#for not drawing ANY of these guys in ages they looks kinda good

[officialdaddyfresh]

close enough! welcome back manberg

[spaghett-onaplate]

teehee i now have a very very wonderful photo

[taelophone]

✦ Teach Me ݁˖ ⋆˙⟡ — TA!Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Pining . Sexual Tension . No Penetration . Smut . Power Play . Glasses on Luigi lol . Reader is kinda strange . Fingering . Kinda Mean Luigi . Overstimulation . ｡⋆ A/N: Sorry it took me so long I actually wasn't the biggest fan of this work. But I hope you enjoy it!

You could imagine that teaching was a tough job. The grading, the organization, teaching the same material at different levels day after day and hour by hour. Surely, the days would melt together, subjects and responsibilities sticking to each other and creating an unfortunate planning crisis.

That’s where the teaching assistant comes in. 

As you made your way into the lecture hall, you pep-talked your mind to brace yourself for a long, boring, and mentally draining speech that would last over an hour. At least you had some questions written down that you planned to ask Professor Harrison regarding the lesson.

But at least it was your final class today before you could crash into your room.

So when you waltzed into the lecture hall, scanning the room for your professor, you were immediately confronted with the realization that he…wasn’t there. Even when you took your seat, the metal feet of your chair dragged against the dull blue carpet, generating the only sound in the room full of silence.

The clock ticked, that nerve-wracking tick-tock for a whole three minutes. Two minutes left until the lesson started, the red seconds hand gliding across the clock as you thought about leaving. But then in came someone you’d never seen before.

He looked about your age, maybe even a smidge older as he waltzed in through the open doorway, his head tilted upward like he was the biggest in the room.

“Hey, guys. Harrison isn’t here, he had some family stuff to do, but I’ll probably be leading today’s discussion” he said, his strong and sculpted arms peering through the soft fabric of his maroon tee.

It was a conscious effort to not let your jaw clatter down onto the floor like a skeleton. Tall, muscular, incredibly well-kept, and graced with the strongest Italian genes to ever kiss the surface of the twenty-first century. 

“My name’s Luigi, I’m the new teaching assistant for Harrison, and my office hours are from four to seven-thirty.”

He smiled– the cute and content kind that left your heart squeezing with cuteness aggression and induced heart tremors. You stared directly through his eyes the best you could, following him with rapt attention that you seldom gave your real professor.

His voice; was a melancholic and deep hymn of firm knowledge that could mimic years of experience. He was tragically good and articulate with his words, subjects that you didn’t understand the first time untangling themselves in your mind to build clear pathways to the answer. In fact, you didn’t even need to ask the questions you had written down.

When he finished the lecture, gently closing his laptop and sitting atop the professor’s desk, he tapped his pen on the wooden surface repeatedly before turning to the room.

“Any questions? We have like…5 minutes left of class. Leave early, stay put, goof off, anything. As long as you’re not confused.” 

There was no way in hell you were gonna leave without so much as speaking to him. You gathered your things up, leaving your notebook full of questions and doodles down on the table before trotting your way down to where he sat.

“Questions?” He asked, his head tilted to the side slightly as he bit the little push button of his bright blue pen between his plush and pink lips.

“Yeah, sorry, I just need you to explain these to me in a little bit more depth,” you murmured, shooting him a breathy and nervous chuckle before handing him your small notebook.

He hummed, taking the notebook from you graciously before his onyx brown eyes darted across the bulleted questions and the little doodles on the edges of the white-lined paper. He chuckled, eyeing a particular drawing you did of a bunch of hearts and flowers in a vase.

“Pretty drawings, they’re very nice,” he nodded, leaning back to grab his notepad and quickly write down your questions on his own. “Alright, what’d you need help with specifically? What’s confusing you?”

You made up some excuse on just needing it to be explained in more detail, prompting him to pull up a chair next to the cherry-oak desk. You quickly sat down in front of him, listening to him carefully as he essentially re-explained the lesson all over again from start to finish.

“Wow thank you,” you smiled, letting out a particularly girlish laugh as you finished writing down key points you had already written earlier on a clean leaf of paper. “That makes a lot of sense, I was so confused earlier.”

“Glad I could help,” he murmured, returning your giddy and girly grin with a boyish and bright beam of his own. He watched as you swung your backpack strap over your left shoulder and headed out the door, giving you a quaint wave as you did so.

Holy shit. Holy shit. OH MY GOODNESS.

Poor you. Poor, poor you.

He was even cuter up close with his smooth and seemingly flawless skin. A perfectly tanned tone with hints of olive under his complexion. And god, not to mention his nose…it’s faces like that that make you wanna cook and clean all day.

“No, Kat, you’re not listening. He’s perfect, like ten out of ten no flaws,” you said while staring at your vanity, gently applying moisturizer to your face. Kat, on the other end of the FaceTime, only grimaced at you with furrowed brows, the only sliver of her face you could actually see.

“Okay…let’s not sleep with the TA…” she joked, chuckling just out of frame as she propped the camera up and slid on a green spa headband before taking out her contact lenses. “I haven’t met him yet I don’t think. When did he start working for Harrison?”

You paused, ceasing your hand movements across your face as you thought about it for a moment. “I dunno actually. We didn’t make small talk, I just wanted to hear him say anything to me.”

Kathy laughed, glaring at you momentarily with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “Oh you’re filthy,” she giggled, repeating her skincare steps as you finished up yours. You sighed, shaking your head in what should have been a shame if a giddy and amused grin didn’t find shelter on your face.

“Hear me out, I just-“

“No.”

You sighed yet again, heavier and less enthusiastic before picking up the phone again. By now the device had grown hot, your 3-hour-long girl talk proving aggravating to your phone's thinning patience and heat capacity. “Phone’s getting hot, girlie. I’m gonna go lay down and rethink life.” You murmured.

“Alright babes goodnight,” Kathy smiled, leaning forward over her own vanity to hang up the phone.

And with a deep exhale through your nose, you stood up from your stool and climbed into your soft bed. With the comforter up to your ribs and your legs crossed at the ankle, you stared up at the ceiling before letting drowsiness lull you to sleep.

As days went by and Luigi slowly became more and more present in Professor Harrison’s class, you felt yourself spending more time during lessons watching his every move. If you were lucky enough, Luigi would teach a class and then chat and socialize with your classmates.

Days had turned into weeks, and weeks rolled over into months. You had been to pretty much every single office hour, pretending to be behind on certain topics and playing a dangerous game of feigned catch-up just to sit at the desk with Luigi and let him reteach what you already know. At some point it was like child’s play, seeing how long you could dance around the bomb until it blew up into lovelorn smithereens.

And today you planned on it being no different. Front of the room, head straight, and leg-crossed at the ankles while you spaced out on your teaching assistant’s tantalizing hands. Oh, how darling they’d look wrapped around my neck instead, hurling me into oxygen-lacking delirium while he made me cry for being such a bad student. To prevent yourself from being any more provocative than you were already being, you lowered your eyes to the table in front of you.

The conversation around you continued on without you, vowels and consonants linking together in a pained effort to create muffled and static gibberish while you daydreamed about the man four feet in front of you.

“Yeah, no I get that…I don’t even know why I signed up to be a TA sometimes I still have my own things to work on,” he said, fidgeting with the end of his light-blue collared shirt. “I actually have a paper I’m supposed to be working on.”

He must’ve noticed how quiet you were. Your arms folded across your chest as you leaned and slouched all the way back in your chair, maybe the way your eyes were trained onto the table in front of you. But either way, he made his way over.

He tapped on your table, once, and then twice to grab your attention before holding up a thumb and tilting his head to the side. The question was silent, but loud and clear as you nodded your head.

“You okay?”

Upon seeing your nonverbal confirmation, he mirrored your action and made his way back over to Harrison’s desk. The sounds of chatter and rushed packing filled the room, watching as people gravitated toward one another and began preparing to file out one by one.

“Alright guys, have a good rest of your day. If anyone asks you were here the whole period. If you need help or anything or just wanna chat, stick back” he said. 

If you weren’t staring at him so hard, you would have missed it. His eyes flickered over in your direction for a fraction of a second, knocking the wind right out of your lungs.

An invitation. One that you could easily deny or accept without feeling pressured or guilty later. A clever man, he was, something that you caught onto very early into him easing into your days. You learned that he was a computer science engineer, which immediately made sense with the way he detangled the wires in your brain.

Your legs carried you over to the desk before you could even think of a plan, placing yourself before him like he called you with some imaginary whistle.

“I knew you’d notice. Good catch” he beamed, straightening his back a little bit as he leaned his back hips against the edge of the desk. “You seemed spaced today, are you doing okay? You’re usually more…active.”

“Oh yeah I’m okay, I was just a little tired today,” you replied, giving him a reassuring nod. You were lying through your teeth, and a part of you felt like he could possibly sense it with the way he wordlessly stared down at you for a moment before nodding slowly; hesitantly.

“Get some sleep, okay? You can always come to me if you need help or don’t understand something. I’ll try to explain” He nodded, giving you a boyish smile with a light pink dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said, shifting your weight to one leg. “I’ll probably come by during office hours.

I want help reviewing my notes.”

“Nice. I’m gonna be back in here, but I’ll probably come in a bit earlier than four so I can…grade quizzes,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the realization slowly sunk in.

“Oh, well good luck,” you said, giving him an apologetic smile. 

He nodded, a deep and exasperated sigh reverberating from his lungs as a pained smile crept onto his face. He ran his hands through his coco curls, giving you a thumbs up and watching you exit out the door.

You and Luigi’s relationship, or for better words connection, was strictly professional. You barely saw him outside of the days when he wasn’t assisting in Harrison’s class, and if you did happen to catch glimpses of him on campus he was always preoccupied with something else.

Strictly academic and professional.

Right?

What a lack of judgment. The red hot sin and embarrassment that would crowd Luigi’s face whenever you stood too near. He felt almost dirty in a sense; after all, it wasn’t entirely ethical to crush on your “bosses” students.

But when your eyes honed in on him like the only object in the room, picking him apart piece by piece and ripping away each thread of his clothes with your eyes, it was hard not to get a little warm on the nose. Day by day and piece by piece, he could feel himself getting sidetracked with your memory.

So when he leaned back in his chair, staring down at the papers he had only halfway penetrated with red ink and comments, he thought of you bouncing back into the room with your not-so-secret lies of confusion.

The smooth sound of pen ink gliding across paper filled the room, scribbles of minus three and half credit echoing subtly through the empty classroom. He murmured under his breath as he wrote, flipping back and forth 

between the rubric and the long pages of text as his eyes slowly began to glaze over.

There was fire burning every inch of his body; lustful and jeering in his ears as he did everything in his power to repent against the thoughts of how gorgeous you would look crying on this desk while you panted from overstimulation. The scandal…the pleasure. The taboo of the situation left him with a bitter and tangy taste on the tip of his tongue as he swallowed.

thump-thump-thump-thump

Your shoes patted the cheap carpet halls as you made your way back into the class, locking your eyes onto a hunched-over Luigi with a pen between his pointer and middle finger. Back and forth, he flicked the pen repeatedly as he took deep breaths in a last-ditch effort to self-soothe.

“Hey,” you murmured, placing your bag down next to the desk and your notebook on the opposite end of his stack of papers. “How’s grading going?”

His eyes jetted upwards, locking onto yours with a small smile. “Horrible!” He started with a contrastingly happy grin. “I’ve hated every second of it. How are you doing this afternoon?”

You stifled a chuckle, pulling your mouth down from the shameless smirk that had snuck onto your expression. Dry, dry-humored man.

“I’m doing okay! Been working on my notes. I suck at taking them, I feel like I never know what’s important to write” you mused, flipping through your notebook until the most recent lecture notes came into view.

You peered over the pages, trying to see if you could see your own answers under his inspection. Your eyes darted over the pages, snooping around names and numbers before he slowly shifted his hand to cover the scores. He let out a small huff of a chuckle, clicking his pen closed before setting the stack of papers to the side.

“Did I do okay? You’re giving me anxiety, Mangione” you joked, pulling up a chair in front of the desk.

He covered his mouth, failing to prevent a smile from creeping on his face as he giggled a little. 

Oh fuck.

“You passed, but you’re one of like…five who did by an actual hair. I actually graded yours first cuz I knew you’d be stopping by again. We can go over it now if you want! Unless you wanna do notes first?” He offered, flicking his long and skinny fingers through the many many pieces of paper until he plucked out yours.

You thought about it for a moment, thinking it over in your head. It was kind of hard to focus on anything with him sitting so close…those glossy black-framed glasses sitting just right on his face. And oh my god his slender and large hands—

“Yeah, can we go over the quiz first?” You blurted, leaning to the side of your chair to retrieve your pencil case from the front compartment of your backpack.

“Sure,” he said, placing the quiz in front of you for you to review. 

You looked it over, thanking whatever divine force had your back that day for somehow clearing a path for you to even pass this quiz. You were surprised that some of your answers were even correct, shit, you might as well have said you took the quiz with your eyes closed. That’s how gone you were.

“I’m not gonna lie…the quiz was kind of unfair,” he started, his eyebrows shooting up momentarily in amused disbelief. “I wrote maybe 50 percent of this, so I’ll help you with what I wrote, but I cannot help you on Harrison’s part. Sometimes I think we don’t even speak the same language.”

You nodded, letting out a deep sigh before flipping the packet back to the front page and handing it back to him. You knew then and there you were gonna be there for a while, even if your intentions were to just pop by and review fake notes. At least you were spending time together!

He broke everything down piece by piece, watching as you jotted notes down in your spiral notebook and wrote down little tidbits of info along the way. And when he was done, he took a sip of water, leaned forward, and gazed over what you had written in your notebook.

“Huh. Weird, I thought you said you couldn’t take notes?” He chuckled, standing up and walking around the desk to lean over your shoulder. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him; comforting and affectionate like a man raised by gentle hands.

“Two birds with one stone” he chuckled, the sound echoing in the shell of your ear as you fought the urge to squeal and panic like a child denied their lifeline of sugar. “Don’t worry, I’ll still help you go over them.”

“I feel like I did better cuz you watched me take them,” you chuckled, instantly relaxing as he made his way to the long whiteboard, popping open a red marker as he began to jot down the topic, and a few empty bullet points under. 

“So this is how I take notes…excuse my handwriting,” he said, jotting down the main point, key details, and miscellaneous info.

He was so shaky. His hands were like a humbug and his mind was taunting his sanity. Your eyes trailed after him, pausing to linger on a specific feature of his before following him again.

It drove him up a wall. He wasn’t even registering the conversation happening between you two as he gave pointers and red-ink examples.

“Oh I have another question,” you blurted, now leaning against the front of the desk to see the board a little closer. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” He answered, turning around and leaning against the whiteboard.

“What’s your type? You seem like you like smart girls.” 

He paused, putting the cap on the marker before jutting his bottom lip out slightly. He pretended to think about it, processing your bold statement. His heart thumped in his ears, loud and fervent as arteries in his muscles threatened to pop.

He made his way over to the side of the desk, placing his hands down on the oak and leaning forward. He was so close, but oh so far. The once dark and charcoal-brown eyes revealed themselves to be a deep hazel, glimmering with satisfaction and authority.

“Well, I don’t think I have a type per se,” he said, adjusting his readers with the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I just like women with goals and a strong sense of self,” he smiled.

“I have goals,” you murmured, glancing over his features with a newfound feeling of hunger. 

“Do you, now?” He mused, tilting his head to the side as he slowly rounded the corner of the desk to stand in front of you.

By now it was beginning to get dark outside. The ember-like orange glow of the various lamps around the room, and the back lights gave their best effort to keep the dimly lit room visible. His heavy hands came to rest next to each of your thighs, the palms of his hands flat on the smooth desk while he stared down at you.

“You’re…adorable” he smiled, propping you up on the desk and watching you closely.

Darkness kissed your features, the soft and lively look of your skin spurred his desire to ravage you whole like an animal. He stood between the gap in your legs, knowing that he wasn’t going to make the first move regardless. He knew he’d lose a lot of respect from Harrison if he kept going, and he knew that you had a lot to lose by sleeping with him.

Fair trade.

He would have expected you to kiss him, make a comment about his glasses, or even squeal and say you can’t do it anymore. But what he didn’t expect —

Was for you to jet your hips forward, rolling them teasingly against his half-hard bulge. His brows pinched together at the fleeting friction, tingles of pleasure shooting through him for a fraction of a second. His eyes were glued onto where you briefly connected before they shot back up to stare into yours, an even mix of disgruntled desperation.

“You…you’re very bold. Very very bold,” he chuckled, gathering your face between his thumb and the remainder of his fingers, squishing the fat of your cheeks until your teeth resisted his strength.

You smiled, a squished and crooked one as he mashed his lips against yours. A brutal, teeth-and-tongue-filled fight for dominance occurred in your mouths as spit and sin were exchanged on this very desk. Horny and rampant like untouched virgins left alone after hours.

You whined in his mouth when he pushed you back, shoving your back flat against the desk and sending papers floating to the floor with the grace of a mother swan. You had no time to adjust to the way he began to consume you, coaxing every meek and subtle sound of pleasure from your mouth as he slid his knee between your legs to nudge up against your achy cunt.

He pulled away, taking a brief intermission for some much-needed air as he slid his readers off the strong bridge of his nose. Red with fury, and pink with lust, his cheeks and nose flared in the faint orange light as he basked in the way your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

“Words, c’mon. I know you have them…” he urged, his knee growing more insistent at your crotch, plucking strings of moans and whines from your orchestral lungs.

“Please…need you so bad,” you panted, your hands coming up to your face to conceal the way your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head.

“I know you need me, that’s why you came to office hours!” He joked with a patronizing grin, his large hand linking around your wrists to pull them away from your face.

“It’s not funny, I want you inside of me!” You whined, fighting the urge to throw a fit when he gave you an imitation of a sympathetic click of his tongue and a condescending little “awww.”

He chuckled, lowering his knee back to stationary before hooking his hand into your jeans, glancing up at you for confirmation. He let out a scowl when you only nodded.

“I didn’t teach you for months for you to not use all the many words I taught you” he warned, slowly withdrawing his hand from your jeans.

“No, no it’s ok! Take them off please” you said, immediately grabbing his wrist to prevent him from withdrawing his hand from you.

He nodded, undoing the button on your jeans and sliding them down to your lower thighs. He took his time fidgeting around with your puffy clit through the cotton of your panties, up and down with the pad of his thumb before experimenting with small and tight circles.

He listened to the way your moans grew in volume, ending in shrill whimpers the longer he teased the sensitive pearl. He chuckled, an amused smile spreading up to his face.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m being mean” he giggled, pulling your panties to the side and toying around with the sticky and glossy wetness that glossed your pretty folds.

His middle and ring fingers pushed into you slowly, in and out with languid and almost practiced strokes to that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Cosmos aligned, universes collided, and galaxies crumbled before you as he learned the astronomy of your body.

“So tense…you’re never gonna take me if you keep being this tight” he chuckled, picking up the pace with his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to loosen you up a little. I don’t wanna hurt my favorite student.”

You couldn’t understand why he was apologizing then. With his fingers plunging in and out of you so deliciously, the sloshy and obscene noises mingling with your moans of euphoria ushered any thoughts or coherency in one ear and out the other. There was no way you were hearing him right now, and he knew that.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his free hand seeking refuge over your hipbone. “You’re too pretty to have such an empty mind…but don’t worry I’ll teach you again.”

You tightened around his fingers, his knuckles prodding and pleasuring your gummy walls as you attempted to close your legs around his wrist, much to Luigi’s dismay.

“No, don’t do that. You wanted this. You wanted this for who knows how long, and you’re gonna take everything I give you, okay?” He said, the hand that once rested on your hip coming down to hold your knee, prying your legs open.

You whined, your vision going white with snow as your breath caught in your throat— barely hushed cries of his name rushing from your lips as you soaked his knuckles in milky white ecstasy.

“Just like that…mhm, look at me?” he purred, relishing in the dazed and confused expression that washed over your features. But he wasn’t slowing down.

His fingers were still pistoning in and out of you, and the overstimulation began to bite and nip at your sensitive and puffy cunt. It was deliciously painful, tears pricking and rolling down your cheeks as your lips parted in loud moans. You attempted to scoot back, push his hand away, anything. It just wasn’t working.

“Don’t run from it…I’m not done,” he commanded, holding under your leg to keep you tugged in place. “So pretty…” he purred, his eyes transfixed on the sight of your weeping cunt begging for more while you begged for less.

It was like he was hyperfixated on your moans. His ears pressed to hear more like you weren’t directly in front of him, listening carefully to every single sound you made.

You cried, twitched, came, and writhed as he carried on for what felt like hours. Two turned three, three turned four, and four pulled into five as you felt your eyes completely cross and roll into the back of your mind. So far into the dark depths of pleasure, you could still faintly see the ghost of a smirk on Luigi’s lips in the back of your mind.

Any form of coherency was beginning to leave you as the painful euphoria clouded your mind and squeezed the oxygen out of your body. He was everywhere, cooing and. mocking in your ear as he reduced you to your simplest form. Babbles of "I can't take it" and pained whined as he took what he wanted from you.

“I know, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he purred, an unapologetic grin on his face as he coaxed you into one final orgasm. “I’m done, I’m done. I promise.”

He laughed, this one lacking his usual boyish charm and innocence. This one was mean but warm and loving, like watching a nostalgic home video. He watched you, twitchy and sensitive as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you. 

“Good girl, you did so well for me. C’mon, get up. We’re not finished with your notes. If you can show me you understand the material I’ll let you get all of me.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[lady-djarin]

the ranch manager

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: age gap (legal - 20s/50s), joel wearing a cowboy hat needs its own warning, kinda yellowstone drama vibes, tipsy? sex (joel, not reader)-everyone consenting here!, outdoor sex, piv sex, fingering, edging, mdni 18+

word count: 3.1k

a/n: fun fact- my dad owns a ranch in wyoming so i do have some first hand knowledge lol (except for the sexy ranch manager thing) but my recent visit inspired this as they were gathering cows while i was there. i hope you enjoy!

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

This stupid city was going to drive you nuts. Chicago was everything you wanted when you moved there. The big city was so much better than the extreme quiet of Jackson, Wyoming where your family owned and operated a ranch. You grew up in the small city your whole life, finally wanting some freedom in college but after your 3rd year there it was starting to feel cramped. There is no privacy in the city, everyone stacked on top of each other, too many people, too little space. You needed out, just for a while.

So you found yourself back home, at the ranch. The sprawling space on the property made you feel more at peace than you ever felt in the city. It was your second day back home when you met some of the new staff working for your dad. Tess was kind of like a supervisor for the younger guys who did the day to day work. Tommy and his wife Maria were kind of doing a little of everything; ordering, organizing and even some cowboying.

Then you met Joel, the ranch manager. He was broad and imposing in the best way possible. The salt and pepper beard framed his plush lips that rarely curled into a slight but striking smile. His hooked nose looked like it would brush all the right places and you longed to run your fingers through his dark waves. While he looked to be in about his late 40’s or early 50’s, he was built and honestly sexy as hell.

You knew you needed him.

Because of his initial grumpy demeanor he did intimidate you at first but his soft brown eyes gave away his true nature. Over the few days you were back in town you had been around Joel a lot more, you ended up helping out with small projects on the farm. You were cleaning out some of the horse stalls when you heard him.

Joel was carrying bags of feed into the tack room as he barked orders at one of the workers. Both hands were full as he passed by the stall you were in and you knew the door he was heading to was closed. You knew this was your chance to be with him alone. You knew the moment you met Joel you wanted him, despite the fact that he worked with your dad and he was almost as old as him too. You rushed over to grab the door handle before he reached it, holding it open for him.

“Oh thanks darlin’,” god and his voice. It was deep and rough and it slid down your spine like honey. His southern drawl was rich and it made him all the more alluring.

“No problem, need any help?”

”Actually could ya’ help me get the bags into the bin?” He handed you a box cutter, signaling for you to cut open the bags so he could refill the bin. As you finished your task, Joel came over to take the box cutter back.

God he looked good, he always looked good. You could smell his cologne as he came closer and suddenly it felt like the temperature rose 10 degrees.

Little did you know Joel was eyeing you the whole time, watching the way your legs looked in the jeans that were practically skin tight. The way your hair was messed out of your loose braid, falling around your face in a halo, always drawing his eye.

“Thanks for the help, sugar,” his drawl made your panties wet.

“Sugar?” you licked your lips, unable to look away from his.

He looked sort of panicked for a moment, like he thought he overstepped. You loved it. He saw that you loved it. He must have decided it’s too much of a risk as he stepped away from you and stuttered a response before pocketing his knife.

“Uh… thanks for your help darlin’,” he mumbled as he backed away and out of the tack room and he kind of tripped on his own feet. You felt a little guilty liking the way you made him nervous but it was such a rush. To reduce this larger and older man to a mumbling mess was a huge ego boost.

You followed him out, closing the distance until you were just a few feet away. You saw his eyes widen as he watched you come closer and you felt that surge of satisfaction hit your stomach again.

“Of course, anything you need Joel. Anything.” You tried to sound as seductive as possible and it must have worked as the tips of his ears turned a dusty pink.

“Th-thanks darlin’… I— uh I’ll let you know if… if I need anything else,” his voice broke as he tripped again and tried to put distance between you two. Even though it was obvious he was trying to politely decline you, he was still tempted. His gaze fell to your lips, then your chest and further down until it bounced back to your eyes.

When it looked like he was about to pass out you finally relented.

“Ok Joel, see ya!” You sounded chipper and giddy as you skipped away from him and he finally let out a breath he was holding in.

He needed to control himself but he had a feeling that was going to be difficult with you around.

~

The next time you saw Joel was the big day on the ranch. It was the day the cows were rounded up and tested for pregnancy. By 7am the vet was already set up and the ranch hands along with Tommy and Maria were gathering cows into the corals. You ventured outside to find your dad and Joel standing at the fence watching the crew work.

“Hey kid, how’d you sleep?” Your dad looked tired himself but Joel on the other hand, he seemed nervous.

“Pretty good, I forgot how quiet it is here at night. In Chicago it’s always loud.”

You looked over at Joel who was on the other side of your dad and he looked like he was ready to jump in with the restless cows just to get away from this conversation.

“Why aren’t you out there Joel? Don’t they need you?” You tried to sound innocent but by the look in his eye, he knew you were trying to see how much you could push him.

Your dad laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Oh the old man here hurt his back so he has to sit out.”

“Two old men… how do you two get anything done?”

Your dad looked at you with a fake hurt expression. “Woah… I’m not the one with a hurt back!”

“Ok dad but you’re also not the one out there on a horse so…”

Joel now patted your dad on the back. “She’s got’cha there buddy.”

Your dad stood between you both and swiveled his head back and forth. “You guys suck…” He conveniently found someone who needed his attention and left you alone with Joel. You both stood at the fence and watched the organized chaos as the ranch hands and vet work on each cow.

“So how long y’here for?” Joel's voice seemed a little nervous.

“Well… I’m not sure. The longer I’m here the less I want to go back.” You turned to find him already looking over at you. “It’s just so… peaceful here.”

“I hear ya’,” he adjusted the cowboy hat sitting on his head. “Well except on preg-test day.” Just to prove his point, a cow screeched and tried to run from the herd right towards the two of you. Just as it reached the fence Joel grabbed both of your shoulders and pulled you away, right into his chest. You stumbled a bit but he held you until you were able to keep yourself upright. You look up to find the fence completely caved in, if Joel hadn’t grabbed you, you would have been bleeding on the floor by now.

“Tha—thanks Joel.” Your voice made you sound way more shaken up than you intended. “Jesus, damn cows.”

“They really do hate this vet stuff. Let’s go inside, I need another coffee.”

The two of you went into the ranch office, starting another pot of coffee knowing the cowboys would want more later. When the mugs were full of steaming caffeine, you sat down at the table waiting for Joel to join you.

“You ok, cowboy?” You looked at him up and down, his nervous demeanor evident in his stance.

He flashed that crooked smile as he sat next to you and removed his hat, placing it on the table upside down. You each sipped your coffee and you thought to yourself how kind of sweet it was that this big bad-ass rancher was reduced to an anxious mess by your hand.

The silence was too much to bear and needing a reprieve you picked up his hat and tried it on. It was way too big for your head as it was fitted to him, so it slipped down your forehead. Before you got a chance to adjust it, Joel tipped the brim up above your eyebrows. When he did, your eyes met and for once he was the one making your heart skip a beat. His deep amber eyes were locked on yours and his enticing lips framed by that gray-speckled beard were making you short of breath. All either of you could do was stare at each other, unable to break the spell. Suddenly you realized he was still holding onto the hat brim, then he slid his fingers down along your cheek as a sigh escaped your lips.

“Y’know darlin’… fuck, this is wrong,” he was breathless, like the air was stolen from his lungs.

“What… what’s wrong, Joel?” You were baiting him, making him say the words.

“It’s wrong how much… how much I wanna kiss you.”

Fuck, he was making you weak.

“Why don’t you?”

That suddenly shook him out of his trance, moving away and settling back into his chair, he looked more angry now, maybe in himself.

“I can’t… we can’t. It ain’t right.”

“Why?” You tried not to sound upset so as to scare him away.

“‘Cus, I’m too old and your dad would murder us both,” he looked wrecked. His pupils were saucers and his breath was quick. He looked out the office windows like he was looking for your dad, expecting him to be watching through the glass.

“If you want to talk more… I’ll be down at the lake tonight. midnight.”

And with that you walked off, a saunter in your steps and his hat on your head.

~

The lake on the property wasn’t large but it was somewhere you often felt peace. It’s a good way out from the house so it’s always quiet, the only noise now was the quiet hum of bugs.

You wore a light sleeping dress and robe over it and of course Joel’s hat. It was still pretty warm at night so you were more than comfortable. As you laid out on the blanket in the grass, you thought to yourself that if Joel doesn’t show, you know your answer. You checked your phone for the time; ‘12:07pm’ flashed across the screen. Maybe that was your answer.

“Darlin’?”

Your heart skipped. He came.

You turn to find Joel breaking through the trees, his broad shoulders stretching a dark sweatshirt and hips hugged by those damn jeans.

“Wow, I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

He now looked surprised. “Well someone took my favorite hat.”

“That’s all you came for? The hat?” You faced him as he came and sat down next to you, very close to you.

“Maybe not all I came for…,” he gave you that dazzling smile that’s so rare for him.

You did notice something different, he’s more relaxed, more fluid in his movements.

“Joel, are you drunk?”

He had a kind of spacey look on his face and a twinkle in his eye that shone when he laughed. “Well darlin’, I had one…a few. I was a lil’ nervous…” He looked a little ashamed at his admission.

“That’s ok. Got any more on you?” To your surprise he pulled out a half empty flask from his pants pocket. He opened it for you and took a sip then handed it to you, his eyes drawn to how your lips wrapped around it and whiskey escaped the sides. “Thanks cowboy. What’s got you so nervous, huh?”

He looked at you bashfully as he took another sip before clearing his throat. “Well don’t y’think it’s a little odd for an old man like me to entertain a young pretty thing like you?”

You were so close to him you could smell the soap he must have used mixed with a smell that’s uniquely him. He smells woodsy and manly and inviting and mixed with the feeling of having him so close led you to be bold. He froze as your lips connected, the split second before you melted into each other was one of pure bliss. His lips were softer than you expected and his tongue even softer, both working to take you apart at the seams.

You pulled apart, catching your breath and taking each other in now.

”You— you think I’m… pretty?” Your voice was horse and laced with desire.

Joel’s laugh was fuller now, a deep rumbling thing that made you shiver. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” While he was definitely bubblier than usual, he was deadly serious about this. His deep brown eyes were all the comfort you required and they conveyed his truth; you were everything he could ever want. “I have to ask you darlin’, are you sure you want this? Y‘not just doing this to stick it to your dad or nothin’?”

You smiled at his genuine concern, a sweet gesture from a man who doesn’t want to harm you.

“Joel, ever since I’ve met you, I couldn't get you out of my mind.”

His twinkly eyes widened a bit as a shaken breath escaped his lips. Before he had a chance to respond, you were on him. You straddled his thick thighs and clasped your hands in his dark curls, drawing his mouth to you. The two of you moved together in sync, like you were made for each other. The sparks flying higher as you ground in his lap, trying to create any friction to soothe the ache settled low in your belly.

Joel’s callused hands skimmed your skin, the roughness a stark contrast to your nightgown sliding across your body. He is all man and it was making your cunt throb, you knew you needed him inside you.

“J-Joel, please,” it came out more as a whine.

“Just hol’on darlin’,” he shuffled you around so you were draped on the blanket in the grass and he hovered above you. His nimble fingers pushed under your nightgown, hooked around the thin fabric of your panties and pulled them off your legs. His eyes never left your skin as more was exposed to him, his chest expanding with a deep inhale.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He was mostly speaking to himself, like he was not sure you were even really beneath him.

