened, or a dragon guarding his treasure, Ghost wasn’t sure which one was right.

“Hunter’s a phoenix, “ he smiled softly, eyes gleaming with too much glee, a silent laugh at their sudden bewilderment, approaching you slowly to admire you themselves. “They burst to flames every three years or so, the last one was around five years ago- long overdue for a reset.”

Soap and Horangi were the first to attempt to touch you, the excited dog and the curious feline, tentatively poking at you with a finger until you pecked it, annoyed by their incessant jabbing. You let out a shrill cry from your throat, small and hilariously fierce for something so small and fragile. You crawled to the ends of Price’s fingers, wings flapping to urge them to pick you up instead of pointing a finger and cooing at you as if you were an exotic animal. You somewhat were —exotic, that is.

“A wee thang, aye, Cap?” Soap awed, cradling you in his palms, you weighted so little, as light as a feather on Gaz’s wing.

“Ugly as a rat too,” Horangi snickered, making light of the situation that had made their hearts stop.

You screeched, shaking your head wildly at him, his shoulders bobbing while you showed how offended you felt by acting out, an angry, little chick putting on a show of aggression and courage. His dark thoughts receded, Ghost’s fears and demons falling back into the depths of his mind when his eyes met your beady ones, round and doe-eyed, your age shining through the innocence of a newly-hatched. It made him wonder how you’d look once your feathers grew out, would you be as majestic as the stories portrayed phoenix did, with your great wings and great strength, feathers bathed in the sun’s warm embrace and tipped with the power of undying flames of power. Phoenixes were seen as symbols of immortality, resurrection —of life and death. Untouchable by death and favoured by life, you would live in a cycle of ashes and flames, embers cracking until it softened to flickers, a soft, gentle flame ready to yield to nature.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143

[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Give Into The Temptation

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Norris!Reader

warnings: ‼️‼️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS FOR TWISTED HATE BY ANA HUANG ‼️‼️⚠️⚠️, cursing, SMUT

Thank you to @forevercaffeinated-lee for this idea! I hope it meets your expectations <3!

Slight enemies to lovers

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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When I first met Oscar I thought he was cute and he is but my god was he so full of himself.  

Now don’t get me wrong, I love a man who’s confident and knows what he wants but Oscar was not that.

Oscar was cocky, full of himself and sometimes downright disrespectful. I usually let it slide because I didn’t see him often so I didn’t have to deal with it, emphasis on the word usually.

-

I’ve been on the road with Lando so far this whole 2024 season because he had asked me to tag along, he something about missing his twin sister or some bullshit like that, in reality everyone knew that I was here because he liked the way I made his meal preps and not the person that’s currently doing it now.

This is the week of the Monaco Grand Prix and Lando has been out all day with his trainer all day doing whatever the trainer made him do all the while I’m stuck at the condo alone.

I was chilling out on a pineapple floaty in the pool when I heard the front door open. I'd decided that I wanted to play a prank on Lando so I snuck out of the pool and quickly dried myself off before quietly sneaking into the condo. I'd heard rustling coming from the bathroom and that gave me the perfect chance to scare him. I waited against the wall for about 45 seconds before I heard the door open, I waited for a second until I saw a taller figure step out the bathroom and with a big leap I screamed 'Boo' at the man in front of me.

However, I didn't get as much joy from scaring Lando as I thought I would and that was only because I didn't scare Lando. I scared Oscar.

"Ah! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Oscar screamed as I still stood in front of him, placing his hand on his chest as if to slow down his heartbeat.

"What are you doing here?!" I screamed back in total shock and anger that he was here. I mean how did he even get the key? Only Lando and I had a key?

"I'm staying here this race weekend dipshit. You know this." His attitude evident, as always.

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm JUST NOW FINDING THIS OUT!" I shout. I'm so frustrated, I wanted to have a nice weekend to support my brother and hopefully only see Oscar when needed, but turns out I'm gonna be spending the WHOLE weekend with him.

"That's it, I'm going back out by the pool." I scoffed while I dragged my feet dramatically out to the backyard.

-

Back out by the pool, I was laying on one of the lawn chairs and I decided that I was going to try and finish the book I was currently reading 'Twisted Hate' by one of my favorite authors Ana Huang.

While I was reading, I was so deep in thought that I hadn't heard the patio door open and Oscar come out. At least not until I heard a big splash in the water and felt drops of it land on my legs.

"You muppet! I'm reading here!" I shouted as I took the towel I brought out to dry my not-so-wet legs. Oscar looked displeased with me as when I looked up I saw him rolling his eyes at me.

I continued reading in peace and quiet for about another 15 minutes before my timer went off indicating that I should go apply more sunscreen before I get too burned. I let out a annoyed groan because my book was just getting good so I quickly got up and went into the air conditioned condo to the living room to grab the spray on sunscreen, applying it before walking back outside.

Opening the back door, I was quickly met with a sight of Oscar with a towel around his waist and my book in his hand.

"Oscar, put my book down now!" my face just as red as a tomato at the thought of Oscar reading the previous page of the two characters fucking. Part of me didn't want him to know what I read on my free time but part of me wanted him to have read it so that he learns not to pick up and read random books.

"Twisted Hate? I think I've heard of this book." if my face was red before, it must've been a shade of hell right now. How did he know about this book? Maybe someone said it was a good series? Did he know about the pure sex written in it? So many questions flooded my head but before I could question what he meant by what he said he continued talking

(THIS NEXT PART CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK SO PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING UNTIL YOU SEE THE BOLD WORDS! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!)

"Yeah, Jules ends up telling Josh that she was the one that took the painting. Josh was mad at her at first but then they had make-up sex. Turns out he didn't forgive her and 'broke up' with her mid orgasm and kicked her out." My face fell in shock. There's no way this bitch just fucking spoiled this book for me. No, he's making shit up. There's no way he'd know what was going on in the book, someone could've told him about the 'break in'. Oscar loves to get under my skin and this would be a good way he could do it.

A scoff left my lips as I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Yeah fucking right. That's a good one Piastri, and to think I almost believed you. Wow, this is a new low for you." I laughed as I snatched my book from his grasp and gathered my stuff. I was going to finish my book in the comfort of my well air conditioned room until my brother comes back and we go out to eat.

(OKAY NO SPOILERS AFTER THIS PART)

-

It had been about 30 minutes since my last interaction with Oscar and I was sitting against the headboard of the bed under the covers reading. I was having a good time in the quiet of the room while reading until I got to a part that eerily started to sound like what Oscar told me was going to happen between Jules and Josh.

I kept reading because I didn't want to believe that Piastri was THAT disrespectful to actually spoil my book for me. Sure enough that Aussie dipshit did in fact spoil my book for me. With an angry grunt I peeled myself away from the book and left my room. I was going to find Oscar and kill him.

I searched the house with so much anger in me I felt like I was going to explode. I finally spotted Oscar still out by the pool except this time instead of being in the water, he was sun bathing. Lord knows he needs it because of how pale he was.

Swinging the patio door open I started yelling " OSCAR JACK PIASTRI!" The volume of my voice and the slam of the door startled Oscar and he quickly locked his phone before chucking it on the lawn chair next to his. "YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKING BASTARD!" A slight smirk plastered on his face as he saw how mad I was.

"Finally get to the part I spoiled for you?" he looked so cocky right now and all I wanted to do was to punch him right in his sexy face. No, stop Y/N don't think like that.

"You're a cunt Oscar. I want to never see you again!" I stomped my foot. I looked like an angry toddler when they wouldn't get their way.

"Oh that's cute. We're rooming in the same house this weekend and in case you forgot, your brother and I are on the same team so that's not happening." I watched as a small laugh left his incredibly sexy and slightly plump lips.

As much as I wanted to be mad at Oscar I couldn't help but want to swoon for him right now. He'd gotten out of the pool not that long ago because his body wasn't wet anymore but his swim trunks and hair were still damp. That nasty smirk still plastered on his sexy face, his damp curls laying in every direction, his perfectly toned chest on display, the damp swimming trunks sticking to his hard cock. Wait, is he hard? Was he watching porn before I came out??

"As much as I'm flattered that you're checking me out, my eyes are up here princess." Oscar called as he snapped his fingers at me before pointing to his eyes when I finally looked up.

Did I just get caught checking out the man I hated the most while I'm trying to be angry and yell at him?

"As if. I- I would never check you out. You- You're the last guy I would want to find attractive." I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched Oscar slowly start to walk in my direction stopping right in front of me. He was so close I could feel his breath on my face, none of us moved and I don't think either of us wanted to. Oscar raised his hands to rest on both sides of my face, leaning in but stopping right before our lips met.

"Really? So why aren't you backing away from my touch?" He was so close to me and all I wanted to do was have the most rough and dirty sex with him right now. "You hate me right? You know they say there's a blurred line between Love and Hate."

"I" need you "I would never love you" I'm trying so hard not to give into the temptation of falling for Oscar but it's so hard. Oscar might be harder but I don't want to be the first to give in. I left heavy calloused hand on my waist and gave it a small squeeze which caused a pathetic small moan to escape my lips.

"That moan that left your mouth just now says otherwise," Oscar and I made eye contact just before he turned his head to whisper in my ear "just say the word and I'll fuck you 7 ways to Sunday before your brother gets back" His hand slowly sliding down my front before they got to my bathing suit bottoms, stopping right above the elastic.

A whimper left my lips before I could stop it. "Is this fine?" Oscar said as he grabbed my chin to look up and face him, a small nod of approval was what I gave him but that wasn't enough "No princess, I need words. Is this okay with you?" Even when we're so deep in this intimate moment he's getting on my nerves.