“P-please I…,” your pleas were cut off by him prying your legs open and sliding two fingers through your gathered wetness. “Oh God…”

To say this man blew your mind would be the understatement of the century. His fingers moved in a way that drew out the deepest pleasure and moans that rival a professional. Thank goodness that no one was around and you could make as much noise as you wanted. He worked his fingers into you with passion and brought you close to the edge.

“I’m c-close. You’re gonna make me cum,” you were delirious with lust. Just as you were about to fall off the edge he pulled away. The noise that left you surprised both of you, sounding more like an animal than human.

He was just as eager as you, unzipping and lowering his pants until he was free. You caught a glimpse of him and knew he was not only enjoying the way you writhed on his fingers, he was preparing you.

“I wanna feel you cum on me, got it darlin’?”

He stroked himself a few times with your arousal, slicking himself as he notched the tip at your entrance. A groan escaped both of you as he slid inside, the stretch of him was almost too much until it dissolved into the most blinding pleasure you’ve ever experienced. You fit together better than any puzzle or lock and key. You were already so close to the edge before but now he was hitting a place inside you that no one else ever had. The coil was winding tighter with every push of his hips, his lips devouring you from your neck to the tips of your breasts. Every move he made felt like heaven and he felt like your god.

“J-Joel… I’m-I’m gonna— gonna cum,” every word was cut off by a moan.

Suddenly he sat up straight, keeping up his movements as he brought his hand down to where you’re joined and circled your clit. The sharp movements shot pleasure through every limb, making you writhe in his lap.

“Cum for me baby… I wanna feel you squeeze my cock darlin’,” his voice was rough like gravel, rumbling through his chest into yours.

That was it.

The command was all you needed to push you over the edge. Your back arched as the tidal wave of pleasure overtook you and your legs locked around his hips.

“Oh fuck… yes. That’s my good girl,” he fucked you through it. His fingers and hips kept up their movements until he fell apart. He stilled inside of you as a deep moan broke free before pushing his spend deeper inside you. You could still feel him pulsing inside of you as you both came down from your highs.

As you lay beside him and looked up at the stars, the sounds of the night surrounding you, Joel wrapped you in his large arms. You talked and kissed and cuddled all night, only breaking apart once the sun started to rise.

He walked you back to your house before heading off to his own, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Am I finally allowed to have my hat back?”

You took the Stetson off your head and placed it back onto his. You looked down to see your panties sticking out of his jeans pocket.

“Well how’s that fair when you get to keep something of mine?”

“No one said it’s fair, darlin’. You can have something of mine next time.”

Next time. Your stomach warmed at the idea. Maybe you’d have to stay here a lot longer than expected.

[aceyalonso]

we're both winners, sweetheart - LEWIS HAMILTON

pairing : lewis hamilton x fem!reader | READ PART 1 HERE

summary : Y/n and Lewis going through the typical struggles of marriage (or in other words, the struggle of keeping up the charade of being married)

warnings : THE ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE STORY IS FAKE!!! swearing, kinda angsty, drinking, nail-biting, talking about sex (nothing too detailed), discussions of raising a family, 11-year age gap (reader is 28 years old), smut, hair pulling, unintentional overstimulation, choking, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!)

face claim - gracie abrams

word count : 18.6k

song : agora hills - doja cat

a/n : this isn't proofread and SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, I WAS DEALING WITH SO MUCH PERSONAL STUFF OMG (this was supposed to be fore my 300 followers celebration thing | i might make a separate series for lyka and lando…………………………

July 8, Monday, 7:09 AM

Toto Wolff sits behind his desk, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern. Y/n and Lewis sit on the other side, both looking a bit sheepish and on edge. Toto looks at them, a moment of awkward silence hanging in the air before he finally speaks. "So," he begins, his voice cautious. "I have to say, this is... quite a situation you've gotten yourselves into."

Lewis clears his throat, his gaze meeting Toto's. "Yeah, we kind of... didn't see this coming," he admits, a hint of humor in his tone. "It was a very unexpected development, to say the least."

Y/n fidgets in her seat, her fingers massaging her forehead. She glances at Toto, his expression still unreadable. She tries to sound calm and rational, but her voice betrays her nervousness. "We weren't... fully sober when it happened," she offers lamely, as if it's an excuse.

Toto's eyebrow quirks at this revelation, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Not fully sober," he repeats, his tone heavy with incredulity. "You got married... not fully sober?"

Lewis grimaces slightly at the bluntness of his words but doesn't deny it. "That... that's correct," he affirms, his voice a bit strained. "We were both a bit... impaired when we tied the knot, let's put it that way."

Toto rubs his forehead, seeming to struggle with how to respond to this information. He gathers himself and looks at them again, his expression more somber now. "And what exactly were you doing that led to this... marriage?" he asks, his tone slightly stern.

Lewis and Y/n exchange a glance, both knowing the answer will likely not help their case. Lewis speaks up first, his voice a bit sheepish. "We, ah... we were at a club. A very lively club, if you understand."

Toto leans forward in his chair, expression now a mix of thoughtfulness and strategy. "Okay," he says, "this is clearly a situation that will need some serious damage control if it gets out. We'll need the PR team to make something, anything to spin this in a way that... minimizes the impact on your image, Lewis, and the teams' reputation."

Y/n coughs, breaking the silence in the room and drawing everyone's attention. She clears her throat, feeling a bit awkward under the weight of Toto and Lewis' gazes. "Um, forgive me," she apologizes, her voice a bit hoarse. "But what... what are you suggesting?"

Toto's eyes shift to her, his expression still calculating. "Well, we need to control the narrative," he explains. "We need to get ahead of any potential media storm and craft a story that… makes this look less like a drunken mistake and more like a… a romantic love story, perhaps."

Lewis can't help but scoff slightly at this, his mouth tugging into a wry smile. "A romantic love story, huh?" he muses, skepticism in his tone. "Do you really think anyone's going to believe that?"

Toto's gaze hardens at Lewis' flippant comment. "At this point, any narrative is better than the truth," he says, his voice firm. "We need to protect your image, Lewis, and the team's reputation. We need to control the damage, and that means spinning this in a way that… makes you both look as good as possible."

Y/n mutters under her breath as Toto and Lewis continue their discussion, unable to hide her growing concern. "My dad is going to kill me," she whispers, her voice a mixture of dread and resignation. She imagines her father's reaction to this news, the fury and disappointment in his eyes.

She finally speaks up, her mind turning to her own interests in this situation. "Wait," she interjects, cutting into Lewis and Toto's discussion. They both turn to her, surprised. "If we're going to go along with this… PR plan, I want something out of it too."

Toto and Lewis look at her, a bit taken aback by her unexpected request. Toto quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And what is it you want, exactly?" he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

Y/n takes a deep breath, her mind racing as she formulates her request. "I want this to benefit me too," she says, her tone firm but tentative. "I don't just want to be a pawn in this charade. I want my own image to be protected, and… I want it to have a positive impact on my future, on my family's company."

Toto and Lewis exchange glances, both surprised but also understanding the logic in her request. Lewis turns to her with slight admiration, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's… very practical of you," he says, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Y/n's response is matter-of-fact, and her expression is a mix of determination and practicality. "Business is business," she repeats, her tone resolute. "If we're going to play this game, we might as well use it to our advantage, right?"

Toto nods slightly, appreciating her mercenary approach. "You're not wrong," he concedes, a grudging respect in his voice. "If we can use this situation to our mutual benefit, then perhaps it won't be a total disaster."

Lewis looks at Y/n, a gleam of admiration in his eyes at her business-mindedness. "You've got guts," he remarks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I can respect that."

Y/n chuckles a bit at his comment, the humor beginning to shine through despite the seriousness of their situation. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "if you want to get technical, that is one reason we got married, isn't it?"

Toto glares at Y/n, his gaze is stern and reprimanding. Y/n's eyes widen in response, and she immediately feels a pang of regret, realizing she has spoken out of turn. She mutters a quick "Sorry, too soon," her voice a whisper as she shrinks down in her seat.

Toto sighs, his expression softening slightly. "Let's remain professional, please," he reminds her, his tone a bit weary. "We need you to be present at the next Grand Prix, okay? Because by then we'll have the PR statement announced. Lewis can send you the details."

Y/n nods, a bit chastened but also understanding. "Okay," she apologizes again, her voice sincere. "I'll check my schedule if I'm free on... whatever day that is."

Toto nods in acknowledgment, his expression is still weary but slightly less stern. He turns his attention back to Lewis and continues the discussion, the mood in the room now more serious and focused.

With the focus of the conversation now shifted to Lewis and Toto, Y/n pulls out her phone, sensing that she isn't needed in the immediate discussion. She scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself from the ongoing conversation. Occasionally, she glances up, listening to bits and pieces of the talk, but mostly just biding her time.

Y/n scrolls through her Twitter feed, her eyes scanning over the various news and Tweets. Suddenly, something catches her eye, causing her to stand up from her seat and exclaim a surprised curse word.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Y/n exclaims, her voice laced with disbelief and shock. She stares down at her phone, the blood draining from her face as she processes whatever she has just seen.

Toto and Lewis' heads snap in her direction at the outburst. They look at her, startled and alarmed by her reaction. Toto's brow furrows in concern, and he asks, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Y/n holds out her phone to Toto, her face still etched with shock and disbelief. Toto takes the phone from her, his eyes widening as he looks at the screen. Lewis leans over to look as well, his expression turning serious as he reads whatever is on the screen.

Toto's jaw clenches as he looks at the image, his expression hard and guarded. He glances at Y/n, then back at the phone screen, seeming to be processing the implications of this photo.

Lewis shakes his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. "That's just perfect," he mutters sarcastically. "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already."

Toto continues scrolling through the tweet and reading comments from fans and media alike. He pauses, seeing several comments speculating that the woman in the photo is actually Y/n. His expression darkens with concern as he reads these comments.

He glances at Y/n, then at Lewis, and sighs deeply. "This is really bad," he says, his voice a low grumble. "If people start connecting the dots… we're going to have a PR nightmare on our hands."

Y/n is silently freaking out, her mind racing with thoughts and worries. She gnaws anxiously on her nails, a nervous habit she has when feeling overwhelmed.

Toto notes her distress but focuses on the practicalities of the situation for the moment, exchanging a few more words with Lewis.

Toto and Lewis quietly discuss the next steps, trying to come up with a damage control plan. Toto occasionally glances at Y/n, noticing her anxious behavior, but doesn't interrupt his conversation with Lewis for the moment.

Y/n suddenly pipes up, interrupting Toto and Lewis' conversation. "Wait," she interjects, her tone a bit frenzied. "What if we lied? What if… what if we said we've been married for almost a year? Like, we got married during the winter break?"

Toto's expression softens slightly as he contemplates Y/n's idea. "It's a possibility," he muses, his voice measured. "Getting married during the off-season would make sense, given the hectic schedule of the drivers. It would be more logical that Lewis would take time off for a wedding rather than a drunken elopement."

Lewis nods, seeing the logic in Y/n's suggestion. "It could work," he agrees, his tone less skeptical than before. "It would at least make the whole situation seem less impulsive and foolish, and more like… a planned commitment."

Y/n continues to gnaw anxiously on her nails, her eyes flitting between Toto and Lewis as she waits for them to make a decision. The weight of the situation, the impending lie they are about to concoct, hangs heavily on her mind.

Toto notices her distress but is still wrapped up in the discussion with Lewis, he decides to address it once they have a plan. "Let's work out the details," he says, his tone business-like. "We need to make sure our story is ironclad, and our timelines line up."

He turns to Y/n, his expression stern but not unsympathetic. "And I suggest you stop chewing on your nails," he remarks matter-of-factly. "We'll need to present a united, calm front, and that doesn't include nervous fidgeting."

Though Y/n stops biting her nails as Toto advises, her anxiety doesn't diminish. She transfers her nervous energy to her palms, starting to scratch and pick nervously at the skin, leaving slight crescent-shaped marks.

Toto notices her new anxious habit but doesn't address it directly at the moment. He and Lewis continue their discussion, fine-tuning the details of the lie they are going to spin. The atmosphere in the room remains tense, but there seems to be a rough plan coming together.

As the meeting draws to a close, Toto excuses himself to take a call from the head of PR. He motions for Y/n and Lewis to wait, and they remain silent in Toto's office as he steps out to take the call.

When Toto returns, he appears even more tense than before. He bids both Y/n and Lewis a rushed farewell, as he needs to deal with the situation with the head of PR. The two of them are left standing in the office, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the day's events.

Lewis glances at Y/n, her face slightly pale and tired from the stress of the situation. He can tell that she's still anxious and tense, and he reaches out to gently squeeze her hand, offering a small gesture of comfort. "Hey," he says in a soft voice, "it's going to be okay. We're… we're going to get through this."

Y/n looks up at him, her eyes weary and full of worry. She tries to force a small smile, appreciating his attempt at reassurance. "I hope so," she replies, her voice a bit shaky. "I just… I hope we can pull this off. The lie…"

Lewis nods in understanding. "I know," he says, his tone sympathetic. "It's a lot to take on. But we don't have many options at this point. If we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and…" he trails off, the implication clear.

Y/n nods, knowing that he's right. "I get it," she mutters, her voice laced with resignation. "I just… I didn't sign up for all this, you know? All this… lying, and spinning stories, and… pretending."

Y/n lets out a humorless chuckle, her voice resigned. "You're telling me," she says sarcastically. "I didn't even sign up for this marriage, not while I was sober at least... and now I have to lie about it, pretend it was pre-planned, and… play the part of the dutiful wife."

She shakes her head, the absurdity of the situation weighing heavily on her shoulders. "It's just… surreal," she continues her tone a mix of disbelief and frustration. "A few days ago, I was a private person, living my life, and now I'm suddenly… a married woman, the center of a media shitstorm, and I'm expected to lie about it all like it's no big deal."

As they walk down the halls, Y/n is still somewhat zoned out, her mind preoccupied with the stresses and worries of the day. Lewis is right beside her, his hand occasionally on her lower back, providing silent moral support. They pass by other team members and staff, and more than a few curious glances and whispers follow them, aware of the situation unfolding but unwilling to speak openly.

They reach the parking lot, and Lewis turns to Y/n, his expression concerned. "Do you want me to drive you home?" he asks gently, his tone sincere. "You look exhausted."

Y/n nods, her fatigue clearly visible in her eyes and demeanor. "Yeah," she replies, her voice a weary whisper. "That would be great, thanks. I'm… I'm feeling pretty wiped out."

Lewis nods in understanding and leads her towards his car. The trip to her home is mostly silent, both of them too emotionally drained to talk much. Lewis occasionally glances at her, checking if she is okay. Y/n just gazes out the window, her thoughts far away.

He follows the directions given by Y/n to her apartment. The car ride is quiet, neither of them speaking much due to the weight of the situation on their minds. Once they arrive at her apartment, Lewis parks the car but doesn't immediately get out. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of worry and concern.

Lewis watches as Y/n unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. Before she can open the door, he turns to her and asks, "You're going to be okay, right? You'll be okay alone? I can stay with you if you want."

Y/n offers a weary smile, touched by Lewis's concern. "I… I'll be fine," she assures him, her voice soft but strained. "You don't need to stay. I just… need some time to process all this. Alone."

Lewis accepts her decision to be alone, though his expression remains worried. "Okay," he says softly, "Take care of yourself, alright? And… call me if you need anything. Anytime, okay?"

She nods slightly, appreciating his offer. "Thanks, I will," she replies. "I'll… I'll be fine. I just need a bit of space to clear my head."

Y/n exits the car, her movements slow and weary. The weight of the situation seems to hang heavily on her shoulders as she stands outside her apartment, looking up at the building.

Lewis watches her from the driver's seat, a mixture of concern and sadness on his face. He waits a moment to make sure she gets inside safely before driving off.

July 8, Monday, 10:37 AM

As Y/n begins to unlock her apartment door, she hears the familiar sound of her cat meowing on the other side. The sound is both a comfort and a further reminder of her responsibilities, and she feels a pang of fondness mixed with exhaustion.

After unlocking the door, she pushes it open and is immediately met with the soft sound of her cat rubbing against her legs, meowing for attention. Y/n bends down and scoops up the cat in her arms, holding it close to her chest, seeking comfort in its presence.

She holds her cat “Extra Virgin Olive Oil” (“Evoo” for short) close, the familiar warmth and weight of her furry companion a soothing presence. The ridiculousness of the name, a result of yet another drunken decision, momentarily brings a bittersweet smile to her lips.

Y/n walks into the apartment, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. She sits down on the couch, setting her bag on the floor before setting Evoo down on her lap and gently stroking his white fur. The soothing motion and rhythmic purring of the cat help to calm her tumultuous thoughts.

As Y/n sits on the couch, gently stroking her cat, she begins to speak to him in a soft, quiet voice. Although it’s not unusual for people to talk to their pets, there’s an undertone of vulnerability in her words, unloading her worries to a receptive but silent companion.

“Hi, baby,” she begins, her voice laced with exhaustion. “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” She continues to idly pet the cat in her lap, the gentle motion seeming to soothe her as much as her cat. “I… I’ve gotten myself into a real mess, you know? Things are… complicated, to say the least.”

She leans her head back against the couch, her fingers continuing to absently run through the white cat’s fur. “I know you’re just a cat, and you probably don’t understand what I’m saying. But it helps, talking to you like this. It helps to get it all out, even if you can’t talk back.”

As Y/n continues to talk, the words flow out of her in a rushed confession. “And… that’s not even the craziest, Evoo,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly. “I got married. Can you believe that?”

Her cat, as if responding to her words, looks up at her with its large eyes, seemingly bewildered by the revelation. It tilts its head as if asking “What?!”

Y/n lets out a soft, humorless chuckle at her cat’s reaction, continuing to stroke its fur. “Yeah, I know. It’s crazy, right?” she continues, her voice still heavy with exhaustion but holding a hint of irony. “I… I got married, and I don’t even remember most of it. Isn’t that just wild?”

She pushes aside her exhaustion and moves from the couch, placing Evoo gently on the nearby rug. She then remembers to change her cat’s water bowl, her actions automatic and routine. As she fills the bowl from the kitchen sink, she glances back at her cat, still resting on the rug.

“Don’t worry, bud,” she calls out, her voice slightly less weary, “He’s… he’s a good guy. I think.”

After refilling the water bowl, Y/n returns to the living room, her mind still swirling with the day’s events. She glances at Evoo, who is now lapping up the fresh water. For a moment, she wishes her life was as simple as a cat’s, where the most pressing concern was the next meal, not an unexpected marriage and a web of lies.

Y/n rubs his head one last time before straightening up. “Alright, buddy,” she says, her tone softer now that she’s attending to her cat’s needs. “I’m going to take a bath. Be a good boy while I’m gone, alright?”

She sits in the bathtub, the water warm and comforting, surrounding her tired body in a soothing embrace. An iPad is placed on a wooden bath tray near the edge of the tub, playing a movie that she’s only partially paying attention to.

In her hand, she holds a glass of lemon water, taking small sips every now and then as she there, letting the hot water work its relaxing magic.

The scent of lavender from a bath bomb fills the room, adding to the atmosphere of calm and tranquility. However, despite the peaceful setting, Y/n’s mind remains restless, the events of the day still weighing heavily on her thoughts. Despite trying to focus on the movie, she finds her mind wandering back to the marriage, the lie, the future.

As the stream from the bath billows around her, Y/n takes another small sip from her lemon water, her mind still spinning. The bath was intended to relax her, to wash away the tension of the day, but her thoughts stubbornly refused to let her rest. She tries to force herself to watch the movie, to focus on something other than her worries, but the events of the day keep flooding back.

The heat of the bath, combined with the subtle fragrance of the lavender, should be lulling her into a tranquil state, but her mind is too chaotic, too filled with worries and regrets. She takes another sip of her lemon water, the tangy taste reminding her of the sourness she feels inside, the unease that hasn't let her go since this whole mess began.

Y/n is wrapped in a towel, her wet hair sticking to her shoulders as she steps out of her bedroom and into the living/dining space. She's surprised to see Lyka walking in with a bright smile, a stark contrast to her own weary state.

Y/n, still wrapping the towel around herself, glances up at Lyka through wet strands of hair. "You seem unusually cheerful," she remarks, her tone slightly teasing as she reaches the kitchen and sets her glass down in the sink. Evoo brushes against her leg, seeking attention, and she gives the cat a gentle pat before turning back to Lyka. "What's up?"

Lyka's eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of pride. "The best night ever," she echoes, her smile widening. "You won't believe it, Y/n. I hooked up with the DJ."

Y/n raises her brows in surprise and recognition. "Oh, Lando?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone. "I saw you dancing with him at the booth last night."

Lyka blinks in surprise when Y/n says Lando's name, her excitement now mixed with a touch of curiosity. "Yeah!- Wait, how do you know his name?" she asks, her expression a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Y/n settles onto a bar stool, opening the wrapper to a small piece of chocolate. She takes a small bite of the chocolate and continues talking to Lyka as she munches on the sweet treat. "I became friends with one of Lando's friends last night," she explains, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Her playful smile fades as the memory of her marriage hits her like a ton of bricks. She chokes mid-sentence, the taste of chocolate turning bitter in her mouth. "I... um..." she stutters, her mind racing to find a way to explain.

"I... I have something to tell you," she manages to continue, her voice a bit strained. She sets the chocolate bar down, her appetite suddenly gone. "And... it's kind of a big deal. Like, a really big deal."

Lyka's expression changes as she senses the seriousness in Y/n's tone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she leaned in, her face replaced by a look of concern. "What is it?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

Y/n takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the reaction that's about to follow. "I..." she starts, her voice faltering as she struggles to find the right words. "I... I got married."

There's a moment of stunned silence as Lyka processes Y/n's confession. Her eyes widen even further, and her hand grips the countertop, her knuckles turning white. "You... you what?" she manages to stutter out, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief.

"And... it may or may not have been a friend of Lando's...." Lyka's eyes widen even further when Y/n clarifies that the person she married is a friend of Lando. "Wait..." she starts, her mind spinning with the implications. "You married one of Lando's friends? Who..."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, preparing herself for the fallout. "Lewis," she finally manages to say. "I... I married Lewis."

As Lyka tries to remember if Lando mentioned anything Lewis, a flicker of recognition appears in her eyes. "Wait..." she says, her soft soft as she recalls the conversation with Lando. "Lando mentioned something about a party of celebrate one of his friends' win. Was that Lewis?"

Y/n doesn't trust herself to speak, so she just nods in affirmation. She can see the pieces falling into place in Lyka's mind, her friend digesting the information with a mix of surprise and confusion.

Lyka lifts her hands in a gesture of disbelief, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and incredulity. "I swear, the universe has a weird sense of humor when it comes to you and alcohol," she says, shaking her head. "Seriously, the weirdest things happen to you when you're drunk. It's like you're attracting weirdness or something."

As Y/n gets up to change, she can't help but notice that Lyka is wearing a hoodie she doesn't recognize. She decides to bring it up later, as they have plenty to discuss when they regroup in the kitchen.

"Alright, let's change and meet here in five," Y/n suggests, her tone a bit lighter now. "We'll compare our crazy nights, and you can tell me about your new hoodie too," she adds with a smile.

Lyka flushes furiously as Y/n hints at the hoodie she's wearing, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. "Oh my god, shut up," she giggles, trying to hide her embarrassment. "It's just a hoodie, okay?"

Y/n grins knowingly as she responds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah, it's Lando's hoodie," she teases, emphasizing the name for effect. "And you're blushing like crazy."

Lyka buries her face in her hands, still blushing profusely. "Ugh, I swear, you're the worst," she groans, half-heartedly swatting at Y/n "Why do you have to point it out like that?"

Y/n laughs, enjoying the sight of her flustered friend. "Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing," she says, her voice filled with amusement. She moves towards her room, still smiling at Lyka's reaction. "You get changed, and I'll do the same. Meet you in the kitchen in five."

Y/n sits next to Lyka, a soft smile on her face. As they settle into their seats by the counter, Lyka begins recounting her night with Lando. Her cheeks are still a little flushed, betraying her excitement.

"So, about last night..." she says, her voice slightly giddy, "I had the best night ever with Lando."

Y/n takes a chip from the bowl on the counter, chewing on it as she listens to her friend's story. "Yeah?" she prompts. encouraging Lyka to continue. "Tell me more. What made it the best night ever?"

Lyka emphasizes her point, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "His hands were skilled," she repeats, her voice lowered to a whisper. "Seriously, Y/n, you have no idea. He was so fucking good."

"His touches, his moves, everything just... wow," Lyka continues, the memory clearly relived in her mind. She takes a sip of her water, her gaze distant for a moment before she focuses on Y/n. "I swear, it was like he knew exactly what to do, and how to do it."

Lyka's excitement reaches a whole new level as she starting bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god," she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and excitement. "When he was-" She suddenly breaks off, her words catching in her throat.

She cuts off her own sentence, biting her lip as if holding back a secret. There's a mixture of delight and surprise on her face. "He... he was just-" she stammers, struggling to put the experience into words. "It was incredible," she finally manages, her voice full of awe.

Y/n listens intently, smiling at her friend's enthusiasm. She can tell that whatever Lando did, it clearly surpassed Lyka's expectations. "Incredible, huh?" she teases, raising a brow. "Sounds like Lando's got some serious skills there."

Lyka takes a moment to fan herself, the memory of her night with Lando still fresh in her mind. "Yeah... yeah I was," she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I was shaking like a leaf by the time it was done."

She looks down at her hands as if reliving the sensation. "It was tense," she adds, shaking her head in disbelief. "Like, seriously intense. I don't think I could have handled much more."

Lyka lets out a shaky breath, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief in her voice. "Yeah," she replies, her face still flushed. "He just... he just kept going, even when I thought I couldn't take anymore. It was... it was too much, but in the best way possible, you know?"

She takes another sip of her water, her body still feeling the after-effects of Lando's touches. "He knew exactly what he was doing," she adds, a hint of admiration in her voice. "I've never experienced anything like it before."

Y/n can't resist teasing a little more, a sly smile on her face. "Well," she says, raising a brow, "Maybe Lando was just making up for the disappointing performance your ex put on."

Lyka, still flushed and giggling, enthusiastically agrees with Y/n's assessment. "ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY!" she exclaims, her voice loud and clear. "Lando was the complete opposite of my ex. He made up for that shitshow tenfold."

She takes a moment to catch her breath, her face still glowing. She can't help but gush about Lando's attributes, her voice filled with awed excitement. "I swear, he was HUGE," she says, her voice filled with excitement.

Y/n laughs, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "Shh, shh, keep it down," she shushes her friend, laughing as she glances toward the wall shared with their neighbors. "The whole building doesn't need to know about Lando's... size."

Lyka, still caught up in the memory of her night with Lando, continues to rave about his skills and his 'size' ''I don't even know how to describe it," she gushes, her voice filled with admiration. "There's just... no comparison. Lando's in a league of his own."

She's so caught up in her praise that she practically glows. "I never knew it could be like that," she admits, her flushed cheeks a clear indication of her satisfaction. "He knows how to handle everything."

Lyka's voice softens as she reflects on the night, her face now taking on a more tender expression. "He was so gentle and caring afterward," she says, a hint of fondness in her tone. "It was like he knew exactly what I needed."

Y/n, curious about the tender side of Lando, asks how exactly he was caring after their night together. Lyka's expression softens even more as she continues. "He was really sweet," she explains. "He held me close, and told me how amazing I was. Kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. Just really took care of me, you know?"

"Oh, and he left me a shit ton of hickeys too," Lyka mentions, causing Y/n to involuntarily spit out her drink in surprise. Y/n's eyes widen as Lyka casually mentions that detail. She was taking a sip of her drink at the same moment, causing her to almost choke on the liquid, spurting it out in surprise. "Hickeys?" she exclaims, her voice slightly strained. "Lando gave you hickeys?"

Lyka grins widely, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She shifts the collar of her shirt to reveal several small, purplish marks on her collarbone and neck. "Yeah," she says, her voice a bit smug. "He marked me up, good."

Lyka lets out a cheeky giggle, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, yeah," she confirms, her voice slightly lower. "He left some on my thighs too, but Lando said those were for his eyes only."

Y/n can't help but stare at her friend in disbelief. Her mouth is still slightly agape, her eyes wide as she processes the information. "For his eyes only, huh?" she manages to say, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement.

She shakes her head, a little bemused by Lando's possessiveness. "Sounds like Lando wants to keep you all to himself," she teases, grinning. "No sharing allowed."

Lyka grins, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, absolutely," she confirms, giggling. "We made a deal. He wants to be my friend with benefits," she says, using air quotes, "And I just have to look pretty and make him feel good." She adds with a coy smile, paraphrasing Lando's words.

Lyka brightens up even more, her voice eager and excited. "Oh, and I'm going to his next race too!" she exclaims, bouncing a little in her seat. "I'll be in the McLaren garage, of course. Lando said he wants me there."

Y/n nods, a smile on her face. "I'll be there too, slightly against my will," she confirms, "But I'll be in the Mercedes garage." She glances at her friend, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "This is gonna be fun, watching the race from opposite ends of the garage."

"So... what about your night?" Lyka asks curiously, looking at Y/n with amusement through her eyelashes.

Y/n takes a moment, her mind flashing back to the events of her night. "My night…" she muses, her voice a little dreamy. "Well, it was… eventful, to say the least."

She lets out a soft chuckle, the memory of the night still fresh in her mind. "So, I was on the dance floor, just dancing, and Lewis came up behind me," she recalls, her voice laced with a hint of excitement.

Y/n glances at Lyka before continuing, her voice taking on a wry tone. "Yeah, it was around the time you went to dance with Lando," she says, clearly amused by the coincidence. "Lewis just appeared out of nowhere, tapped me on the shoulder, and we started dancing."

She smiles, her cheeks slightly flushed as she describes the night. "We were talking, flirting a bit," she says, her voice holding a hint of excitement. "He bought me drinks at the bar, and we just… connected, I guess."

Y/n lets out a light laugh, her cheeks flushing a little at the memory. "Yeah, so… eventually… we may have found a secluded spot and, you know, things got a bit heated," she explains, a coy smile playing on her lips. "And I may or may not have told him I'd marry him as a joke."

She shakes her head, still amused by the audacity of her own words. "I don't even know where it came from," she says. "Just a spur-of-the-moment thing, you know? A little drunken banter."

Y/n continues, her voice filled with amusement. "Well, Lewis just chuckled when I said it," she recounts. "I mean, he knew I was just joking, right? But then he just… playfully agreed, you know? Like, he said something like, 'Sure, why not? Let's get hitched.' It was all just goofing around, really."

Y/n sees the look on Lyka's face and knows her friend is judging her, but it's in a friendly way. She laughs, shaking her head. "Hey, don't give me that look," she says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. "It was just a joke, you know that, right?"

Lyka gives Y/n a sly smile, her voice filled with mock disbelief. "A joke that turned into an actual marriage," she repeats, her tone dripping with cheeky sarcasm. "Wow, I hope Lewis doesn't mind waking up to your morning breath every day."

Y/n playfully smacks Lyka's arm, laughing. "Hey, my morning breath isn't that bad," she protests, her voice light with feigned offense.

She then swats at Lyka again, her smile broadening. "And for the record, I would make an amazing wife," she boasts, her voice half-joking, half-serious.

Y/n straightens her shoulders, posing theatrically. "I'd be, like, the perfect trophy wife. I'd look good standing next to Lewis during his press conferences and podium interviews."

Lyka laughs out loud at Y/n's confident declaration. "Oh my god," she snickers, her voice filled with mirth. "You're actually picturing yourself as a trophy wife? Standing there, looking pretty while Lewis talks about racing strategy and tire compounds?"

Y/n grins, raising a brow at Lyka. "And what about you?" she asks a hint of challenge in her voice. "Can you see yourself doing the same for Lando? Standing there, looking gorgeous, while he talks about car setup and track conditions?"

Lyka nods with conviction, a sparkle in her eyes. "Absolutely, yes," she affirms. "I can totally picture myself looking all cute and pretty, with a whole wardrobe of amazing outfits courtesy of Lando's earnings. It's all about the perks, you know?"

She grins mischievously. "Besides, watching Lando on the track, all focused and intense, and then coming home to spoil me rotten? Sounds pretty damn good to me."

Y/n nods, her lips curving into a smile. "You know what, you have a point there," she admits, her voice laced with a touch of envy. "Getting to watch Lewis race, all focused and competitive, and then having him come home and… well, show me just how much he appreciates me… yeah, I could get used to that."

She quirks an eyebrow, glancing at the calendar. "Alright, when's the next race again?" she asks, her voice slightly impatient. "I need to check if I'm free that day, cause Toto- his team principal, I believe? said that I have to be there. Some PR bullshit."

Y/n pulls out her phone, quickly searching for the race schedule. "Lemme see," she murmurs, scrolling through her screen. "There we go. The next race is two weeks from now... Let's see… yep, I'm free that day."

She puts her phone away, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "All clear," she affirms. "I'll be there, cheering on Lewis every lap of the way."

Lyka smirks, her voice dripping with playfully sarcastic praise. "Oh, you're such a good wife," she teases. "Making sure you're always available to support your husband's racing career. That's true devotion right there."

Y/n laughs, returning the teasing with a sly grin. "And what about you?" she asks, raising a brow. "Ready to be Lando's arm candy, showing off all those designer outfits he'll buy you?"

Lyka nods vigorously, her face already picturing the fancy outfits she'd wear. "Oh, absolutely," she declares, her voice oozing with enthusiasm. "I'm so ready to be Lando's arm candy, strutting around in all the gorgeous designer outfits he'll spoil me with."

Lyka takes a moment to swallow her chip and then adds, "And hey, speaking of Lando's stuff, I actually need to return that hoodie he lent me. Gotta make sure he gets it back."

She grins mischievously. "Although, maybe I'll 'accidentally' keep it a day or two longer just to remind him of me."

Y/n tsks, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "Oh, wow," she chuckles, her tone laced with feigned surprise. "That's such harlot behavior, keeping a guy's hoodie just to remind him of yourself."

Lyka looks at Y/n in exaggerated shock, her mouth dropping open in mock offense. "Harlot? Really?" she exclaims, her voice filled with laughter. "Out of all the words you could've chosen, you went with harlot! That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Y/n shrugs, unable to keep a straight face. "What? It fits!" she replies, her voice laced with mirth. "You're deliberately keeping his hoodie longer just to keep his attention on you. If that isn’t harlot behavior, then I don't know what is."

Lyka rolls her eyes dramatically, a playful grin on her face. "Oh, please," she exclaims, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "It's not harlot behavior, it's strategic flirting. There's a difference."

Y/n chuckles, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay," she concedes, her voice still tinged with laughter. "You can call it whatever you want. Strategic flirting, friendly teasing, whatever floats your boat."

July 8, Monday, 4:51 PM

Y/n is in the middle of preparing dinner, peeling potatoes and chopping veggies, when her phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number. She glances down at it curiously, setting down her knife for a moment.

After a few moments, Y/n finishes replying to Lewis' message, a small smile on her face. She sets down her phone, the conversation with Lewis momentarily distracting her from her cooking preparations.

Y/n continues chopping vegetables, her hands moving deftly as she's suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka's phone ringing. She stops for a moment, looking up as Lyka grabs her phone.

Lyka's face lights up with surprise as she answers the phone, hearing Lando's voice on the line. "Oh! Hey, Lando," she replies, her voice already cheerful.

Y/n can't help but smile at Lyka's reaction, hearing the change in her tone. She continues chopping vegetables as she listens to Lyka's side of the conversation.

Lyka's voice is filled with excitement as she responds to Lando's question. "Yes, I'll get the tickets for the flight myself," she confirms, her voice slightly giddy. "I'll be there by Friday, no problem."

Her face flushes with a rosy hue as Lando brings up the subject of his hoodie. She lets out a soft, nervous chuckle and replies, a hint of playful charm in her voice, "Ah, about the hoodie… Well, I was actually thinking I might hang onto it a little longer."

Y/n, unable to contain her amusement, lets out a soft giggle, drawing Lyka's attention. She glances at her friend, a sly smile on her face.

Lyka continues the conversation with Lando, her voice taking on a flirtatious tone as she playfully teases him. "You know, if you miss the hoodie that much, you'll just have to come and get it from me yourself…"

Y/n stops mid-preparation, her eyes widening as she eavesdrops on Lyka's conversation. She gapes at her friend for a brief moment, surprised by the boldness of her response.

She can't help but chuckle to herself, thinking, "Lyka's really turning on the charm. Lando's going to be all over her when he gets that hoodie back…"

Lyka continues the conversation, her voice dropping to a sultry tone. "It seems like you miss this hoodie more than you miss me, if you're that desperate to get your hoodie back, maybe we should meet up tomorrow…"

Lyka smiles widely as Lando agrees to meet up the next day. "Great, I'll send you my address in a moment," she replies, her voice a mix of anticipation. "I need to go now, though. But I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

Y/n watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and surprise. She can't help but shake her head in disbelief as Lyka ends the call, a cheeky smile on her face.

"Wow," Y/n says, her voice filled with admiration. "You really have Lando wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Lyka grins, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of a blush. "What can I say? I have my ways of persuasion," she replies, a coy smirk on her face.

Y/n laughs at Lyka's response, amused by her friend's confidence. She continues preparing dinner, adding the ingredients to the pot and stirring it together in the pot, her mind temporarily preoccupied as she focuses on her cooking task. The kitchen emits a warm, savory aroma, the spices blending together to create a mouthwatering scent.

Y/n is suddenly interrupted by the sound of Lyka spitting out her tea, accompanied by an annoyed meow from Evoo. She looks up, slightly startled, setting down her spoon to look over at her friend.

"Whoa, what happened?" Y/n asks, looking at Lyka, who's wiping her mouth with a napkin. Her eyes move to the cat, who's also looking slightly grumpy from the unexpected spray.

Lyka, still catching her breath, quickly points at Y/n's phone, which is on the kitchen counter. "Check your Instagram," she says urgently, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Y/n grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, a look of curiosity on her face. She swipes through her notifications and opens Instagram, as per Lyka's instruction.

Y/n scans through her Instagram timeline and her heart skips a beat as she catches the first article. The statement from Mercedes about her marriage to Lewis is plastered right on her screen. She reads through it, disbelief and surprise etched across her face.

mercedesf1

liked by lewishamilton, george_russell, lyka.val and 563,447 others mercedesamgf1 Following the recent victory at Silverstone, unauthorized images of one of our drivers and his private life have been leaked. We respect our driver’s privacy and are addressing the situation with the seriousness it deserves. Here’s Toto’s reaction to the matter.

user44 HE'S WHAT? FOR HOW LONG?

lewishamiltonfan446427 who the fuck is y/n.... ↳ george.jpg i just searched her up, she used to be a model! she's still active on social media so it isn't that hard to find her account

mercluvr I'M SORRY???

nepobbylver ms rabbit has fainted.

y/nfan1 I'M GOING INSANE??????????????????????????

lewis.hamiltons.gf does this mean i have to change my username...?

y/nfan2 WHEN DID THEY MEET WHAT

y/nfan3 WHEN WHERE WHAT HOW WHEN HUH

rockstarlewis this is some 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit dude

wtfmerc so it WAS y/n

A mix of emotions floods through her as she continues reading. She feels a wave of shock, followed by a pang of confusion. Y/n grips her phone tighter, her eyes glued to the words on the screen.

Y/n looks up from her phone, her voice quivering with surprise and a hint of concern. "I didn't know they were releasing this statement today," she replies, her words tinged with a mixture of confusion and anxiety.

Her voice becomes more frantic, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. "It was just an idea I pitched! The whole 'married for 6 months' thing- it wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, not this soon at least!"

She paces around the kitchen, her heart pounding with worry and uncertainty. "I never thought they'd actually make a statement about it without speaking to me first," she mutters, her voice betraying her growing anxiety.

As Y/n continues to pace anxiously, biting on her nails, Lyka takes action. She stands up from the counter and gently grasps Y/n's shoulders, trying to anchor her in the moment.

"Hey, hey," Lyka says in a soothing tone. "Take a deep breath, okay? Panicking isn't going to help the situation."

Y/n nods, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She takes a few deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs and gradually slowing down her frenzied heartbeat.

Y/n is snapped out of her anxious thoughts as her phone rings loudly in her hand, jolting her back to reality. She glances down at the screen, wondering who could be calling her at this moment.

Her eyes widen as she sees her father's name on the caller ID. She stares at the screen for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. Taking another deep breath, she swipes to answer the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice slightly shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

She listens intently as her father's voice comes through the other end of the line, waiting anxiously for whatever he has to say. Y/n's father's voice is stern but concerned. "Y/n," he begins, "Have you seen the statement released by Mercedes?"

Y/n holds the phone a little tightly, her heart rate increasing again. "Dad," she begins, "Yes, I just saw it on Instagram. But listen, it's not what it seems-"

Her father's voice cuts her off, filled with disbelief and disappointment. "Not what it seems? It says you've been married to Lewis for 6 months. Explain that."

Y/n hesitates for a moment, her mind racing to come up with a viable explanation. Feeling cornered, she decides to go along with the lie, knowing that the truth will lead to even more disappointment and shame from her father.

"Okay, okay," she says, her voice quivering slightly. "Yes, it's true we got married. But Dad, please understand, it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing. We wanted to keep it quiet, that's why we didn't tell anyone right away…"

Y/n listens to her father's scolding, her heart sinking further with each question. "I know, I know," she responds, her voice filled with guilt and remorse. "I should have told you sooner. But Dad, you have to understand, Lewis and I wanted to keep things private at first. The public attention can be overwhelming, and we wanted to enjoy our newlywed bliss in peace…"

Y/n feels a lump form in her throat as she hears the disappointment in her father's voice. This is a first for her—she's never had to lie to her father before, and the guilt starts to weigh heavily on her heart. Fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to maintain her composure on the phone.

Lyka sees the tears in Y/n's eyes and immediately takes notice, her face filled with concern. She walks over to her friend and starts rubbing her back soothingly, a silent show of support and solidarity.

Y/n's father continues to press, his tone slightly more subdued now, "And when can we meet Lewis? Your mother deserves to meet him as soon as possible. We can't just be finding out about your husband on social media, for goodness sake!"

Y/n swallows hard, the weight of the lie becoming more palpable. She racks her brain for an answer, trying to come up with a believable timeframe. "Uh, well, we're actually not together right now... he's still... with his family...," she says, her voice still shaky. "Maybe… Maybe this week? Or when their summer break begins?"

Her father remains silent for a moment, mulling over the proposed timeline. "Very well," he finally responds, his voice still edged with disappointment. "We'll plan something for next week then. I expect a proper introduction and explanation. No more secrets, understood?"

Y/n nods, even though her father can't see her. "Yes, Dad, understood. No more secrets," she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of guilt and resignation.

After the call ends, Y/n closes her phone, a deep sigh escaping her lips. The weight of the lie and the disappointment from her father hang heavily on her shoulders. She feels like a guilty teenager all over again.

Lyka sees the distress etched on Y/n's face and quickly strides over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting hug. "It's going to be okay," she whispers softly, trying to soothe her friend's troubled heart.

Y/n takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts and trying to rein in her emotions. She then looks over at Lyka, a newfound determination etched on her face. "I need to let Lewis know about the situation with my father," she says, her voice steadying slightly.

She swiftly opens her phone and navigates to Lewis' contact. She knows she needs to inform him about the recent turn of events. Her fingers grip the phone tighter as she starts typing a message to him.

Y/n closes her phone and sighs, her body still feeling the emotional toll from the conversation with her father. Seeing that Lyka has taken over the cooking, Y/n moves to a nearby chair and plops down, still mulling over the recent developments.

While sitting on the chair, she takes a moment to mentally process everything that has happened. Her mind is filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - the lie, the need to maintain the facade, the guilt of deceiving her father, and the impending meeting with Lewis and her parents.

July 14th, 5:34 PM

The two sit in the car, the engine idling in the driveway of Y/n's childhood home. The atmosphere in the car is tense, and both of them are dreading the upcoming meeting with Y/n's parents.

She takes a deep breath, stealing a glance at Lewis before speaking up. "Okay, here's the plan," she begins, her voice a mixture of conviction and anxiety.

Y/n goes over the 'story' again, recapping the timeline of their 'relationship.' "We met during my vacation- your Christmas break of 2022, and became friends for about two months before you started courting me for three more months," she reminds Lewis. "We started dating after that, dated for five months, got engaged for around two months, and then got married in mid-January. Got it?"

Lewis nods, taking in the timeline and details of their fictional relationship. He's clearly trying to commit everything to memory, fully aware of the importance of maintaining a consistent story in front of Y/n's parents.

Y/n takes another deep breath, her hand fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Just remember, the key is to stay consistent and make it believable," she adds, her voice a tad shakier than before.

Lewis reaches out and takes Y/n's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can do this," he says, his voice filled with determination and reassurance. "We just have to stick to the story and not let our nerves get the better of us."

Y/n nods, reassured by Lewis' words and the gentle squeeze of his hand. "You're right," she says, her voice steadier now. "Stick to the story, stay cool, and we'll get through this."

Lewis turns off the ignition, and the engine falls silent. Both of them unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car. Standing in the driveway, they take a moment to glance at each other, preparing themselves for the upcoming interaction.

Y/n's heart pounds in her chest as she and Lewis approach the front door. The familiar surroundings of her childhood home bring back a mixture of emotions—nostalgia, nervousness, and the weight of the lie they're about to perpetuate.

She reaches out and rings the doorbell, the sound echoing through the peaceful neighborhood. They wait for a few moments, the anticipation growing with each passing second.

The maid opens the door and greets Y/n and Lewis warmly. "Hello, welcome," she says with a friendly smile. "Your father is still in his study doing some paperwork and your mother is helping the chefs with the dishes. They should be finished soon."

Y/n thanks the maid and glances at Lewis, a hint of anxiety in her eyes. She leads him into the house, the familiar scent of her childhood home filling her nostrils.

She takes Lewis' hand and leads him into the living room. The spacious room is tastefully decorated with a mix of antique and modern furniture, a reflection of her family's taste and style. She guides him to a cozy sofa and motions for him to take a seat.

As they settle onto the sofa, the maid follows behind them and asks, "Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water, perhaps?"

Y/n turns to the maid and responds, her voice a bit tense. "I'll have cold water, please. Thank you."

She then turns to Lewis, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy despite her inner turmoil. "Would you like anything, Lewis? Water, coffee, tea…?"

Lewis looks at Y/n and then at the maid and replies, "I'll have tea, please. Thank you."

As the maid exits the living room Lewis sidles closer to Y/n on the sofa, draping an arm around her in a comforting gesture. He leans in and whispers something in her ear, his voice low and barely audible to anyone else.

In a quiet voice, Lewis whispers to Y/n, "Are there any cameras in the living room?" He asks the question, his gaze subtly glancing around for any visible signs of surveillance equipment.

Y/n is slightly taken aback by Lewis' arm around her, but she collects herself quickly. In a hushed tone, she whispers back, "Yes, there are cameras. They're hidden in various spots around the room, my father has access to the cameras from his study."

Lewis places a soft kiss on Y/n's temple and then pulls her closer, his voice a low murmur. "I know, I probably should have asked for your permission before doing that, but I thought it might help our act. For all we know, your father could be watching us on those cameras at this very moment."

Y/n can feel her heart rate increase a bit at Lewis' proximity and his reasoning behind the kiss. She glances at the hidden cameras, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She nods subtly, understanding the necessity of keeping up the act.

The two of them maintain their close position on the couch, trying to appear as a married couple who are comfortable in each other's company. Y/n glances around discreetly, wondering how her father is handling the surveillance footage.

Just as they are about to continue their conversation, the maid re-enters the living room, carrying a tray with their drinks. She sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, placing a glass of cold water next to Y/n and a steaming cup of tea next to Lewis.

The maid arranges the drinks on the coffee table, the sound of the glass clinking against the tray cutting through the silence in the room. She then smiles politely at them before discretely exiting the living room again, leaving Y/n and Lewis alone with their beverages.

Y/n watches the maid exit, her heart rate slightly elevated. She picks up her glass and takes a small sip of water, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The sound of Lewis' tea cup being placed back on the coffee table breaks the silence, drawing her attention back to him.

As Y/n starts to bite her nail, Lewis reaches out and gently moves her hand away from her mouth, his gaze meeting hers with reassurance. "Hey," he whispers "It's going to be okay. I'm here with you, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, alright?"

The simple act of Lewis gently stopping her from biting her nail serves as a small anchor, bringing Y/n back from the edge of her nervousness. She glances at him, his steady presence offering a small sense of comfort. She nods subtly, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and anxiety.

Y/n's breathing remains somewhat labored, the anxiety still coursing through her. Lewis takes her hand in his and begins rubbing his thumb against hers, a soothing motion that seems to ease her nerves, if only a little.

As she gazes at their intertwined hands, her eyes move up to the rings and tattoos adorning Lewis' fingers. The sight of them adds another layer to their carefully crafted pretense, the evidence of her supposed marriage right there on display for anyone who looks closely enough.

Their moment is interrupted as Y/n's mother walks into the living room. Her mother's presence brings Y/n back to reality, and the nerves come rushing back. She straightens up immediately, letting go of Lewis' hand to brush off any dust on her shirt and pants.

Y/n's mother enters the living room, her eyes lighting up as she sees her daughter and Lewis sitting together on the sofa. A warm smile graces her lips as she approaches them. "Hello, you two," she greets them, her voice filled with genuine affection.

As Y/m/n approaches, Y/n rises from the sofa, her movement slightly jerky due to her nerves. She tries to force a smile, hoping to appear normal, but the tension in her body is palpable.

Lewis follows Y/n as she nods, his hand gently moving to rest on her back, a small comfort in the face of the inevitable confrontation with her father.

He extends his hand towards Y/n's mother, his demeanor is polite and friendly. "Hello, it's lovely to meet you in person," he says with a warm smile. Y/n watches the interaction, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

The introduction occurs, Lewis offering his hand in greeting and Y/n's mother shaking it warmly. Y/n stands nearby, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears drowning out almost everything else.

As Lewis shakes her mother's hand and exchanges greetings, Y/n's heart pounds louder in her ears. Her eyes flicker between the two, the casual interaction between her mother and Lewis standing in stark contrast to the turmoil of emotions churning within her.

Y/n watches as Lewis engages in pleasantries with her mother, and the polite exchange is a far cry from the anxiety that grips Y/n's insides. The sound of their voices and the sight of their interaction blur into the background as Y/n struggles to keep herself together.

Y/m/n gestures towards the dining room, saying, "Follow me to the dining room, please. Your father will join us in about five minutes." With a nod, Y/n and Lewis follow silently behind her, the nerves tightening in Y/n's stomach.

Lewis takes Y/n's hand again, his touch providing a source of comfort in the midst of the mounting tension. With a subtle gesture, he begins rubbing his thumb against hers, offering a silent reassurance.

The gentle, soothing motion of Lewis rubbing her thumb helps to ground Y/n, and the simple action is a small balm against the anxiety that threatens to consume her. She glances at him, silently expressing her gratitude through her eyes.

They enter the dining room, and Lewis takes a seat next to Y/n, his presence a silent comfort. Y/n sits down across from her mother, leaving her father's chair vacant. The sight of the empty chair sends a jolt of anxiety through Y/n, her palms beginning to sweat.

Y/n sits across from her mother, her eyes darting to the empty chair that her father is bound to occupy shortly. The sight of the vacant seat is a ghost of the man who is about to confront the facade they've created. Y/n's palms begin to sweat, and the nervous energy builds rapidly within her.

The silence in the dining room is nearly deafening. Y/n's mother makes small talk, but Y/n's mind is elsewhere, consumed by the impending arrival of her father. She glances again at the empty chair, the seconds ticking by like hours as they wait for him to join them.

The wait seems endless, Y/n's mother's attempts at small talk falling on deaf ears as Y/n's mind races with thoughts. Every sound seems magnified, and every breath echoes. The empty chair looms over the table like a storm cloud, its absence speaking louder than any words could.

It seems almost too well-timed. Just as the silence is about to become unbearably awkward, the butlers enter the room, gracefully serving the meals that have been prepared. The aroma of the food fills the air, but Y/n's stomach is in knots, the thought of eating almost impossible.

As they express gratitude to the butlers, Y/n's father proceeds to place food on his plate, his hands moving deftly. Still in the midst of his task, he begins to ask questions, his voice laced with authority and curiosity.

Y/n's father continues to plate his food as he asks questions, his words almost nonchalant, but his tone hinting at hidden scrutiny. "So, Lewis, how did you and Y/n meet?"

Lewis responds calmly to Y/n's father's question, his tone matter-of-fact. "We met back in 2022, during Y/n's Christmas vacation," he says. "It was a coincidence, really. We just sorta bumped into each other and started talking."

Her father nods, seemingly taking in the information, still focused on loading food onto his plate. His next question comes with a hint of intensity, "And when did you decide to get married?"

Y/n's father's question about their marriage takes her slightly off-guard. As her mind races, she accidentally drops her spoon, the metallic clatter bouncing off the walls of the quiet dining room. Her heart sinks, the unexpected question leaving her feeling even more exposed.

Y/n apologizes for the dropped spoon, her voice a bit shaky. Lewis takes over, answering her father's question calmly. "We decided to get married after being engaged for two months," he explains. "We actually got married right before the off-season started. It was quite a whirlwind, to be honest."

Y/n's mother interjects, curious about the term 'off-season.' "What do you mean by off-season?" she asks, her tone casually curious.

Lewis responds to Y/n's mother's question, his tone casually informative. "The off-season is sort of like Christmas break," he says. "It's the time of year when school is out, and everything kind of slows down for a while."

Y/n's mother nods, absorbing the explanation, and then proceeds to take a bite of her food. She seems reasonably content with the answer, her focus shifting back to her meal.

Y/n's father, seemingly unsatisfied with the previous answers, resumes asking his questions. His gaze remains fixed on a spoonful of soup, but his voice drips with a sense of authoritative interrogation.

He continues to question Lewis, his eyes focused on his bowl of soup as his voice pierces the air. "So, you're an athlete, correct?" he asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

Lewis nods in confirmation, his demeanor still poised. "Yes, I am," he answers, his response firm.

Y/n's father persists with his questions, delving into practicalities. "How are you going to provide for Y/n when you're constantly traveling and training?" he probes, his tone skeptical.

Y/n's mother chimes in, gently nudging her husband and scolding him playfully. "Darling, you're acting as if Lewis is going to be your personal assistant," she admonishes, adding a little humor to the conversation.

Lewis chuckles lightly, finding a bit of humor in the situation. Y/n, on the other hand, lets out a somewhat awkward laugh, the tension still palpable beneath the facade of casual banter.

He responds to her father's question, his tone confident. "I have a well-established career, sir," he says. "I'm well-paid, and I can certainly provide for Y/n and any future family we might have."

As Lewis mentions potentially having a family, Y/n is caught off-guard and inadvertently causes herself to cough, the water going down the wrong pipe. She quickly composes herself while both their parents look at her in concern.

While Y/n recovers from her coughing fit, Lewis gently pats her back, a look of concern etched on his face. "Are you alright?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Y/n responds nervously, her voice a bit shaky. "Yeah, I'm fine," she reassures, trying to brush off the incident, her eyes darting between Lewis, her parents, and the water in her glass.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone light yet curious. "So, have you two thought about how big of a family you'd like to have?" she inquires, her eyes flitting between Lewis and Y/n.

Lewis expresses his thoughts on starting a family, his voice filled with warmth and optimism. "I'd really like a big family," he admits, "maybe 2-3 kids or more, and a few pets too. But ultimately, it'll be Y/n's call since she'll be the one carrying and giving birth to the children." He smiles affectionately at her, adding, "It's her decision, and I'll support whatever she chooses."

Y/n's gaze softens, her heart warmed by Lewis's words. Despite the awkward family setting, the way he looks at her, coupled with his last statement, touches her deeply. It's a small but significant gesture, emphasizing his support and understanding, something she didn't fully anticipate.

Y/n's father nods in approval, clearly satisfied with Lewis's response. "Good man," he remarks, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind Lewis's words. "Always considerate of your wife's feelings, as you should be."

As Y/n's father praises Lewis, a sigh of relief escapes her lips. The approval from her father seems to ease some of the tension, and she shoots Lewis a grateful glance, silently expressing her relief.

Y/n's mother chimes in with a question, her tone casual but slightly concerned. "Have you two thought about moving in together soon?" she asks. "I recall Y/n mentioning she's still staying with Lyka."

Y/n responds, her voice laced with a hint of anxiety, explaining the reasons behind their decision. "We haven't moved in together yet," she begins, "due to Lewis's job. With him traveling all over the world for most of the year, it would be quite lonely for me. I have some of my stuff at his place, but we agreed that I'll stay with him when he's home and stay at my apartment with Lyka when he's away."

The explanation seems to make sense to both Y/n's parents and her father nods in understanding. He seems to comprehend the challenges that come with Lewis's job, and the reasoning behind their living arrangement makes sense in their circumstances.

The dinner gradually comes to an end, and Y/n and Lewis bid farewell to her parents. There's a sense of relief in the air, mixed with a hint of lingering tension. As they part ways, Y/n's mother gives them both a warm smile, while her father offers a firm nod.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at his gesture, appreciating the small act of chivalry. She pulls out her phone from her bag before taking a seat in the car, the soft leather of the seats molding to her body.

As Lewis closes the car door, Y/n notices Lyka's name popping up on her phone's screen. She taps on the answer button, the phone pressed to her ear. "Hello?" she says, her voice slightly weary.

Lyka's voice comes through the line, sounding a mix of anxious and excited. "H-hi," she greets, her tone bordering on the guilty, like a child trying to conceal their mischief.

Y/n listens to Lyka's nervous greeting and responds, curiosity in her voice. "What's up?" she asks, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the dash. Just as she does so, Lewis gets into the car, and they both focus on the now-speaker conversation.

Lyka's voice, sounding a bit unsure, asks, "Are you heading home now?" The question lingers in the air, suggesting that there may be something on Lyka's mind.

Y/n shoots Lewis a glance, their eyes meeting briefly as he maneuvers the car out of the gates. She's silent for a moment, contemplating Lyka's request and the implications of staying over at Lewis's place tonight.

Y/n turns her attention to Lewis, asking the question aloud, even though he had already overheard the conversation. She takes the phone off the dashboard, holding it in her hand as she speaks, her voice quieter than before. "Lyka's asking if I can stay over at your place tonight because Lando is a bit too drunk to go home."

Lewis responds, keeping his focus on the road, his voice calm and unwavering. "Sure," he says, seeming amenable to the idea. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

She relays the response to Lyka, conveying the okay from Lewis. "Okay," she says, her voice a bit lighter now. "I can stay at Lewis's place tonight."

Lyka's voice comes through the phone, brimming with gratitude and a hint of apology. "Thank you so much," she expresses, her tone sincere. "I'm really sorry for the sudden request. We just, uh…" Her voice trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.

Y/n chuckles, still on the phone with Lyka, and teases her gently. "Yeah, yeah, just make sure you take care of your 'boyfriend,'" she says, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "I'll be with Lewis."

Lyka's embarrassed screech comes through the phone, her voice full of flustered denial. "DUDE, SHUT UP!" she practically yells, her annoyance tinged with a hint of humor. "HE'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"

Y/n responds, a playful tone in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Lyka," she teases. "You can tell that to the flowers he's been sending you every day." Her tone takes on a mock serious note. "Anyways, I've gotta go now."

Lyka's frustrated scream comes through the line, her voice muffled as she probably covers her face with her hands. Y/n laughs, having heard this reaction countless times over the years, knowing it's a clear sign of Lyka's embarrassment. "Bye," Lyka manages to say, her voice still tinged with flusteredness before ending the call.

Y/n looks at her phone, opening the text messages app to find the flurry of texts Lyka sent just moments ago before the call. Her eyes scan over the screen, curious to see what kind of messages her flustered best friend sent, no doubt venting about what was happening.

Lewis breaks the brief silence that had settled in the car, starting with a casual, "So…" His tone is conversational, suggesting he has something to talk about. He keeps his focus on the road, but his voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of anticipation.

Y/n sighs, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and uncertainty. She closes her phone screen, resting it on her lap before responding. "Honestly, I'm not even sure," she admits, her tone reflecting a hint of frustration at her friends' complex relationship.

Y/n tries to explain the complicated nature of Lyka and Lando's relationship, her voice trying to convey the complexity of it all. "They're more than friends, but less than lovers," she clarifies, her tone thoughtful. "It's a bit confusing, really. They're stuck somewhere in between."

Lewis chuckles, reflecting on the implications of the "stuck in between" situation. He offers a playful observation. "Well, that could go one of two ways, right?" he muses. "Either it's really good, or really bad."

Y/n smirks, agreeing with Lewis's assessment. "Yeah, you're right," she concedes, her voice hinting at the complexities of Lyka and Lando's dynamics. "It's either going to work out amazingly or explode in their faces."

The car falls back into a moment of silence, the low hum of the engine filling the space. Lewis keeps driving, his focus on the road, his mind likely contemplating the complexities of relationships and the uncertainty of the future.

Y/n breaks the silence again, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Uh…" she begins, her tone a bit uncertain, but there's a question lingering behind it.

Y/n's voice softens with gratitude as she addresses Lewis, her tone sincere. "Thanks," she says, her appreciation evident. "For, you know, not making a big deal about me staying over."

Y/n's voice takes on a more grateful tone, her appreciation clear. "And thank you for saving my ass at the dinner," she says, a hint of relief in her voice. "I really appreciate you having my back."

Lewis responds with a warm smile, his tone easy and hospitable. "It's no problem, sweetheart," he says. "You're always welcome at my place, even when I'm not around. I'll give you a key soon so you can come and go as you please."

Y/n turns her head swiftly, her gaze now locked on him. She repeats his term of endearment, "Sweetheart?" Her voice is tinged with a hint of surprise, her head slightly tilted to the side as she processes the familiarity of the word coming from his lips.

Lewis's eyes widen momentarily upon hearing her question, clearly surprised by the inquiry. He quickly recovers and responds, his tone questioning yet gentle, "Oh, is it okay if I call you that?" His voice carries a note of concern, clearly wanting to ensure he hasn't crossed any boundaries.

She lets out a soft laugh, the tension easing away. "Yeah, it's fine," she assures him, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "It's actually better that way. I won't be caught off guard when you call me that in public. It'll make our act more believable for the press."

Lewis nods, the concern in his eyes replaced by a hint of relief and a touch of playfulness. "That's true," he agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It'll make it more convincing when we're around people. Plus, it's kind of nice…" His voice trails off, a slight implication behind his words.

A smile dances on Y/n’s lips, and she decides to tease him a bit. “Oh really? I feel like you have a big crush on me Sir Lewis,” she asks, feigning surprise, her tone lighthearted. Her eyes glimmer with playfulness, expecting him to respond with a playful banter.

His voice takes on a playfully challenging tone as he responds to Y/n’s teasing question. “And what if I do?” he says, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning back to the road. “What would you do about it?” There’s a hint of a challenge in his tone but also a flicker of genuine curiosity, as if he’s eager to see how she would react if her teasing was based on truth.

Y/n responds with confidence, her eyes locked into his. “Oh, I have a few ideas,” she says, her tone dripping with a hint of mystery. Her voice drops lower, filled with playful tease, as if she’s already planning something.

Lewis raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued by Y/n’s response. He can’t help but wonder what kind of ideas she has in mind. “Oh yeah? And what ideas do you have in that pretty mind of yours, sweetheart?” he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

Her smile widens, her eyes glimmering mischievously. She remains coy, not revealing too much. “Oh, I can’t give away all my secrets,” she teases, her voice playful. “You’ll have to wait and find out.”

Lewis chuckles, enjoying the banter between them. "Fair enough," he responds, his tone playful. "I guess I'll just have to wait and see what you have up your sleeve, sweetheart."

Y/n smirks at the term of endearment, the name rolling off his tongue with a familiar ease. "Oh, you'll see," she teases back, her voice filled with confidence. "I promise it'll be worth the wait."

Lewis brings the car into the parking lot of the condominium building, the wheels smoothly coming to a stop. He turns off the engine, the sound of the vehicle falling silent as he shifts his gaze over to Y/n sitting next to him.

"We're here," he announces, his tone casual. He unbuckles his seatbelt and glances over at Y/n. "Ready to head inside?"

Y/n nods, the teasing banter settling into a comfortable quiet. She unbuckles her own seatbelt and prepares to get out of the car. "Yeah, let's go."

Lewis opens the car door and steps out, stretching briefly before closing the door behind him. He then walks over to Y/n's side and opens the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles appreciatively, taking his hand and stepping out of the car. "Thank you," she says, her voice tinged with gratefulness. She then follows him as they head towards the entrance of the condominium building.

As they walk into Lewis's penthouse, the faint sound of a low thumping becomes perceptible. Y/n glances around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. She looks over at Lewis, a quizzical expression on her face, silently asking if he hears it too.

Lewis catches Y/n's curious look and can't help but smile to himself, fully aware of what's about to occur. He says nothing for a moment, amused by the fact that she hasn't figured it out yet.

Out of nowhere, a chubby bulldog appears, sprinting toward Lewis with excitement. Its short, muscular legs carry it swiftly across the floor, its paws creating a thumping sound as they hit the ground. The bulldog clearly recognizes its owner and makes a beeline straight for him, tail wagging joyfully.

Lewis crouches down to meet Roscoe, his face breaking into a wide smile as the dog happily rolls onto his belly, begging for some attention. Lewis laughs and begins to scratch the dog's belly, his fingers rubbing the animal's belly fur affectionately.

"Hey, buddy," Lewis coos affectionately, his voice filled with warmth as he speaks to Roscoe. "Did you miss me?" The bulldog responds with a slobbery grin and continues to wiggle his short, stub tail on the floor in bliss.

Roscoe looks up at Lewis with big, soulful eyes, his tongue hanging out, clearly thrilled to be in the presence of his owner. He playfully licks Lewis's hand, expressing his happiness in the only way he knows how.