"Yes," I said breathlessly as I placed my hand on his and guided him underneath the fabric of my bikini bottoms "I need this, I need you so fucking bad." I whispered as I had leaned into the crook of him neck to leave small and delicate kisses.

A heard a groan leave Oscar's lips as I started to suck the skin of his neck to litter his gorgeous skin with hickies.

"Mmmm, fuck. I need you right now." Oscar moaned right before he smashed his lips to mine. The kiss didn't last too long before Oscar picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and started to make his way to my room and slamming the door once we were in. Oscar placed a hard and firm slap to my ass before tossing me on the bed.

"You're so sexy, did you know that?" Oscar started talking while slowly crawling towards me leaving kisses in his wake, started by my feet "I've always dreamed of fucking you since I met you" left a kiss just below my knee "I've jerked off to the thought of me fucking you in my drivers room, making you scream my name so loud they can hear you in the grandstands" kissed my clothed pussy, causing me to jerk my body up "and the thought of filling you so full you're carrying child." kissed my stomach "I've thought about taking you at so many events." kissed my breasts "I thought about us getting caught while I'm fucking your mouth." kissed the under side of my jaw before looking in my eyes "I thought about us getting married and just fucking like rabbits everywhere I can take you" He kissed my lips before biting my bottom lip

"Do it." I said breathless as Oscar leaned down to kiss my cleavage, the second those words left my mouth I felt him freeze.

"Which part?" He searched my face for an answer

"All of it." In 0.2 seconds flat his lips were on mine in a hungry kiss before he licked my bottom lip for entrance which I happily granted him access to. Our tongues fought for dominance but his ultimately won, as we made out I felt an ache in my core that I needed to get rid of. I bucked my hips up to rub against his hard cock, it didn't last long though as one of Oscar's hands pressed firmly on my low stomach pressing my lower half into the mattress.

"Impatient are we?" A small moan left my lips "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take good care of you" Oscar took the hand that he had pressed against my stomach and moved it to take off his swim trunks before moving that same hand to undo the knots on the strings on the sides of my bathing suit bottoms. Undoing two double knotted knots with one hand was supposed to be hard but Oscar made it seem easy, and hot. Super super hot. Oscar peeled the bottoms off of me and chucked it to God knows where in the room.

Oscar grabbed his cock and fisted it a few times before lining his tip to my entrance before looking in my eyes once again asking for permission

"Oscar, please fuck me. I can't wait anymore" I whimpered. At this point I don't care how pathetic I sounded, I had a hot man in front of me about to fuck me and I needed him.

That was all the confirmation he needed before he slid his cock so deep in my cunt I felt like I could feel him in my throat. He was big and thick, not too big but my god was he thick. My walls stretched in a delicious pain as I adjusted to his size. A quick tap to Oscar's bicep told him all he needed to know before he pulled out and slowly slid back in. He kept going at a slower pace before I spoke up.

"Oscar," I moaned

"Yeah baby, what do you need?" He leaned in to kiss my collarbone

"I need you to fuck me faster" without a second thought Oscar pulled out and slammed into my pussy, easing the aching throb thats been there for a minute.

My walls stretched with each hard and rough thrust of his cock and I enjoyed every minute of it. Oscar had one hand on my hip and used it to guide my hips up to meet his every thrust. Oscar kept fucking me raw and rough for about another 2 minutes before he abruptly pulled out.

A disappointed groan left my lips at the feeling of being empty but that didn't last long because Oscar ended up flipping me around and forcing me on all fours. I turned half my body to face him and I watched he stood on his knees and aligned himself with my entrance again and grabbed my hips and thrusted his cock in me.

A loud moan left my lips as I felt so full of him again. Oscar set a blistering pace as he rocked his hips in and out of my dripping pussy. Oscar slowly withdrew his cock from my pussy before slowly pushing his girthy cock back in making sure he'd bottom out. Even though Oscar was bottomed out he kept pushing himself deeper in me which caused me to reach behind me to attempt to grab ahold of his thighs in hopes to pull him closer to me to make him go impossibly deeper in my cunt.

Oscar finally started his thrusts up again and was fucking me so hard I'm pretty sure the bed was moving. Each thrust sent my body jerking forward and I felt like I was on fire. I could feel a familiar tightness in my tummy as Oscar keeps his merciless pace going.

"Gonna cum for me sweet girl?" Oscar's hand brushed up my back and rested on my shoulder.

"Mmhmm" was all I could muster, Oscar was fucking me so good I couldn't form coherent sentences. I felt Oscar pull out of me before quickly flipping me untilI I was on my back and he thrusted right back into be with so much force.

"I wanna see your pretty face when I make you cum. M'gonna ruin you for any other man." I can't focus, I'm so close to cumming and I need this release.

"I don't want any other man" I murmured "Oscar, I'm so close. Choke me"

I didn't have to ask twice and the second his calloused hand gripped the flesh of my throat and gave it a gentle and slight squeeze my walls clenched around his cock and my body shook as my orgasm washed over me. Oscar kept fucking me through my high as he chased his own orgasm. I could tell Oscar was close just by the way his hips stuttered against me. I was going to tell Oscar to pull out and to cum on my stomach but before I could say anything he spoke up

"Can I please fuck your mouth and cum in it? Please I need to cum so bad" Oscar whimpered

"Please" was all I said before I watched him pull out and quickly made his way up to my face before he shoved his cock in my mouth and started to roughly fuck it.

He didn't last that long and after a few thrust he shoved his cock to the back of my throat and used my used his hand he had placed behind head to shove my face closer to his body until my nose was touching his skin as he spilled his cum down my throat.

Oscar pulled out of my mouth and watched me as I swallowed all his cum. He placed a kiss to my lips before having to pull away due to my phone ringing.

I picked up my phone and looked at the caller ID "Oh shit, it's Lando" I pressed the answer icon and placing it on speaker "This better be good, I'm reading" I said into the phone

"I'm gonna be back at the condo in 20 so get ready for dinner and while you're at it wake up Oscar, I called him 4 times but he isn't answering. He's a heavy sleeper." I had to refrain a chuckle from leaving my lips

"Okay, I'm gonna wake him and then take a shower. Bye, I love you too." I hung up before turning back to Oscar

"Yeah, I forgot I threw my phone on the other lawn chair." he said as he rubbed the back of his neck "And no I wasn't watching porn, I was watching videos of you being interviewed at movie premieres. I can't help it, you're just so hot." Oscar mumbled as he leaned in to kiss my lips again.

"We have to get dressed Oscar" I mumbled against his lips as I pulled away "I smell like sex and I want to wash my hair so I gotta go now." I got up from my bed and was about to walk towards my bathroom before I felt a firm slap on my ass causing me to jerk forward with a yelp

"I'm gonna fuck you so good when we get back, I hope you know that"

-

I MISSED YOU GUYS (I just posted two days ago) I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS!!

Taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti@dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy

[boowritess]

bonus part 2

simon can't cook-

okay no he CAN. okay? but it's very much- chop up whatever the fuck is in the fridge throw it in a pot, add as much meat he can find. then he's sorted. creating some sort of stew. but if not that. he thrives off 2 minute noodles.

listen, he's a working man. he can't be fucked thinking about what to make.

and if he needs to eat while not deployed and wants something, he'll get takeaways so he doesn't have to think about it.

and if ya'll are together - whatever you make... motherfucker eats that shit up like he's in a 5-star fucking reasturant.

you made scrambled eggs with bacon??? he's astounded. absolutely in love. has never been more satisfied in his life.

but oh lord. when he retires..

retired!simon fucking riley finds his fucking calling in cooking.

you no longer have to worry about cooking. nah-uh. not with this man who has all the time in the world to hone in on this new culinary world.

idk i just think it's so cute to think about simon going from beans on toast for breakfast to fluffy buttermilk pancakes or french toast with bacon a berry compote.

then for dinner; it's suddenly a whole line of sushi with all your favourites, dumplings to follow and a beef udon recipe dish. or maybe it's a simple roast - however, a perfectly seasoned meat has been sitting for a while in the oven for so long that when you cut into it, it's juicy and tender. and simon fucking beams at the faces you make.

dessert is a whole other game that simon fucking mastered. seriously. because he's placing down a skillet brownie, topped with ice cream and cream. And when you put a spoon into it, it fucking drips with chocolate ya'll.

just rahhhh retired!simon that turns into chef!simon. who just spoils you day and night with food. who gains the ability to make whatever dish you want, whenever you want. 3am and you want a grilled cheese? he can whip it up in seconds and it'll taste like the most gourmet grilled cheese you have EVER had.

btw, i'm torn between making him a gordon ramsay in the kitchen or him being the complete opposite and being so sweet and patient with you when you want to help him.

WAIT- speaks like gordon ramsay but treats you softly. like, you're not cutting with the knife correctly you fucking donkey. but instead of taking it off you, he presses up behind you, gently cups your hands with his and shows you how to do it safely. and he's speaking so sweetly and softly. a stark contrast to when he called you a fucking donkey - but hey you'll get your bite back. ;)

a/n: i can't fucking breathe this was so funny to write. i'm sorry idk why he called u a donkey. i'm fucking hungry if it wasn't obvious with this post.

[holybibly]

Bunnies, lately my brain has been going crazy with the number of ideas in my head and the number of drafts is already over 50 🙈 And it seems like my inspiration just won't stop.

Everyone has seen today's teaser, right? And I just can't stay away. So here I am, sharing with you the idea that came to me today.

Bunny lucky charm hockey players Ateez x reader

Have you heard about Ateez? Yes, the hockey team that has failed every game this season despite their pretty faces and endless hours of practice. And they are in desperate need of a win so that they can keep their scholarship and not get kicked out of the university. And when I say desperate, it's literally true—if they have to lick the floor with their tongues for a win, they'll do it without a second thought.