Roscoe, in the middle of his display of excitement towards Lewis, suddenly halts, his furry head tilting to the side as he notices Y/n's presence. His wide eyes focus on her, his gaze inquisitive and a little cautious, as if wondering who this new person in his home is.

Y/n stands there, a mix of surprise and uncertainty on her face, not quite knowing how to greet the curious bulldog. She looks over at Lewis, silently seeking some guidance on how to approach his pet.

He notices the change in Roscoe's behavior and the puzzled look on Y/n's face. He stands up and gestures for her to come closer, a reassuring smile on his face. "It's okay," he says, his tone comforting. "He's just curious. Come closer."

Y/n steps closer, her nerves palpable as she admits to Lewis that she isn't particularly fond of dogs. "Um, is this a good time to say I'm not really a dog person?" she mumbles, her voice tinged with slight unease.

Lewis chuckles, a mix of amusement and understanding in his eyes. He glances down at Roscoe, who is still sitting and watching Y/n intently. "Oh, really? Well, that might be a problem," he teases jokingly.

She cautiously moves closer and gives Roscoe a tentative pat on the head, her touch light and tentative. The bulldog responds by closing his eyes in the pleasure of the unexpected attention, his stumpy tail wagging once again as he basks in the affection.

Lewis watches the interaction and smiles, finding the scene amusing yet endearing. "See?" he says, his voice encouraging. "He likes you already."

He stands up, motioning for Y/n to follow him into the kitchen. "C'mon," he says, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I'll grab us some drinks."

Y/n follows Lewis into the kitchen, her face transforming into a surprised smile as she asks a question. "Why do we need drinks?" There's a hint of curiosity in her voice, as if she's secretly hoping for a particular reason.

Lewis uncorks the bottle, taking out two wine glasses from the overhead cabinet. As he pours the wine into the glasses, he glances over at Y/n, his eyes holding a playful twinkle. "Besides," he says, a sly smile on his lips, "we need to celebrate our marriage properly, don't we?"

He passes a wine glass to her, his fingertips lightly brushing against hers for a moment as he does so. The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly feels a tad heated as the implications of his words hang in the air between them.

Y/n takes the offered glass, her heart skipping a beat as their fingers touch briefly. The look in his eyes and the undercurrent of flirtation in his tone are hard to ignore. The words "we need to celebrate our marriage properly" echo in her head, causing a flutter of anticipation in her stomach.

Lewis pours himself a glass of wine, then pours another for Y/n as she settles into her seat. He moves around the counter, the wine glass in his hand, and takes a seat next to her. The silence is comfortable, but the air is charged with a simmering tension, the earlier flirtation not yet faded.

Y/n holds up her wine glass, lifting it slightly in his direction. "Cheers," she says, her voice carrying a note of excitement. The clinking sound of their glasses meeting fills the air, the act oddly intimate and charged with unspoken desires.

Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, the moment charged with a mix of tension and anticipation. Y/n takes a sip of her wine, the liquid smooth and cool as it touches her lips, but it's the man sitting next to her that leaves her feeling flushed and warm.

Time has passed, and the wine has taken its toll. Both Y/n and Lewis are visibly tipsy, their cheeks flushed and their inhibitions lowered. She finds herself in a slightly drunken state, her speech more slurry than Lewis's. They're exchanging stories, the wine loosening their tongues and making them more susceptible to sharing their secrets and embarrassing anecdotes.

Y/n continues her story, her voice a bit slurry from the wine but filled with amusement. "So, there I was, planning to go grocery shopping, right? But then Lyka calls and invites me out for drinks. And well, as you can imagine, one drink turns into several, and the next thing I know, it's been three hours. I completely forgot about the grocery shopping. Then, instead of coming home with actual groceries, I end up bringing home this stray white cat I found. And thus, my cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil was born."

Lewis can't help but chuckle lightly as he listens to Y/n's story, finding it both absurd and endearing. He leans his face against his palm, his elbow propped up on the counter, his eyes sparkling with tipsy amusement. He glances at her, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "You named your cat what?" he asks, his voice tinged with playful disbelief.

His laughter continues, the image of Y/n coming home with a cat instead of groceries amusing him more than it probably should in his current state of drunkenness. "You named your cat Extra Virgin Olive Oil because you forgot about grocery shopping and got drunk instead?" he asks, grinning widely, clearly finding the situation hilarious.

Y/n grins widely, nodding enthusiastically in affirmation. "Yep, that's right," she says, her voice filled with tipsy mirth. "Extra Virgin Olive Oil. And let me tell you, he's the most spoiled cat ever. All because I couldn't stick to my grocery shopping plans."

She feels a sudden brush of fur against her leg, her gaze dropping down. But before she can even react, Roscoe takes off like a shot, darting away with one of her high heels clenched in his mouth. Y/n's eyes widen, and a tipsy laugh escapes her lips.

Y/n jumps out of her seat, a tipsy grin on her face. "Roscoe!" she yells, giggling as she tries to catch the dog who's now prancing away with her high heel. Lewis watches the scene unfold, his laughter joining hers, finding the whole situation hilariously adorable.

Y/n's pursuit of Roscoe continues, her steps a bit unsteady from the alcohol. She tries to catch him, but her foot catches on the edge of the rug, her already tipsy balance getting the better of her. She trips over, her body stumbling forward, a yelp of surprise escaping her.

Lewis sees Y/n's fall, her carefree chase after the dog abruptly interrupted by her slip on the rug. He gets up from his seat, a slight worry crossing his face. But before he can make a move, Y/n raises an arm up from the floor, and yells out, "I'm okay!" Her voice is slightly slurred but there's a sense of pride in her tone, as if she's proud of her resilient demeanor despite her tipsy state.

As she stands up with a wide smile on her face, she doesn't realize the small cut on her elbow until Lewis points it out. Y/n glances down, noticing the slight trickle of blood on her arm. She touches the spot, a little surprised, but the alcohol has numbed the pain, giving her a false sense of invincibility. She giggles, looking at the cut with amused detachment.

Despite her stumble and the small cut on her elbow, Y/n's demeanor remains carefree, her eyes blinking in a slightly confused manner. The alcohol has dulled her senses, so pain feels distant and the reality of the fall hasn't quite registered in her mind yet. She looks up at Lewis, a slightly bewildered expression on her face as if she's not quite sure how she ended up on the floor in the first place.

Lewis lets out a small, playful exhale and saunters over to Y/n, gesturing for her to sit on the couch. "Alright, come on, sit down," he instructs, his voice laced with a hint of amused frustration. He guides her over to the couch, steadying her a bit as she clumsily flops down onto the cushions.

He turns away, giving her a warm smile, and says, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back. I'll get a bandage for that cut on your elbow." He strides out of the room, leaving Y/n slumped on the couch, a little drunk and a bit bewildered.

Y/n lounges on the couch in a slightly disheveled manner, her body stretched out like a starfish. She looks like a ragdoll, her limbs flung about in a completely comfortable yet chaotic way. The alcohol has made her feel relaxed and carefree, completely unbothered by the fact that she's lying haphazardly on the couch, waiting for Lewis to return with a bandage for her now-forgotten cut.

After 5 minutes, Lewis enters the room carrying a small first-aid kit. He looks over at Y/n, noticing that she's a bit more composed compared to a few moments ago. The alcohol's effect seems to have subsided a bit, perhaps due to the short break in time. He walks over to her, sitting down on the couch next to her, the first-aid Kit in his hand.

"Seems like you're getting a bit more sober now," he observes, his tone gentle as he opens the first-aid kit. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and a small adhesive bandage, preparing to clean and cover the cut on her elbow.

"Hold still for a moment," he says, his voice soft. He gently takes her arm and begins cleaning the wound with the antiseptic wipe. The cool touch of the solution stings a little, but he's careful not to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Y/n winces a bit as the antiseptic wipe touches the cut, a small "ow" escaping her lips. The alcohol has numbed her a bit, but the sting of the antiseptic still registers. She looks at her arm, watching as Lewis carefully cleans the cut, his touch light yet deliberate.

"It's alright," he soothes, his tone gentle. "I'm almost done." He continues to clean the cut, making sure it's free of any dirt or debris before gently placing the bandaid over the cut. His touch is light and careful, his fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm.

Once the bandaid is placed, he gently pats the area around the cut, securing it in place. He then releases her arm, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He looks up at her, a small, reassuring smile on his lips.

Y/n gazes at Lewis, her eyes studying his face intently. She takes in every detail - the curve of his lips, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight stubble on his chin. The alcohol still in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more observant. She continues to stare at him, not saying a word.

Lewis notices Y/n's unwavering gaze, her eyes taking in every feature of his face. He raises an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Seeing her silent observation, he jokingly asks, "Got something on my face?" His voice is light, and his words are filled with humor.

Y/n shakes her head, continuing her silent observation, her gaze still fixated on his features. And then, in a surprising move, she leans forward, her lips brushing against his in a soft, slow kiss. The alcohol in her system lowers her inhibitions, making her actions more impulsive and carefree. The kiss is unexpected but filled with an undercurrent of desire and affection.

Lewis is taken aback for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected kiss. But then, he relaxes into it, his eyes closing as he responds to her contact. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. The kiss deepens, the alcohol in their systems making it heady and impulsive.

Y/n, emboldened by the alcohol and the heat of the moment, makes another bold move. Without breaking the kiss, she shifts her position, straddling his lap, a leg on either side of him. Her body presses against his, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer as she continues kissing him, her actions driven by a combination of intoxication and desire.

She suddenly pulls away from the kiss, the reality of her actions sinking in. Her blush spreads across her face, a mixture of embarrassment and desire filling her. She looks at him, her eyes wide, her breathing slightly ragged from the intensity of the kiss. The alcohol in her system has lowered her inhibitions, making her bolder and more impetuous, but she still feels a mix of shyness and confusion at her own behavior.

Lewis looks at Y/n, a hint of confusion and surprise in his eyes. He gently cups her face with his hand, his thumb tracing the contour of her cheek. He asks her softly, "Why did you stop?" His voice is a mix of curiosity and tenderness, his gaze holding hers as he waits for her response.

Despite the buzz of alcohol in her system, Y/n hesitates, her actions and her desires at war within her. The kiss had been spontaneous, driven by a heady mixture of alcohol and desire, but now she feels a sense of self-consciousness and insecurity. Her blush deepens under his touch, and she looks into his eyes, trying to find the words to explain her sudden break in their intimate moment.

"I…I don't know," she stutters out, her voice small and unsure. "It's just…I don't know…" Her gaze flickers away from his, unable to hold his intense, questioning stare. The alcohol and the heat of the moment have made her impulsive, but now she feels exposed, vulnerable in her straddling position, her guard faltering under his soft but insistent touch.

Lewis gives her a reassuring smile, his hand still cupping her face. Seeing her hesitant, he gently draws her back towards him, his other hand coming up to rest on her hip. He pulls her down, bringing her face closer to his, and kisses her again, his lips pressing against hers with a soft but determined pressure. The kiss is slow, tender, and deliberate, his tongue slipping out to caress her lower lip, seeking more.

With a swift movement, Lewis stands up, still not breaking the kiss, his hands holding onto Y/n's thighs to keep her stable. The shift in positioning causes her to tighten her arms around his neck, and their bodies press even closer together. Lewis's grip is firm but gentle, his strength evident as he holds her up with ease, the kiss continuing unhindered.

He walks with purpose towards the bedroom door, his strength and balance holding Y/n securely in his arms. In a move that seems completely effortless, he keeps one hand on her thigh, supporting her weight, while his other free hand reaches out, unlocks the door, and swings it open. He strides across the threshold, carrying her into the room, the kiss never once breaking.

Inside the bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world. The only sounds filling the room are the soft gasps and sighs exchanged between them as the kiss deepens, fueled by a heady mixture of desire and alcohol. Lewis shifts his grip slightly, his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist, holding her steadily as he guides her towards the bed.

Lewis gently sets Y/n down on her feet, helping her regain her balance. Then, with a soft yet firm pressure on her shoulders, he eases her backward until she sits on the edge of the bed. He stands in front of her, his body looming over hers in a way that is both dominant and protective. He looks down at her, his gaze darkened with desire, his breathing slightly heavy.

With a subtle but deliberate action, Lewis's hand moves up to Y/n's neck, his fingers wrapping around the delicate skin in a light but firm grip. He squeezes gently, not enough to cut off her air, but enough to assert a sense of control and possessiveness. The kiss that follows is quick, fierce, and possessive, his tongue invading her mouth in a dominant, needy manner.

Y/n whimpers into the kiss, the sound caught between a protest and a moan of pleasure. Lewis's dominant grip on her neck, the way he claims her mouth in a possessive kiss, fuels the fire within her. Her hands come up to cling to his shoulders, the mixture of pleasure and submission washing over her in waves.

Too caught up in the intensity of the moment, she grips the loops of Lewis's pants, her fingers hooking onto them as if anchoring herself. The action is both needy and desperate, a silent plea for more as she looks up at him, her eyes burning with desire and anticipation.

Lewis glances down at Y/n, noticing her fingers gripping his pant loops, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. Teasingly, he leans down, his face close to hers, and whispers, "So needy, aren't you?" His voice is a low, gravelly murmur, his words carrying a hint of possessive satisfaction.

She looks up at Lewis with wide, innocent, doe-like eyes, her expression a mixture of need and submission. She doesn't respond, her voice caught in her throat, but her grip on his pant loops tightens just a fraction, her body silently begging for more. The contrast between her innocent gaze and her needy actions is striking, and the heat in her eyes speaks volumes.

Lewis continues to look down at her, his eyes taking in her beautiful, vulnerable expression. He reaches out a hand, tracing the line of her neck with his fingers, but the touch light is barely there. He can hear her soft, ragged breaths, can feel her pulse quickening under his touch, and his own need, his own desire, increases exponentially.

He leans in, his lips moving to her ear, his breath against her skin as he whispers, "You're so gorgeous like this, so needy for me." He kisses her ear, his lips moving down to her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, hot kisses down the delicate curve of her neck.

Lewis continues to kiss along her neck, his mouth nipping and sucking gently at her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her sweetness. His hands slide down her body, caressing her sides, his touch both tender and possessive, his own need growing with every soft sound that escapes her lips.

He bites gently at her pulse point, a small, possessive act that makes her gasp and whine softly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing the line of exposed skin, his touch both gentle and firm. "I want you," he whispers against her skin, his voice rough and full of desire, "so badly."

His hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms pressing against her skin, feeling her warmth and softness against his touch. He feels her shiver at the contact, her body responding to his touch like a perfectly tuned instrument. He kisses her collarbone, his mouth moving down to the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing along her skin with increasing need.

His hands move higher, his fingers tracing the contour of her stomach, her ribcage, her breasts. He feels her arch into his touch, her body craving more contact, more of his touch, his caress, his attention. He can feel her need, her desire, the way her breath hitches at his touch, and it only fuels his own fire, his own burning need for her.

Lewis pushes her gently back onto the bed, his body hovering over her, his weight propped up on his forearms. He looks down at her, his eyes roaming over her face, her body, taking in the sight of her beneath him, soft and yielding, yet filled with an undeniable fire and desire.

His fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, his touch slow and deliberate as he unfastens them one by one, revealing her bare skin inch by inch, his lips following the path of his fingers, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin.

Y/n's breathing becomes ragged as Lewis' hands reach the last button, freeing her breasts from the confines of her shirt. She pushes the fabric off her shoulders, tossing it aside, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

Lewis' hands cup her breasts, his thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples. Y/n moans, her head falling back as she arches into his touch. Her hands roam over his body, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

She slides her hand inside, gripping his erection through his boxers. Lewis groans, his hips bucking into her hand. Y/n pulls him closer, their lips meeting in a rushed kiss as she fumbles with his boxers, freeing his hard cock.

She strokes him slowly, her thumb rubbing over the head, making him moan into her mouth. Lewi's hands leave her breasts, training down her sides to her waistband. He hooks his thumbs into her pants, pulling them down her legs, leaving her completely naked.

Y/n steps out of her pants, her body trembling with desire. Lewis' eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her before he pulls her back against him. He reaches around, unfastening his braided belt, letting it fall to the floor.

He pushes her onto the bed, following her down, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, his hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Y/n's breath hitches, her legs parting, welcoming him.

Lewis positions himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers, filled with lust and desire. He pushes inside her, slowly at first, allowing her body to adjust to his size. Y/n gasps, her nails digging into the sheets as he fills her completely.

Y/n bites her lip, her eyes widening as she feels the full extent of Lewis' size. "Fuck, you're huge," she hisses, a mixture of pain and pleasure coursing through her.

Lewis smirks, his hands gripping her hips as he begins to thrust, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Like it sweetheart?" he growls, his voice deep and seductive.

Y/n nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she adjusts to his size. "Yeah, I... I love it," she admits, her voice breathy and needy.

Lewis grins, his hand sliding around Y/n's neck, applying gentle pressure. "Good," he murmurs, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful.

Y/n's eyes widen at the added sensation, her body arching off the bed as her arousal intensifies. "Lewis," she whispers, her nails digging into his back, "don't stop."

He doesn't, his thrusts becoming more aggressive, his hand tightening around her neck just enough to heighten her arousal. Y/n's moans grow louder, her body trembling in anticipation of her impending orgasm.

Y/n's voice is barely a whisper as she gasps, "I'm... I'm close, Lewis."

Lewis, however, is lost in the sensations, his focus solely on the feel of Y/n's tight, wet pussy wrapped around his cock. He continues to thrust, his hand still tightly around her neck, his body moving in perfect unison with hers.

Y/n's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she cries out, her nails digging into Lewis' bicep. Her walls clench around his cock, milking him as he continues to thrust.

Lewis' thrusts grow more erratic, his grip on Y/n's neck tightening as he feels her orgasm grip his cock. Her shaking only serves to fuel his desire, his release drawing near.

He pulls out of her, Y/n's protest cut off by the loss of his cock. He positions himself at her entrance once more, his cock glistening with her juices. "On your knees, sweetheart," he commands, his voice thick with lust.

Y/n obeys, her body still trembling as she gets onto her hands and knees. Lewis lines up his cock with her wet pussy, thrusting back inside her, this time from behind.

His hand leaves her neck, instead gripping her hair, pulling her head back as he begins fuck her with renewed vigor. Y/n's moans fill the room, her body responding to her every thrust,

Lewis' thrusts become more rushed, his breathing heavy. "You're such a good girl, taking my big cock like that," he praises, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's body shudders, her arousal building once more as she feels him fill her from behind. "Mmm, Lewis," she moans, her voice thick with lust.

Lewis' hand tightens in her hair, his thrusts growing more urgent. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for me one more time," he says, voice a mixture of command and desire.

Y/n's body responds to his words, her orgasm building once more. "I... I'm close," she gasps, her nails digging into the bedsheets.

Lewis feels his own release building, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me," he demands, his cock pulsing inside her.

Y/n's body convulses, her orgasm washing over her like a tidal wave. Lewis can no longer hold back, his cock pulsing as he releases his hot seed deep inside her. He collapses onto her back, his breathing heavy as he tries to regain his composure.

Her body shudders, her mind swimming in the aftermath of her orgasm. Lewis slowly pulls out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum between her legs. He rolls off her, pulling her into his arms, their bodies entwined.

They lie there, their bodies intertwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. Both are out of breath, their hearts still racing from the intensity of the experience. Lewis is holding Y/n close, her head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. The room is quiet, the only sound being their ragged breathing, the sound gradually slowing and evening out as they regain their composure.

Y/n breaks the silence, her voice a bit hoarse but weary. She looks up at Lewis, her head still pillowed on his chest, and says, "That sobered me up real fast." Her words are a mixture of exhaustion and satiation, the aftermath of their passionate encounter leaving her both depleted and fulfilled.

Lewis gives a soft laugh, his fingers still tracing patterns on her back. He nods, agreeing with her words. "I guess that's one way to sober up," he replies, his voice still a little breathless. He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch soft and affectionate.

Y/n jokes, a weary but playful smile on her face. "Well," she says, "that was like our very own little honeymoon night, wasn't it?" Her comment, although lighthearted, carries a hint of seriousness, a nod to the intense and passionate connection they had just shared.

Lewis chuckles softly, a smile on his lips. He gently pulls her closer, his arms tightening around her. "I guess you could say that," he responds, his voice warm and gentle. "We definitely made some memories tonight." He looks down at her, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection.

Y/n hisses as she adjusts her position, a slight wince on her face. Her body is likely still sensitive from their passionate encounter, and she moves gingerly, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Lewis notices her hiss and the wince on her face, his expression immediately becoming one of concern. He asks her gently, "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" His voice is laced with worry and concern, his fingers lightly coming up to caress her cheek.

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes meeting his. "No, I'm alright," she reassures him. "Just a little sore, I guess. But it was worth it," she adds with a sleepy smile.

Lewis continues to look at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're alright? Soreness is normal, but I don't want to hurt you." He gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch tender and caring.

Y/n nods, a small smile on her face, and jokingly says, "Well, I guess there's an easy fix for that. Just take me out on a shopping spree, and I'll feel like a million bucks again." Her tone is light and humorous, indicating that she's not entirely serious but also hinting at her desire for some pampering and shopping therapy.

Without hesitation, Lewis reaches for the nightstand near the bed and grabs his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a credit card, then hands it to Y/n with a smile. "There," he says, his voice lighthearted, "your ticket to feeling a million bucks. Go wild."

Y/n's eyes widened as she took his credit card. She playfully gasps, a mischievous smile on her face. "Are you serious? You're giving me carte blanche with this?" she says, holding the card up and examining it like it's a precious gem.

Lewis nods, a smirk on his face. "Dead serious," he confirms, leaning back against the headboard. "Go nuts. Buy whatever you want, and don't hold back. It's on me."

Y/n places the credit card on the nightstand, her smile playful. "Oh, it can definitely wait till tomorrow," she says. "I think we should both rest and recover from tonight's… activities." Her tone is teasing, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

Lewis chuckles, a knowing smile on his face. "I agree," he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. "We definitely need some rest after tonight. But tomorrow…tomorrow is all yours. Shopping sprees, pampering, the works. I can't have you sore for too long, can I?"

Y/n smirks at his words, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "You know, you might be starting to regret giving me that credit card already," she teases. "You're creating a little monster here."

Lewis laughs heartily. "Oh, I'm fully aware of the monster I'm creating," he replies, still sporting a smile. "But honestly, I find it kind of hot. The thought of you going on a shopping spree, spending my money without a care in the world… it's strangely alluring."

Y/n teases, a mischievous grin on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I plan on getting something for you too," she says. "After all, a good shopping spree isn't complete without a little gift for the guy who's footing the bill."

Lewis pulls her back towards him, drawing her close against his chest. He settles back against the pillows, his arm wrapping around her in a protective, comforting embrace. Y/n's head rests against his chest, her body tucked snugly against his, and he gently kisses the top of her head. "Sweet dreams," he whispers, his voice soft and affectionate.

yn.ln

liked by lewishamilton, lyka.val, george_russell and 644,819 others yn.ln Shopping sprees, a hot best friend, and an even hotter husband? I'm winning. tagged lewishamilton, lyka.val

COMMENTS ARE LIMITED

lyka.val luv ya <3 ↳ yn.ln Love you more babes, remember to feed Evoo please :) ↳ lyka.val yes ma'am 🫡

lewishamilton We're both winners sweetheart. ↳ yn.ln Whatever you say, I'm enjoying it either way 😂

masterlist

taglist

@nepobbylver @wobblymug @seonghwaexile

[polaroidpascal]

paradise city || joel miller

AO3 || MASTERLIST || FREE PALESTINE

pairing : guitarist!joel x f!reader

summary : when you and your friends go out to a bar to see a local band gig, you can’t help but notice how the guitarist’s eyes somehow keep finding you in the crowd.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU, i imagine joel is in his early 40s, no age gap mentioned, mention of reader’s breakup, mentions of alcohol consumption, joel starts off a little shy but truly there ain’t nothing shy about this man, size kink (kinda?? a little bit??) oral (f! and m! receiving), unprotected p in v sex, dom!joel, joel gets a little possessive (you’ll see what i mean…), praise kink, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare ofc

fic playlist : https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0afpHjoOFylI01OTbV5jol

(picture joel playing during the guitar solos in every single one of these songs 😁)

WC : 7.9k… (no one look at me. not a single soul.)

a/n : 100 FOLLOWER SPECIAL !! i apologize in advance for all the song lyrics i’ve scattered in this fic… i opted to make a playlist of the songs i think joel’s band would play but there were just too many good ones to pass up and i was losing it a little bit 🫠 also, shoutout to @joelsdagger for constantly yapping with me about this idea and letting me tease her about this absolute menace of a man and also @haileymorelikestupid for beta reading for me 🥹😭 it feels extremely fitting to post a joel fic on international women’s day where he fucks you so good, so i hope y’all enjoy !! <3

You and your friends have had a week. 

Deciding you all needed a night to let loose and have fun together, your friend Erica found out about this place hosting a local rock cover band called Fetters Whiskey and thought it might be nice to come see them.

Earlier, you had all piled into the Uber and were headed out, a low girly chatter filling the car. The three in the back harped on about their spouses and all the little things that annoyed them. 

“He left the dishes in the drying rack!” “She helped me clean a little too well and used all the cleaner, now we’re all out!”

The complaining did help them destress a bit.

You and Erica were in the second row captain’s chairs of the car, the three in the back doing their pregame de-stressing. “Makes you rethink the whole marriage fantasy, huh?” she jokes, looking over at you playing with the rings on your fingers. 

You look up and breathe a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so,” you say with a weak smile.

“Well… have you had any luck finding anyone?” she asks sweetly, sincerely. Genuinely hoping someone has caught your eye.

You had a pretty nasty breakup a while ago, probably about eight months by now. You two had been dating for a while and the breakup honestly seemed to come out of nowhere, like some switch flipped one day and nothing was really the same. Your friends stuck by you through every up and down you had. You felt really lucky to have them.

“No. not yet,” you tell her.

“Well, maybe tonight’s your night,” she says with a friendly smile. “You deserve to unwind and let loose a little, y’know what I mean?” You breathe another laugh. “You do!” she exclaims, hitting your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I guess we’ll see,” you say, the rest of the car ride seeming to fly by, a part of you kinda hoping she’s right.

The bar is crowded. 

You walk in, snaking the group between the crowd and making your way near the stage towards the back of the bar, men and women alike all brushing bodies the closer you get to the stage, drinks in hand, friends chattering away, everyone waiting for the show. 

Two of your coworkers disappear to fetch everyone a drink while you and the others stake claim on a little area near the stage. A couple of guys are on the stage setting up the instruments and making sure everything is plugged in right, the lights dimmed enough to not really draw much attention to them. It’s not long before the others join them on stage and start playing. The girls return just in time, handing out the drinks as the music starts.

The band is pretty good (you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re more than pleased with how good they sound). They play some fan favorites like Wanted Dead or Alive and I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, and they mix in some random fun songs like Play That Funky Music. 

The drummer is clearly in his own world, head moving at a velocity you would think could give him whiplash. And he’s absolutely killing it, hitting every beat with fervor. You can feel the strikes of the sticks on his drums in the center of your chest. 

Another guy seems to be the swiss army knife musician: pretty good at almost everything, filling in wherever he’s needed depending on the song. One minute, he’s playing his keyboard and the next, he’s busting out a trumpet, and the next, he’s busting out a guitar. And no matter what he’s playing, he’s playing it with passion. 

The lead singer clearly loves all of the attention he gets. He’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like a cat lounging in the sunlight, basking in every cheer and whistle and fist pumping in the air from the crowd. He practically lives at the edge of the stage, crouching down to sing with the girls but backing up to sing and dance with his bandmates too, bringing them in on some of the harmonies and tying the whole show together.

But by far the unsung hero of this group is the lead guitarist. He hides off to the corner, leg posted up on his amp with the body of his guitar resting slightly on his thigh. He looks down at the instrument carefully watching his fingers strum each cord perfectly, furrowing his brow in concentration during his solos and lifting his head up to the sky. He looks like he feels every note in his blood, expressing it through the expert strum of his fingertips on the strings. He doesn’t have a mic and the singer doesn’t make him sing alongside him very much, but you catch him mouthing all the words and getting into the singing as well. 

He’s a particularly pretty man and your eyes linger on him more than the others, always finding their way back to him, and always during the more raunchy lines of the different songs…

Well, I am imagining // A dark lit place // Or your place on my place

I’ma paint his town red // Then paint his wife white

But I got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears // By now, no doubt we’re heading south // I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth

…but who can blame you when he has such a reserved, cool vibe. Plus, did you mention that he’s really pretty too?

And maybe it’s the couple of drinks getting to you more than you thought, or maybe you’re just crazy, but it seems like every time you look at him, he’s looking away from you. Like he’d been staring and you caught him. You swear he starts to look ever so slightly more flushed, but it’s practically impossible to see with the colored lights flooding the scene. No, you think, that’s crazy. You’re standing in a crowd of people, there’s no way he—

“Hey, I think the guy on lead guitar keeps checking you out!” Erica exclaims over the loud music and singing crowd.

You turn and look at her, eyebrows raised before you turn back to the stage. He does it again, averting his gaze the second he sees you look and you feel a flutter in your chest. He really is checking me out, huh?

You keep staring at him, waiting for him to look back in hopes that you’re looking away. When he lets his eyes wander back to you, you’re still staring. This time, though, he doesn’t look away. His eyes won’t let him now that you’ve caught his attention — like a fly in a spider web.

He turns his body ever so slightly, facing your direction more than anyone else as he plays the rest of the song. The lights focus on him, colorful spotlights of red and blue illuminating his face as he positively shreds his guitar solo. His fingers expertly tap dance across the neck of his guitar, his other hand working double time to strum on beat and hit every single note. You watch in a complete daze as he finishes, sealing off his musical escapade with the smuggest wink right to you.

He put on a show. All just for you.

Something stirs in your belly, a low heat kindling as the band continues to play. Their next song — god, their next song… — really puts the icing on the cake.

The jack of all trades band member busts out a sound board, the sampled sound of a snare drum filling the space, a warped, funky-sounding instrumental following.

You let me violate you // You let me desecrate you // You let me penetrate you // You let me complicate you

The guitarist shares a mic with the guy on the sound board, offering back-up vocals for the song. He’s getting a little bold now, you think.

I broke apart my insides // (Help me) I’ve got no soul to sell // (Help me) the only thing that works for me // Help me get away from myself

He’s locked eyes with you the whole time, changing the tides of who is winning this staring battle for dominance. Each second his gaze stays on you, you feel smaller and smaller, completely at his mercy. He backs away from the mic, preparing to play and licking his lips in a manner obviously made to make you even dizzier than you already are.

I wanna fuck you like an animal  // I wanna feel you from the inside  // I wanna fuck you like an animal // My whole existence is flawed // You get me closer to God

He glances back at you from his guitar, a smirk decorating his face before he turns to keep playing the song. You’re in a complete daze. He’s clearly won this battle, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

You have to have this man.

Erica caught a some of his little show for you, watching him wink at you and the way your features fell to a focused stare at him. “Girl, get a room next time!” she teases and all you can do is smile back.

When the set is over, you and your friends walk back towards the bar, not wanting to leave just yet. You claim a few of the tiny standing tables, again gathered with Erica at one while the other girls try to cluster around another.

“So…” she starts, giving you a look of anticipation.

“So…?”

“What the hell was going on between you and that guitarist?” she asks, her tone of voice high with excitement.

You laugh, looking down and shrugging your shoulders. “I honestly have no idea,” you say, shaking your head and blushing a little thinking about his little performance. “I thought I was crazy until you said something.”

“Well, whatever it was, you should go for him!” she encourages.

“Please,” you scoff and laugh, “you’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious! While you were having your little… whatever you were having, I was watching the whole band, and the other guys weren’t doing what he did. And he didn’t look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

You stare at her, a blush creeping up on your cheeks and that small fire in your belly growing a little bigger, a little hotter.

Erica looks up over your shoulder, “Oh my gosh, there they are!”

As if on cue, the band walks through one of the back doors. Having just put away their instruments and whatever other equipment they brought. They saunter in, hair wet from the sweat of performing and lifting all their stuff back into their van. Trailing behind the rest is that damn guitarist. He scans the crowd before he sees you, his expression opening with a bit of an urgency as he quickly finds the bar to grab a beer.

You turn back to Erica, mouth dry and nervous. “Please, you have to go talk to him,” she practically begs.

“No, I- I can’t. I don’t even know what to say,” you plead. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Oh, quit it. I saw you looking at him first. You had him going before he got bold with you. You still have game, go get that man!” she says.

“I don’t know, Erica—” you start, but youre quickly caught off by a tap to your shoulder. You turn around and it’s him.

“Hi,” you say, desperately trying to hide the nerves threatening your vocal chords and smile genuinely at him.

“Hi there,” he says. God, his voice is so deep. You couldn’t hear it in all of its beauty before, but it has a bass to it that rumbles in your bones.

You stare blankly at him for a second before you finally pipe up, “Um, that was a good set you guys played.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, looking down at his beer and leaning against the edge of the table.

Erica watches with wide eyes before announcing, “Well, I’m empty. I’m gonna go get a refill, okay?” She winks as she walks away leaving you and this mysterious guitarist alone together.

You turn your gaze back to him and fully take in his features now. His eyes have their own glow to them that persists even with the dim stage lights littered around this bar. His hair is patchy from sweat but still sits pretty. His strong features demand your eyes and you’re unable to look anywhere but him.

He extends his hand out to you, “Name’s Joel.”

“Hi, Joel,” you say, shaking his hand and telling him your name. He echoes it and it sounds beautiful off his tongue. “Listen, I--”

“Y’know, you’ve got one of those faces that stands out in a crowd, anyone ever told you that?”

You shake your head, “No, not necessarily.”

“Well trust me, we’ve played our share of shows and none of them had a pretty girl like you in the audience catchin’ my eye every two seconds.”

You blush, starting to gather your mind back from the sudden thrust into a conversation with who you think might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life now that you’ve had time to really study his features up close. “You’re no different yourself,” you offer.

“How so?”

“I’m just saying, you’d think the prettiest member would be the one front and center, not tucked in a corner by an amp.”

His eyes bounce back and forth between your own not breaking contact as he takes another sip of his beer. “I don’t want just anyone lookin’ my way, I guess. You gotta work to see this pretty face.”

“Pretty, indeed,” you agree, stepping ever so slightly closer to him. “You put on quite a show up there.”

He leans down just a bit, closing the gap between the two of you even more, “Well, I did have quite the eager audience, didn’t I?” he asks.

You stare at each other for a moment before Joel starts, never breaking eye contact, “Listen, I don’t really do this… but I also don’t get distracted like I did tonight…”

You inch closer to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… your friends bring you here?” he asks and you glance at the other table where Erica lingers around your other friends and they’re all looking your way, trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.

“No, we took an Uber.”

“Well, what do you say to savin’ that money you’d pay for an Uber and lettin’ me take you home instead?”

Am I really gonna do this?, you think. Call it a gut feeling or whatever you may want, but the way Joel is looking at you, the way he put on a show just for you, how he spotted you in the crowd to strike up a conversation… Erica did say I need to unwind and let loose…

You grin back at him, “Whose home are we talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know, darlin’,” his tone drops low and deep.

A shiver runs up your spine, that ever-growing fire in your belly burning hotter and hotter. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, making it look miniscule in comparison, and walks you towards the back door he came through earlier. You glance back to the bar, the girls still watching and Erica flashing you a smile and a thumb’s up.

Joel leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you. You see the backseat loaded with what must be his personal equipment before his door creaks open and he sits inside, the whole truck bobbing from the sheer size of this man.

He pulls you closer across the bench seat until your legs are touching, his hand snaking around your waist as you relax against his figure and his hands trace your sides.

“I meant what I said, y’know. That you stand out in a crowd.”

You turn to look at him as he quickly glances at you and you slowly bring your arms up, one landing behind his neck while the other cups his face. You slowly, softly, tenderly kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck leaving open mouth kisses all over. He tilts his head to the side just a little, humming at the feeling and settling his hand right at the swell of your hip, pulling you even closer into his side and squeezing just a bit.

The drive isn’t long at all. He pulls into a parking spot lining the side of the road and once the car is safely in park, he grabs your face with both hands, kissing you deeply. You hum into his mouth, not expecting the sudden movement, and melt into his lips. His soft, warm lips. Your hands trace his body, the two of you unable to get where you want to be from sitting in this truck.

You pull away from him. “Take me inside.”

He immediately leaves the truck urging you to hop out on his side, offering a hand to help you out but not letting go even typing the code for his apartment and after you walk through the door.

You giggle as he pulls you up the stairs of his complex, the two of you itching to have your hands all over one another. You reach the top and he twirls you around in his grip, grabbing you with one hand by the hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses you with an insatiable hunger, like his life absolutely depends on it, as he backs you up until you’re pinned to the door with his entire body pressed against you. 

He fumbles with his keys for the lock to his apartment door, lips locked onto you, eyes closed, lost in the soft sweetness of your lips. He snakes a hand behind the curve of your back to brace you as the door swings open and he pushes you inside.

Your hands tangle in his hair grabbing the soft, damp strands unable to pull him any closer but wanting every inch of him in your mouth, on your lips, practically in your skin. You bite his lower lip making him moan a little into your mouth and your hands reach around to his face, wanting to stay lost in the ocean of his tongue and cheeks forever.

He pulls you back and you whine, already missing the warmth and taste of his tongue, but your disappointment is short lived. “God, darlin’… Need to have you.” he says, voice low and completely feral as he grabs you under the swell of your ass and you jump into his embrace. Your hands wander back up to his hair, pulling and grabbing as he trails his kisses down your chin, your jaw, your neck, soft sounds escaping his lips with every tug and whimper you give him.

His legs mindlessly take him to his bedroom, knowing the pathway instinctively. His mouth leaves your body for just a moment when plops you down at the edge of the bed, but he’s right back on you in an instant, reaching down to the hem of your top. You lift your arms for him to pull it off and he removes it in one fluid motion. He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra next. “This okay?”

Your chest aches with these little moments of tender sweetness from him and you nod, letting him remove your bra and he does so with skill, not fumbling for even a second as he tosses it to the floor.

His eyes immediately dart down, taking you in. He’s all but drooling, his gaze burning hot against your skin. He sinks to his knees taking one tit in his mouth and sucking on your nipple. Your hands immediately run through his hair holding him onto you and humming at the feel of his mouth on you. His other hand grabs your other tit, massaging it and thumbing your growing bud before redirecting his mouth to the other side too.

His hands drop to your sides and run up along your ribcage trailing towards your back, closing you in and burying his face into your neck peppering kisses and licks and nips there. 

“I gotta have you, baby…” he mutters into your neck. “Lay back on my pillows up there.”

You do as you’re told, lounging against his pillows and the headboard of the bed as he pulls his shirt off over his head and crawls up to meet you, hooking his hands in the belt loops of your jeans. He looks up, his gaze silently asking for permission and you nod. He pulls them down along with your panties in one smooth motion.  

You didn’t think about how worked up you had gotten until your hot core, slick with your arousal, meets the cool air of the room sending a chill across your skin. You watch as Joel’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, subconsciously licking his lips and softly grunting at the thought of diving in.

You open your legs wider, inviting him in and he settles between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs locking you right where he wants you, all spread and open for him.

He immediately gets to work, unable to hold back anymore and expertly licks through your folds. His warm, wet tongue feels amazing on you as it dances across every nerve ending down there, each one sending fireworks across your skin. You whine and lean back, lifting your hips up to meet his mouth and squirming under his face.

His hands gently rub your thighs while he drinks you down, his nose occasionally hitting your clit making you whine. He draws flattened circles with his tongue, the surface area hitting you just right. 

“Yes… fuck yes, that feels so good…” you moan.

He moans back, unwilling to leave you for even a moment and he keeps going. One hand falls from your thigh and you keep yourself open for him as best as you can when you feel his thick, calloused fingers teasing your entrance. He slides his middle finger in easily, so he adds his ring finger too, curling up and finding the softest parts of you. But God, are his fingers huge.

Your walls constrict squeezing his fingers and you leak more slick all over his palm. His other fingers flay across your lips and ass, gripping you slightly and he’s got you locked down. 

His tongue continues at your clit while his fingers pump in and out of you, the tips curling up and stroking you perfectly. 

“Right there, Joel… right there… don’t stop… please, don’t stop…” You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the flame burning in your belly all night erupting into a wildfire and igniting every inch of your skin. You feel a tightness start to grow in your belly, inching down your insides as he keeps going, and going, and going, never letting up and reveling in each twitch of your body.

You look up and see him lying flat, his hips subconsciously moving against his boxers and jeans and sheets, getting himself off just from your taste. Finally, he opens his eyes, dark with lust and locks his gaze with you with one especially deep push and curl of his fingers and another wink. That fucking wink. 

“Fuck… fuck…!” It sends you over the edge. The coil snaps and a warm flood fills your body spilling out onto Joel’s hand and into his waiting mouth. He grunts and whines, his tongue never stopping, not even for a second, as he drinks every ounce of your slick getting drunk on your juices.

He only pulls away when you pull him off by his hair, a single line if your arousal still connecting him to you and a groan leaving his lips as he lets you go. You fall back onto the pillow, legs collapsing from their own weight and twitching from your orgasm, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Joel sits up licking his palm and bringing his fingers up to your mouth, jaw slacked and panting. Your mouth closes around his fingers and he groans, “That’s it, good girl,” he coos and you hum around his digits.

When you fully come back down to Earth, you can’t help but chuckle in the afterglow of your orgasm. Joel rests on his heels gently stroking your knees and you cover your eyes with your forearm, one big sigh leaving your lips. “I guess I should have expected a guitar player to have some skilled fingers,” you joke and Joel chuckles. “That was so fucking good.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not done with you just yet, pretty girl,” Joel teases, holding out his hand to help you sit up. You do and he meets you with a sweet kiss, his hands cupping almost all of your face as he kisses you sweetly.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, you notice another amp sitting in the corner of the room. This one looks old, unused, and the cable management could use some work, to say the least.

Joel follows your eyeline. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“That’s a lot of cables for a little speaker like that,” you say, following the tangled mess of wires scattered on the floor. “Why don’t you use that one?”

“Jus’ got old. Bought a new one and I didnt need it anymore.”

A depraved idea pops in your head and the question leaves your lips before you can even fully think it through. “Those wires… how strong do you think they are?”

Joel looks back at your face, eyebrow cocked up slightly, “What d'ya mean?”

Your bashfulness catches up quick, a shy blush pricking your cheeks. “I mean… just the outside looks braided, almost… it kinda looks like… I don’t know, kinda like a rope…”

His face softens, a look of intrigue spreading across his gaze. “Go on,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, dripping with sultry tease.

You look up through your lashes feeling more vulnerable that you have to ask specifically (he seems to love it, though). “Well… I guess, how well do you think they’d hold a knot…?”

He bites back a smirk but can’t quite hide his excitement. “Kinky…” he says with a little nod. “I like it.”

He rises from the bed but he doesn’t turn to grab the wires. Instead, he reaches for his belt, the buckle clinking against itself. “But you gotta earn it first, sweet girl.” He pulls his belt out of the loops of his jeans and tosses it to the side. 

He pauses a second before reaching for the button and zipper, enough time for you to crawl to the foot of the bed and rest your hands on his. You slowly move them away and take over, undoing his button and slowly zipping his pants apart. 

You reach under his groin cupping his covered balls in your hand and he hums. He barely fits in your palm and you salivate at what could be beneath those boxers of his. You look up at him with another gentle squeeze before pulling both down, his cock springing out and up against his lower tummy as he steps out of his pants, the tip already red and leaking.

Your eyes widen when you really take in his size and you salivate. You wrap your hand around him and very slowly pump his length, getting a feel for his size and weight and staring at him the whole time.

He looks down at you, eyes still dark and mouth slightly open. “Go ‘head, baby. Kiss it.”

You feel a flutter in your belly again already and you do as he says, kissing the slit before taking the whole head into your mouth and circling your tongue around it. His eyes roll back and he lifts his head up to the ceiling with a groan, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head.

You slowly take him inch by inch making him slick with your spit and using your hand to pump whatever you cant reach. Your other hand gently squeezes his balls and you feel his grip on your hair tighten a bit.

“That’s it, baby… Mouth feels so good f’me…” He starts to slowly push you down his length, taking him deeper and deeper and being careful not to get ahead of himself. 

But then you moan around his length sending lightning up his spine and it feels so fucking good… A guttural groan booms from his chest and he starts to slip, pushing you a little too far a little too fast and you gag, pulling off until it just rests on your bottom lip, spit gathering at his tip and spilling over the corners of your mouth. 

Tears prick the sides of your eyes and his hand reaches down to wipe them away. “Shit— I’m sorry… are you alright?”

You cough and catch your breath, something new and hot burning through your veins. Something about the way he lost all control… “It’s okay, I’m okay,” you say when you pull yourself together a little bit. You wipe the corners of your mouth and reach up to slowly pump his length again. “Let me try again.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” you say, looking up through your tear-soaked lashes, a small smile ghosting your lips as you nod. 

He nods back and you take him in your mouth again, closing your eyes and breathing through it, trying to focus on taking as much of him down your throat as you can.

His hands find the back of your head again, not pushing anymore but tangling through your hair as you work.

He looks down and sees your eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration and taking him so well. He drops a hand back down to your jaw, “Eyes on me, gorgeous.”

You carefully open your eyes to look up at him and when you do, his brows furrow with desperation, unable to look away from you as you bob up and down his length, hands once again pumping the length you can’t reach and massaging his balls.

“Shit, baby… that’s it…” he moans, watching the way your cheeks hollow and lips flush red from taking him. He’s twitching in your mouth and you think you’ve got him, flattening your tongue when he touches the back of your throat and swirling up his length as you pull back.

His abs start to tighten and you taste the slightly salty precum leaking from his tip. You work up the nerve to suppress your gag reflex as best you can, taking a few deep breathes before pushing yourself all the way down, taking his cock up to the hilt.

You stay there, letting your protesting throat constrict around him and he whines, his hand in your hair tightening and making you moan, another bolt of lightning taking over his entire being. His cock jumps in your throat and you think he’s a goner for sure—

He pulls you off his length completely and you gasp for air while he catches his breath too. “Nuh uh, baby. It can’t be over yet,” he says breathlessly.

You pout up at him, your doe eyes almost black from how blown your pupils are.

“Get back on the bed,” he demands.

So you do, rising a little wobbly from your knees and crawling back up onto the bed. Joel walks to the corner of the room and unplugs some of the cords plugged into the old amp. 

He digs around in his nightstand and pulls out a condom before walking back over to the bed where you’re kneeling on the mattress. He sees you eyeing the little packet pinched between his fingers. “What’s th’ matter?”

You look at him, a blush forming on your face. “Oh, I…” Your mouth goes dry and you clear your throat. “…um, you don’t— I mean, I’m on the pill so, um… If you don’t wanna…” you ramble, trying to find your words but failing in your shyness.

He smiles smugly, tossing the condom to the side. “’S okay. I hear you loud and clear.”

You take a relieved breath and watch him stand there as he starts separating the wires. He twirls his finger in the air and you turn your body to face away from him.

“Gimme your hands, darling,” he says, firmly but gently.

You obey, reaching your hands behind your back. His giant hand easily fits both in one grip and he wraps one cable around your wrists.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, facing away from Joel so he can’t see, but you’re sure it’s audibly obvious when you ask “So this must be where the band name came from then, hm?” as he ties a comfortable knot around your wrists.

“What d’ya mean?”

“Fetters. Like restraints. Usually they’re on the ankles but I guess it’s the same principle.”

He breathes a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t help with the name all that much, but I guess ya’ really do learn somethin’ new every day,” he says just as he tightens the loose, but still restrictive, knot around your wrists.

You shimmy in them a little, surprised at how well they hold together. His hands are still there, rubbing over the covering of the cords and brushing against the warmth of your skin.

“These look real pretty on you, y’know,” he mutters from behind you.

You chuckle and ask, “You tell all the groupies that?”

He grabs your chin to face him, eyes scanning over your face for a second and planting a kiss to your lips before a positively devious smirk spreads across his face. Before you know it, he puts his hand on your back gently pushing down so your chest hits the bed. 

“No, I don’t,” he says and you hear his footsteps fade. You sit there, face pressed against the mattress and ass in the air, desperately trying to crane your neck to see where in the world he’s going leaving you like this, all out in the open and exposed.

He treads back into the room and climbs back onto the bed right behind you, calves brushing up against the inside of your own as he grabs your hips to straighten them.

“I don’t tell the groupies nothin’,” he starts. “Usually jus’ ask if they want an autograph.”

The unmistakable click of a Sharpie cap rings in your ears and you feel the cold tip of the pen dragging along the skin right below the small of your back. You gasp, surprised at the unexpected feeling, completely shocked at the sheer audacity of this man, and you can’t help the butterflies it gives you, the way you mewl so quietly at the thought of him marking you with his name — his signature, no less — in such an intimate place.

You need to find a way to keep this man.

The pen trails off at the end and he recaps the marker, tossing it somewhere to the side before you feel his hands smoothing over your hips. He lets out a low toned, one-note whistle at you, staring at the dark ink branding your lower back. “Now, what a pretty view I have,” he says, a tantalizing, saccharine sweet tone lacing his words.

You can’t hold back the whimper that falls from your mouth at his teasing, his big warm hands rubbing big circles over each cheek. 

He sees you clenching around nothing. “Want me to fuck you now, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please,” you whine, earning you a light tap on your ass.

He pulls on the cords and wraps an arm around your torso, bringing you up flush to his torso and reaching a hand to your mouth. “Gimme some help.”

You spit into his hand and he hums in content. “Atta girl,” he says, gently laying you back down and pumping his length with the wetness. You feel the tip of his cock rub against your folds and you squirm. He grabs your hip with his free hand as he lines himself up to notch right at your entrance. He slowly pushes just the tip in, the pressure making you moan.

“I gotcha, baby. Jus’ relax f’me,” he coos, pushing inch by inch into you letting you adjust to his size. Your walls twitch at the intrusion and your breathing gets heavier, soft sounds escaping your lips. Eventually, he’s up to the hilt and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. You subconsciously swirl your hips, the movement inside making you whine.

“Shit, baby… so fuckin’ tight…” Joel breathes, squeezing your hips and trying not to lose his cool too quickly. His cock bounces and he grunts, taking a minute before slowly pulling out of you as you whine at the loss. It’s short lived, though, because he’s immediately pushing back into you, the stretch and burn pulling a desperate groan from your throat. 

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like how that feels?” he moans, picking up the pace slightly with each thrust. 

“Yes— fuck, feels so good…” you moan. The way his cock drags along your walls makes your belly burn hot. His grip on your hips tight and threatening to bruise if he squeezes any harder, but you couldn’t care less. Just another way for him to mark you as his.

“Squeezin’ my cock so good… she’s achin’, baby…” He’s very talkative, you think and decide to play into it. 

“She’s all yours, Joel. Pussy belongs to you,” you say as you squeeze him again, the pressure in your belly growing with each gentle kiss to your cervix that his tip gives you. 

You feel his pace falter for a second, his grip tightening at that. “Yeah? Say it again. Who’s she belong to?” he says, pounding into you now, unable to keep control of his pace anymore.

You whine loudly with one of his thrusts when he drags up a bit hitting something new inside of you, something your ex surely hadn’t ever found before. Something you definitely had on your own but never this deep…

“Theeere it is,” he coos, pressing your torso down some more to get the angle just right and he’s hitting that soft, spongy part of you with every snap of his hips. You can barely form the words to tell him how fucking good it feels, nonsense whimpers leaving your mouth instead.

“Answer me, baby… Belongs to who?” His pace doesn’t let up and you can’t get the words out. “C’mon, you can do it, gorgeous… tell me…” he insists, slowly rubbing his hand across his own signature that’s been staring back at him.

“Sh… fuck, oh my god… she belongs to you, Joel…”

“That’s my good girl,” he says, leaning down and planting kisses down your spine, snaking a hand around to your front and circling your clit.

You cry out in pleasure, all the sensations getting to be too much. A flood of wetness spills out with a twitch of your insides making Joel’s cock slippery, letting him push in and pull out easier than before. He picks up his pace again with ease, rapidly hurdling you towards the edge.

My good girl…

That one little word finally hits you after a minute. 

My.

His unrelenting fingers on your clit… the way his tip hits your cervix with every snap of his hips… my good girl… it’s all too much. “Fuck… fuck… fuck, ‘mgonnacome…” you mumble in a high pitched whine.

“Fuck yes, baby… come all over my cock, that’s it… feels so fuckin’ good, darlin’…” he moans from behind you, the grip on your hips definitely bruising now as he keeps pounding into you. Your back arches and your whole body writhes as your walls squeeze him impossibly tight. Your vision blurs and you have no control over the downright pornographic sounds escaping your mouth. All you feel is warmth everywhere.

“Holy shit—” you hear Joel but he sounds far away, your head still spinning with pleasure. “Fuckin’ hell, baby…” When you feel like you can finally see again, you see a wet spot on the bed and your eyes go wide, quickly craning your head around as best you can and see Joel’s thighs soaked from you.

“Oh, shit— I-I’m sorry, oh my fucking god, I didn’t meant—” you stop mid sentence when Joel plows into you again bottoming out completely, your words trailing off into a wailing moan.

He drags out slowly but quickly regains his momentum. “Fuck, baby… Chokin’ my dick so good… So. Fucking. Hot,” he says, punctuating his words with the slap of his hips on your ass.

Your legs start to give out under you and it’s like Joel already knows you’re almost too gone to take anymore as he unties the knot at your wrists, your arms falling to the bed. He flips you over, managing to stay inside, and lays you on your back. Your hair lays messily on the pillow and Joel leans down to fix it, tracing his fingers along the side of your face and kissing you deeply.

When he pulls away, he stares at your fucked-out eyes, his own completely taken over by his pupils so much that you can barely tell what color they actually are anymore. “Baby, you gotta give me one more…” he begs.

You raise your eyebrows worriedly, unsure if you can actually take anymore. You whine at his ask and he gives you another quick kiss, resting his forehead against your own when he pulls away, your lips barely touching. He’s moving in and out of you at a snail’s pace, so close to his own orgasm that any extra movement would cause him to snap. “Please, baby, I know you can do it. Doin’ so good for me already, just one more…”

You nod weakly and stare through hooded eyes. “Thank you, angel,” he sighs, gently fucking into you a little quicker and peppering kisses at the corners of your mouth. Your hands trail up to his shoulders rubbing up and down on his soft skin. Forehead pressed to yours again, you feel him panting, small moans and whimpers filling your ears.

“Feel so good…” you use all your strength to whimper out, barely above a whisper. His eyes open, brows furrowed in desperation. You feel him twitching hard now, so close to his own orgasm but not wanting this to end.

“S’good, Joel… so big…” He whimpers at your words, his hips moving erratically, unpredictably. He’s close, you think. And it eggs you on.

“Want you to come for me… Please…”

“Yeah? You want it?” he breathes. 

“Please…” you say again in a whimper, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Where, baby? Want it inside?”

“Yes, inside… please, please, please…” you beg.

“Come with me baby… wanna feel you squeezin’ me… fuck— c-can you do that?”

You whine and nod, having been teetering on the edge of overstimulation with another orgasm growing in your belly. You roll your hips slightly into him, the extra movement sending shivers down your spine.

“So close, baby, I can feel it… ‘s right there, she’s chokin’ me…” he grunts out, painfully holding back his own until you come undone under him again.

Which doesn’t take long, a flutter of your heart and one big wave of arousal covering you from head to toe making you see stars. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, unable to even make a sound as you come on his length all over again.

“Fuck… fuck… good girl, ‘m gonna come—”

Joel’s breathing quickens, becoming ragged and broken as he grunts and whines and spills inside of you. His lips press to your forehead suppressing his noises with kisses there as he empties himself inside of you, filling you up completely.

Your hands scrape his back at his shoulders, your senses all blurring into one another. Joel’s weight falls on top of you as he moves his kisses down from your forehead to your nose and finally to your lips, his tongue licking into you as you feel his cock finally stop twitching. He sits back to pull out of you watching as his cum leaks out of you. You whine at the loss feeling empty but still so full from him, shivering as you feel it dripping down your body.

Joel wipes his sweat-ridden brow and sighs with a goofy smile as he looks down at you. Your body is still jolting from your last orgasm. Any more and you would have been overstimulated beyond belief.

“Now that I definitely don’t do with the groupies, sweetheart,” he teases.

You give him a playful glare and chuckle at him. “What about all that autograph nonsense, then?”

“Well, you got the first of its kind. Never signed anyone there before.”

You blush and stretch a little, suddenly feeling that damp spot from earlier. You sit up in panic and sit back leaning against his pillows again. “Shit, Joel. I’m so sorry. That’s never happened before, I—”

“Stop,” he cuts you off. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Sheets can be washed.”

“But I made a mess—”

“C’mere, baby,” he says, extending a hand out to you. You take it and he pulls you towards him, both of you on your knees facing each other as his arm snakes around your torso pulling you even closer into him. “‘M gonna get you cleaned up, ‘kay? Got a spare bedroom we can use anyway.”

You stare into his eyes, his words bouncing around in your head. We can use. “We?” you ask.

He scrunches his eyebrows, raising one at you. “What, you wanna run away already? Was it that bad?” he jokes.

“Oh, quit,” you say, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, standing up at the end of the bed and holding his arms out to you. “C’mon, pretty girl, how’s a warm bath sound, hm?”

“Sounds amazing, actually.” You grab his hands and stand up, taking a second to get your balance before following Joel to the bathroom.

When you’re all cleaned up, you walk into his living room wearing one of his t-shirts, a pair of his boxers, and some very oversized socks that he left in the bathroom for you to change into, towel drying the rest of your hair so it's not dripping everywhere. He sits on his couch, fresh pajamas on and dampened hair from the shower he took in the other smaller bathroom.

He taps the space next to him inviting you to sit, TV on and low, playing some random movie he found to fill the silence around him while waiting for you. You curl up into him, you warm from your bath and him warm from relaxing. He squeezes you close, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

Erica was right. You really did need this. Maybe it's stupid that you're growing so fond of this guy and you've known him for just a night, but there really is something about him. Something you can't quite explain...

You spend the rest of the night curled up next to Joel, your entire being content and you can only think one thing:

You’re not letting this one go easily. This one’s gonna be yours.

All yours.

a/n : thank y'all again so much for 100 followers, it means so much seriously 💜🫶🥹 and thank you for reading this fic that absolutely got away from me in the end, this idea tortured me for weeks and hopefully letting him out into the world will give me some peace finally 😭 but really, thank you guys so much and i hope everyone enjoys !!

[tangents-within-tangents]

Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities (and if I was I couldn't speak for everyone). What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs. 

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people. 

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (most likely caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before: 

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding: 

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful. 

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual: 

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

So

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience. 

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass 

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation. 

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life. 

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation 

[leoruby-draws]

Next up is Owen Mercer aka Boomerang Jr, son of Captain Boomerang and the speedster of the TrWh Outlaw team! Get ready for another long post you guys, god my hands are hurting this week arrughhh.

Owen's a fun character to draw and has a fun personality in general. He's more angsty and dark in the comics but since Digger finds out about him early on, Owen's much more happy in this au. Digger and Owen have a fantastic father-son relationship and Owen really looks up to him. Digger is so happy he found Owen but is kinda frantic on how to raise him, being a villain isn't the best job for a dad. Not sure what age Digger discovers him, maybe 10 or so?

That mini version of Digger's outfit is what Owen would've worn if he was discovered even younger (he's 4-6 in that doodle), preteen Owen would've found that outfit a bit too silly for his tastes tho.

Honestly I'm not sure if Owen even lives with him, since Digger is a rogue and probably in jail more often than not, Owen might still be in foster care. I don't remember if Owen was shown to be adopted in the comics, he was already shown to be an adult. Btw, concerning Owen's age*, I'm slightly lowering his age to better fit with Jason's age group (he's 12 to Jason's 10). He, along with Jack Moore, are the oldest of the team, too bad Owen doesn't care about acting his age!

While Owen loves hanging out with his father, he also likes to hang out with the Flash aka Barry Allen. Barry has been mentoring Owen on and off (much to Wally's dismay) and has been slowly pushing him towards heroism. He's knows Owen's got a good heart and see's that he has the potential to access the speedforce. Owen's a character that's caught between two worlds, rogue and hero. Does he want to follow in his father's footsteps or go follow Barry?

What a conundrum, but this is a problem he had in the comics. His struggle to figure what to do with his life. Actually, I think I heard somewhere he was actually created with the intent to replace Wally as the Flash but they dropped that plot point, leaving him adrift in the comics. Let me know if that's wrong tho!

Captain Cold aka Leonard Snart isn't helping matters as you can see in that vague threat up there, I'd like to better define that relationship between those two but I'd need to read more comics with Leonard to do that.

Here I have Owen with some of his friends and his dad. I said in my last post with Rankorr, that he and Owen's friendship is a nod towards the famous Green Lantern/Flash partnership. Owen's always trying to get Jack to loosen up and have fun, Jack sometimes finds this annoying but is slowly letting Owen in his life. You can see up there Owen giving Jason a ride someplace, bet Jason wishes he took the bus lol.

You can see Owen gushing over Para Dice, his canonical girlfriend from Rebirth. Owen at some point meets her in Australia and has an instant crush on her. Para is a rather mysterious girl, but has taken a liken to Owen as well. Still too young for a proper romance tho, plus Owen would need to sharpen up his speed skills if he wants to make this LDR work.

There's Digger training Owen in the art of the boomerang, rogue or hero, any son of Cap. Boomerang will be a learn to toss a good boomerang!

Another drawing of these two, aren't they adorable?

Here's Owen bother poor Lisa Snart aka Golden Glider. Owen can be a little insensitive, tho he's never actually malicious in intent (usually). Always thought it was weird that Lisa was considered a candidate for Owen's mother, she didn't seem old enough for that (Owen was like early twenties). Anyways Lisa thinks he's an annoying little twerp...

...and not the only one. Here's Owen bothering poor Jesse. Also you can see I messed up on her shirt design, wasn't really thinking about what I was drawing I guess. I do that sometimes lol.

On the nature of Owen's and Jason's relationship, they seem to quite like each other. Neither of them had many friends before the team, and find easy camaraderie in having simple boyish fun together, which is something they kinda needed in life. You'll sometimes see them making complex plans for the next prank (Lori is invited as well).

In team dynamics, Jason can find Owen tendency to not take fights seriously kinda annoying. While Owen can sometimes disregard Jason's leadership (should Jason be leader that day I mean) due to him being younger. Friction isn't common between them though, perhaps because they got a lot in common.

From being caught between opposing morality, difficulty in finding a niche in the DC comics, even in trying to discover who their mothers are. Its can be validating to know people who understand what your going through.

Little more focus on Owen's relations, I said that Barry has been trying to steer Owen towards good but I also think that Barry just thinks that Owen is just a fun little guy in general. I'd think they get along pretty well, Wally looks so pissed tho. There was this one comic where Hal had Wally as a sidekick for a day and Barry was pretty jealous. Guess the reverse is happening here. Wally's a favored target for Owen's pranks, so this whole situation is just very annoying to him.

Here's Digger introducing Owen to the rogues, Leonard looks befuddled at all this (Digger got a girl preggo? crazy).

Wanted to have Digger and Owen watch cartoons together, so I looked up Australian cartoons, found something called Bluey. Apparently it's super popular, even adults like it. So I found some free cartoons on youtube and yeah. It really is that good. Look it up if you want to see some fun, relaxing cartoons with smart writing!

To finish off this mass of words, here's Owen being a goofball with Eddie and Jason. I'm slowly finding that Owen's got a pretty fun dynamic with most anyone I draw him with. So that's been fun.

All this and I still haven't gone into Meloni and Bart, but it's best if I leave that for later. Anyways, hoped you like all that!

*About Owen's age, the comics never specified what his age actually was. All I know he's in his twenties but still younger than Dick's age group. Young enough to be unsure of his place in the world, but old enough that his 'relationship' with Kara to be weird. I guess it'd be less weird in my au with a smaller age gap, but that's still not happening.

[ryansosilly]

I just had to check to see if you were chill like that!!1! Some people only do scrawny petite bottom reader 😒

anyways may I request some headcanons with a big buff male reader, like taller than ghost so everyone thinks he’s a dom but he’s actually a subtop, please and thank you 🙏 feel free to do any characters you’d like but I’d really appreciate if you included Makarov or Keegan :3

sincerely, 🩻 anon

i am such a sucker for big buff subtops you guys don't even know how deep that shi goes in my brain. Even have a whole ass big buff cod oc that I'm itching to draw more about 😞 thank you so much 🩻 anon for this blessing of a request!

I've decided to do headcanons for those characters, in order:

All of Task force (Price, Gaz, Ghost, Roach and Soap)

The 'Famous Kortac' chars (Krueger, König, Nikto and Horangi)

The ' questionable but if drunk enough I'd let em hit it' (Makarov, Graves, Alejandro and bonus of Keegan)

If you want more characters than that, you outta specify but trust me I am VERY much into writing much longer headcanons and with a lot more characters. So the more the merrier! I'm going to part them by sections in the following order above!

I tried to make it make sense for both if you're a part of the team AND if you're just a civilian so you don't feel forced into anything. No specifics used for the reader other than the fact they're big buff and a submissive top just as the anon requested! You can look like anything, here, I'll NEVER use such descriptors!! This is for EVERYONE regardless of race, weight, eye colour, age (as long as 18+) and allat bullshit.