So when they hear a rumour that there is a certain girl with a touch of "pure luck" in the painting department, they immediately find themselves on their knees before her. They'll do whatever it takes to get her "luck" for themselves, and maybe, just maybe, they'll fuck her in the process.

Loud, noisy, bulky, and sweating like bloody dogs after a rainstorm—the hockey team at your university was not your cup of tea. So it was a resounding "no" when they trooped into your small studio in the university's art department and asked you to be their lucky "bunny." You were from a completely different world, and you didn't want to be associated with someone like them; the whole university knew about their parties and their fucking. It seemed impossible to find a girl who hadn't slept with one or more of them, and there were even some who would manage to fuck the whole team at once. So you threw them out of the studio, even though they were on their knees, begging you not to.

But what you don't know about Ateez is that they never give up. They just change their tactics.

And if you were the golden ticket to their victory, they would stop at nothing until they had their hands on you.

"What are we going to do about it now? She answered quite emphatically." Yunho asked as he lay on the floor in the middle of their living room. There was no trace of his usual positive and sunny energy left; the threat of getting expelled was hanging over them all like a damned thundercloud.

"It's all Wooyoung's fault. He was the one who scared her." San noticed and pressed his face against Seonghwa's shoulder like a cat. The long-haired boy himself was deeply absorbed in thinking about a certain girl with her paint-covered hands.

"That's not true at all! Mingi was the one who kneeled first; I just followed." Woo shouted in indignation and slapped San's thigh with his hand.

"You followed on a reflex?" Jongho remarked, causing the room to burst into a fit of laughter.

"What if we seduce her?" Yeosang asked quietly. His voice was soft and almost drowned out by the cacophony of laughter from the rest of the team, but Hongjoong and Seonghwa were able to hear him clearly.

The two older boys looked at each other and engaged in a silent dialogue before a dark, lecherous grin appeared on both their faces.

"That sounds like a great idea, Sangie." Hongjoong said, running his tongue tip over his lips. "Let's go fuck the bunny for good luck, boys."

[gentlyweeps-world]

Hey, just having a big baby fever, could you do some dad logan? Nothing too especially just that he’ll have a baby boy. Thanks 🫶

a helping hand

summary: above ^^

pairing: logan sarge x fem!reader

warnings: suggestive tones and actions

genre: fluff!!

notes: logan would totally call his son chief, that’s all

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

“Hey- babe! Can you- fuck, can you help me?” You shout from the kitchen, trying to balance your two year old boy, James, and making dinner.

“Yeah! I’m coming baby..” Logan shouts back, coming into the kitchen and sweeping up James into his arms.

“Thank you-“ You say before James, being a toddler, does some loud squealing and begins kicking his feet. “Ugh- James! We don’t kick!” Logan groans out, throwing James over his shoulder.

“Daddy! No!” James squeals out, his giggling and laughing growing.

You can’t help but laugh at your two year old, his giggles and smiling face were too adorable, “He’s still just a baby-“ You say with a grin, losing focus on the pasta you were cooking.

“No! Nuh uh!” James says, starting to giggle and laugh more as Logan throws him up in the air.

“Yes- you are still a baby!” Logan says, playing along. Logan sets your son down and he runs towards you, giggling and squealing even more- to which you scoop him up, “He’s my little boy-“ You coo and squeeze him, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I thought I was your boy..” Logan says with a pout, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and planting a kiss to the side of your head.

“You’re my second boy..” You reply with a grin, attention finally going back to the pasta you were cooking, but it was over-cooked.

“The pasta is over cooked, god damn it!” You sigh and turn off the stove, you place James on the floor and let him wander around.

Logan keeps his arms wrapped around you, pulling you back against his chest he places some kisses to your neck.

“You go relax on the couch, I’ll order some food, okay?” Logan mumbles out, placing his hands on your belly. “Don’t want to stress out our baby girl..” He adds on.

You let out a small sigh and lean back into him, “We don’t know if it’s a girl..” You reply softly with a smile.

“Trust me baby, I have a feeling..” Logan says, placing one more peck to your neck.

“Whatever you say..” You reply with a giggle, turning around in his arms to press a kiss to his lips.

“Also..once James goes to sleep..you and I can finally have some alone time..” Logan whispers in your ear.

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” You whisper back, leaning up into the kiss, but James breaks it up, “No kissing!” He laughs, hitting yours and Logan’s legs.

Logan chuckles and looks at your son, “How much older till we start charging you rent?“ He says with a grin, leaning down to scoop up James in his arms.

“I’ll text Alex and Lily that we need a date night..” You say before placing a kiss to James head. You then walk out of the kitchen and into the living room, flopping down onto the couch.

“Pizza good babe?” Logan shouts from the kitchen, which is followed by a small, “yay!” from James.

“Yeah sounds good!” You shout back, throwing on a random movie.

You lean back on the couch, cuddling up against a pillow and closing your eyes. The movie playing- you don’t even care what it is. James walks in and crawls up into your arms, cuddling into you and watching the movie.

Logan soon walks over and sits down next to you. “Pizza will be here in thirty..” He says, wrapping an arm around you and James.

“Thanks..” You mumble out quietly, noticing that James has now fallen asleep.

“You okay baby?” Logan asks, leaning over to press a kiss to your head, letting out a small sigh you look over to him.

“I’m just tired, and stressed…I feel like there’s so much to do with no time..” You mumble out, “And- and when the season starts back up it’s going to be so hectic again..”

Logan pulls you into his chest- cuddling you up against him. You can feel his hand brush against your belly, he doesn’t say anything, but just wraps his arms around you and James, holding you tightly.

He kisses the top of your head, “We will make time.. we’ll deal with whatever comes.. okay? Just trust me babe, I’m not going to let you or the kids out of my sight.” He says softly, letting out a yawn and kissing you on the forehead.

“I’ll be here to lend a helping hand whenever..and in more ways than one..” He adds on with a grin.

You roll your eyes and smile at his comment, “Of course- but thank you…” You say with a sigh, leaning back into him.

Logan just smiles as the doorbell goes off, “That would be the pizza-“ He starts to get up but looks at you, “Do you want me to get it? Or do you want a break from the little guy?” He asks, knowing you are a bit stressed.

“It’s okay..he’s sleeping right now..” You say with a smile, looking down at James who’s curled up against you.

You run your fingers through his hair, smiling as you admire the peaceful look on your son’s face, similar to Logan’s when he sleeps.

A few minutes later Logan walks in with the pizza, setting it on the coffee table with a few paper plate and napkins he walks over to you, leaning down he places a peck to your lips.

“Hey chief..dinner is here..” Logan whispers out to James, leaning down to scoop him up into his arms.

James wakes up when Logan picks him up, and he starts to giggle and smile. “Daddy!” He squeals out.

“Hey chief, you hungry?” Logan asks, tickling James, making him laugh even more.

Logan sits down beside you on the couch, and he places a piece of pizza on James’s plate. “Now, we’ve got to eat before this gets cold, buddy.” He says, as soon as James hears those words he instantly starts eating.

You get yourself a slice of pizza and lean against Logan’s shoulder with a sigh, “He’s definitely not a mommy’s boy..” You mumble out.

“Nope, but he sure does love you.” Logan says with a grin, James’ face was covered in tomato sauce, he was laughing and having a great time.

Soon enough, you and Logan both finish your pizza, James is still “eating”, even if he’s really playing with the cheese.

Soon after James finished eating, Logan helps clean up and gets him ready for bed.

A few hours of passed, you’re taking a small nap on the couch when you feel it dip under Logan’s weight.

“Hey baby..I started a bath for the two of us, James is knocked out cold..” Logan whispers out, running his fingers through your hair.

You slowly and very softly open your eyes. “What time is it?” You ask lazily, letting out a small groan, sitting up.

Logan kisses your cheek and runs his hands through your hair. “Around 1am…but James is asleep, thought we’d have some alone time in the bath?” He whispers out, leaning down and kissing you and your neck.

“God you’re a man after my own heart..” You mumble out, leaning into Logan’s touch, letting your hands wander to his shirt and sliding them under it, feeling his skin and muscles.

“When will you ask me to marry you?” You groan out, Logan chuckles at that, “When you can mentally fathom it..” He says teasingly.

“Mmmmm..” You groan as you feel him up, “You know- I love how cocky you can be sometimes..” You groan, “You know what- let’s just get in the bath, yeah?” You add as you kiss him.

Logan chuckles, “You think you can handle me asking you to marry me?” He asks, leaning into the kiss. “I can ask right now if-mm- you’d want me to..”

“You and I both know it’ll at least be a few more months..” You mumble out, letting out a sigh as you feel his hands against you.

“You’re just going to have to deal with my cocky ass until then..” He laughs, pulling at your shirt. “I should keep you waiting-“ He says, kissing your neck and trailing his hands down your hips.

“Then I guess I won’t be having a baby girl..” You mumble out, pulling away from him as you get up from the couch and walk over to the bathroom.

Logan follows you into the bathroom, but he stops and leans against the door frame, a sly grin on his face as he watches you.

“You will be having a baby girl- I’m sure of it, and y’know- you’re not going to be able to escape my hands, I know what I want and- oh I’ll be having it.” He says, his voice low and soft.

“I think you’re all talk..” You say with a grin, looking at him. You pause for a moment. “And thank you by the way, for just being a great dad and boyfriend..” You add on with a smile.

“Mmmm- I’m not all talk sweetheart” He says before slowly walking over to you, his hands brushing against your hips.

“Thank you- for being such an amazing mother and girlfriend.” He says, leaning in towards you.

“God I love you..” You say with a sigh, leaning into his body.