Task Force

Captain John Price

Hasn't had any experience before with another man. I'm DEFINITELY certain he has fucking grinder on that ancient Nokia of his. He definitely called himself a bear a couple times as a joke but never went on a date or tried anything. So for his first experience with a guy to be a big buff man? Yeah good luck buddy. Poor Man was struggling for a while, it took a lot of trial and error if you know what I mean for him to find out what actually worked and what he liked.

Low-key bruh? He was kinda intimidated at first. A bit ashamed and even his pretty damn secure masculinity took a hit he barely recovered from. Luckily, just being picked up and craddled like a god damn no weight damsel in distress had him already ready to go back with no thoughts of shame and regret.

What DEFINITELY helped was how he basically saw you like a big puppy wolf without the 'bad' part. Yes, you were an outstanding soldier (if you are in the military) that was for sure but when he told you to sit, you sat your ass DOWN!!! the obedience you gave him with just enough 'dom' in you to fuck him good enough to leave him dizzy after that was exactly what he needed in his life

Easy to say that ever since you two started dating, he has had a de-stress 'funtime' very often that everyone noticed.

He isn't too kinky of a guy tbh. But......sommeetimmeesss maaybee he'd be willing to pull a collar with his name on you. Not full on petplay or anything. He just liked seeing it above him, maybe with a complimentary leash to pull on if you went too hard for his liking.

He has an above average libido, which only applies to his relationship with you. It slowed down and calmed with time but for the first time and the next much after, he was a BEAST (and had the hair to back it up)

He joked that you brought the size of the big bad wolf and he brought the 'bad and hair' to the table so you were basically complete.

Ghost was the grandma and Soap and Gaz were both the red riding hood. (They argued about it)

His FAVOURITE part isn't just you being on the more submissive part tho. It's actually the comfortable hugs you provide. And the fact you let him give you just as much comfort. It felt very peaceful, he respected the equality you had between each other that despite the differences, you were definitely equals. (Not so much when he is in commando mode on the battlefield but that is NO foreplay little games)

If I were to be completely honest, he ain't that much into doing it in public like I've seen him being written. He wouldn't do it on his desk that's for sure. And if you suggested that? He'll slap the living shit out of you and bring your tallass to your KNEES to apologise. Then maybe he'll feel bad and PERCHANCE let you hit it as long as there's no paperwork there.

What he will do? Maybe would give you some support from under the desk but of course. It's only okay if your desk. If not? Then you gotta be down on your knees. He isn't much of a giver but definitely a taker.

He has a shirt called "old men yaoi" that he was given by Soap. Did you ever explain to him what that means and why he shouldn't wear it when In meetings?..

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Oh Gaz was a mess. He hasn't even THOUGHT about dating a man before..i mean yeah sure maybe he did THINK of looking up some gay porn from time to time but it couldn't possibly mean anything, right? Yeah he was a boykisser full and through. Then he was wondering why his relationship with women rarely worked out. He was more a girl's girl than most girls were.

And that confusion lead him into your arms. And goodness me. That was a ride for sure! Haha get it? Ride. He rode you like a fucking bull when he got used to the feelings. He was an UNSTOPPABLE force once he got comfortable.

I don't really think he was as insecure outwardly, he didn't feel ashamed to be out with you because he loved you very very much so and he didnt see shame in that. Only a little inside doubts he dared not share. Maybe a tiny bit of internalised homophobia.

For a while, he was growing a lot more doubtful that he tried to fit the stereoptupical 'feminine' role before you two had even started having sex. You were masc so he was supposed to be fem even if he didn't feel like it, yeah? That did not work out. A lot of victims (people eating burnt food) and sacrifices ( burnt kitchen and kitchen appliances) fell tragically due to those attempts..

You had to sit him down and explain to him everything. Once that little misunderstanding was out of the way and mostly his mind, the real fun for him began. Due to how big you were, he decided it was no longer necessary for him to do most of the stupid chores around, so, he just told you around with such nice sweet words like 'Honey, can you please carry the trash out for me?'

The trash was not even half his size and even in your hands but he just didn't feel like it and really liked seeing your muscles flex when you picked something up.

Sometimes he even purposely made things a bit HARDER for you to pick up. Like putting extra weights on your pole when you were lifting at the gym when you weren't looking, like sometimes even attempting to do that couple thing of 'sitting on your back' while you were doing pushups.

Lord have mercy on his soul when you actually managed to do a decent set of pushups with him on your back??? Yeah you were set for LIFE.

He was more of a switch when it came to bring dominant or submissive. He didn't mind anything as long as it was with you. He did get a kick out of being the Dom so he did lean on it most of the time. He felt a little confused how a person who fucks him senselessly can be so submissive but let me tell you. He QUICKLY got the hand of it and used it well

He wasn't too freaky at the start either. In fact, he barely had any libido for a while, taking a bit of time to accept everything. Once he accepted he, he fell off the deep end. He decided to do the fatal mistake of looking up stuff about gay sex to make himself understand everything better and to possibly even impress you during your first time together. And uh..oh.. um. He fell right down the trap of bsdm. There was no going back. Some still did disgust him. Like for example, there was no fucking petplay, not even a tiny element of it. You were on an equal footing. What there was a lot of? Handcuffs, bondage, scratching and biting. Yeah all of that was in. He still mostly leaned on wanting to try different positions like being fucked while being held up. He had done it before with a girl but for him to experience the 'girl' role? Was an eye opening experience..might as well call it a spiritual detour for him.

Your height and size did attract a lot more people than he would like it to. He finally understood why those girls acted like that in his past. Yeah you were definitely holding his hand whenever you went out. Bitches need to back the fuck OFF. He wasn't possessive to an unhealthy amount tho. Maybe only a little anxious and jealous but definitely keeping it real, he was an overall healthy individual to be in a relationship with once all of that doubt when away. He was in for the long run and you better be.

But if you fucking say something like "chocolate vanilla swirl" he will punch your teeth out.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

(I'm going specifically w Og Ghost for this one but due to how little we know about current reboot Ghost we might as well group them. There WILL be heavier topics discussed here in only this section due to how complex Ghost is. I am not going to water him down or romanticise his situation.)

⚠️Some trigger warnings: mentions of rape, sexual assault and his fear of intimacy. Basically keep in mind his fucking backstory when you read this section. If you do not think this will be suitable, I'll put a divider from when the possibly triggering part starts so you can skip it.

Ghost was bewildered. No fucking way. Absolutely not. There is NOTHING going up his.. ahem. Maybe. On Sundays cuz it's not gay obviously. He was DOWN BAD. he has gone through so many fucking issues, that he was afraid of loving anything and anyone and he falsely fell down into the rabbit hole of 'nobody is coming to save you, get up.' it got him through everything.

But finally somebody came and actually helped him. And instead of it being the stereotypical princess that he had saved during previous missions.. it was an absolute unite of a man picking him up, swinging him over his fucking shoulder and RUNNING faster than how Ghost ran when not injured or carrying a grown ass man. Maybe that was when he fell in love. But he didn't have a clue what was coming for him.

Oh just you wait until he finally let you in. It was no easy job. He even put you through ACTUAL IN REAL LIFE TESTS. INCLUDING papers and physical. Yeah you can't jump as high as a horse to make it through the field? Wrap it up. (He'll let you try again. It didn't even NEED to be if you were in the military like him. Even as a civilian, he'll treat you like a soldier. Sorry not sorry.)

he pushed you to your absolute limits. Guaranteeing that you'll stay just as big.and ho ho. He LOVED it. Seeing THE Ghost Riley entering a room already made everyone tense. Now? There was an entire Godzilla behind him entering with, acting like his fucking bodyguard without even lifting a finger.

in a way also..he was just.. a bit envious. You were strong, big and intimidating. Everything he wanted to be and everything he WORKED to be. His peace of mind came from the fact you were very submissive. The one thing he wasn't. He worked on himself throughout the relationship to change his beliefs. Instead of being envious, he accepted you as an equal, someone he admired but wasn't envious of.

Back to big scary bouyfriend though

i doubt anyone would be dumb enough to even speak back to seeing an intimidating man, an even bigger and scarrier man behind him with a big German Sheppard that looks very ready to attack any second. (I love Riley)

Riley approves of you as his boyfriend.

If you're in the army: He'll definitely take you around on the meetings with him. The possibility of someone not being intimidated by him alone are low and the chances after torture are even lower to zero. But with you behind him? Just lurking? Not even having to do the heavy lifting unless asked to by him? Yeah. Unstoppable.

For a while it almost made him sick with power. Or that's what he thought the feeling was. The feeling actually was just him falling in love deeper. It stopped behind casual when he started calling you up shamelessly at night to come over.

If you're not in the army? He wasn't even a little worried later on in your relationship. At the start? Yes, he still DEMANDED to accompany you but it took you beating up one person for him to be convinced that you can go alone so he can be tightly snoozing at 6pm on a free day after his tea. (He still tracked your location occasionally. He made sure to ask for permission, of course. If you said no, he'll not do it and instead accompany you more. No matter how strong you were, he will never truly not be afraid of losing you. He is NOT like those weirdos make him up to be.)

He really liked buying you specifically clothes. Maybe a little bit of a gooner one might say but he would love it if you were to casually pull up with a compression shirt on. Only you. Nobody else. If anything, everyone else wearing it outside of duty got a disgusted look from him. You were the only eyecandy he would feast his eyes on.

As a first time, he probably had you sit down with a folder of gay porn, showing you every video of what he wanted done. A bit weird of a bloke he was but alright. He did his research. He did not feel even a Little shame for showing you everything. He WILL get a laser pointer or a damn teacher ruler to point at the screen to make sure you're paying attention. That was no joke, stop laughing!!! Immediately!!! ( He is not very socially aware)

⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY FROM ⚠️

vvv⚠️HERE⚠️vvv

It took a little bit for him to change it in his mind that it was not casual to have sex. And it was even less casual for you to STAY after you were done 'using him up' (as he'd

put it). To stay and dry his tears, the comfortable and warm aftercare. For the first time's, he ended up crying in the middle of the act. He didn't feel as safe for a very long time and the crying never did stop. It simply changed meanings. From the fear to relief and safety, thankfullness. You were softer, you listened to him even if you were bigger than his previous male assaulters.

You heard him, you allowed him the control he desperately needed. You made him feel safe and even if he struggled for a really really long time saying no if you were to ask him to have sex out of pure fear, he managed to get himself to speak up when he truly wasn't feeling up to it.

It meant the entire world to him that you actually read his body language, how uncomfortable he was at times, asked him if he was okay and etc. He felt truly seen, not exposed.

I think he switches from being very hypersexual, wanting you whenever you were both free to not wanting anything to do with sex for weeks to no end. You being understanding to his situation made him feel better and his moods will stabilise with time to a more consistent pattern.

TRIGGER WARNINGS NO LONGER NEEDED FROM HERE DOWN!!

He is DEFINITELY not as he is commonly written. He will NOOOOT have sex on the battlefield no matter what you asked and how much you begged. The battlefield is serious and he won't even entertain flirting if the situation is especially serious. Doesn't mean that HE won't flirt with YOU but you're not allowed to! Only he gets a pass. Same with joking. It's only okay if he does it and you better respect it or he'll give you a nasty look!!

His head is too busy to even think about kinks at times but what he is never too busy to not hate is quickies. Not sure why. He just doesn't seem like the guy.

He is a confusing guy. Sometimes he is into something then the next day he isn't. The best way to find out is usually to ask but that doesn't even go well all the time.

Yeah your absolutely massive size plays a part in what he is into all the time tho. Uncertain why but I think he is into the pretty normal positions like him being on his back and you above him humping like a feral dog just as he told you to. Bonus if you hold his hands, intertwined fingers and all. Sometimes when at home, not deployed, he likes it on the weirdest places. The complete opposite of his work self. On the table? Hell yeah! You might as well just lift him up, put him on the table and fuck him right there and then. The bathroom sink? A little nasty but won't say no if there's a mirror. He DEFINITELY likes reminding you how you look, embarrassing you, even SOMETIMES mocking you if you told him that was okay earlier.

"look at yourself, I must feel so good, huh? Keep going then."

sometimes he is more entertained by watching you than the sex itself

Oh but the sex itself is NOT to ignore tho, sometimes he is left so shaky legs from pushing both yours and HIS limits that he can barely walk. Yet.. still tries to trot out, marching like a soldier with awkwardly high raise of his sore knees and heavy steps. He looks like a duck or a toddler learning to walk. You should help him!

Not vanilla, he does dip his toes into some freaky things from time to time. He uses your height and muscles against you a LOOOT. Even if you aren't a soldier, he expects you to act like one. You WILL respect him as an lieutenant in bed.

Specifics of what he is into? He just kind of likes mimicking you. Whatever he notices you're into, suddenly he'll act like he has been into it for years. Does draw the lines at toilet play and the really down bad degenerate things. Surprisingly? He also does not like choking that much. He does it, but really rarely and it's not even breath play, it's just him holding your neck to pull you down. And don't even THINK about reach for his neck or your fingers will be broken there and then.

Scratching and biting are ON the table.

Very hesitant about bringing weapons in bed tho. He knows you're a big strong guy just like him but it feels like mixing his work with his love life. You've to be very insistent and with very specific things to convince him to use something dangerous. Guns are allowed as long as they aren't loaded. Knives only need to be dull and handcuffs are mostly fine as long as they're padded up, not to hurt your wrists. They are NOT getting near his wrists though...

Maybe they are...

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

(I'll try to make this as long as possible despite us knowing like..none about him. Btw yeah fuck y'all he is definitely going to have selective mutism fuck y'all saying it's unrealistic. It's unrealistic for NICKY MINAJ AND SNOOP DOGG TO BE IN THE ARMY TOO BUT THERE THEY ARE NEXT TO THE PINK FLUFFY KÖNIG AND GODZILLA!!!)

Roachy is a tough one. I don't think he has dipped his toes in gay sex yet. You outta teach him about it. Maybe maybe. He like accidentally got recommended gay porn once or twice but that's about it. He didn't click it. He was not that interested.

Oh goodness but once he got a taste of that, there was no going back. It was the first and last he had. He is an adult male so obviously he did probably have sex like..once or maybe twice if very lucky and you squint your eyes and close one of them. Just he never really got to be with a guy ..and especially not a guy like you.

I think he'd be like the "hey mamas whatcha doi- wait......." By reflex then be silenced by himself until he figures out what's the male equivalent of that. Like hey papas? Hell no that sounds weird? Daddy? Yeah the daddy issues aren't that bad yet.

He is more a of a thinker than a doer and he appreciates you doing him nevertheless. He himself is quite tall, basically same height as Ghost. Roughly the same age (26) as well. So, just like for everyone else, it was new territory for him to be spoiled and treated like he treated others

What he most loved is that he didn't have to forcefully unmuted himself when with you. It either happened naturally or you were so intimidating that nobody dares to come talk to him no matter what it was about so you two can stay in silence together.

Just like I hc Roach was the soft spot for Ghost, you were his soft spot. Or more like he was your soft spot so you just did everything. There is a lot of apologising that happens

Not to mention how SHOCKED he was when he first saw you being all submissive and sweet, the complete opposite of what you looked like. He was in for a tough ride, fully prepared himself mentally that he'll need to put those sleeves back and get READY to break those walls of yours to finally get to the sweet cute you that he believes is in everyone.

Well it took like.. one cup of tea and a couple nice words and that's it, walls were down and you ended up making out? Somehow? Don't even ask me. Things just happen and he lets them happen.

He isn't that much more talkative when with you. In fact, he doesn't even need a reason to speak. You were just two dudes hanging out in silence, doing whatever came to mind while letting you do the talking. It was..for the best.

Even if you didn't have the best way with words, trust me it will be better than if Roach was in control of the situations

If you guys see him as autistic I get that so I'm gonna contribute to that.

His special interest is everything related to the military. And especially weapons and ranking. He overjoyed when he became a sergeant. And you should be too. The only times he opens his fucking mouth to is to yap about weaponry. And oh no they should not have given him permission for that.

Big scary boyfriend is basically a pass to everything in his mind. Not even in a childish way. It's a threat. You are scary because you got those two guns on you at all times. Gary is scary because he got GUNS and he knows how to use them. And use them very WELL.

oh yeah? You wanna force me to do something I don't wanna do? Go tell that to my boyfriend.

he climbs you like a fucking tree probably

As for sex life? That don't matter to him. He isn't that much of dom or even a sub. BUT if you asked him to do something? He takes it like a fucking challenge. He WILL do it and surprise you with how well he does it.

He REALLY likes to praise you. Praises you for just existing as well. Compliments everywhere and anytime. He is basically always thinking about you.

Just because he was thinking about you, doesn't mean that he'll only keep it in his mind. You were on his SHIRT. He had one of those "I love my boyfriend" shirts with your picture in a heart. He wore it unironically too. He does love his boyfriend so every motherfucker in the perimeter should know it.

Unfortunately price did not give him permission to wear it under his gear. Very unfortunate, really. Instead, he has a bunch of custom made stickers of you on his weapons. And a picture of you in his wallet. And your initials on his collar. And-

John "Soap" McTavish

oh me oh you. Sorry not sorry but he knows what's up.

Gary may <3333 Love <3333 his boyfriend but Soap? He LOVES his boyfriend m from first glance, his first thought was how cool and awesome you are. He wanted you to be his friend so badly that he started tweaking publicly in front of everyone, following you around like he is lost and even asking to carry your weapons/bag of groceries or anything you were carrying ever really for you to show he is just as strong.

There was NO insecurity here. Just like every single ex catholic school goer, he was the freakiest, nastiest lil mf around. My man's knew and been there done that better than the Pitbull. And I MEAN it.

Man's would probably even ask for a Footjob for all he cares. As long as it's safe, sometimes even that, he is down. Anything.

There no beating around the bush. You were his from first glance and he was yours before you even met.

Yeah maybe the Catholic guilt was so crushing that every once in a while he had a dream of just embracing you while the world around him was burning. But he won't let go. Hell wasn't a punishment bad enough for him to ever let go who he loved. And that dick was banging.

There was ever rarely any complaining about who tops and who bottoms. He is DOWN for it all. Maybe sometimes he'll ask if he can top. Maybe even beg but he was no twink or pushover. If you gave him the chance every once in a while, he'll TAKE IT.

Of course, that libido often runs short and his energy drops. Sometimes he feels bad and there is no better feeling than to just walk up to you and fall without a warning, knowing you'll catch him. He is NEVER giving a fucking warning. He will drop face first, fully trusting you catch him. You better catch or I'm catching you big boy.

He has long since lost his connection to his parents and many siblings so the conversation about meeting them a bit bad but don't worry about it. It wouldn't have gone good anyway. He was the only McTavish you wanted to know. And the only one you should know anyway.

He was very much attached to the hip with you. Far more possessive than Simon but somehow even more secure than Gaz. Don't even ask how. He just is.

Anytime you were to go out when he was not deployed, you are DEFINITELY standing behind him. Anyone thinking that big delicious man Soap was single was sure to regret it. Women and men, everyone goes down upon his request.

"No lass, I'm not single but you can ask my boyfriend if you want. [REDACTED]!"

just the moment they see you walking in, having to lean down to not bust your head into the frame of the door and any guy or girl that was into John, is GONE

Positions? Yeah all of them. For his birthday you can buy him a book of every sex position and he'll even put it in the calendar so you don't forget

Why is he so kinky? Not because he particularly enjoys it. He just wants to fill the void. And god doesn't cut it anymore. He felt aware that his time in the military was running short and wanted to do the opposite of Ghost.

You were there to balance him. The big scary man in his life that reminded him of things he forgot. He loved it.

Back on the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂mode

Telling you around what to do was NOT happening. Yes, he MAY nudge you at best but he LOVES leaving you clueless, lost. Not knowing what to do with yourself when you're senselessly fucking him makes him even more turned on. What makes him the most turned on? When you just do whatever comes to mind. Like a lost animal. And oh the coldness in your eyes disappearing and being replaced by that hot botherness. He was so down bad for you.

In everyday life? You better not be bringing up your height against him or he is going to glare at you and tell you to drop it. Either that or laugh with. 60/40 with odds in an unknown direction. Good luck figuring it out.

Already planning marriage

Unlike Ghost, he is all for quickies. Here and there, now and then.

He really likes being picked up and kissed. He feels it's funny rather than just genuinely enjoying it in a way.

ALSO Has an I love my boyfriend shirt but a little more shame than Roach and only wears it ironically sometimes, like when going to bed or casual days.

Never before has he gotten to experience what it's like to steal someone's else's clothes. Other people, men and women HAVE taken his clothes in previous relationships but never did he know what it feels like to be the one to do it. Mostly because he hadn't dated anyone even close to his size before.

His type in women was all women and in men was all men but simply, there's not that many tall men. Of course twinks and femboys are ALWAYS ready for Soap and he was..only occasionally ready for them. If things got too dry.

Now? No dryness no more. LEAKING

___________________________________________

Kortac

(the rest will be shorter due to the lack of knowledge on the characters)

Krüger

Trigger warnings AGAIN for really fucked up things for Krüger. He is a lil freak in the worst ways possible. Gore, porngore, self harm and everything bad is going on here but I'll still give a section of smut hcs for no triggering topics. They'll again be marked accordingly.

Oh LAWD. Unlike ALL of the other ones, Krüger didn't even think TWICE. He was overjoyed if anything.

In his eyes, you were exactly like him but improved, bigger better stronger one might say.

He was THE most into it. Out of everyone? You two were the most perfect match.

You were used often and turned into a tool flawlessly, with no issue whatsoever. You obeyed like a fucking dog and were horrifying enough to keep everyone in check even when not there.

Your height and strength was what he was attracted to first, not really anything else unfortunately. At least at the beginning, of course.

Sometimes he actually speaks to you the way you'd speak to a police dog.

"Search there"

"Kill!"

He was even more delighted when you first had sex. Finding out you were so.. submissive and obedient was perfect. Maybe you being a top bothered him for a while, he was in denial but once he got over that the first time, he never changed his mind again. He was GLADLY taking your dick anytime as long as he was the only one in control. Every single sense or mean of control was stripped out, held above your head (haha he can't do that often)

He was especially into forcing you to just lay down at take him on for as long as you physically could. You ARE going to take it. He was merciful enough to give you a safe word, of course. Despite sometimes losing himself to absolute manic, he understands consent. OBVIOUSLY.

He is very manipulative, really creative in ways to bring the 'best' out of you. Pushing you far beyond your limits then barely apologising, just to do it again and again.

⚠️⚠️ TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY FROM⚠️⚠️

⚠️⚠️HERE⚠️⚠️

He was really into asking you to break him. He WANTED, NEEDED for you to cut him up to pieces. Use your big fucking muscles and shatter his body.

Or he will.

Once he found out you were so submissive but still a top, he decided to let it slide, leaving the almost forced gorey sex behind for a while until he can figure out a way to go back to it.

No matter how long time has passed, he still held knives and sharp objects with him in bed, or anywhere on his person he can possibly hide. Once he felt you weren't listening enough, he pulls them out and threatens you to keep going.

Bonus point if that turns you on. Cuz it sure as hell turns him on.

If it doesn't turn you on, you need to actually speak back. Using your intimidating self on him WORKS. Not because he is afraid but because he is into it. He thinks it's really hot.

Likes to beg you into punching him or getting violent when in bed. Man is just a sadomaso

Sometimes he is a lil bit of a..sexist in a way? Treating you like a girl, calling you princess to mock you despite being CLEARLY the perfect picture 'Manly man'. Even putting you in a dress once in a while.

⚠️⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS END HERE!⚠️⚠️

more healthy relationship starts

If you actually want a healthy relationship with him, you need to put a lot more work. And unlike any other person, you actually have the means to succeed.

Your big figure and intimidation tactics work very well. As long as you can use them, he listens.

He even OBEYS sometimes. The closer you get to understanding him, the more he leaned in on hurting himself instead of you. And once you get to that? He will actually put effort into stopping it all together.

Would probably take years for him to soften but you do get like a little free trial of soft Krüger when he is very tired and sleepy in your arms.

Oh how much he loves cuddling but never admits it..

Just hug him, make him understand and love him and he'll gladly do the rest of the work.

Once he actually softened up, he became a more.. upstanding citizen in a way. More domestic. In fact, you just domesticate him it seems.

just because he got domesticated tho it does NOT mean he'll be less of a 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴.. Sex is anything but boring with that man. It simply becomes more loving and occasionally more gentle.

Fun little extra headcanon? He finds hand holding lewd but not making out or kissing in public.

König

well that's a lil difficult to tell. I think he would genuinely be confused for a while. I do NOT hc him as 6'10 or whatever the fanon König is but he is still decently tall in my mind. Like a 6'7 at best. so, finding someone taller than him AND somehow bagging them?? Like how'd he do that???

He was a bit more chill once he got used to it that anyone else felt small. Since when deployed, he was surrounded by mostly tall people and when he was not deployed and home with you, he was just surrounded by you and you only.

The world felt weird when he went out with you. Two tall men out together. He HATED the outward attention so as much as he could, he'd avoid getting out. Not because of shame, of course.

Sometimes he even used it as a flex. The scary man and the scarier man. Just like Krüger, you were like an improved version of him. Bigger and scarrier. He liked that a lot.

What came as a real surprise was that you were so submissive. He himself was pretty dominant and called himself a top. (Has never been with a guy before though. Maybe the one time he confused a femboy for a girl technically counts but he does not count it if you were to ask.)

Took a lot of him to actually accept a proposal to date..he tried to keep it 'casual' for a long while even if it was anything but Casual.

Can't say that seeing you shirtless didn't turn him on though. Pent up emotions and sexual tension from having joined the army at 17 has the man tweaking the first time he felt turned on by someone like you

You BETTER be treating him nice when you do get to have sex.

Positions don't matter but he personally dislikes eye contact. Of course, what he REALLY likes though..

Surprisingly.. roleplay. He likes playing stupid roles with you in bed. It's a bit childish and he'd never admit it but he always asks for it when you are both free for a longer time. Usually it's just short and straightforward to the point, not much talking other than him telling you what to do, what not to touch and etc.

When it came to roleplaying? He is into some weird stuff. Like putting you into a cow pattern lingerie to embarrass you while he can be 'the cowboy'. (He went on rants about why Is it called a cowboy if he is riding a horse and not a cow? He REFUSES to have it with a horse.)

He is also really into recording it. Especially mixed in with the roleplay.

One time he even asked you to pretend to be a porn star, record it and everything. He wrote a SCRIPT too. Who knows WHEN he wrote that. He just pulled up after deployment to you with it so it must be sometime during his deployment.

one time you were a ghost buster and he was a sexy Ghost. He made a lot of bad jokes that he thought were the funniest thing ever in English. He did not quite understand it but you did find out that he likes the ghost busters movies!

He finds kissing you very nice. Grabbing you by the shoulders and just MWAAAAAHH type shit yk? Especially if it's a more passionate kiss, against a wall or something.

It is a MUST for now both of you to share the same diet and same work out routine. It..took a bit for him to admit he cannot keep up with yours and finally have to unmatch it. Very unfortunate.

He doesn't have any favourite positions, if you asked him he just wouldn't answer or say he doesnt know.

But he does know. It's against a mirror. Or god forbid a fucking window that's just another clean and reflective enough. It makes him go insane whenever you catch him there.

Shares clothing 100%. If you're not in the military, he'd even leave his mask over at your place for you to fuck and pretend it's him, ESPECIALLY if you send him videos WITH sound on. If you dare send a silent one he'll send you a lot of angry dad emojis. Do not test him!!!

he also has a favourite angle that he likes the videos.to be taken from because he sees your muscles flex just right.

Overall really enjoys it. You are forced to work out together, share tall man struggles. Does not care if he is gay or anything, no angst on this one boys.

Nikto

I fuckin love Nikto I'm foaming at the mouth as I write this

He hated it. Like a lot. He would gladly break your fucking legs JUST so you can be not as tall.

It pissed him off, turned him on. Same thing

He is even less likely to let ANYTHING go up his ass than Ghost. It took a lot of time after you started dating for him to even let you undress him.

It started with him founding how submissive you were and exploiting it to HELL!

That was your only saving point. The first thing of him you got to see first was his fucking dick.

Open wide 🤤

NOT allowed to see his face under the mask but you can DEFINITELY see that his eyes were constantly locked on your muscles. He MAY or may not purposely change his workout routine just to match yours.

No reason at all just..felt out dated so he has to change it! Definitely not the tank top you're wearing.

When on autopilot, Nikto was following around you without meaning at all. He himself was usually the most intimidating man around Kortac just due to his pure insanity. Now he had competition. Yeah he saw it as fucking competition.

Nearly a forced one sided rivals AND lovers.

Your intimidation does not work :[

your height only kind of just pisses him off SK you need to go the extra mile with fucking him once he permits it.

Favourite position??? Nikto is somewhat of a porn addict so...he likes weird stuff.

He fucking tried pretending to be stuck in the washing machine. I hope you guys understand just how crazy that is. Would be even crazier if you agreed and DID fuck him while in that.

He DOES like shower sex, especially if the water is cold. He forces you to be the one under the cold water them degrading you if you can't keep it up while fucking him.

You that's not easy so good luck bro. No amounts of muscle can save you from that

Horangi

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

The Extras section

Vladimir Makarov

Makarov is a confusing lad to write about icl cuz I think he would either not care or take another one day to put you in your fucking place as a bootkisser then continue on about his day

You being taller than him ain't no surprise, a lot of men are taller than him. What IS a surprise though? That people around seemed to fear you more than they feared him. He wasn't jealous, he was impressed.

He decided to 'invest' some money into you, keep you under watch. In his head, you're now a high value employee- partner.

Wait what. Where did..we lose the plot???

Why are in his bed?

Oh well might as well. He likes it. He is NOT above no little hook ups or getting really inappropriate during work as long as it was not a very serious situation. It didn't matter as long as his big scary boyfriend is behind him

He almost went on a power trip, jumping and screaming from joy inside his mind when you agreed to dare him

He gave you fucking heels. Weird that he knew your size but he did. You have to wear the heels. Gender means nothing to him.put the fucking heels on and be even taller so he can drool.

He likes big boobs on his men since he himself looks like..that. (no hate, only a lil)

His favourite hobby is teaching you how be a really horrible person, even more self defense and dragging you around. Unfortunately, civilian or not, you ARE dragged into his schemes.

You are also dragged in alleys, covered in blood of your enemies for a quickie. Ooopsie!

He thinks the dynamic is cute

He considers himself to be the scarier one though, would be insult if you even tried to imply that he wasn't the most badass man ever

Weird enough I think he really likes taking pictures of you.but not in the cute way that Gary/Roach does. But in a creepy stalker way

If you asked him to do something that you can 100% do alone, he would mock you, call you weak and etc.

If it's something that you actually say you're struggling with like a jar of pickles or sum that you've loosened just enough for him to open easily THEN ask him for help, he'll acknowledge it was an attempt but till take it and pretend like he didn't know what you did.

He appreciates everything you do for him but NEVER says anything

Outside of work he is not very sneaky about admiring your amazing built. He likes it and makes it clear with his eyes but not his mouth. You are NOT hearing even a single compliment from him. MAYBE a 'good job' like once a week but that's about it.

Sex? Yes.

Occasionally is a bit too paranoid about being seen by his comrades because of a bit of not even internalised but straight up verbalised homophobia but as long as he has enough fucking guns it does not matter

Despite your height and being built like a tank, you do not get privileges to go anywhere alone without a bullet proof vest. He would usually send a bodyguard if you were anyone else but no bodyguard does the job you're on your own for that. It's either him or a gun.

Really likes risky places and pretty crazy or even straight up dangerous kinks. It is like an overload of euphoria and pleasure. The thrill? You fucking him in this place? The FACES you're making? How pathetic you are? Absolutely perfect. Give him that as much as your body can handle.

A big guys gets big fucking expectations and you NEED to keep up.

Phillip Graves

Shameless. ABSOLUTELY shameless. If he likes you, you WILL know off the bat.

"I don't care how many people die, GO GET HIM!!!"

You will start dating him the quickest out of every other mf on this list

Give him a week MAX!

Your big ass is HIS and his only, he is already ordering a bigger bed in his room for just you to fit in while drooling like a disgusting pervert.

He is very much a disgusting pervert.

Whenever he catches you out and about, he pulls out a gun then runs at you. He WILL jump in your arms, if you don't catch him, he'll shoot you in the head. If you do catch him, he won't.

So far, you have caught him every time and you're still not sure if he is joking or not about the whole shooting in the head thing..

Big muscles means he gets use you as a threat. Saying that if someone doesn't do as he says, he'll use them to feed you

And damn looking at you? I'd believe it too.

Not the HEALTHIEST mf to be in a relationship with. It's hardly a relationship, he even pays you occasionally for just attending places with him. Buys your clothes extra fitted and perfect for you. (Sometimes he buys a shirt or pants a bit too small on purpose and asks you to try them. He just likes seeing it so tightly fitted against you that it looks like it'll rip off like Hugh Jackman as Wolverines shirt. Again, he IS SHAMELESS.)

There is rarely a time when you aren't tied up in bed. Only if you complain about the rope or handcuffs hurting too much, only then will he be willing enough to let them go. If he fucking has to, he WILL get some shadows in the room to hold your arms behind your back so you better not test him

Nobody felt safe around him before and now they feel even less safe when there's a fucking bull of a man right behind him at all times. You were REALLY quickly promoted to his "left hand"

"No, honey, you don't get it. It's left hand, not right hand, because you're useless most of the time unless I'm jerking off."

You were 80% sure he was joking. His joke line delivery sucks though so you can't be sure.

VERY kinky, most into bondage but into less severe things than Krügers freaky ass. He would still kill you though.

A couple of times he showed his actual care though. After all, he still has a heart! Somewhere..in there? I assume?

not much to say. Other than he might occasionally Ask you to flex your muscles for him so he can take a picture of his face in between them and send it in the Shadow company WORK groupchat

NOBODY LIKES IT WHEN HE DOES THAT, PHILLIP PLEASE FUCKING STOP

DEFINITELY into recording porn. In fact, he decided it would be such a good idea to re-record a training video for shadows but make it into almost a fucking porno due to how erotic it was with the two of you as the 'Main Actors'

Shadows don't watch such a video. He just straight up lied to you about it because he wanted to do it.

Buys a LOT of expensive things for you, especially ones to embarrass you with like underwear with his face on it with hearts all around. God forbid anyone in the changing room asks about it.

How he reacts to you being submissive? He loves it! Loves to abuse it as well! The big scary scary you is horny, overstimulated and whining under his foot, just waiting for him? He likes having a picture of both of those "faces". The scary one in your id that everyone views you as and the one (for private use only) of your desperate tear stained face after he was done abusing your dick for HOURS.

Unfortunately though, the times he got to go really DOWN for the sex were often quite rare. He was a busy man. At most you can get a Handjob under a work desk from him then once done, he'll take you to the bathroom and force you to lick it off his hand. He is just weird like that.

Alejandro Vargas

Alejandro was in denial for the longest. Even to now, he still doesn't even know if you're dating or if it's just casual.

It's been years..

Made a lot of "is it gay if-" jokes that literally nobody laughed at. They're just simply not funny.

He was very sceptical of the way he and YOU felt for a LOOONNGG time. Even once he accepted you love him and that he loves you, he was always in denial, just patting your back as if you were buddies.

But it was NOT casual how much he got bothered by women and even other men staring at you at the gym or wherever you're training at. Be it his gym or a public one, he WILL have you wearing a long sleeved shirt. Only if he is alone with you then you can take it off. He can swallow his distain for the inability to see the way you're so scrumptiously build if it means NOBODY ELSE CAN TOO!!!

Once alone? He is like the token henchman boy in every teen movie that is constantly hyping up the main bully guy in a weirdly gay way. Like those two 'straight guys' in everyone's classes. There is NO separation

He is SO Into the big buff ones, extra points if you even have a lot of hair on your body and he is ready to go on sight. He isn't at all afraid NORMALLY when alone with you because frankly? Sometimes he acts pretty gay with his other homies..hell occasionally even Soap is a victim to having his biceps grabbed then being given unsolicited advice on his to gain more.

Let me tell you, you are an eye candy to him. A confusing eye candy but an eye candy nevertheless.

As for in bed? Like a dream come true! He truly (makes himself) believe that as long as he is the dominant one, then it's not gay! Of course not..

"Hermano, what do you mean the 'socks' rule is a joke? Are you calling me fuckin gay?"

He is smart, smarter than that..he is even mostly joking but makes it REALLY convincing that sometimes people genuinely think he is unaware of the fact that having sex with another male that is so absolutely huge, enough to have him get the next two days off, is obviously gay.

He was unfortunately very.. forgetful the first time having sex. Thinking he can definitely handle it 'raw' because that's what it's like usually for women and he never had a reason to learn about male weak spots unless it's to kill said male.

So, let me tell you.. with your absolutely massive size in all means, being a top and him relentlessly ordering you to "Show him what you've got!" And to "not go easy on him!" Mixed together lead to a 'perfect' mixture of " a trip to ER"

He was too ashamed to go to ER immediately but did get a private doctor he can maybe kill if necessary to check him out. There was no irreversible damage but he definitely learnt that lube is important and the male body does NOT act the same as a female one! What a shocker..

He is REAALLLYY into praising. He WILL praise you at any chance given, mixed in with a lot of physical touch. Again.. especially on the muscles and abs. Man probably had erotic dreams about that too

Don't ask him though he'd just lie or not tell you to not creep you out.

Funny enough, I think he likes helping you shave or just doing "stereotypically" masculine things with you. Working out, fishing, sometimes cooking (but in a masculine way, he'll swear it's a really masculine thing.), you name it!

Later on in the relationship, he really doesn't mind you being submissive at all, unlike the others, he is very neutral to it. Sees it as more of a quirk of yours than anything.

Does not like labeling himself as gay but would lie about being your husband sometimes just to see the shocked look on peoples faces.

Favourite positions? His most favourite one is against a dirty wall in a blind spot at an especially public place like an alley or around the corner of something late at night

OR in a big bath with flowers and candles, extra romantic. Those are the two options, take it or leave it. Romantic or like two filthy teens.

Tends to forget sometimes that you can't give him your all because you will literally shatter him, you NEED to remind him that he shouldn't push you until you've no choice but to fuck his brains out but Alejandro is just Alejandro. Can't help but love him.

He 100% has a picture of you in his wallet AND a tattoo of your name.

Was probably the first to say 'I love you' but in a 'bro way'

Keegan P. Russ

Another tough nut to write about. He is in NO way the Dom daddy that he is written as though that's for sure.

His first reaction to you walking through the god damn door was just side eyeing you for an uncomfortably long time. Probably you would have to be the one to talk to him first if you want to get ANYWHERE

Ignoring that whole..thing..with how you'd even meet, he will be quite happy. Not overjoyed like Krüger or confused like Gaz. He's more okay with it.

Keegan is more about who you are and what you can actually contribute than just physical strength. Being intimidating was right up his alley too so he bonded with you quite quickly.

No internal or external homophobia, bro was just chill like that tbh

As long as you prove yourself helpful and spend a LOT of time with him, he'll treat you like an equal in absolutely no time.

Sometimes he DOES overestimate you though and when he does, even if disappointed, apologises and treats you to a dinner out once he has made sure it's safe. And by out I mean out. On the fucking grass. He is NOT paying for no restaurant. AND you need to be wearing Ghillie suit just in case. Only to be safe. Maybe have a bomb or two to distract in case something happens. Wow those old sniper habits die hard, huh?

Is actually quite confused though by the switch when it comes to sex life. He expected you to be just as bold and cold as you are out and about in your everyday life/battlefield but instead he was met with basically puppy dog eyes at his feet

Can't complain, it was kinda hot, that's his initial thought process. Just as he should, he quickly adapted to the situation. Did a couple quick searches of 'how to be dominant in bed for losers with no life outside of brotherhood' and he was ready to go!

JUST to be greeted with another shocking surprise when YOU were the one to actually fuck him. Just like Horangi, he was a bit taken back by it. None of those wiki how's had said anything about how to take a cock like a champ :[

He did not take that cock like a champ.

He took it like a loser in fact.

He was very fond of more intimate or 'traditional' positions. Due to your height and strength difference.. it seemed to click in his mind exactly like this.

'oh since I'm the smaller one, I'm the one who gets fucked? Makes sense.'

He is very smart, yes, just not sexually. BUT he is no pushover. He WILL overstimulate you until you're begging him to stop fucking himself on you. You just habe to wait until he gets the hang of it and it's over.

Not too kinky, more moderate. Like the average John Doe, missionary or reverse cowgirl, anything as long as he has direct access to your whole body.

Can't even lie to himself but he is a big thighs appreciator. He likes thighs very much so. Sometimes he ALMOST turns into a whiny bitch dog when he wants to try fucking your thighs. As long as you let him, he'll have a field day with those huge thangs 🤤 shi bru me too. Someone of that size will naturally have thicker thighs. And Keegan wants them to crush his skull.

He often jokes that even the rest of the ghosts would appreciate and see that as an honourable death, to go on and finish the Ghosts 'death ritual'.

He says that he'd do an extra good job protecting his homeland in afterlife if his reason for death was your thighs or your dick.

He is a pretty big loser the rest of the time when not in bed unfortunately :[

He is NOT talking about none the entire day then gets really talkative when it's time to fuck.

Still charming, you can't POSSIBLY say no to those eyes, can you, big boy?

(for the confused ones, THIS is a Ghillie suit)

Guys did I do good I hope I didn't bore you to death but I swear I:m just a big yapper who loves to yap :[

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[aclowntiny]

Ink Trails- Hongjoong x GN!Reader (Soulmate AU)

Just about everyone has a soulmate, a person they're destined to be with, to go through life with in some capacity. The mark of this? Anything you write on your skin shows up on theirs.

Word Count: 2.4k | Soulmate AU, Banter, Faint Humor | Warnings: a bit of language

You weren’t a big fan of drawing on yourself. As a child, you were something of a neat freak, washing all the dirt you could off your hands and never wanting to add ammo to the enemy in yours and the sink’s war. Of course, your favorite sheet of temporary tattoos didn’t count as dirt, not when they granted you several days of carrying your favorite character, a little purple penguin, with you. In fact, you practically ignored the rest of the sheet besides a few snowflakes surrounding him, all of which everyone told you were now decorating some other kid, too.

Well, good, you thought, your penguin was the best and they probably loved it, too. Otherwise they couldn’t marry you or whatever soulmates did. Usually it was get married. Maybe you would get married when you grew up. Your grandparents liked being married.

As you grew a bit older, you wrote in school. Sometimes your pen or pencil slipped, skimming your hand with an accidental line. Sometimes your soulmate was clumsy, too, and you watched a pencil trail appear when you didn’t even have one in hand. The weirdest was when you watched a whole shaky ㅎ appear, the circle looking a bit square, then suddenly erasing and being reborn round again.

And then just like that, it was all gone.

It hadn’t really been your habit to write things on yourself like others you knew- it just didn’t come naturally to you when you had paper and, a bit later in life, your phone. Beside that, given the marks of soulmates, any notes you wrote would appear on someone else’s arm, hand, anywhere they could get scolded for if they had strict family or teachers or a barrier to looking presentable at an academic event. It just didn’t seem fair. That was the same reason why, even years after school and becoming an adult, you chose not to get any tattoos. What if your soulmate hated it? Then they get it removed and you lose yours and the cycle goes on like some sort of stupid cartoon sequence of ink and lasers.

Ok, that part maybe not so much, but you knew how personal and controversial tattoos could be, so kinda weird to put one on someone else without their consent. Sorry about the penguin, you supposed all those years later, I was four.

Instead, perhaps preferably, you doodled a lot on paper, keeping at it even when that rude boy Matthew from seventh grade told you your cat looked so bad, it made him think it was a dragon holding a cookie. Such insults would not be taken from the guy who used ‘I don’t like the color red’ as an icebreaker ‘fun fact’…while wearing a red shirt.

Even if you were no artist, improvement naturally came with age and frequency, and you favored keeping your drawings cute anyway. Yet another reason to put them down on paper- pen ink faded from skin, but on paper, it was like a tattoo. Permanent with all your other notebooks of doodles that would have more than covered your body.

Your body, which was semi-frequently decorated anyway, not of your own accord. Your soulmate, likely around your age, had no qualms about use of the forearms as a notepad, so it wasn’t the oddest occurrence by far to wake up with things like ‘7:00 독주회’ or a more frantic ‘ENGLISH TEST 9:00’ scrawled there. Or even once a very unceremoniously written, shaky, clearly hastily added ‘BUMJOONG WAS HERE’ on the back of your hand. That was a fun one to try to explain. It made you wonder sometimes if your soulmate was a less considerate person than you or if you’d simply proven well in your restraint.

You weren’t expecting any answers, or perhaps more questions, to come in the form they all did.

The morning was like any other: it was your day off, time you’d reserved so as to endeavor some shopping. Making yourself a nice breakfast and choosing one of your favorite outfits, you hopped in the shower. Deciding what the heck, it was your day off, you even busted out the new sugar scrub you’d bought as peals of warm, crashing water echoed around you, lathering some exfoliant luxury upon the skin you’d always cared for.

Never once had you expected it to entertain anyone’s notice.

But there it was as you strolled along the concrete of the shopping center’s sidewalk, completely unaware of what was exposed until you ran into a friend, waving and exchanging the platitudes of two meeting after some time.

“Wow, (y/n), what a surprise, I didn’t know you got a tattoo! I thought you didn’t want any!” Your old friend Brian exclaimed with a wide smile, tilting his head. “May I see the whole thing?”

His words rose slowly to your head as you blinked, gears turning. For you had not, in fact, gotten anything of the sort done. Instinctively you held out your hand, assuming your soulmate had scrawled another vague practice reminder on the back of their hand or wrist, but your skin was blank, just a smooth expanse the same tone it always was.

“No, not your hand, silly! There!” Your eyes followed as he pointed down towards the ground, toward…your leg?

Swiveling at the hips, you bent and tugged on any necessary clothing to reveal, sure enough, writing near your ankle. Your chest sunk.

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” you repeated, voice a deadpan.

He pointed, finger rising slowly, almost shakily. “Then what’s-”

“I don’t know. I- I guess my soulmate did it.”

“Your soulmate got a tattoo without asking you?”

“We haven’t met,” you burst out as you raised the fabric around your leg higher, “I guess they don’t care what I think! What’s this even say, anyway?”

Frustration pricked at you at the sheer height of the piece- it wasn’t exactly dainty. Quite a ballsy move, all things considered. Sheesh. Wait, those were wings, huh?

“It says ‘faith’,” Brian supplied, “and I think it’s nice. Could definitely be worse. Could have been a partner’s name or, like, naked Spongebob or something.”

You cocked a brow. “Naked Spongebob?”

“Well, would you want that on your leg?” Brian shot back, crossing his black t-shirted arms.

“No,” you sighed, staring at your new, involuntary body art, “I suppose I would not. Well, you’re right- this is pretty nice. I can live with this. Hopefully it’s not the first one of many, though. My soulmate better leave me some control of my own skin.”

“Yeah, and if they don’t, you’d better give them a piece of your mind.”

A chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, right. I don’t even know where they are.”

“Have you never tried to find out?” Brian’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at you like he was asking the dumbest question he’d ever uttered.

And maybe he was. Your chest contracted in realization that you had, in fact, never once considered taking any initiative into finding whoever it was had those recitals or English tests or who you really hoped had the spine to smack Bumjoong one for defacement of property. The person who, by the universe’s decree, was meant to be some miraculous piece of your life forever and you’d just…assumed they’d walk in whenever it was time. All your concern had gone to not bothering their appearance despite their clear lack of regard on the subject.

“Uh, (y/n)?” A hand waved in front of your face. Brian’s. “You’ve gone all spacey on me, what’s wrong?”

“Brian, I might be stupid.”

“Might?”

You descended back to earth, or at least close enough to its gravity, to find the wherewithal to smack his shoulder beneath the momentous echoing of reality throughout your brain.

“Also, I take it then the tattoo on your arm wasn’t your idea either?”

“The…what?”

Shopping day over.

~

Hongjoong couldn’t recognize his own handwriting. Or could he? Had he written that address on the back of his hand? He had to have. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his schedule wasn’t busy enough, now here was some other errand he’d forgotten.

Pulling out his phone and typing it into maps, he saw that at least it wasn’t too far away. A reasonable drive, especially for a…tuesday? Oddly specific, but appointments were appointments, he reflected as he swiveled in his leather office chair.

After all, if it wasn’t important, he wouldn’t have written it down so visibly on himself like that. That was a habit he’d largely dropped in adulthood, image of greater concern and regard for mess a bit higher, too. Plus, the only other good it would have served seemed not his lot.

At least a fair number of songs had come from it. Ah, music- the eternal, universal processor. What would he do without it? Music was a way of filling every void-no, scratch that, coming to terms with the existence of voids within oneself- the thing that made him feel complete, or certainly one of them. Jokes had it that music was Hongjoong's soulmate, and while the songwriter didn't appreciate fun being poked at his expense, it was hard to deny the itching grains of truth beneath his skin at the words.

Music-related or not, this short trip was his lot, so why not make the best of it? After all, whoever had organized it picked a pretty nice café as the rendezvous point. Worst case, Hongjoong would at least get a coffee out of it.

~

You were starting to wonder if nobody would approach you, more singles and even couples getting in line and heading straight for a table or the door than you could count on one hand. In fact, in came someone else right in time with your thoughts, a super hot guy in fact, though he looked confused as hell. His eyes darted back and forth between the chalkboard menu and the industrial-style metal tables as he stood a little bit out of line.

Shit didn’t hit the fan until he pulled his phone out to check it, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His loose black t-shirt sleeve fell back, revealing a tattoo suspiciously similar to the second one that Brian pointed out on your own body. And that font was very, very unique. And big. And it was on you now.

Moving completely of its own volition, your body peeled from its metal seat and strode right up to him. No thoughts swirled to the surface of your mind even as you reached his side, prompting him to turn on his heels.

The only words your mind could barely form fell out of your lips. "You're the one who gave me these tattoos."

Jumping back, the man gaze at you with saucer-wide eyes, saying nothing as you pulled your own sleeve back to reveal the second and luckily last set of writing Brian had found on your body, this time reading 'No 1 like me', and again showed your ankle.

"I designed that one myself, how could you possibly-" His wide-eyed gape fell slowly into a smile. "I have a soulmate?"

"Yes, of course you do!" You replied, incredulous. "Did you think you didn't?"

"You never wrote anything!" He shot back.

"I was trying not to mess you up!"

"I just..." The man's handsome features fell, first into seeming hurt then just into a pensive look. "For so many years I taught myself to make my own way. Sometimes I was fine with it, sometimes I wasn't."

"No wonder you thought there was no one like you," you said before panicking, thinking better of it, "not that the tattoo isn't cool! And still true. I really like the font, actually? You said you designed at least one of these?"

"Yeah, I knew what I wanted, so I drew up the faith one and..." He tilted his head, sliding his phone from his hand back into his pocket. "wait, do you want to get a table?"

"Only if you buy me a drink," you teased, nodding toward your arm as you got back in line, "you owe me for these."

"I think you owe me for years of radio silence," the man shot back with a smirk, crossing his arms.

Heat crept into your face at the way he fixed the intense look at you, but you refused to back down. "The way you described it sounded like I taught you a valuable lesson."

"Pain can teach lessons."

Ok, you were about spent at that. "Are we really fighting over something as stupid as one free coffee?"

"I mean, fighting wasn't the word I would have used there, but you're right. I've got this one."

"Oh, you two are so cute!" The barista waved her hand as you placed your orders. "I love couples who bicker like old married grandparents! So, what are your names?"

You and your soulmate glanced at each other, your eyes sliding back into those deep, dark, expressive ones you wouldn't mind getting used to. He searched yours, too, and a small smile played on his lips that had you wondering what he was thinking... until you realized it, too.

Maybe you had wildly opposite views over the years on using your body as a notebook, but you two soulmates had the exact same sense of humor.

"We don't know," you both said at the same time.

"I'm Hongjoong," the man in black introduced himself, smiling wickedly now.

"(y/n), nice to meet you," you replied, bowing back to him.

The barista mirrored Hongjoong's initial shock at your confrontation as you both headed to your table, laughing now. Somehow that all came as easily as bickering, all your interactions up to that point having a certain flow you'd never felt before. Placebo effect? Maybe, yet the tug you felt the moment you first saw Hongjoong was yet to fade. It was like those old sayings: it felt like you two were making music.

"Ok, please don't think I'm being rude," Hongjoong's voice cut into your thoughts, "but I'm a songwriter, and I feel like I just have to write down some lyrics right now."

All you could do was just grin at that. Well, shit. Maybe now you really would have to try leaving more of an ink trail.

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.2

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language

Summary: After your fight last week you've been sentenced to community service in Jericho, and you take a break at the Weathervane for some peace and quiet

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

“This stinks,” you muttered to yourself as you pulled a discarded paper cup from the sidewalk and placed it into your bag. 

After your so called ‘dogfight’ a week before, you’d been sentenced by Weems to go out and do some community service in Jericho. On a Saturday. So unfair. So while you could’ve been drawing with Xavier and Eugene in the shed, instead you were stuck outside in the unusually hot September sun, picking up bits of trash, surrounded by normies, a few of those who’d give you dirty looks as they passed.

It wasn’t the act of simply cleaning up discarded trash and whatnot that bothered you; it was the fact that it was boring, hot, and unfair. Since when did a little fight deserve this cruel of a punishment? And on a Saturday? That was just cruel. 

Grunting slightly, you moved your trash bag over to your right shoulder, kneeling slightly to grab a broken plastic spoon from a crack in the sidewalk. This punishment was stupid; there was barely any trash anyway. You’d been out here for nearly an hour and a half and yet your bag was barely half-full; was Weems just trying to make you suffer? Deep down you knew of course she wasn’t, but still. It felt good to complain about something while you were forced to endure this.

Your muscles still felt uncomfortably tight from your fight. Sure, you had given the other guy a pretty good whooping but even you couldn’t deny that he had beat the shit out of you; your bruise lingered on your cheekbone and jaw, and every time you moved too sharply your side ached. You could definitely go for a nice cool shower right now, but no. Today was not a good day. 

Maybe Wednesday was right though. You weren’t the best at fighting, especially for a werewolf, which was pretty odd even to you. Sure, you could throw a decent punch, but couldn’t anyone? You wouldn’t admit it to her but you wished you were as good at fighting as Wednesday was.

Every time you thought of that fight you remembered the feeling of her eyes on you, examining you, thoughts and focus only on you.

It made that little bit of fur on the back of your neck rise and tingle, embarrassingly enough. 

You were walking by Uriah’s Heap when you heard the bell at the door signaling someone exiting the shop, and you briefly glanced over your shoulder to see a young-aged man in a plaid button up with a gun slung over his shoulder exit the store. Eyebrows furling in slight disgust, you started to move on, trying to hustle away from him, but you weren’t fast enough and felt a hand clamp on your shoulder, followed by his voice

“Hey, you’re that Lyall kid, right?”

Eyes rolling with a little bit of disgust, without even looking behind you, you muttered, “you’ve got the wrong person,” stepping forward and away, but the man hurried to catch up beside you.

“No, no, I’ve seen you before, I swear.” The man’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Aren’t you some kinda wolf freak?”

You started walking faster, getting irritated; you needed to control yourself or you were going to get into another fight and get punished even worse.

“I’m not supposed to be talking to people right now, okay?”

Completely ignoring what you had just said, the man walked alongside you, tone prodding you for information.

“You know, I’ve heard some pretty wild shit about you,” he grinned, showing a single gold tooth replacing one of his canines. “Aren’t you rolled up in that weird-ass school, Nevermore?”

Not wanting to seem rude, you just stared straight ahead as you walked, muttering, “yes.”

The man smiled, seeming pleased to get some sort of information out of you. “So what are you doing all the way in Vermont instead of in New Hampshire? With your daddy?”

“This school fits me better,” you responded stiffly, rolling your eyes again.

“What, because you’re a freak?”

Clearly this man was just trying to provoke you. And, annoyingly, it was working. You could feel that familiar bubble in your chest that made you want to get mad. Punch someone. Especially him. Yet, you knew that if Weems heard about you beating up a normie in town, your punishment would surely be so much worse.The man continued to pester you as you passed the antique shop, your eyes flickering to the gun strapped over his neck as you muttered, ready to be out of this conversation, “look, I gotta go.”

Without waiting for his response, you turned sharply and crossed the street, garbage bag thumping repeatedly against your back. Skirting around a parked car, you paused on the sidewalk, looking over at the man on the other side of the road, wondering if he was planning on following you. Relief flooded you and your stiff posture disappeared as you watched the man turn the corner and disappear.

Still a little on edge, you noticed that now you were right in front of the Weathervane. Hesitating, you debated your options. It was hot, you’d already been out there for a while, and you had to admit that what little trash there had been around town was now safely tucked in your bag. Surely you deserved a break at least? 

You let out a long exhale of relief as you entered the shop, the air conditioning soothing your sore muscles from bending over all morning. The smell of coffee grounds was particularly strong and you felt yourself untense further as your fear started to melt. You headed for the counter, and then stopped short, immediately recognizing a familiar goth seated in one of the booths in the corner, eyes focused on a book in her hand as her mug sat beside her, seemingly untouched.

It took you a moment to pull your eyes away from Wednesday before you walked over to the counter, ordering yourself a hot chocolate as you let your bag drop to the floor. Pulling off your tight latex gloves, those of which you shoved in your pocket, you paid for your hot chocolate, thanking the kid working there, and headed straight for the table in the back.

When you approached her, you watched as Wednesday’s eyes didn’t move from what she was working on as she spoke. “Done already?”

“I should be,” you huffed, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. “It’s too damn hot.”

The raven raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes. “So you’re not done.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head, “I’ve been working for like three hours; it’s a cruel punishment.”

“Lucky you,” she muttered, turning back to her work as she spoke, writing a little bit more. Without asking, you slid into the booth opposite her, not noticing her turn on the page faltering slightly as you did so, adjusting yourself comfortably as you placed your hot chocolate down.

Not feeling much of a need to say anything, you just stayed silent, laying against the cool cushioned padding of the booth and taking a well deserved break, the sound of customers murmuring, coffee cups clinking, and the turning of pages doing well to add to the comfortable atmosphere.

You two both sat there in silence; Wednesday never once speaking as she worked, you relaxing with your eyes half closed, not noticing the raven’s eyes flicking up to observe you every now and then. 

It was the most peace you had gotten the whole week and it felt good.

And you couldn’t deny that you were maybe watching Wednesday too. You weren’t being creepy at all, but you were just always drawn to those dark brown eyes, always filled with focus and concentration, and the sea of freckles dotting her cheeks. The way she read every single line as if she truly wanted to understand it; how she took notes every now and then, muttering under her breath as she did so. Hadn’t you ever called her pretty before? Because she definitely was.

The silence lulled on until it was broken by the ringing of the bell to the entrance of the shop, you turning your head to see Enid followed by Yoko enter; as the blonde spotted you and Wednesday, immediately that stupid grin came over her face; the one that you knew too well; she was up to something.

You rolled your eyes and turned away, returning to drinking peacefully and reluctantly realizing that this peace wasn’t going to last as long as you hoped.

You heard the sound of Enid skipping over to where you and Wednesday were sitting as Yoko approached the counter, with a cheerful “hiya, Willa! Didn’t know that when you left this morning you were going out for coffee with Y/N?” The blonde waggled her eyebrows suggestively, a smirk on her face as she looked between you two. Oh, she was so dead.

You had to bite down a smirk of your own as you saw Wednesday stiffen even more than she usually was, slowly looking up from her book to glare at Enid. Oh, if looks could kill the blonde would be six feet under right now, although both you and Enid knew that she’d never follow through on any threats she might make. 

“I’m merely reading. I had no intention on Y/N being here, nor is this any form of…” - the raven paused, her eyes scrunching up slightly in disdain as she refused to say the word - “affectionate interaction. Y/N was fulfilling her assigned punishment and happened to interrupt me.”

This time you actually smirked when you saw Enid’s smug smile disappear and you stuck your tongue out at her, though that promptly resulted in you catching an elbow thrown into your side, you letting out an ‘oof’, and doubling over as Wednesday smirked slightly.

“You’re skimping out on your service?” Enid asked, tilting her head slightly in exasperation. “If Weems catches you…”

You cut her off, “even if she does find out, she’s got a soft spot for me. At the least I’ll get a detention. Simple.”

You heard Wednesday scoff softly, though she stayed silent otherwise.

Yoko shortly returned, with two drinks in hand, giving one to Enid. You watched as through her shades the vampire’s eyes studied both you and Wednesday, a tiny smirk appearing on her face, eyebrow raising slightly as she glanced between you two. Nodding once at the raven, who didn’t respond, as well as you, she gave Enid a little nudge on the shoulder. “Come on, E, let’s give ‘em some space.”

You watched as Enid gave you and Wednesday a wave goodbye, the latter of which met both Yoko and Enid with a glare that could’ve easily frightened any grown man. Both Enid and Yoko exited, leaving you and Wednesday alone.

“Idiots”, she muttered under her breath, eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance. You chuckled softly and leaned back in the booth, resuming your own little trance of being comfortably aware of everything around you, your sensitive hearing picking up every single noise. The clinking of coffee cups. The sound of the machine whirring and hissing every now and then. The turning of pages. Soft murmurs of conversation. 

It almost made you forget about the conversation you’d had earlier with that man.

It was after another good thirty minutes that you glanced down at your phone as it pinged, receiving a text from Weems notifying you that she would be picking you up in estimately thirty minutes.

Which meant that you had to leave. 

Damnit.

Sliding out of the booth, you glanced at your phone and then at the door, sighing with disappointment as you grabbed your hot chocolate and downed the rest of it easily. You noticed how Wednesday’s eyes briefly flicked up to you as you started pulling your gloves on. “Going to complete your procrastinated duties?”

You nodded grimly with a small sigh, “I’m sure as hell not getting another detention this week.”

She hummed ever so softly, eyes falling back to her paper as she deadpanned, “if your behavior isn’t corrected than you surely will be.”

You didn’t even hesitate to give her a small kick to the shin, which was met with a harder one to yours in response, you groaning “don’t be a dick.”

Finishing with pulling your gloves on, you rubbed your sore shin with a grimace, shooting her a dirty look, though you had to look away to stop yourself from laughing, rolling your eyes at her smirk. You walked backwards with your bag, sticking your tongue out at her, causing her to roll her own eyes in response and return to her book as you exited the cafe, a grin on your face and the heat of the sun on your back not as prominent in your mind as it was before.

In your mind, you could still hear her turning the pages

—————

pt.3 here!

[lamnwar]

Come here, old man ♡ // Harasawa Katsunori x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

A/N: ABSOLUTELY not requested, this is ridiculously self indulgent and I got so into it that it's like... 6.3k words on how much I need that man 😭😭 @sennkawaa @chaotic-nick I did us harasawa girlies a service with this one, hope yall enjoy it <333

Context: a chance encounter with a hot old man makes you loose your sanity.

Warnings: age gap (around 20 yrs assuming reader is in university), alcohol consumption but they have sex sober, aomine being a bitch during his 2 sec of screentime, handjob, oral (f! receiving), mention of unprotected sex but they wear a condom, implied praise kink (reader), coach harasawa is kinda desperate (poor man hasn't got good pussy in months 😔)

Never in your life did you think you'd sleep with a guy old enough to be your dad, yet here you are – caged under the basketball coach's surprisingly toned body, his wavy locks falling in your face.

It's honestly nothing but the result of an unexpected chain of events. What were you, but a simple girl with too much sweetness in your voice and lust in your eyes? Nothing, absolutely not a single star in the sky, could have foreseen such event. While you do appreciate older guys, it never crossed your mind to go after someone who could easily be your senior by twenty years. The single thought of being with a man closer in age to your parents than to you is enough to draw you away from such big age gap. But all that, all that you trusted to be an unmovable preference of yours; it all went down the drain the moment you laid your eyes on Harasawa Katsunori.

It started with a simple invitation from your university friend. Ever since meeting Satsuki Momoi during orientation, you learned of Tōō High School’s basketball team in their prime – the players, their best matches, and their greatest opponents, almost as if you attended that school yourself and was on the bench during every match, witnessing the plays of Tōō’s basketball team. At some point, you got to meet Daiki Aomine, the prodigious player who was at the centre of most of the things Satsuki told you about her former team. He was quite a sight – tall, dark, and handsome, almost hot enough to make you see past his nonchalance and laziness. And in the following months, you came to meet most of the team – or at least, those who were playing during Satsuki’s time as Tōō’s manager.

A special bunch, you noticed, asking yourself how sweet and soft Satsuki got to spend almost every single one of her high school days surrounded by these guys without going insane. Yet, you couldn’t help but stare at them with softness in your eyes, the bond between these boys being endearing. Growing apart, yet never forgetting each other – their recurrent meetings for a shared meal or drink, and for some reason you’d be there because they grew to like you enough not to mind your presence. Never in your life would you have imagined being hanging out with a bunch of big dudes, fairly intimidating ones at that, only to find out that they were no less of goofballs as any other guy their age. You always watched them with a faint smile on your face, quite like an outsider that knows too much about them.

So it was not much of a surprise when they invited you, in a collective feeling of nostalgia for their high school days, to watch Tōō play at the Winter Cup’s semi-finals. You said yes, although you wished you could have witnessed the boys on the court instead of these new players, but it didn’t feel right to turn down the invitation just for this reason. But all that didn’t matter anyway, the moment you stepped foot in the court. You stood back, blown by the ambiance – the cheers, the squeaking of the shoes on the wooden floor, the balls bouncing on every surface. There you were, in Tōō’s tribune with alumni, mind blown as if you were attending some high-level sports event (wasn’t it just high school basketball?).

“Oh look! It’s us!” exclaimed your friends, as their former team walked in from the lockers.