“I love you too..” He whispers out, hugging you into his chest, “So why don’t I show you how much I love you..?” He adds on, sliding his hands down to your ass, squeezing it.

You let out a chuckle, “Why are you so horny all of the sudden Lo..”

“You look hot pregnant- and hot in general!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: boom another one! I’m slowly getting through my requests!! loved making this so send in any other requests! don’t be shy to ask to be added to the lag list 💙

permanent taglist: @cixrosie @amajixi @i-wish-this-was-me @nelly187 @hannahwsworld @sltwins

[libraryofloveletters]

Find Your Way Home

Daniel Ricciardo x Engineer!Fem!Reader

Warnings: the curse that is mclaren racing, < mclaren/zak slander, the highs and lows of Danny's career, monaco 2016, horner warning lmao, a few bitter words, angst, unspoken feelings, sadness, 2022 silly season and a few swear words.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: after plotting this, i realized that The Red String Of Me And You follows a similar timeline but this one is more detailed and sooo much sexier of me so enjoy it :)

---

RedBull Racing - 2014; Montreal, Canada.

Under-qualified crossed your mind every time you got into your chair on the pit wall.

You had recently graduated and you were lucky enough to snag a job with Red Bull Racing. You were told it would be a job at the factory, that you would be handling the reviews from the races from an engineering point of view.

Now you were sitting on the pit wall in Montreal, your driver in your ear. "Are we set?" His voice came through.

Your eyes scanned over the screens, pressing the button. "We're all set, Daniel."

Daniel was gunning for his first race win and you've been hoping and praying every weekend that he'd win. It was your first time as a race engineer and you were starting to think you two hadn't fully clicked yet, hence why you've yet to get a win.

He starts in P6 and his teammate Sebastian, was in P3 this weekend. There's a lot of pressure when your teammate is a 4 time world champion and you're sure Daniel felt it, especially on weekends like this.

You sat patiently, buzzing into him once more before they started the countdown. "Be safe."

"Safe is my middle name, y/n."

"Whatever you say, Joseph." The use of his actual middle name earned you a laugh. The radio falls silent; three, two, one, lights out.

It's a gruesome 70 laps, there's overtaking left and right, Daniel fights his way up to P3 and you're praying he can do what he does best. You watch as the laps count down towards the final one.

67, 68, 69, and into the final corner. The navy car crossed the line and it takes you a second to catch yourself. Christian squeezes your arm from next to you, a massive grin on his face when you register what just happened.

"YOU DID IT!!" You shouted into the radio, Daniel's laughter and hollering filled your ears and your heart with love and happiness, "we did it!" he shouts, correcting you.

Everyone's running, you're following the mechanics to under the podium, all of you squished up against the fence like sardines as the navy team awaited their two drivers.

Daniel had won, followed by Nico in P2 for Mercedes and Sebastian in P3 for RedBull.

Seb runs over to his half of the garage, there's a sea of navy and everyone is mixed up together but when Daniel gets out of his car, he's looking for one person and one person only. He spots you, a big smile on your face and even though he knows you'd never admit it, there are tears in your eyes.

The driver jumps straight into your arms, putting all of his weight on you and the fence. A few of the mechanics squeeze into the hug, holding Daniel so he doesn't crush you.

Your hands cup his face, well what would be his face under the helmet. His visor is lifted, brown eyes meet yours; the crinkles by his eyes signalling to the massive smile under the helmet.

"We fucking did it!" His shout comes out muffled.

You smile, nodding. Daniel is standing again, still holding onto you. He leans into you, arms wrapped around you with his face buried in your shoulder. You kiss the side of his helmet, hand reaching down to rub the top of his back. You internally gag at the dampness that meets your hand but that was the least of your concerns.

Daniel just won his first race.

Proud was an understatement.

--

RedBull Racing - 2016; Monte Carlo, Monaco.

He could taste the victory.

The win was reaching out to him, the finish line on the tips of his fingers and he could feel it slipping away from him.

"Pit now," you called to him, Daniel was confused by your sudden decision. "Tyres are good, y/n."

"Team decision, please pull into the pit lane."

Daniel groans letting you know he'll be there in a few seconds.

You saw when he pulled into the pits, watching as the mechanics scrabbled to get the tyres ready in time. They had Daniel sitting there, his position falling with each wasted second.

"What the fuck!" His radio was still on, you weren't even sure what you could tell him in that moment to make him feel better. He pulls out with a sense of speed you'd never seen before. He finds himself racing to beat Lewis coming out of the pit lane but the Mercedes turns into the corner before he gets the chance too, overtaking him.

"Why did we pit?" He asks you, you pretend not to hear him as you look over at Christian. The older man gives you a look, urging you to answer the driver.

Daniel calls your name once again, his voice making you want to cry; all of the horrible emotions mixed in with the guilt of the horrible pit stop made you sick.

You finally answer; "team decision."

He scoffs, it's like you can feel the tension over the radio, see the way his hands tighten around the steering wheel as he goes into the tunnel. "Bullshit, y/n."

"I'm sorry Dan-" "Stop, nothing you could say will make this better."

And with that, the radio fell silent. The nauseous feeling builds with each passing second, your leg shaking and your eyes staying fixed to the screen until Daniel crosses the finish line in P2.

It was better than nothing but you knew he could have won the race, you knew he would blame the team, blame the crew, blame you for this loss.

Christian squeezes your shoulder as he gets up, a smile on his face - his quiet way of telling you good job. He knows how difficult drivers can be, especially when things like this happen. The race engineers are the first to take the blame, you called him into the pit so you'd take the brunt of the anger.

You nod, hearing Daniel's voice over the radio, "place?"

"P2. Well done, Daniel."

"Okay."

Daniel stood next to Lewis, Checo on the other side of the Mercedes driver. It was quiet as you watched Daniel shake the champagne bottle, spraying over his fellow drivers. He had a smile on his face but you knew he wasn't happy. You knew him like the back of your hand and once again, the nauseous feeling creeped up the back of your throat, the feeling strangling the life out of you with each passing second. You had to go, you couldn't stand there and watch him like that, knowing you were the one he was blaming.

And that he did; not in so many words but the bitterness in his voice and way he spoke was enough to tell you he did not want to be there.

The interview replayed in the debrief that afternoon, the press officers wanting to go over something he had said.

"It hurts, this one hurts a lot. More than any other."

His words hurt you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, let alone be in the same room as him. There was a sense of despair, you couldn't shake it.

It wasn't until you were about to leave that you found yourself turning back, walking in the direction of his driver's room. You stopped outside the door; D. Ricciardo, 3 - with an Australian flag beside it. As you were about to knock, Michael opens the door, a bit shocked to see you.

"Is he in there?" You asked quietly and he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. Michael shuts the door on his way out, leaving the two of you alone.

Daniel's yet to turn around or yet to realize you were there. "I'm sorry," you speak, your quiet voice startling him. "I'm not sure what went wrong."

"Everything did."

"It wasn't my decision."

"You're my engineer; when I'm out there, it's me and you. It was your decision, y/n. Only yours."

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I really am."

"Nothing you can say will fix it, and I know you're sorry but right now, I don't want your sorry."

You nod, taking a step back. "Then what can I say? Or do?"

"You can leave," his arms fold over his chest. "Because if you stay, I might say some things I can't take back. I know we aren't cool right now but I don't want to hurt you, y/n."

"You already have," you give him a tight lipped smile, the sadness clear across your face. "Goodnight Daniel."

--

RedBull Racing - 2018; Monte Carlo, Monaco.

It was off to a good start, Daniel had managed to give it his all and snag pole position on Saturday. He was in a good mood, there's a smile on his face and the sun was shining down on Monaco which was a nice change from the rain that was setting up in the morning.

The cars on the grid, the drivers counting down the seconds to lights out. You buzz into him, waiting to hear the little click. Daniel's breathing comes through from his side.

“50% done, remember?” You tell him. 

“50% done.” He says, the radio goes quiet as he waits for lights out.

Daniel drove amazingly, despite the issues the car was giving him. He finds himself aggravated half way through the race, the car giving out on him and losing power; thus losing hope in himself. The win was slipping through his fingers all over again with each passing corner and turn.

The weight was lifted off his shoulders when you watched him cross the finish line as the winner.

"P1 baby!!!!" You shout into the radio, Daniel's hollering fills the line and a big smile on both of your faces. "We fucking did it!!" He laughed, driving his cool down lap.

You were by the fence, watching as he climbed onto the halo of his car. Daniel's hand in a fist, placed on his chest as the team cheered. You're sure you've got the goofiest grin on your face, squished between Christian and Adrian.

Much like he did after his first race win, he makes a beeline straight for you, his arms open as he jumps into yours. Once again, you find yourself struggling to hold the man up but you try your best, arms wrapped around him.

Daniel's squished against you, your hands on his helmet, holding where his jaw would be. "Got that other 50%."

"Redemption day baby!" He shouts, giving you one last squeeze.

The rest of the afternoon was like heaven on earth; the smell of champagne, RedBull and chlorine covered everyone, you all watched as Daniel dived into the pool of the energy station.

"Come on!" He shouts to you but you shake your head, "I'm not getting in there."

Daniel pulls himself out of the pool, running over to you. "Dan, no." Your finger stuck out to warn him, the man comes closer. "Stop it," you get up, about to run away. He grabs you before you get the chance to run away, his arms wrapped tightly around you before he jumps into the pool.

"Daniel!" You scream when you get back up to the surface, "oh my god!" You laughed, your hand passed over your face to wipe away the water. He laughs, swimming - more like blobbing his way over to you, his race suit was weighing him down.

He grabs your arm, pulling you to him. The team photographer takes a photo of the two of you; arms wrapped around each other, covered in disgusting pool water with the world's biggest million watt smiles on your face.

You smile at the man next to you, "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud of you," he smiles, hugging you once more. "I couldn't have done it without you."

--

RedBull Racing - 2018; Abu Dhabi.

The announcement over the summer break threw everyone for a loop.

Breaking News: Daniel Ricciardo set to join Renault Racing for the 2019 season.

You weren't sure how to handle it or what prompted it.

Well that's not entirely true; after Monaco, things went downhill fast. There was bad result after bad result and it was weighing heavily on him.

When he returned from the summer break, you didn't say anything to him about the departure from the team. You knew he must have thought about it, you don't just up and leave a team just like that. It was a hard decision for him to make.

The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel worse.

It was his last day, the race was over and Daniel had made his rounds to say goodbye to everyone. You had been busy when he made his way around the garage and hospitality but you felt like a general goodbye wasn't enough for the man who you have spent almost every day with for the last 4 years of your life.

You knocked on the door of his driver's room, Michael smiles when he opens the door. "Come in, y/n."

Daniel turns when he hears your name. "I uh, I forgot something in the garage, I'll be back." Micheal says, announcing that he's leaving so you'd get a moment of privacy.

The two of you were quiet, looking at each other for a moment before you spoke.

You break the silence. “So this is it?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, shifting from one foot to the other. You hum, lips pressed together as you look around. You'd never seen the room so empty. “Do you really have to go ?” 

Daniel smiles, “afraid so, bags are packed.” 

“You could always unpack.” 

He smiled, his heart aching at the sight of you. You reached out, your hand placed on his warm cheek. “But you’ll come back, right?” 

A sad smile on his face, bringing his own hand up to rest on yours. “In another life, maybe.” 

“You promise?” You stuck your pinky out towards him. 

He nods, interlocking his pinky with yours like you were children. “I promise.” 

--

Renault Racing - 2020; Imola, Italy.

The rain poured down, the night sky as dark as it could possibly get as you pulled your hood over your head; the race hadn't gone as well as you'd like but you were no longer needed for the night, on your way back to your hotel for some sleep and then home before you head off to Turkey.

You could barely see where you were going let alone hear anything over the rain. The sudden shelter over you caused you to look up; an umbrella, a black and yellow one to be precise.

The man next to you smiles when you turn to see who was next to you. "Hello stranger," he grinned, the big smile on his face.

"Hello Daniel," you smiled.

The two of you hadn't spoken much since he left RedBull, it was a hi and a hello here and there in passing but you've yet to have a proper conversation. Frankly, you aren't sure what to say without it being awkward.

"Need a ride?" He asks, his arm over your shoulder to pull you away from the rain. "If it's not too much trouble." You pull the hood off of your head, flattening a few fly aways.

Daniel leads you towards the parking lot, holding the umbrella over your head until you get into the car. The man backed out of the parking spot, the sound of the rain on the windshield filled the silence, you translated the road signs in your head as he passed them by.

"You looked good up there today," you say quietly, Daniel glanced at you when he came to a stop. "You were always suited for the podium."

"Top step though," he smiles and you nod in agreement. "I'm sorry.. about the race. Sucks for Max and Alex."

You shrugged; A DNF for Max and P15 for Alex, so all in all, a shit weekend. "That's racing, what can you do?"

"The good and the bad." He pulls off when the light turns green. "You know how it is," you smiled, picking at the chipped nail polish on your index finger.

"Daniel, can I ask you something?"

"Oh full name, you've got me shakin' in my boots, y/n; but yes you can."

You shift in the leather seat, smooth and expensive and suddenly you're aware of how wet your hoodie is. The question you wanted to ask slips away momentarily as you think of how much this must be damaging the seat.

"Y/n," he calls out to you, glancing over to make sure you were alright after you had gone quiet. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Why are you running, Daniel ?"

The question catches him off guard, the car comes to a stop as he pulls into the parking lot of your hotel. His jaw hung open a bit as if he was unsure how to answer you; which he was. You watched as he blinked, trying to gather the thoughts in his head into a cohesive sentence.

"I'm not."

You can't help but chuckle; those who are running never seem to realize that they are, in fact, running.

"You are. You have a habit of doing that, Daniel."

You reach over, your hand rests atop of his; Daniel's skin is warm in comparison to yours that's still ice cold from the rain. His free hand moves, his index finger tracing up and down your hands, from your knuckles down to your wrist; another habit of his. He would distract himself during boring debriefs, his fingers pinching at yours under the table.

He's quiet, still unsure how to answer the statement that he knows in his heart was true. His fingers wandering over your hand, the raised skin by your thumb felt out a pattern identical to his; a rose in the same spot only slightly smaller in size.

Daniel had talked you into it. Another habit of his, getting you to do things you'd never do otherwise.

You were scared, you thought it would hurt but somehow he managed to talk you into it. There you were in his hotel room, Daniel's hand in your free one as you two got matching tattoos.

It felt like a million years ago - so much has changed since then.

You speak again, breaking the silence. "I hope you find what you're looking for at McLaren. You deserve some peace, Dan. You and I both know it."

--

McLaren Racing - 2021; Monza, Italy.

Back where he belongs.

A hell of a drive, something only Daniel could have pulled off after the horrendous start that was McLaren. You knew it was the car, not him; if anyone asked you, the car was always at fault. Daniel was one of the most talented drivers you had ever come across and had the pleasure of working with. You'd tell anyone who asked, anyone who'd listen to you.

It was a lacklustre weekend for the team; Checo was in P5 and Max had a DNF after an accident with Lewis, which caused both drivers to lose out on points that were needed for the championship.

Despite RedBull not having a driver on the podium, you and a few of the mechanics that used to work on Daniel's side of the garage went to watch the podium to cheer him on.

You watched as he and Lando did a shoey, your face twisting into disgust much like the younger McLaren driver. Valtteri watched in a bit of confusion and disgust, shaking his head as he took a swing of champagne from the bottle like a normal person.

The champagne bottle in one hand and the other on the railing as he climbed up. Daniel shouts, a big grin on his face as he lifts the bottle above his head. Everyone cheers for him, clapping and shouting for the winner. You were needed back in the garage for a meeting so you couldn't stick around long but you made sure to text Daniel.

To Daniel Ricciardo: Congrats winner! Back on the top step.

You got caught up in the meetings, back to back that felt never ending. Eventually you have a chance to check your phone but when you feel your pocket, it's not there.

You must have put it down somewhere. You find yourself retracing your steps, asking each person you saw as you passed by.

"Y/n!" GP calls for you, getting your attention. "Looking for this?" He holds up a phone with a navy blue case, your initials inscribed in gold on the bottom.

You let out a breath, "how'd you know?"

He hands the phone over to you, shrugging. "You know I always know." You roll your eyes at your co-worker's theatrics and thank him for your phone before walking off. You see you've missed a few messages so you scroll through. One in particular catches your eye.

From Daniel Ricciardo: Thanks boss lady! Congrats to you too, you helped make me the man I am today.

The message pulled on your heart strings; it was true. You and Daniel were so young when you got paired up together. You learnt a lot about life and yourselves, how to be a good person and what you wanted from life, and most importantly, how to get it.

You grew up together and Daniel would always hold a special place in your heart.

--

McLaren Racing - 2022; Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium.

You couldn't believe it.

After everything he's done for the team, he'd hurt him like that. What could you expect from a team when their CEO was a walking snake?

It was a chain reaction.

Sebastian had thrown everyone for a loop in Hungary, announcing that he would be retiring at the end of the 2022 season. That left Aston looking for a replacement that came from Fernando. There was an opening at Alpine now which they just assumed they'd fill with their reserve driver, Oscar.

Safe to say Oscar wasn't a fan of that plan, actually he wasn't even aware of that plan.

While all of this was going on, Daniel had publicly committed to McLaren for the next season and McLaren was giving away his seat to different drivers behind his back, including none other than Alpine's reserve driver, Oscar.

Eventually it did come out that Daniel would be leaving McLaren at the end of the 2022 season to no fault of his own.

Returning from the summer break, everyone is left to face the music; particularly Daniel.

His music shuts off when he pulls the key from the ignition. You had forgotten your pass in the car, walking all the way back to the parking lot to get it.

"Morning, y/n!" Daniel grins, stepping out of the car.

You smiled at him, knowing you can't show the anger you were feeling to that wretched team he has to work with for the rest of the season. "Morning, Danny. How are you?"

He laughs.

The question feels so stupid, he feels so stupid. Obviously there's the obvious, he's angry, upset, sad, mad; at who was the question. There's so many thoughts in his head, he isn't sure how to answer your question.

"Daniel, c'mon. Seriously. "

"I'll be okay, y/n. Life works in weird ways."

A huff slips past your lips, arms folded across your chest much like a disapproving mother. "Life working in weird ways is finding something you thought you lost years ago, not you getting sold out of your seat without your knowledge."

He gives you a sad smile, nodding in agreement. "I know."

You can't help but reach out, a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be okay."

"I always am, aren't I?"

--

Red Bull Racing - 2022; Abu Dhabi.

Headphones covered your ears, legs folded under you as you went over the last set of race footage.

You hadn't heard the door open, your eyes glued to the screen only looking away to scribbling something down on the page next to your laptop.

You barely get a second to look back before someone's hands over your eyes, startling you. Instinctively, you brought your own hands up, grabbing the person. The raised skin along the wrist and the arms was enough to signal who it was but the smell of his cologne filled the room. You let go of his arms, pulling the headphones off your ears.

Daniel smiles, his hands on your shoulders before you stand up and turn to face him. “Miss me, miss me, now you gotta-“ 

“Gotta what, Dan?” 

“Kiss me,” he says, his signature cheeky grin on his face. You can’t help but smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You smooth the wrinkles on his navy blue shirt, admiring him in the colours that meant home to him, to you.

Your hands held his face, “you came back.” 

“Pinky promises are sacred.” 

“That they are.” 

--

Scuderia AlphaTauri - 2023; Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium.

He's back on the grid, his focus was on racing.

Daniel's excited to be back, it felt good to be back. Racing wasn't a burden anymore. Yuki was happy to have him, his new teammate welcoming him with a smile and a hug as did the rest of the Alpha Tauri team before he made his way to his driver's room.

The door was unlocked, left ajar slightly. Daniel just assumed the team was doing a last check, making sure things were in order.

He wasn't expecting a person to be in there. He found a woman, her back turned to him as she scribbled down something on the board.

He knows that handwriting from anywhere. The words let's fucking go written in all caps in bright blue.

"Hello," he calls, you turn with the marker still in hand. "Hello," you smiled.

Daniel can't help but laugh, "what are you doing here? Come to welcome me back ?"

"Something like that."

At that moment, Daniel noticed you weren't wearing your usual navy blue uniform. Today was different; a different logo, a different cut.

"What are you wearing? Why are you wearing that?" He points to the Alpha Tauri logo on your shirt.

Your brows furrow, a bit confused by his reaction. You thought he'd be happy to see you. "Do you not need a race engineer or.. you're just gonna wing it? Maybe you could borrow Michael to do it?"

"Don't be a smart ass," he rolled his eyes, dropping his bags as he walked over to you. "Thank you," he whispers, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

You pat his back, trying to wiggle away from him. "No need to thank me, we have a lot of work to do."

"I've barely been here for 5 minutes and you're already hassling me."

"Someone's gotta do it," you smiled, leaving him there to settle in.

It wasn't until it was time for practice that you saw the man again, you're across from him on the pit wall, looking over the stats before you hear the radio buzz.

“We all set?” He asks. 

You look over the screens. “All set. Be safe.”

“Safe is my middle name, Y/n.” The words remind you of the path you walked along many many years ago. 

You smiled, waving to him as he pulled out of the garage. “Whatever you say, Joseph.”

--

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[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter four:

➴ warnings: angst, jealousy, insecurities

➴ word count: 3.9k

➴ author’s note: this is a mess, soph and jack are a mess, quinn’s a sweetheart, grace’s funny af and i’ve reached 100 followers today. can’t even describe how happy i am with the attention IYLM,LMK is getting. i adore u all so much and i hope u stick with me for a while. prepare your seatbelts because shit is about to hit the fan. :,)

SOMETHING changed between you and Jack that day at the Skims set, a week ago.

You finally realized that you are, very much, in love with Jack Hughes. Which was something that you never, in a million years, would’ve guessed. Because, what; you told yourself you’d never get your heart shattered again, yet here you were, walking straight (and worse: willingly) into a trap, falling in love with the man whore of the Devils team.

Despite all of the mean things your mind wanted to tell you, you just forced yourself to remember that not every man is like your cheater ex boyfriend and that not every man would completely crush your heart and tear it apart.

And even though you wouldn't put your hand on the fire and say that he felt the same way as you, if he didn’t, that man was good at pretending. Because no way in hell he’d take all of his fuck buddies to their family lake cabin to throw a Halloween party.

“This is crazy, Jack, you are in the middle of the season, and I’m in the middle of releasing something…” you started, watching as the car took a turn. “Also, how the fuck did you manage to organise a party in, like, thirty minutes?”

“Uh. I’m literally a NHL player. What did you expect?” He scoffed, so full of himself it was almost impossible to stand. You rolled your eyes. “And it’s just a night. I’m not screwing everything up for having fun for one night only, baby, and neither is you.”

“I guess you’re right.” You mumbled, answering some texts messages on your phone.

“I’m always right.” You rolled your eyes again, watching as he drove with ease. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“My fans have been dying for me to dress up as Rapunzel, so I might as well please them.” You shrugged, locking your phone and putting it on your pocket.

“I don’t know about them but I am definitely pleased with the idea.” He smirked.

“You’re just horny, Hughes. Happens to the best of us.”

“Or you’re just pretty. Happens to some of us.”

You laughed, cheeks warm and heart beating fast. “You’re a flirt, Jack Hughes. I missed that. Is it always this crazy during the season?”

“Like you can’t even imagine. My life is just games, working out, eating plain shit and practice for seven months straight.”

“And you love every second of it, don’t you?”

He smiled, white teeth making the view seem a whole lot brighter. “I do, yes. It’s like… the only thing that makes me feel truly alive.”

“Yeah, I know what it feels like,” you whispered. “I feel like that when I’m on the stage too. It’s just… I don’t know. Makes me feel good.”

“I like seeing you on stage,” he nodded and you raised your brow. “What? I do, really. That concert I went to with Nico was fun. Besides, watching you dance with those little dresses of yours is something else.”

“Boo, you’re just an idiot!” You laughed. “But thank you, Jackie bear.”

“Sophia, Jesus, do not call me that,” he whined, but the smile was still on his lips. “Gross.”

“Okay, Jackie bear, whatever you want, honeypot.”

“Sophia!”

— ♡

THE cabin was packed with people, and you were amazed with how fast people arrived, even with the short notice.

You were waiting for Grace to finish getting ready— she would be wearing a Tiana costume, matching your Rapunzel one— so you both could go downstairs and enjoy the party.

“Jack’s going to have a heart attack when he sees you with that little skirt,” Grace said, while applying lip gloss on her plump lips.

“Yeah, about that… I might need to talk to you about something.” You started, crossing your legs.

She stared at you through the mirror, raising her eyebrows. “Go on, Pinky Pie.”

“I thought we’d established that I’m Twilight and you’re my Mordecai?” You giggled, making Grace laugh too.

“I guess we can pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars…” she sighed. “Go on, then, baby. We don’t have all night.”

“So. I may or may have a thing for Jack. Actually, maybe more than just a thing. Think I’m in love, to be honest,” you waited to see her reaction, not expecting her to jump out of the vanity and start twirling around the room, making you laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Are you joking?” She looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “I just won two hundred bucks!”

Confusion took over your face. “What do you mean?”

“I told Nico that you’d be in love with Jack by the end of October and he said you’d be in love with him by the end of November, and since you confessed it now— perfect timing, by the way— I get my two hundred bucks!” She started dancing and jumping, like she wasn’t a nepo baby.

“Grace! What the hell, this is serious!” You raised your arms.

She sat back on the bed.

“Girl, no it isn’t. Just go to him and say: hey, buddy, here’s a secret not so secret: I’m in love with you.” She shrugged. “Just don’t sing the Airplanes song, please. That’s, like, our thing.”

“Grace, I— I can’t even— what the hell,” you wanted to run your hands through your hair, but you remembered that you were wearing extensions and a tiara. So you stick with biting your nails instead. “First of all, why the fuck would you and Nico bet on something like this? That doesn’t even make sense. Second, I can’t just go over there, call him and tell him I like him. That’s not how it works.”

“Well, Nico was the one who proposed the idea of betting so that’s on him!” She raised a finger. “And yes, that is literally how it works.”

“You’re forgetting that this is Jack Hughes. A guy who, apparently, can’t stay a week without a pussy and fucked every Jerseywoman who walked on God’s green earth.”

“Ew, don’t say that! You know my mom’s New Jersian…” she sighed, making a disgusted face. You smiled, apologetically. “Okay. I know that Jack’s past may not be the ideal background you want for your baby daddy but hear me out!”

“Baby daddy? What—”

“Jack hasn’t touched anyone else since you guys started… well. Fucking.” She blushes, like she wasn’t calling him your baby daddy not even a minute ago. “And he’s a great, great person. I’ve seen how he looks at you and if that man isn’t in love, then I’m white as a sheet of paper.”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, feeling frustrated. “Harris also seemed like a great guy, and when we got together, everything changed. I don’t want to go through that ever again.”

“I know it hurt, and God knows I’d rather mop the entire ocean than to see you like that again,” she scooched closer, grabbed your hands and pressed her lips together, the REM Beauty lip gloss making her lips look magical. “But you have to give yourself that chance again. It’s been more than a year, and I’ve seen you and Jack together.”

“I know that, but—”

Grace clicked her tongue, a tsc reverberating on the bedroom walls.

“I’m telling you this as someone who isn’t inside that little head of yours,” she whispered, holding your hands tighter. “You and Jack together? Girl, that’s meant to be. That’s like Achilles and Patroclus, Romeo and Juliet, Hazel and Gus—”

“Girl, what the hell, can’t you find a couple who at least one of them is still alive?” You scoffed.

“Sorry, I just love depressing stories…” she apologized before starting talking again. “That’s not the point, anyway, Miss Girl and you know it! Fuck whatever your head is telling you, Soph: you deserve to be loved and you deserve to love.”

“I didn’t say I love h—” she put a hand over your mouth, interrupting you.

“You don’t have to. I know you, Soph, and the look you get on your face whenever you talk to him, or even better, talk about him, is enough for me,” she kissed your cheek, quickly wiping the lip gloss stain on your face. “And let me tell you a secret, honeybun, he has the same look on his face.”

You smiled, cheeks carmesim and heart full. Thanking Grace for saying all of this wasn’t enough, you needed to buy her a house on the beach with a very naked Nico Hischier inside of it. Maybe that’s what you were going to do.

If only you knew how to convince Nico to be naked at a beach house, you’d certainly—

Someone knocked on the door, and you both got up, surprisingly fast, remembering that you were not alone and that there was a whole party happening downstairs.

Opening the door, you faced Jack who looked way too hot with his own jersey. Of course he’d be wearing a Jack Hughes, NHL Player costume. Of fucking course.

“You were taking too long up here so I came to check on you but maybe we’ll be here for a bit longer.” He smirked, hands finding your corset-covered waist instantly.

“Hum—”

“Excuse me, Mr. I-can’t-keep-myself-in-my-pants, I’m still here.” Grace yelled behind you, and you watched as his entire face showed his annoyance.

“Yeah, I can see. Feel free to leave, though,” he rolled his eyes, holding your right hand and twirling you around. “You look so pretty, baby.”

Your entire face felt like a fireplace but you still smiled nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“You both are disgusting, excuse me,” Grace walked past the both of you, mumbling something about checking in with her husband.

“Let’s go.” He offered you his hands, which you promptly held.

Going downstairs, you were surprised with how full the house was. Like, there were at least fifty people there, which seemed insane for a cabin, no matter how large it was.

Jack dragged you around, saying “hi” to every person you walked by, true to his NHL playboy persona. To your amusement, some people also acknowledged you. Mostly some girls and a few guys. It was nice.

“Sophia!” You heard a shout and immediately knew who it was. Trevor Zegras, wearing a pirate costume, which was just an excuse for him to be shirtless, really. One of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Truthfully. “Damn, I’d climb that tower for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d push you down that shit, Zegras, fuck off.”

Jack laughed softly beside you, moving until you were both sitting on the couch. Quinn, Luke, Nico, Grace and Zegras were all there, talking with a few people you didn't know the name of.

“You can't say you don’t like me without trying me first.” Trevor suggested, looking directly at your face. You showed him your middle finger.

“No one wants to try you, Zegras, now fuck off,” Jack stated before sipping on the beer he stole from Luke, who was dressed as a cooking chef. Or at least that’s what it looked like.

“See, this is why Quinn’s my favorite Hughes,” he mumbled, smiling at Quinn. “Anyway, Soph knows where the heat’s at.” Pointing at himself, Zegras moved on to the girl on his right, who seemed awfully pleased to be his second option.

“Asshole.” You heard Jack mutter under his breath and you giggled, amused.

“Be nice. He’s just… in heat, I guess,” you shrugged, already used to Zegras’ comments. Every time you saw him, he had something new to add to the list. Usually, you’d tell him to fuck off, and he would.

“He’s a pain in my ass, that’s what he is.” Jack bickered, pouting like a ten-year-old child. You found it cute.

“Poor Jackie, huh?”

“Shut up, Soph.” He smiled, blue eyes bright and kind.

Now that you knew what those backflips your heart did every time you saw him smile meant, it was much harder to control them.

Confessing to Jack would break the no-strings-attached arrangement that you both had silently made. It would meant either dating him and having your happily ever after (even if you hardly believed in those) or having your heart broken (again) by a really nice guy who just wanted to fuck you.

Besides that, you were both well-known people, especially you. You remember all too well when you were at home, chilling after a concert, and you got several texts from your friends and family, regarding a bunch of pictures of Harris kissing another girl at a bus stop station. A fucking bus stop station.

The situation dragged on for months, every time you’d post something, people would mention the fact that your ex was a cheater, you had been cheated on and that somehow you deserved to get cheated on; because of the things you sang, because of the clothes you were. Just a shit show with an even shittier audience.

“Hey,” you heard Jack’s voice beside you, and you turned your head around, looking at him. “Where'd you go?”

“Nowhere,” you smiled; it didn’t reach your eyes. Jack seemed to be ready to talk back when a girl— brunette with the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen— threw herself at his lap.

“Jackieeee.” She whined, kissing his cheek. “I missed you.”

You could tell she was a little tipsy, but even so, it made your stomach ache anyway. That ugly, shattering feeling of feeling like less than less came back, and it was as if you could feel the narrator of your story preparing himself to repeat the same shit again. Here’s Sophia again, the girl who likes to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrests.

“Hi…” Jack sounded unsure, something he rarely did. You looked at Grace, and she looked right back at you. Only then you realized that basically everyone was staring at you.

“You don’t remember me?” The girl sounded like she was pouting and you cringed. She was so close to you, sitting on his lap, that her left thigh was brushing against your arm. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure to be unforgettable this time, baby.”

“Wow, I think that’s it for me,” you muttered, getting up from the couch, moving to the kitchen without looking back. You knew that you’d throw up if you did; not because of Jack and Mrs. Unforgettable, but because of the pity stares you knew people were giving you. It sucked.

You also knew that if you stayed inside the house for too long, you’d end up drunk and pissed off. And you didn’t want that. So you did the only thing that you knew would put your mind in the right place again: going to the lake.

You walked outside, feeling the cold breeze hit your face and legs and arms and— everywhere, really. You should have worn a sweatshirt, but now it was too late to go back. You’d rather turn into a popsicle than to go back there and watch that again.

Sitting on the dock, you watched the lake in front of you, listening to the sounds of insects and trees moving. It was a nice view, but probably nicer in the summer. Right now it just looked like a Criminal Minds crime scene.

Lost in thoughts, you didn’t hear the steps coming from behind you. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Letting out a scream, you turned around, facing Quinn, who was wearing a pilot costume, with a scowl on your face.

“Sweet Jesus, Quinn, what the hell,” you put your hand on your barely covered chest, taking a deep breath. “Don’t you know how to, I don’t know, make noise while you walk?”

“I did that, actually, you just didn’t hear it,” he sat down beside you, handing you a Canucks sweatshirt. “Thought you’d get cold.”

You smiled, thanking him and putting it on, trying not to ruin your hair and makeup.

“Thank you, Quinn. That’s nice. Go Canucks!” You raised your hand, making a fist bump, hearing his soft chuckle beside you. You sighed. “I don’t know if you’re here to try to make me feel better or anything like that, but you don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“I’m just here because you needed a sweater and because it’s kinda creepy to be here alone. Nothing else, I promise.”

You looked at him, once again surprised with the Hughes men. But then, they were raised by Ellen, so you shouldn’t really be surprised.

You nodded, choosing not to say anything, just feeling the breeze on your face, a million thoughts in your head.

Now what? What would you even say to Jack? Hey, yeah, I know that when we started this we said that we didn’t want to fall in love but guess what! I’m in love with you.

And what would he even say to you? It wasn’t his fault he didn’t like you back. He’d probably say something like yeah, you fucked up our arrangement now I’ll have to find someone else to fuck every week. You were fun, though! and move on with his life.

And you’d move on with yours, just like you did before. The thing is, you didn’t want to move on again. You spent five years into your twenties trying to move on from things and it was tiring as hell. Moving on from broken friendships? Tiring. Moving on from toxic people? Tiring. Moving on from your cheater boyfriend? Tiring and humiliating.

You were pulled from your thoughts by Quinn throwing rocks at the lake, laughing when he couldn’t make them float like he intended to. He looked at you with that tired expression of his, and smiled back.

“Great album, by the way,” he blurted out of nowhere.

You frowned. “Thank you, I guess. Did someone leak it?”

“No,” he laughed, shortly. “Jack talked about it in our family group chat a while ago. Ma asked about you and he went on rambling about it, which was really funny. He was like, putting on his uniform before practice and recording a voice note at the same time, which he never does. And then he went full rambling about all of the songs and how shitty your ex was. Sorry about that,”

You looked at Quinn like he had grown two more heads, four more arms and five more legs. You had no idea Jack talked about your songs with his family. At all.

You wanted to ask more about it to Quinn so bad but you were kinda scared about what you were going to hear in response. Does Jack talk about me?

About you? Yeah, and a lot of other girls too.

“Sure,” you mumbled. “Yeah, Harris was a dick,”

“I liked some of his movies but now he’s banned from my watchlist forever.” Quinn announced like the statement didn’t make your heart break and mend at the same time, his tone calm and distant. “It’s good that you found something to channel your pain though. I do that a lot during my games.”

“Singing for me is like breathing. I’ve done it since I was, like, eight or even younger,” you nodded to yourself, looking at the stars above you. “This album means a lot to me, in a lot of ways. So thank you for telling me this.” You smiled, not sure if he could see it. He was also looking at the stars.

“Don’t need to say ‘thank you’. You have a gift, Sophia. I hope you know that,” he stretched himself, yawning and wrapping his arms around his middle. “I wish I could write songs but I suck at that.”

“Why do you sound like you’ve tried that already?” You smirked, fucking with him.

Or at least you thought you were, because Quinn went quiet, which confirmed your suspicions.

“What!” You looked at him, throwing your arms up. “Have you written songs before?”

“I was thirteen, okay? I just thought that maybe if I didn’t make it to the NHL, I could at least be a rapper or something.” He shrugged, again, which only made you start laughing. “I know, it’s funny. Thankfully, I made it to the NHL.”

“I don’t know, it’d be great to make a song with you,” you said, playfully, before realising something. “Oh my God, Quinn. That’s what I need!”

“What?” He smirked. “Make a song with me? I don’t think that’s a great idea—”

“No, not a song with you. Just a song. I need to write,” You nodded to yourself, getting up and fixing your skirt with your hands. “Do you think I could get a cab here? I came with Jack and I think he’s…” you bit your lip. Focus. Write the song; it will all be better. “Busy. And Grace needs to have her fun, too. She’s been working nonstop.”

“A cab? Soph, it’s like midnight,” he got up, too, standing in front of you. “I can take you home. It’s no biggie.”

“What? No! Enjoy the party! I’ll just try to catch an Uber or something.” You went to grab your phone, just to remember that you left it at the cabin. “Ugh, fuck, I need to go inside again.”

“I will take you home, no need for Ubers or anything like that. Just tell me where your things are and I’ll pick them up for you. I’ll talk to Grace on my way there.” He affirmed, walking with you towards the cabin, the loud music slowly filling up your ears again.

“That’s… so nice,” you breathed, more grateful than you’d like to admit. “Thank you, Quinn, seriously. I owe you.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, hands in his pockets. “Wait a second here, please.”

You did, and it wasn’t long until he showed up with your backpack, your phone and a very worried Grace beside him.

“Girl, what the hell?” She yelled, probably not even realizing how loud she sounded. “I’ve been looking for you like crazy and out of nowhere Quinn shows up with your stuff, saying he will get you home.”

“I have to write a song.” You reasoned, raising your shoulders.

Grace stared at you for what felt like forever, until she pressed her lips on your forehead and sighed. “Alright. I’m not even going to ask. Be safe, please, and remember that I’m only a phone call away.”

“Thank you, I love you.” You kissed her back, following Quinn on the way to his car, not bothering to look back.

Jack was probably busy anyway.

— ♡

HANDS around the guitar, you replayed the same melody you’ve been playing for five hours straight now.

You arrived home at one thirty in the morning, and even though you were awfully tired, you had to get the lyrics, the feelings, the emotions out of you. Fuck sleeping.

You offered your guest room for Quinn but he just shook his head, saying that he’d crash at his parents’. You made him call you when he arrived there so you knew he was safe, which he promptly did.

After that, you made yourself tea and sat in your home studio, writing obsessively. It had been a long time since the last time you had a song practically written in your head, and honestly, you couldn’t tell if that was good or not.

What you knew, though, is that now, five hours later, seven a.m. in the morning, you had a song. Bad for Business. You sent it to your producer and Grace before laying on your bed and drifting away immediately, the exhaustion taking over you.

[hikarry]

Badass Aziraphale is fun. We love to see him with all the divine wrath and playing the protector he was meant to be, blinded by love and duty. Eyes everywhere and flaming sword at hand ready to smite or confront anyone that dares step his way

And that's the version we see the most in the fandom. Vengeful angel Aziraphale Guard of the Eastern Gate raining righteous fury over anyone who dares harm Crowley

It's beautiful. Poetic even. I love it

BUT

There is nothing in this whole fandom that's more powerful and gorgeous than protective Crowley

That man knows what is like to lose the love of his life. He has lived it, for as brief as it might have been. All the despair, the lost of hope, the absolute loneliness. He has been there and that's a place he refuses to go back to

All the fear turned into rage. Ready to burn down Heaven and flood Hell to protect his angel. He might not be the strongest and he might not be a match for more than one archangel at a time, but he would rather die than let anyone take Aziraphale away from him again

He would become so blindsided by terror he wouldn't stop to think about the consequences. His only target is Aziraphale and Aziraphale only and he would pull any stunt to make sure he was safe and, do you wanna know the best part? This is canon

We have snippets of protective Crowley all throughout season 2 but this scene? Oh boy, this scene

Crowley doesn't trust Gabriel. He tolerates him because he promised Aziraphale he would help, but he is on high alert

As soon as Shax shows up and threatens Aziraphale, he redirects his fear turned rage towards his main target: Gabriel. Because this is his fault. Beelzebub is looking for HIM. They/Heaven indirectly threatened Aziraphale with being erased from the Book of Life because of HIM. If something happens to Aziraphale because of this stupid charade he got himself involved with because he promised to protect Gabriel, Crowley will hold no punches

He's already full to the brim with the stunt Gabriel pulled during Aziraphale's "trial". Oh no, Crowley hasn't forgotten his words and his righteous smile while he condemned the man he loves to death even though some years have gone by and he is still furious about it

He is a wrong step away from exploding and destroying everything that presents itself as a threat to Aziraphale in the moment.

He is so scared of everything (Gabriel, Beelzebub, Shax, Heaven in general, the Book of Life) that he spends most of the season compressed like a spring ready to pounce at the minimal real show of danger

The only reason he leaves Aziraphale with the demons in the bookshop to go and try to figure out what the absolute fuck is going on is exactly because the demons can't enter said bookshop and he trusts everyone present not to be stupid enough to let them in (I'm sorry, Maggie. I still love you babes)

The worst part is: all his fury, all his rage and fear are useless in the end because Aziraphale walks into the danger willingly and Crowley would face anyone that tried to hurt his angel, but the angel himself

Don't get me wrong, he sees the danger. Maybe a tad to late. After the demons are gone and so is Gabriel and Beelzebub, he let's his guard down and allows himself to truly relax, planning their little breakfast at the Ritz

Because he thinks it's over. He was completely blindsided by Metatron. He himself says "Go angel. No problem. Can't get weirder than whatever the fuck just happened". Oh my poor sweet summer child

But he does see the danger eventually and goes on high alert again, but it's too late. He would never hurt Aziraphale, but he pulls all the weapons on his arsenal to try and stop him from going where he can't follow. Where he can't protect him

And he fails. Like he always feared he would. Not only showing his hand to Aziraphale in a desperate attempt to protect him but also losing him in the process with nothing he can do about it but watch his angel go until the very last second

[pedrilcvr]

I Love you, I’m sorry — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based on my Bf!Pedri head canon “Bf!Pedri who… always tells you he loves you. If you fight, he will always end with saying he loves you because he wants you to know even when he’s upset that he still loves you.“

Disclaimer/s: Arguing & cursing.

A/N: GRRRRR. thats it.

Sinking into the couch of your one bed room apartment you shared with your boyfriend, you let a soft sigh escape your lips. Today had been perfect. You’d started the day with a nice breakfast and had a successful day at the gym before coming home and closing out a few large brand deals. Everything seemed to be going right and you couldn’t help but feel even more excited as you were going to have the whole night with your boyfriend.

He’d been practicing a lot for the upcoming season and you’d hardly had time to really be with him since him and his team had won the Euro’s.

You couldn’t really complain considering you were unconditionally proud of him and everything he’d been accomplishing and you knew how much it all meant to him.

The thought brought an idea to your head. This weekend your parent’s were going on vacation so you knew their beach house would be empty, and what a better time than now to have a weekend getaway with Pedri.

As the hours ticked by you grew more antsy to share the idea with him. And soon enough, you heard the front door open and close, signaling his return.

Quickly standing from the couch, you eagerly make your way toward the man who was currently setting down his bag and taking off his shoes.

“Hello, mi amor.” You hum, patiently standing with your hands behind your back as you waited for him to finish before you could give him a proper greeting.

Pedri responds with a quiet huff, finally standing up to place a short kiss to your cheek before walking past you. Confusion laces itself into your expression as you swivel on your heels to follow after him.

Brushing off his weird actions you begin laying out your plan. “So, my parents are going out of town and I figured we could go stay at the beach house for the weekend?”

“I’ll be busy.” He replies shortly, his tone being enough to shut you up for a moment.

“Oh.” You frown, “but you’ve been so busy lately, it couldn’t hurt to take Saturday and Sunday off—“

“I said i’m busy!” Pedri snaps, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. A flash of regret in his eyes as he watches the hurt wash over your face, but he says nothing.

Your eyes narrow as they dart between his. “Oh?”

Pedri rubs his right temple roughly, his eyes closing momentarily. “I just don’t have time to go fuck around right now, you know that.” He finally says, his tone softer this time, but not making the blow any less hard.

“I’ve seen you a total of three times this week! And half of those were when you come to bed! How could you not possibly have time to—“ You cut yourself off, your jaw clenching. “Whatever. Never mind.”

There’s a short moment of silence where you both linger in your frustrations, both trying to understand the others side. It was easy for you to climb into yourself whenever you argued, as you tried to hold back from saying anything too mean.

Pedri on the other hand, had watched the way your face contorted, how he’d ruined your moon in seconds. Guilt swarmed him as he realized how much of a jerk he was being.

You’d only wanted to spend time with your boyfriend, and he was shutting you down. Not only shutting you down, he’d raised his voice at you.

“Baby, i’m sorry.” He sighs, “I love you, but i’m seriously swamped. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You look back at him, your lips pulled into a frown.

He waits then, for you to say it back. He knows he shouldn’t have yelled at you, but even when you argued, you always said those three words back.

“I’m going to make dinner.” Collecting yourself, you brush past him and toward the kitchen, not bothering to spare him another glance.

You were being stupid. You were petty. And you didn’t care. You’d genuinely been so excited for the possibility of a weekend alone and he’d shut it down before you could even finish.

In the kitchen, you begin to take out the ingredients for Spaghetti, something you made every Thursday as a tradition, one you weren’t going go stop just because you were upset.

Turning on the stove you begin to boil the water when two strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, holding you securely to his chest. “I love you.” He repeats, placing half a dozen delicate kisses to your shoulder, his stubble tickling your bare skin ever so slightly.

You still wanted to be angry with him, but you couldn’t not say it back. “I love you too.” You grumble, despite the slight upturn to your lips. “You need to shave. Asshole.” You add in the last part for dramatic effect, earning a soft chuckle in Pedri’s favor.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmurs, head still nuzzled against your neck.

Adding in the noddles, you tilt your head to the side to glance at him. “I’m sorry you had a bad day today.”

“I’m sorry I came home with an attitude.” He sighs, his eyes never leaving yours. “If you still want to go with me, i’ll make it work, practice can wait.”

A smile creeps onto your face, “you mean it?”

“Of course.” He nods letting go of your waist and taking a few steps back. “Now don’t burn the noodles.” He chuckles, pointing to the pot.

A gasp leaves your lips as you turn back to your poor neglected noddles, “oh God.”

As you finish making dinner, Pedri sits back and watches quietly, a small smile on his lips. He adored you more than he could ever express in words.

DTS , @halfwayhearted ^_^