Your interest piqued, you looked down, meeting the sight of yet another tribe of giant teenage boys, surrounded by the kind of aura that made it clear that this was serious business for them. But your eyes quickly trailed to the man leading them, as if your eyes were meant to see him, and only him. Time ceased, granting you with eternity so you could take in every feature of this gorgeous man. From his wavy locks to the way his striped shirt was so neatly tucked in his dress pants. The tall, slender figure of a man who looked mature, yet so fine that you couldn’t wish that he was younger. No, there was such a charm in the small wrinkles in the corner of his mouth, and the slight bags under his tired eyes that were looking up at you…

Wait. Was he looking at you or is it your brain seeing what it wanted?

“Coach, over here!”

Ah, that made more sense. It wasn’t about you, you were merely a member of the public like others, just standing between his former players. You watched, processing your embarrassment, while he smiled politely in the direction of your friends. You would have melted in place if that smile was aimed at you, but it wasn’t. You sat, looking anywhere but at him. Nothing would kill your soul like him catching you staring like a creep. But the minute he diverted his attention back to his actual players, you couldn’t help the urge. Something about that man, so calm yet commanding, it made your stomach churn and twist.

And so you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him the whole forty minutes of play. Eyes diverting from the court every once in a while, just to see him stare at the game intensely, eyebrows furrowed as you guessed that he was thinking about the next best strategy for his players – not that they really needed to change anything to the way they played, if you referred yourself to the score board. When the final whistle blow, a jaw-dropping 108-65 for Tōō got the whole gymnasium on fire, the first one to express their joy being your friends. Hell, even Daiki smiled, showing a bit of care for his former team. Naturally, you looked back at the gorgeous man at the head of this whole team. He had the slightest smile tugging at his lips, but you guessed that winning was no exception for him. It was impressive.

“Girl, you comin’? We’re going to the lockers.”

You jolted at Daiki’s voice. Not just because he wouldn’t usually talk to you, but mainly because it made you realise how much you’d cut off from reality just to stare at your new crush – if you could only call it that.

“Can I come?” you asked, hesitantly. You weren’t a Tōō alumni like your friends, it felt a bit out of place to meet the team in their locker room.

“If I’m telling you, dummy.”

“Daiki! Don’t talk to her like that!” Satsuki scolded the blue-haired man, before turning to you with the sweetest smile, “of course you can tag along.”

And so you did, totally unaware of were that would have led you. You followed close behind Satsuki, feeling like you would when you were just a kid, attending some function with your parents and hiding behind their frame in shyness. It wasn’t like you, but the idea that you may fall face to face with the coach had you feeling out of your habitual state, like a silly teenage girl experiencing her first crush. But that alone would not be much of an issue – no, it probably was more on the fact that he was old enough to be your dad (well, he’d be a quite young dad if it was the case, but still!). And you couldn’t bring yourself to telling Satsuki – let alone any of the boys – how you felt about their former coach.

A guilty attraction that followed you to a nearby bar you all went to after, the middle-aged man unable to refuse the invitation out of nostalgia, or maybe because he couldn’t pass the offer for a nice glass of whiskey after a championship match. You sat at one end, thinking of yourself free of any awkward interaction with him from that position; oh honey, how wrong were you. It was ridiculous, really. It turned out that a bunch of basketball players needed an awful lot of leg space, prompting them to move around so everyone could be comfortably seated. Almost as if you were the main character to a cliché story, you ended face to face to the man you were trying so hard to avoid.

“It feels weird that you’re all old enough to drink now” he contemplated, swinging the honey-coloured drink in his glass.

Ah yes, right. He knew your friends when they were young and angsty. He was probably a big part of who they were now – the young adults you befriended without thinking much about it. And here you were, a mere stranger at a table of old friends, out of place but not deigning to leave. Somewhat, the thought of him being a mentor to these boys warmed your heart. Something about men being nurturing was oddly attractive to you.

“But I haven’t introduced myself to you, have I?” you blinked, wondering who he was talking to.

It is you, idiot!

You nodded your head, gulping your drink. What were you? Some fool who didn’t know how to talk? He let out a breathy chuckle at your face (probably).

“Katsunori Harasawa, coach of Tōō Academy’s basketball club.”

You repeated the name to yourself, muttering it as you hid your lips behind your glass of liquor. You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, like a song. He had a pretty name, almost as pretty as he was. You sat there, smiling as you introduced yourself – but there wasn’t much to say. You were a student, Satsuki’s classmate, daughter to normal parents, raised in a quiet neighbourhood. No one extraordinary, not even a fan of basketball. But strangely, it didn’t matter all that much to him.

As the glasses emptied and refilled again and again, and you were way too far gone to even care about how you could be perceived, you might have seen him smile. An ever so charming smirk painted on his rose lips, ones he’d moisture with a gulp of whiskey. He’d let the hard liquor drop down his throat without wincing, and that’s how you knew he was a man way out of your league. It didn’t matter how nice he was to you, despite having no prior ties to you; or how nice his laugh was, when his former players would talk shit. Katsunori Harasawa was a man way beyond your scope, someone you’d admire all night hiding behind your glass, while your heart would pound the minute he looked your way.

And the next morning, all that felt like a dream. A weird hallucination of your infatuation for Satsuki and Daiki’s former basketball coach. Maybe you imagined him – he was way too much to your taste to be real. And yet, your mind kept wandering all day, at the most random times. Thoughts of that dark strand of hair he’d twist around his fingers when yesterday’s match was a tad too stressful, while you brushed your teeth. Thoughts of his nicely fitted white shirt and the tie he’d tug loose when you were out for drinks, while you ate your lunch. Thoughts of his sharp eyes and the small wrinkles that would appear when he smiled, while you were sitting in your 2PM lecture. Thoughts of his fine features, the ones you could stare at for days without ever getting bored of them, while you were buying some eggs.

Just thoughts of him, all day, haunting you to the point where you were questioning your own sanity. It’s not like you, not even in the slightest. For all the people you’d been attracted to in your life, no one had occupied your mind quite like coach Harasawa. And you wondered, what could it be? Was it the fact that he was out of your reach, someone to admire from afar? Or the fact that you couldn’t process your attraction to someone easily twenty years your senior? A swarm of obsession, the kind you were breaking your mind to understand. The kind that distracted you from reality, as you aimed on your way to the station, not even realising that the sky was getting darker. Too lost in your inner turmoil of trying to rationalise your thoughts and feelings, to feel the droplets of rain fall on your skin. It took you being almost entirely soaked, bag pressed against your chest in a poor attempt of protecting its content from the water as you cursed yourself for not checking the weather app before leaving home.

“Need a ride?”

You blinked, not sure if you were hearing well. Usually, you’d walk away in a hurry at any man who would drive next to you asking if you’d want to hop in. And for a brief second, you wondered if it wasn’t just your mind hearing what it wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t. Behind the droplets of rain that fell before your eyes was the man of your thoughts.

“Coach Harasawa..?”

“Come on, you’ll get sick if you don’t get some cover.”

You silently went over to the passenger seat, settling there while you watched the drops on your skin, sliding down to the car mat and leaving a dark puddle under you. The heat of his car was somewhat comforting, till you were reminded that it was his car.

“Do you live far from here?” He asked, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Two stations away” you spoke, surprised by the sound of your own voice.

It was weird to talk to him, considering how you were thinking till just now that he might have just been a sweet creation of your imagination. But he was very real. You could see him blink, and the way the air conditioner would blow softly on the thin hair on his forearms.

“Come and dry off at my place, then I’ll drive you to the station.”

As all kinds of thoughts rushed through your mind at a speed that exceeded one of your words flow, you tried to decline the offer. It was not right, in anyways, to follow him home. At the back of your head came back the multiple times in your childhood when your parents would tell you not to follow a stranger anywhere. You grew up skittish and with fairly apparent trust issues, at this instant, it wasn’t the case anymore.

“You don’t have to but thank you.” You replied, unable to look in his direction without feeling flustered.

“I can’t let you take the train all drenched, it’s the least I can do.”

You couldn’t argue against him. He was right, in some way. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind drying off a bit. The way your wet clothes were clinging to your body was uncomfortable to say the least, but that wasn’t even the worst. It was the way your makeup was erased by the few drops that fell on your face, and the way your hair got frizzy. And you had to be seen by him in that state. Not that you’ve been the kind to care all that much about your appearance, but it didn’t feel right to look like a mess next to a man who was so well groomed.

And it didn’t feel right either when you stepped in his apartment – so neat and simple, yet homely. It matched him so well, giving the aura of something way too classy for someone who, at the end of the day, was no more than the coach of a high school basketball team. You let your drenched shoes at the door, soggy socks leaving trails behind you as you took each step hesitantly.

“Wait, I’ll give you a towel. Would you want a change of clothes, too?”

“Huh? No need, I’ll head out right after anyway, I don’t want to be a bother.” You urged, clearly out of place in his home.

Your presence felt invasive; you were no one to him. Not a friend, not even a former student. He’d only met you last night, wasn’t it absurd to ask so much from him? For all you knew, he didn’t even remember your name, maybe just your face. He was probably being nice and caring out of his habit of taking care of unhinged teenagers.

“It’s spring, y/n. Evenings are still cold.”

You sighed, a part of you warmed by his words. He sounded like a doting mother, which contrasted with his rather stern look. It was getting harder for you to say no, so eventually, you folded and took the t-shirt and sweatpants he handed you, walking to his bathroom, hoping that you were the only one hearing the thumping of your heart in the silence of his apartment.

It felt surreal, you thought to yourself as you undressed and patted your skin dry. The kind of coincidence you’d only see in a cheesy romance story, far from realistic or even logical. The materialisation before your eyes of the man of your thoughts alone was way too good to be true; but being here, at his? That was beyond your comprehension. The way his pants were barely too big for you reminded you of his small waist, the one held by the sinch pair of slacks he was wearing when you saw him yesterday. Even today, he was wearing a rather formal attire, even a tie. A purple tie that was now hanging loosely around his neck when you walked out of the bathroom, seeing him standing over some papers. It was such an ordinary sight, but every single little detail about it caught your eyes as if you were looking at an artist’s magnum opus.

“Thank you for the clothes and for lending me your bathroom” you said, with a slight polite bow.

It was weird and awkward, and somehow, it made him smile a bit.

“No problem at all.”

He was nice, too nice. Part of you hesitated to be too blunt, scared of appearing rude or too prying to him, but you had to ask, because it might just be better to be honest.

“If I may, why are you helping me out?” you asked, unable to look at him in the face. “I mean, I’m not your student or… anything, really.”

You simply saw his slim fingers on the dark wood of the table, as he put down the papers he was so seriously analysing. You felt bad for a second, heart beating in at an anxious rhythm while you longed for a reply.

“Huh? It just felt right. Besides…” he sighed, pulling a chair out for him to sit on it. “My players like you, don’t they?”

“Is that reason enough to invite a girl you barely know to your place?”

You followed your words with a short gasp, realizing that you’d spilled your thoughts with no second guessing. Crazy enough, in this situation where you had been overly cautious, this might just be the first time you were honest.

“Aren’t you a blunt one?” he raised an eyebrow, following by a quaint chuckle. “Can’t argue with you on that one, though. It isn’t quite my most rational decision, but I’d argue that I still know you a bit.”

“Is that so?” you mused, resting yourself on a chair.

“You’re quite talkative when you drink, you know?”

The flustered look on your face drew a light laugh out of the man’s lips, but to your opinion it was far from amusing. While, yes, you were well aware of the fact that you had a tendency to run your mouth when inebriated, your biggest issue was certainly the possibility of you saying something you shouldn’t have last night. And as you expected him to elaborate on that – potentially digging your grave – he simply got up, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Care to accompany me?”

You chuckled nervously. “I mean, should I? What if I end up saying too much?”

“What do you think that is, some interview?” he clicked his tongue, a glass landing in front of you. “It’ll warm your insides, trust me on this one.”

“Talking just like a dad.”

He scoffed, the sound making you feel just as warm as the liquor that flowed down your throat. He was nice, as much as you wanted to question that, he undoubtedly was. You didn’t feel like letting your guards down yet, but maybe you were too vigilant. Maybe it was the first impression you had of him, when he walked on the court last evening, suit pressed and face stern – dark eyes scanning the court and the way he commanded a bunch of overly energetic boys. Or it was what his relationship to your friends – a mentor or a father figure, someone they trusted and loved years after last being under his care.

So how could you not be scared of him, even in the slightest? How could you not be terrified at the idea of being stupid in front of him?

Well, eventually, you weren’t. Not once you’d emptied your glass, asking him for seconds. You were getting too comfortable, but it started to feel just right the more you got accustomed to being here, alone with him. Comfortable enough to get in his kitchen, determined to give back for his kindness in some ways.

“I’ll make us snacks, can’t drink on an empty stomach my parents say” you hummed, after getting his permission to rummage his fridge.

“How many drinks do you expect to share with me?”

“Hm?” you pouted in reflection, patting yourself as if you were trying to gauge something, “till I’m fully dry, I guess. But I’m only halfway there.”

“You know what? I don’t mind the company.” He nodded, pouring the both of you another drink. “It gets boring being alone sometimes.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something?” you asked as you prepared a plate of appetizers, but you were quick to answer your own question. “Ah… I guess you don’t, if I’m here alone with you.”

Your words escaped your mouth without much thought or intent behind them, leaving you both in a lingering silence. For once, he was the flustered one – almost as if your words were projectiles hitting him right where it shouldn’t. You figured you were better off not adding to it, retreating in silence as you walk back to the dining table, nervously sipping on your drink.

“Is that an issue to you?” His voice broke the streak of quiet, forcing you to glance in his direction.

“I don’t have the right to any opinion on your private life.”

He shook his head, a soft chuckle coming out of his lips, “it’s alright, you can think what you want. And by letting you in my house, I’ve kind of made you entitled to judgement, haven’t I?”

“That’s one way of seeing it.”

“So? I feel like you’re an honest one but that you’ve been holding back” he remarked, and you couldn’t argue against it in any way.

He had you figured out, which was no surprise coming from a man whose job was to strategize and read people. You suddenly felt vulnerable, a sense of loss taking over you; yet you weren’t playing any games. It was mostly you, putting things in your head and reacting at the way things unfolded in what felt right – or so you would conclude, after a long series of thoughts that with retrospective, was based on speculation.

“You want my opinion on the fact that you’re single, that’s it?” You cocked an eyebrow, for some reason embarrassed by the request.

“It’s more that I know that you want to say something but you’re not doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh, taking a sip of liquid courage. Ah shit, I’m gonna say it.

“I’m glad that you’re single. Here, said it.”

You took your breath, heart beating like crazy that you even said it. It wasn’t even a confession, but it wasn’t nothing either. Your words travelled straight to his head, the meaning so clear that you couldn’t even lie your way out.

“I figured.”

The calm with which he expressed himself was unsettling. You were a mess, unprepared and with no exit plan. No one prepared you to this, to the humiliation of your crush, who was significantly older than you, figuring out your attraction for him.

“Ah…” You groaned, slumping on your chair, “this is humiliating.”

“It isn’t. Not at all.”

You didn’t dare look up, but he was there. He was standing, leaning towards your chair. His voice was soft, like a feather that caressed your ears.

“I don’t understand.” You let out, in clear confusion.

“It’s frankly flattering that I caught your eyes. I’m overworked and I dress fancy to tell a bunch of teenage boys how to play with balls. I’m not really a prized bachelor by standards.”

You chuckled, genuinely amused by his words. In some ways, it made you feel better, more at ease in this instant. But you’d argue that he was wrong in multiple way. Katsunori Harasawa was a suave man, one that had such delicacy in his self that you wouldn’t even care about any of the defaults he found for himself.

“Don’t ask me why I like you, I just do.” You looked up at him, meeting his sharp dark pupils, and it made your heart jump.

You couldn’t tell why, but it felt right in that moment to lean in to leave a soft kiss on his mouth. You could cry at how soft his lips were – the taste of honey and cinnamon from the whiskey you were both drinking, and the scent of his perfume coming to you from the proximity of your bodies. And to your surprise, he kissed you back. He did, cupping your face gently and tilting it to the right angle so he could get a better taste of your sweet mouth.

And now, here you are. You can’t even make a sensical thought, not when his warm hands are travelling down your body, lifting your shirt up with urgency. His touch gets you dizzy – too far gone to even question what you are doing. All you’re able to do is tug on his hair, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you cover his face with kisses of all sorts. He laughs softly – how sweet are you, an adorable little thing in his hold. He stands back, taking in the sight of you. Your messy hair, his t-shirt rolled up above your gorgeous breasts, those pretty eyes that look up at him with the kind of need that he hasn’t seen in years.

“Pretty…” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck to your chest, leaving traces in their wake.

You blush – you feel silly, all flustered by the words of a man, when you are the one who initiated all this with a kiss. But you can’t deny the way his hands and lips touch you, proof of the years of experience he has on you. He is smooth in his transitions, the wet kisses you were feeling on your neck mere seconds ago now marking your chest. His breath is hot against your hardened nipples; he is so close, but he still doesn’t get to your sensitive buds, no matter how much they beg for his attention. No, coach Harasawa vows to take his sweet time with you. Your desperate sounds are nothing but a nice song to his ears, the soundtrack to his ministrations that exalts his senses and his cock. You can feel him hard against your thigh, the simple sensation driving you insane.

You squirm, desperately kissing him as your own hands slide down his torso, untucking his shirt from his pants and clumsily unbutton them. His skin is pale and warm, like a tropical beach, and it makes you melt, the way he feels under the pad of your fingers. You trace the outline of his muscles, proof of the carrier as a professional player that he mentioned yesterday. You had no reason to doubt him, but you were far from imagining that his body would have still been toned. It is a delicious mix of softness and firmness, one that you want to cling to.

“Can I touch you, coach?” you ask, tone too innocent for the kind of demand you’re making.

He stands back, unbuckling his belt as he clicks his tongue.

“Don’t call me that, it’s what the boys call me.”

“Are we on first name basis, then?” you question him, helping him out of his pants.

Your palms rest over his bulge, taking in the size of it. Akin a sun, it is a life beating in your hold. He hisses, sensitive – your touch is delicate and curious, and he could melt at the way you look at him with so much need.

“I think it’s totally appropriate given that your hands are on my penis” he replies, following his words with a soft laugh.

You would never peg him for a jokester, but apparently, he has some humour. You giggle – although flustered by the bluntness of his words. He is, indeed, in the hold of your hands, as you stroke him gently. He is a man of composure, but your touch could easily make his resolve waver.

“Katsunori… aah! It’s weird calling you that” you groan, looking away. The way his name rolls out your tongue feels weird, but he couldn’t disagree more.

Every word that falls of your lips is the prettiest sound to be in the man’s opinion, especially his name. It feels intimate, the way you say it. He shivers, grabbing your chin to kiss your lips softly.

“You’re doing a great job pretty, keep going and I might fuck you right away.”

“Ah? I thought you were more of gentleman.”

He chuckles, fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back, planting an eager kiss on your lips. The honey and cinnamon taste of whiskey on his tongue melts you, reducing your entire self to a simple being of pleasure. You’re so cute like that, he thinks, a nice girl that wants him, simply. He’s found himself warmed every night by the arms of solitude for so long, that your presence – your body, so close to him – feels like a breath of fresh air. Here you are, the first ray of sun after a cold winter, with your eyes sparkling with admiration and lust, and your hands, soft and warm as they stroke his cock.

“I am a gentleman, but you do make it hard for me to behave like one.” He smiles, fingers delicately angling your face towards him. “You look at me like a starved woman, how long has it been for you, hm?”

You pout, the sight of you like that making the blood course through his body to his hardened cock, throbbing in your hands. He’s right – you haven’t had sex in quite a few months, probably explaining in parts your insatiable thirst for the man; but he shouldn’t have put you in the spotlight like that! You would love to huff and puff, making a fuss for the way he’s got you figured out, but he doesn’t even give you the time to.

Once again, you can’t explain how you’ve found yourself in this predicament. He’s got you on your back, breathing heavily as he rolls your panties down your legs. You want to hide yourself at the sudden exposition, but you fail to. His hands prop your legs open, kisses trailing all over your thighs. What a sight, one of your glistening cunt begging for attention, and Katsunori Harasawa can only think of making it his. Every part of it calls for him – for his fingers, for his tongue, for his cock.

“I’m gonna taste you, is that ok with you, doll?” he asks, breath fanning over your erect clitoris.

The question is unnecessary, the answer is evident. You nod eagerly, a small hum coming out of your lips.

“Ah, ah… wanna here a clear answer.” He urges, leaving kisses on your inner thighs.

You groan, face buried in the palms of your hands as you feel yourself blush like a silly girl. He’s a man, you figure, your weak sounds are nearly not enough for him.

“Yeah... it’s ok” you finally say.

It’s all it takes for him to give you what you crave – at last. His tongue laps at your slit, tasting your sweet nectar and you writhe under his ministration. Your fingers tangling in his wavy locks, pushing them away from his face to look at him as he devours you. It makes you smile between your soft moans, the way this man eats you out with a kind of passion you’ve never experienced. Little do you know, that he hasn’t been with someone for so long. It’s more due to circumstances of life than anything else, but he is indeed a starving man. Seeking touch and warmth in ways he himself wasn’t aware of, until this very moment where he has you writhing under him, your essence on his tongue. He hums at the taste – sweet, like the rarest honey, and your fingers tangling in his hair. He rejoices in the melody of your cries, the wordless pleas for more. What a sweet thing you are, a puddle of desire in his hold.

“Fuck, gonna…”

“Yeah? Let it out, doll.” He coos, pacing his tongue like you want him too, willing to take you to a place of ecstasy.

You whimper, feeling an impending explosion coming. How long has it been, since a man last made you come so fast? It’s blinding, a mirror reflecting white as your thighs threaten to close around his head. He holds them still, watching you unfold as he gives you a last teasing lap – more for him than for you, in all honesty, just so he can get a last taste of you. Under the music of your pants, he stands back, watching you. You’re a sight like no other – naked on his bed, the hills and valleys of your body, an endless land all for him to explore. His cock hard in his hand as finds a condom in his cupboard – it expires in two months, he’s in luck. At the back of your mind, though, you have the dirty fantasy of doing it raw, feeling him in the tightness of your cunt in the most intimate manner. It’s wrong, you are aware of it, but something about the man before you makes you irrational.

“Hey, I’ll push in, alright?” He whispers in your ear while you feel his tip tease your entrance.

“I can take it” you nod, your odd confidence drawing a soft laugh out of his lips.

The flushed look on your face speaks a thousand words, but your resolve doesn’t budge. You hiss at the feeling of his head in between your walls looking at the man over you. His eyes are focused on you, but his mind can only think of the warmth of your pussy. It takes everything in him not to push in his whole length – coach Harasawa isn’t usually a patient man. But with you, he must be. Every second counts, so he can feel more of you.

“You’re doing so good f’me…” he mutters, a sense of pride at the way you take in every inch.

You struggle to keep in the noises that threaten to leave your throat, too embarrassed – who moans from just that? He hasn’t moved yet, but you feel overwhelmed. Maybe it’s that whole situation. The warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the locks of hair that tickle your forehead, his grip on your hips. You don’t know, and you don’t care to know either. All that really matters is the way he slowly fucks you, as if you were made of crystal.

“Yeah, feel good?” you mewl.

“Of course, pretty” he sighs, catching your lips in a kiss, “you feel heavenly.”

His praise sends a jolt down your body, cunt clenching in response. He grunts, not expecting your walls to hold him in such a tight grip, and it makes him dizzy.

“You like it when I compliment you, hm?”

You nod, the sparkles in your eyes making his cock twitch. He strategically holds back in his thrust – you feel way too great for him to risk ending this too soon. But that languid pace drives you mad. You buck your hips to meet his, a needy whine leaving your mouth. He laughs; the message is rather clear.

“Calm down, doll, I’ll fuck you right. Here…” he coos, pushing deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “Shit! You were made for me, weren’t you?”

He chuckles, drunk on you. It takes a few more thrusts and more of your desperate sounds before his resolves finally breaks. You hold the sheets, mind going blank when he finally gives you what you crave. His thrusts – deep and powerful, make you twitch and squirm. He holds your body tight, in fear of you slipping away; but you aren’t going anywhere. As you sense your orgasm coming, you whine. It’s too soon, it can’t be!

But you are too far gone. Your pants and moans mix with his groans and whimpers, the symphony of your encounter sending you over the edge. Praises fall in your ears – such a pretty thing, taking me so well… good girl, come for me.

“I’m right here, make me proud.”

It’s all it really takes for you to unleash your pent-up arousal, body shaking as you’re washed over by the wave of your orgasm. He fucks you through it, relishing in the way you cling to him. It doesn’t take long till his own release approach. He stills, head buried in the crook of your neck as he lets go of all inhibitions. You gasp, overwhelmed yet head empty.

From that moment onward, Katsunori Harasawa is all you have in mind.

[steddieas-shegoes]

stumbling into you

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'meet-cute at work' rated: M wc: 999 cw: sexual innuendo, semi-public handsy making out tags: making out, getting together, rock star Eddie Munson, modern au

a/n: let me just say getting this under 1000 words took longer than it took to write the original 1484 words it was 🙁

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Steve's first day was going better than expected.

He'd admittedly lied about his skills to get this job, but how hard could it be to run errands?

A metal band in need of throat lozenges and hot tea was in the studio now.

Easy enough task to do.

When he walked into the control room, it seemed empty.

He looked back and checked the room number on the door.

"Let me help."

Steve turned to see the hottest guy he'd ever seen standing by the mixing board starting to walk over to him.

"Oh. Okay," Steve stuttered out.

"Let me grab the teas," the man said, his hand brushing against Steve's.

"I can just-" Steve let him, flushing when he smiled at him. "I could have set them on the table."

"It's okay, you've got your hands full..." he looked at the badge hanging off his lanyard. "Steve?"

"Yeah, sorry. First day."

"Really?" The man took the pack of throat lozenges from him, opening the bag and popping one in his mouth. "Welcome then. I'm sure we'll see a lot of each other over the next month or so."

"Do you record here a lot?"

"Yeah. We've got this studio booked solid for the next three weeks. Album needs to be perfect and we always get the best quality here."

"So do you sing?"

"I sing. Lead guitar, too."

"Is it a band I know?"

The man looked him over, taking in his business casual appearance, glasses slipping down his nose.

"I don't think we play anything you've listened to. Corroded Coffin?"

"My little brother listens to you! His mom never let him go to a concert though, said it would be too rough on him. He's kinda small for his age and she worries." Steve bit his lip. "Sorry, rambling."

"Cute, Stevie."

Steve blushed.

"I'm Eddie."

"Steve."

"Yeah, Stevie, I got that. You like any metal?" Eddie was clearly trying to have a real conversation with him, but Steve was drawing a blank on what the English language was.

"Never listened to any."

"You wanna listen? Something's off, but I can't put my finger on what. Maybe you could give me an idea."

"M-me?" Steve's eyes went wide.

"Yes, you," Eddie nudged him and tipped his head towards the mixing board. "C'mon, honest opinion."

"I-"

"Pleeeease?" Eddie pouted.

"Okay, but I don't really know what good is supposed to sound like," Steve agreed, walking to the board.

"Good is relative. If you think it sounds like metal music should, that's at least on the right track," Eddie pushed a couple of buttons and flipped a switch.

A surprisingly soft guitar melody filled the room, followed by a husky voice singing.

"This sounds..."

"Sounds?"

"You sound sad."

"Well, that's kind of what I was going for, so I guess that's a good thing."

The music cut off and Steve immediately wished he could hear more.

"Do you have other stuff recorded?" Steve suddenly needed to hear more of Eddie's voice.

"You wanna hear more?"

"If you want?"

Eddie flipped another switch, pressed a button, and a much faster guitar started playing, followed by heavy drums.

"This one doesn't have vocals."

Steve wouldn't listen to this regularly, but he could admit when people were talented, and it was very clear that Eddie and his band were talented.

"You're really good," Steve smiled at him.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Eddie shut off the music and stood up.

He leaned closer to Steve, playful smirk on his face.

"You wanna go in the booth?"

"I'm not allowed."

"I'm allowed and I'm asking, so." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows, making Steve giggle.

"Okay, sure."

Once in the small booth, Steve felt overwhelmed with Eddie's presence.

His body heat was enough to make Steve sweat.

"You do all the lead vocals?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Since day one," Eddie said from right behind him, so close his breath hit the back of Steve's neck.

Steve shivered, closing his eyes as he felt Eddie's hand rest on his lower back.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to," Eddie whispered against his shoulder.

"I don't," Steve gasped.

Eddie turned him, pushing him against the wall behind him.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie breathed against his lips.

Steve nodded, a whimper escaping his mouth as Eddie's lips touched his.

Eddie was a soft chorus, a soft kiss.

A soft moan when Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck.

Eddie's fingers gripped Steve's hips, tugging him forward so their hips met, both already half hard.

"Wait," Steve said when Eddie started kissing down his neck. "When will they be back?"

"Don't know." Eddie nipped at one of Steve's freckles. "Don't care."

Steve moaned again when Eddie's hand found the front of his pants.

"What if-"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Steve threw his head back as Eddie's hand cupped him over his pants.

"Fuck, feels good."

"How fast can you come?" Eddie's hand squeezed, almost making Steve's legs buckle.

"I-"

"Eddie! Thought you were joining us!" A voice yelled.

"Be there in a few! Just wanted to check something!" Eddie yelled back.

"You're a workaholic!"

Eddie checked through the crack in the door to make sure the person left before he turned back to Steve with a sad smile.

"I probably should join them." Eddie cupped the side of Steve's face in his hand. "Maybe after your shift we can meet up?"

"Really?"

"Really, sweetheart."

"Oh. Um, I guess. I mean, it's probably against the rules, but I can give you my number?"

"I won't let them fire you. I made the move, right?" Eddie dipped his thumb into Steve's mouth for just a second, teasing.

Eddie may have made the first move, but Steve was quick to make the next one that night, not giving Eddie a second to say hi before he was in his lap in the backseat of a hired car.

Steve's job had a lot of perks, but gaining a boyfriend was definitely the best one.

[hollowflight-propaganda]

hmmmm 🤔

Aged up Bumblebee for wof requests pretty please :)

So.... I went a little overboard, and just decided to draw how I envision the aged up kids for the hypothetical arc 4 in my head. No Peacemaker though, cause 1: I ran out of room, and 2: I have literally no ideas on what to do with him.

I also decided to include some headcanons about them under the cut (also some close-ups of the art above)

Dusky

. 6 years old, making him the oldest of the group (would also be the tallest if he didn't slouch all the damn time)

. He's doing a lot better now :) (dw, I'll traumatize him again later)

. He's still a pretty anxiety riddled guy the majority of the time, but not nearly as bad as he was in book 15

. Overall he's a really gentle soul and is very easy to get along with. He'd have an army's worth of friends if he wasn't terrified of talking to new people

Mink

. 5 years old, just a few months older than Cliff (to fix how her age didn't make any sense)

. Wears a TON of bracelets, which is because she enjoys making them

. Is the one friend that cares for her friends so much that she'll yell at them if they talk bad about themselves

. Is also the type of person to make sure everybody's taking care of themselves. I wouldn't call her the "mom friend," she's moreso the friend that very aggressively cares because she just has a lot of love inside of her

. (also maybe it stems from the trauma of watching her sickly mother get worse and worse until she died much too soon...)

Cliff

. 5, also is the tallest of the group

. The essence of his being is a cross between a himbo, a theater kid, and a bard

. HUGE mama's boy. He's the type of guy who will call his mom for an hour at least every other day (Auklet's jealous of their relationship)

. Has taken lessons for a few different types of instruments, but prefers bowed string instruments the most

. Is incredibly embarrassed by that one published anthem he made as a little kid and rewrote it at some point. Auklet, Mink, and later Bumblebee know this and will sing it at random to mess with him. Dusky's more merciful but he still finds it funny

Auklet

. 4 years old, shortest of the group (Cliff would probably use her head as an armrest if they weren't quadrupeds)

. Looks and is perpetually tired because her sleep schedule is shit

. She's a history nerd, and is especially interested in the history of animus magic

. She's also a enjoyer of conspiracy theories (again mostly with stuff about animus magic and the mystery of where it's gone)

. The interest in animus magic mostly stems from how it disappeared before she would've been tested for it, and the idea of how she could've had it but now she'll never know drives her kinda crazy

. Mommy Issues™ (which is to be expected when your mom is Coral. (I just want more characters in universe that hate Coral okay?))

. Has no real desire to be queen, and really hopes that someone else will take over the throne

. Doesn't wear as much jewelry as you'd expect from somebody in line for the throne, only having a few piercings on her fins

Bumblebee

. 4 with Auklet being about 9 months older than her, making her the youngest

. Her personality has become essentially what you'd get if you took Sundew's brashness and combined it with Cricket's eager nature

. She strikes me as being a bit of a jock as well. I don't know what kind of sports these dragons have, but I think she'd be good at them

. Her and Dusky have a sibling-esque relationship, it's a classic extrovert and introvert dynamic with them

Close-ups: