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cipheress-to-k-pop · 8 months ago

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bluetooth j.t.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: A little suggestive if you squint

Word Count: 1.2k words

You don't know how you allowed yourself to get manipulated into being a girlboss and moving out of your childhood home to live in your own apartment. While it was nice to have your own privacy and decorate your home however you liked, you realized just how many privileges you lost now that you weren't in the care of your parents.

There was no one there to make sure you woke up on time in the few cases where you slept through your alarm, no one that you could call on your way back from work to ask to switch on the water heater so you could take a steamy shower immediately.

You didn't have your mother's homecooked meals and you didn't have your father to pick you up snacks from the grocery store.

And one of the biggest thorns in your side was the reason you were dreading the entire day. Car maintenance. The auto shop was one of the most daunting places in your life as a girl who knew nothing about cars. Never once had you regretted not learning how to take care of your car or even the procedure required when you eventually take your car down to the auto shop.

But now standing in the hot and dusty garage, you were seriously rethinking your life choices. You should've scheduled these things for when your dad was visiting so you could ask him to take it instead. Or, even better, you should've gotten a boyfriend.

You were complaining in your head, dragging your feet about having to be here in the first place and whined about handing your car keys, with a bunch of adorable keychains attached to some rando.

But when Jason Todd, 6'2 man with biceps that were larger than your own head and a body that looked like he was shaped out of marble by Michelangelo himself walked out with a form for you to fill out, you were all too happy to be there.

Perhaps you'd be leaving here with a boyfriend after all.

"I have to admit, I don't really know much about cars so please don't scam me."

Jason chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that made you a little weak in the knees honestly and the boy-crazed fraction of your brain began to imagine how he would sound as soon as he woke up next to you, after a night of—

"A bit of advice, you probably don't want to let scammers know that you have no idea what they're talking about."

You giggled, scolding yourself mentally for finding that funny.

'Come on, (Y/N), pull yourself together it wasn't even that funny. His face is just great delivery.'

"Or I could keep coming here and have you check my car, since you're so trustworthy." You mused, sparing him a teasing smile.

Jason was completely picking up what you were putting down, giving you a coy smile of his own before responding, "Or perhaps this is just a tactic to get you to keep coming back."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Devious."

Looking back at his little clipboard, a thin metal rod of some kind tucked behind his ear instead of a pen, Jason asked, "When was the last time you got your car checked out? If your battery and brake pad was replaced recently, we could probably skip that and just do a routine check to make sure everything's running smoothly."

You winced, "I couldn't tell you, honestly. My dad usually handles this kinda stuff for me, I'm still kind of a new lamb when it comes to taking care of my car."

Jason raised his eyes from the clipboard for a second, "Your boyfriend can't do this kinda stuff for you instead?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

He perked up immediately and you ducked your head to hide your smile, "I'm sure you probably have a record of it in your glovebox or something. Most places keep a little sticker with the date of your last service under the dash. I'll check it out for you, do you have somewhere to be, or do you have a couple minutes so I can make sure?"

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders with a carefree smile, "It's my day off so I'm free as a bird."

He grinned, "Noted. Just give me a second."

You watched his back receding as he walked toward your car, shoulders looking like they could span the entire ocean and it was only when he was sat in the car and had turned on the engine did you whip out your phone at lightspeed.

"Ohmygosh Julie, I think I just met my future husband. Holy shit. He's so cute—gorgeous actually. He's working on my car right now and God, those arms, wow. And those eyes? God, I feel blessed just by looking at his face." The end of your message was interrupted by another mechanic running the engine.

You waited patiently for the sound of the engine to die before replaying the voice message so you could re-record the part that got cut off. Only you couldn't hear a thing.

Confused, you increased the volume, taking a sip from your coffee to soothe the inhumane squeal that you had let out while sending Julie the voice message. Once again you heard nothing.

You bit your lip at this, swiping down at the corner of your phone at access your control center and realizing the reason you couldn't hear anything was because it was connected to the Bluetooth on your car.

Wait.

THE CAR?!

You whipped around in horror only to find Jason smirking at you from the front seat of your car. If the world were fair, you'd be struck down with lightning right then and there. Or, since you were at an auto shop, a sentient car might run you over.

Alas, you continued to stand there in horror, completely unharmed no matter how badly you wished to be reduced to a puddle on the ground.

You called him your future husband. The ground should've swallowed you then and there. Instead, you just stood there in complete mortification and embarrassment while you stared at his amused expression.

Something startled him out of his gaze for a second and he pointed at your console, making a gesture like he was taking a call. Confused, you glanced at your phone.

'Incoming call: Julie'

Ah, saved by the bell.

"How much do I owe you?" You asked, quickly popping open your purse to fish out your credit card. You had stretched out the conversation with Julie as long as possible, begging her not to hang up and only interrupting her tangent when Jason finally came up to you, saying that your car was good to go.

"It's on the house." He gave you a charming grin, leaning an arm against the counter, "Can't have my future wife paying for anything, can I?"

Your cheeks flared red, still holding out your card for him to take, "O-Oh, I couldn't, really."

"If you insist, then you can always repay me with dinner. Today's your day off, right? Think you can pencil me in for 7?"

A shy smile grew on your face, your body so warm you had to resist fanning your burning cheeks, "Sounds like a plan."

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DC Taglist:

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@some-lovely-day

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sweetercalypso · 11 months ago

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What Takes the Edge Off || Joel Miller

Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: Now that Joel is living in Jackson, he’s picked up a few bad habits. When he comes home smelling like cigarettes, you punish him for his choice of vices

Notes: smoking, lap sitting, hair pulling, semi-public sex, grinding over clothes, edging, dom reader, sub(ish) Joel, no reader pronouns; smoking is gross unless you’re hot <3

joel miller masterlist main masterlist

Joel’s problem started with a crushed pack of Camels he’d found just a few short months after settling down in Jackson.

Truthfully, his problem had started when he was nineteen and naïve about the habit he was forming with the hand-rolled cigarettes stashed in his glovebox. They’d belonged to Tommy before Joel had quickly confiscated them with a lengthy lecture about the dangers of smoking.

Tommy was still a kid, but Joel was old enough to choose his own vices.

Everyone in Texas smoked; pipes, cigars, cigarettes – it was all commonplace in the rural heat of the South. Even after the world fell apart, there were plenty of people in QZs willing to trade a week’s worth of ration cards for a single carton of cigarettes, a stale taste of the life they’d left behind.

Joel had been more than happy to meet their demand, only occasionally skimming a few from his and Tess’s supplies. He didn’t crave the relief of nicotine any more than he craved a bottle of old whiskey or a quick, drunken fuck – it was just a way to cope with the life he’d been given.

Living in Jackson is different. The air is cleaner, the streets aren’t littered with soggy cigarette butts, and the weight of Joel’s bad habits has finally caught up to him.

The first pack he found, he’d shared with Tommy. The pair stood outside a crumbling house on their patrol route and chain-smoked what was left in the half-crushed box, reminiscing about the time Tommy stole an imported cigar from their father’s nightstand and had gotten sick from the first puff. Twenty years since they’d seen home, their Southern upbringing still kept them from smoking indoors.

The smell of tobacco had worn off by the time they returned to the city gates, and you were none the wiser about their indulgence. Even when you threw your arms around Joel and buried your face in his chest, you’d greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary.

A couple days after he’d finished the first pack, Joel realized how much he enjoyed smoking. He found himself missing the bitter taste in his mouth, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s flicking loose ashes from a phantom burning tip.

There’d been a gun in his hand for as long as he could remember, and now that his days are spent in protected leisure, Joel feels like a crucial piece of himself is missing.

He’s constantly searching for the sleek steel of a pistol, the pressure of a trigger responding to his unabating command. The weight of a cigarette balanced between his fingers had eased the grief of being still.

A sealed pack of Marlboro’s was Joel’s next find, left behind on a coffee table in a house just beyond his normal patrol route. His habit had never been routine enough to pick a favorite brand, but the familiar red and white emblem is a welcomed sight, a promise of earthy tobacco and a good, slow burn.

The matchbook in his pocket is a heavy burden on Joel’s conscience as he picks up the cigarettes and quietly slips them into his supply bag. This time, he isn’t sharing with Tommy or anyone else who feels they have a claim over a portion of his findings.

Jackson might be a commune, but just this once, Joel’s nicotine-fueled prerogative trumps his commitment to sacrifice.

He waits until he’s past the city gates to unwrap the crisp plastic and slide the first cigarette out of the pack. It’s nearly midnight when he returns his horse to the stable and begins the short walk home, unlit cigarette dangling between his teeth as he attempts to light a match under the warm embrace of the streetlamps.

The initial thrum of nicotine flooding his lungs is bittersweet, a slight burn that dulls his senses with each deep breath. He walks with his cigarette pulled up to his mouth, the weak orange glow of lit tobacco burning a crude effigy into the shadows of his face.

You’re sitting on the porch when he rounds the corner, lazed in a rocking chair that Joel had built the previous summer – his attempt at adjusting to the slow life.

When he realizes that you’re still awake, he flicks the half-finished cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with the toe of his boot, waving a hand to clear the lazy smoke lingering in the air. He grumbles under his breath and pulls the front of his jacket to his nose to gauge how long it would take the smell of tobacco to fade, but he realizes too late that the sickly-sweet aroma is already woven into the material – still clinging to his breath.

He makes his way up the sidewalk with a guilty look on his face and a hand tucked in his pocket, thumb rubbing soothingly over the side of the cigarette pack as if the feel of the box was enough to bring him relief.

It wasn’t that he expected to be chastised for his nasty habit – you knew better than anyone that Joel preferred to take care of himself. But he distinctly remembers a conversation you’d shared some time ago about old-world vices and your distaste for smoking.

He didn’t think it was worth mentioning his habit at the time; smoking was a luxury he doubted he’d ever have again, so why ruin his image of calloused self-restraint?

The sound of the porch steps creaking under Joel’s boots grabs your attention from whatever book you’d been reading, now abandoned face-down on the arm of the rocking chair as you turn to greet him.

“You’re home,” you drawl, the tired lilt in your voice betraying your content expression.

His chin dips in a bashful acknowledgement, tucked to his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your face. He still isn’t used to having someone waiting up for him; the thought only adds to the weight of his self-reproach.

“How was patrol?” you ask as Joel pulls away, though your eyes rake over him with another question in mind.

Before he can answer, you reach out and grab the front of his jacket, bringing the material to your nose to confirm what Joel already knew. “You smell like smoke.”

He swallows the sandpaper feeling in his mouth and shrugs. “Got a little cold out tonight, we stopped to make a fire on our way back.”

He cringes internally at his halfhearted attempt at avoiding the matter, but it doesn’t seem to deter you from putting the pieces together anyway.

“No,” you interject, brows pulled together in confusion. “You smell like cigarettes.”

He’s silent for a moment, unable to think of an honest way out of this conversation. “Huh.”

“Joel,” you drawl, standing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. A teasing grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, a scandalized amusement that makes his cheeks burn. “Have you been smoking?”

Your fingers weave through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly until his head rolls back.

His eyes flutter shut and he shudders as he pulls the offending pack from his pocket. “Found ‘em on patrol,” he pants, his free hand gently squeezing your hip. “People leave all sorts of useful things behind when the world’s endin’.”

You offer only a simpering tsk in response, not quite the reaction Joel was expecting.

The night air is silent beyond the quiet lull of Jackson and the floorboards shifting under your feet as you shuffle closer together, sharing an intimate moment in the dim light seeping through the front room windows. Joel’s hands are a firm presence on your waist, separated from your skin by only the thin flannel shirt you’d stolen from his closet.

Eventually, you pull away, ushering him into the seat you’d abandoned upon his arrival. He drops into the rocking chair with a grunt and drags you into his lap.

“Missed you, baby” he murmurs, admiring the way you fit perfectly into the hollow of his frame, the way you balance yourself overtop him with practiced ease.

He knows he should be more concerned about your indifferent reaction, more worried about the possibility of someone walking by. But his sensibility is swept away by the heave of your chest and the little sound you make when his hand presses against the base of your spine.

Your hips drag slowly over his and for a moment, Joel thinks you’ve forgotten about the cigarettes. Or maybe you won’t mind his indulgence as long as he makes up for it. The warmth of your body pressed against his makes Joel ache for more, ready to offer an apology with more than just his words.

Just as he leans in to press his mouth to yours, you pull away far enough that he misses.

“Ah-” you stop him with a raised hand, fingertips pressed to his pouted lips. “You can kiss me when you don’t smell like cigarettes.”

The warm, hazy feeling is suddenly ripped from the air. Joel’s head jerks back in a look of disbelief, mouth hung open and brows pulled together as if he’d been scorned. “You’re serious?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, running a hand over his chest to soothe his trampled ego. “Can’t stand the smell, baby. You know that.”

The rocking chair dips forward as Joel drops his head onto your shoulder with a groan. “That’s just cruel.”

“It’s not cruel,” you laugh, pushing back the mess of curls falling into his face. “When you come home from patrol, I wanna taste you, not smoke.”

Your hips stir over his once again and Joel swears under his breath. His cock twitches in interest and he begrudgingly accepts the torment of your slow pace. This isn’t the time to take charge and chase his high; he’ll let you take the reins until you decide that he’s forgiven.

He picks his head up to glance around the empty streets, assuring himself that there’s no one here to witness his weak-willed acquiescence.

“I wanna touch you, make you feel good,” you continue, ghosting your fingers over the front of his jeans. “But how can I do that when all I can think about is those nasty cigarettes? Hmm?”

Your hands travel back to his chest, but your hips continue to roll over his, trapping his stiff cock beneath the comfortable pressure of your thighs. His eyes flutter shut once more as he leans back into his seat and lets you have your fun.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to near his end, subtly bucking his own hips to help himself along. He’s right there, right at the edge of his release, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the arm rests and—

The weight in his lap is gone, replaced with an empty chill that makes Joel’s hips stutter. His eyes snap open as he struggles to focus in his blissed-out state, but a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

You’re standing in front of him now, no longer providing the friction that’d been fueling the fire in his belly. “Sorry, baby. You don’t get off that easy.”

He groans when you crawl back into his lap and you’re flooded with a sense of empowerment. It shouldn’t feel this good to see Joel suffer. You know it’s not fair to tease him like this, but maybe he deserves a little punishment.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking, I’d let you enjoy this. Let you use your mouth to make me come, let you fuck me the way you want to.”

Joel stays silent, obedient. He swallows around shallow gasps of air that make his chest rise and fall with the labor of his breaths, thighs tensing as he struggles not to chase that feeling dangling just out of reach.

“I could do this all night,” you note, settling your weight in his lap again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I think you’d let me.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #sub!joel #sub!joel miller

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undercover-grisha · 4 months ago

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If cars were in the Grishaverse

Jesper: would have a motorcycle but no clue how to drive an actual car; passenger princess

Kaz: knows how to drive every car, including shift. Cool angry driver, where you can clearly tell he wants to explode but instead waits until he can screw over someone who had fucked with him earlier

Nina: practically lives on the horn, windows down constantly, music up to a ten, a million dangly things on her mirror, glovebox full of snacks, forgets her turn signal

Inej: follows the laws as close as she can, except if she’s in a rush, in which case she and her small car WILL break a lot of laws

Wylan: can legally drive. Should not.

Matthias: follows every law. Is constantly late.

#six of crows #soc #shadow and bone #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #wylan van eck #inej ghafa #matthias helvar #nina zenik

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pseudowho · 8 months ago

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A Reliable Man

Sometimes the hero you want, isn't always the hero you need.

A Kiyotaka Ijichi appreciation smutfic.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, loss of virginity

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"Ijichi...can you come and collect me, please?"

"Of course. Just send your location over."

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

"Ijichi, it's so late. Are you okay to collect me?"

"Don't worry, I've been waiting. Have you eaten?"

"Oh...I haven't. It's alright, I can sort myself out--"

"I'll pick something up. It's no trouble."

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

"--ah, shit-- Ijichi, call the school-- I need backup, urgently."

"Hold on. Get somewhere safe. I'll call everyone-- anyone. Get to safety. Please."

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

"Ijichi, I--...I can't thank you enough. I wouldn't have made it out of there if you hadn't called for help. I...I really am sorry."

A pause. A soft sigh.

"...please, don't be sorry. You're out there saving lives. You don't have to be sorry about anything."

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

Ijichi--

...your finger hovered over your phone screen. You saw the time; 10pm. You felt a familiar squirm of shame, disgusted by yourself for demanding so much of Kiyotaka Ijichi.

He was off the clock...you were in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere along the way, you had forgotten how hard he worked; while directing all of the assistants should have been a full time job in itself, Ijichi stepped above and beyond, by sacrificing his time, his effort, his safety, shift after shift after shift.

You tapped your phone against your forehead, eyes closed as you sighed. You decided to walk home. It would take you hours, but it was still better than--

Your phone vibrated in your hand. You looked at the screen.

Kiyotaka Ijichi.

You answered immediately, flustered, the words catching in your throat. Ijichi got there first. His voice, calm, soft, worried.

"I just...thought I'd check in. There aren't any drivers on tonight, but you're out on a mission. Are you home yet?" Tears pricked in your eyes, and you gulped.

"Ijichi.. you're not even at work. What are you doing? Calling me? You need a break." You chastised him. He laughed weakly, apologising in a flurry as you told him off.

"--it's my job to make sure you get hom--"

"--no it's not, Ijichi." Silence on the line. Ijichi waited for you, as he had a hundred times before, "It's not your job to get me home. Not every time. You...why are you...you need a break."

Another soft sigh; another warm pause.

"And I'll have a break," he continued, quietly determined, "when you're home safe. Send me your location. I'm on my way."

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He had opened the door for you. Gently laughed off your reproach. The seats were already warm. A hot drink, in a thermos. A snack bar in the glovebox.

Ijichi looked tired; by this point, you weren't sure if that was just his face, but you felt a strange flutter of sweet relief, joy, to be smiled at by him, as if you were worth the late hour and lack of sleep.

Ijichi cast his eyes over you, relaxing, "You're...not hurt. That's good. I'm--...I'm happy to pick you up," he offered, awkwardly, "but I've had enough of scraping you up and dragging you to Shoko."

You felt such prickling uncertainty bubble in you. Why were you suddenly shy in his presence? Why did his eyes casting over you feel so like a caress? Why did you not want the journey to end?

"Dinner," you blurted out, and Ijichi raised his eyebrows, eyes fixed on the road, "we should get dinner. If you've not eaten. I've not eaten. But if you don't want to eat then that's fine too I know it's late--"

"No no no, please don't-- yes, please, dinner sounds...lovely."

You took a moment to look down at yourself; muddy, dirty, bedraggled.

"Uhm...at yours, maybe? We'll order takeout?" You were too busy examining the state of yourself to see the blush that fizzed across Ijichi's sharp cheeks.

"I-- uhm--...sure. Yes. That would be...agreeable."

"So formal, Ijichi."

"Shush. I'm a professional."

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"So..." you finished your mouthful, trying not to feel embarrassed about being dressed in one of Ijichi's old t-shirts and sweatpants, "...he really said that? To quit, and get a driving licence?"

Ijichi laughed, his smile parting the clouds and making him look fifteen years younger. You couldn't help but laugh with him, your hand coming to cover your mouth, giggling together on his sofa like teenagers.

Ijichi wiped his eyes, sighing; "Gojo's a force of nature, it's true...but I probably owe him my life. I...feel like I can do more good in my current role, than I could have ever done on the front lines."

Setting down your plate, and wrapping your arms around your knees, you watched Ijichi, fascinated to see him slowly unwind, his loosening coils releasing the stresses of the day. You had never seen him like this...so relaxed. So happy.

You felt another odd squirm, this time a possessive, protective determination that he should never participate in Jujutsu Sorcery. That he should always be safe. You reached out for his hand, stroking his long, smooth fingers in yours.

Ijichi froze, so uncertain about how to react, having never had anyone show interest in him, barely even his parents, let alone a beautiful woman like you--

"You are the lifeblood of the sorcerers, Ijichi," you smiled, "and we'd fall apart without you. I'd fall apart--"

You were close now, almost sat on his lap. Your face was so close to his, that he felt your breath fan against his neck. He couldn't keep pretending he only checked in on you because it was his job. He couldn't keep pretending it barely bothered him when he saw you walk into danger. He couldn't keep pretending he didn't think about you all day and all night--

Ijichi pressed a kiss to your lips so fast, it felt like butterfly's wings. You gaped, wide-eyed, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"I--I'm so sorry, that was-- that was highly inappropriate of me and I--...mmmfff..."

You had pulled Ijichi in by his collar, continuing the kiss he had started, with such heartfelt sincerity that Ijichi could have cried. You felt the wounds of so many horrible, selfish, unreliable boyfriends past. Ijichi felt the wounds of so many crushes, hopes and rejections past. Neither of you had noticed the treasure beneath your feet for the longest time-- unforgivably long.

Ijichi's hands clenched uncertainly as you kissed him, unsure where they should sit. He happily took your lead, tentatively responding to every press, every fluid movement of your supple lips against his. Only when your tongue swiped across his mouth, did Ijichi groan and respond instinctively, one hand coming up to push his glasses on top of his head, the other snaking to the back of your neck as he tugged you onto his lap.

You had never kissed someone who you knew would fight to the ends of the earth for you, and for whom you would reciprocate without question. A man who appreciated you as you were and wholeheartedly, and about whom you felt the same. A trustworthy man. A sincere man. A reliable man.

You pulled away for a moment, still holding his collar as you straddled his lap, panting against his lips; "Where have you been all my life?"

"In the front seat...just hoping to catch your eye in the mirror."

Crashing your lips against his again, sighing into his mouth, Ijichi's body strained with the heat of your thighs trapping him in. He was desperate to pull his shirt off, to feel your skin on his...except you needed him to act like he knew exactly what he was doing and--

"--wait...wait," Ijichi panted, resting his head against your shoulder, his hair ruffled, a pained grimace on his face. You cupped his cheeks, feeling him, hard and aching beneath you as he squirmed with an uneasy admission.

"I've...I've never-- I haven't--..." Ijichi winced, moving to lean back, mortified and humiliated. You saw his shame start to bubble over, and quickly slammed a lid on the pot. You did not let go of his collar, and did not let him lean back. Instead, you whispered against his lips, enough to make a whimper leave his lips and a drop of pre-cum leave his cock.

"Let's fix that then, shall we?"

Standing, full of divine purpose, you pulled Ijichi to his feet, nuzzling up into his ear until he shivered, his hands ghosting over your hips again.

"My room-- please--" he pressed, smiling into your neck as you laughed, being pushed gently backwards towards his bedroom. Stumbling together into his bedroom, giggling, stealing kisses, and necking like teenagers, you felt yourself thrown back into some sweet young love that you always wanted to have, but never received.

You fell back onto his bed with a bounce and Ijichi stood nervously before you, wanting to follow his instinct to crawl on top of you and bracket you under his arms, but crippled by his lack of confidence. You raised your foot, slipping your toes under his t-shirt and tickling his belly. Ijichi smiled, buckling and grabbing your foot, crawling over you with lovesick eyes. You made it all so easy.

"Ijichi..." you hummed, nosing at his neck, "...whatever your gut tells you to do, is probably right. I trust you. So please, show me what you want."

Ijichi felt shivers down his spine at your open invitation. His fingertips grazed down your plush inner arm, the little squidge of fat between your breast and armpit, the smooth untouched plane beneath your breast. Your eyes fluttered closed, delighted by his reverent touch. His hand gripped your shirt, and you almost felt tears prick in your eyes as he gently shielded your face to pull it off over your head.

Your bra had shifted with wandering hands, and your nipple peeked half-in-half-out, pressed by the edge of the cup. Ijichi ducked his mouth towards it, and you saw him hesitate again. You reached back, undoing your bra and removing it. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth, and back up to his eyes, dark and drunk.

"I'd like that," you whispered, and Ijichi breathed a shuddering gasp of relief before taking your nipple into his mouth, tasting you with open-mouthed sucks and laps. You heard his wet little grumbles of appreciation against your skin, when his hand came up to gently finger the softly yielding squidge of your other breast, Ijichi's fingers playing with your nipple with delighted exploration.

Ijichi was so overstimulated already, so touch-starved, and his cock so rigid, that he felt worryingly close to finishing-- so unable to control his own excitement at exploring someone's body so intimately for the first time. That the body belonged to you, the woman he had been falling in love with for years, was the final nail in the coffin, of him threatening to spill in his boxers.

You felt this in him, already prepared for him to want to curl up and die from embarrassment, if he didn't last. You were thrilled by his worship of you, having been treated as expendable more than once before. Teaching him would be a privilege and an honour. All the while, you failed to see how he taught you the bare basics of being respected and revered by a lover.

Ijichi was finely-tuned to subtle shifts in the atmosphere around him, and he learned quickly what you liked as he took your breasts into his hands and mouth. He felt the flickering of your hips up towards his when he licked you a certain way, and the hairs on his neck stood up to hear the breathy moans from your lips when he countered, pressing his twitching cock down against your clothed pussy.

Feeling a warning trickle of pre-cum, Ijichi pulled away from your breasts with a hiss, wrapped up in need and barely ashamed to hear himself beg you; "--please, I-- gosh, I'm sorry so sorry-- not going-- not going to make it--"

You kissed him again, soft and reassuring, as you finished unbuttoning his shirt. Ijichi moaned, long and shaking, as you draped his tie around your neck, the tails trailing over your wet-nippled breasts.

"God, you're lovely," he blurted out, blushing as you laughed, your head thrown back in genuine joy.

"Not nearly as lovely as you, beautiful man," you purred, ecstatic to see Ijichi's blush deepen when he moved to hide his face, his nose nuzzling in unbridled affection against your neck. Pushing his shirt off his slim shoulders, you raised your feet to hook around his trousers, looking at him with a playful glint.

Ijichi raised his eyebrows in question, and cried out to feel you push his trousers and boxers down, shivering as his cock bobbed out, red-tipped and wet with pre-cum. Ijichi quaked to feel the cool air hit his length, a drip of pre-cum dropping onto your belly.

You felt Ijichi tensed, brittle above you, and knew he risked spilling in your hand if you touched him. Still, you trailed your hand down his belly, nails grazing in the barely-there black hair, before slowly encircling his cock, hot and heavy in your hand.

Ijichi saw stars, his own hand the only one his skin had even known, and groaned into your neck, instinctively bucking into your grip; "--ooohhh, f--...gosh," he whined against you, coughing in alarm as you giggled again, your fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his length. Your other hand pushed down Ijichi's borrowed sweatpants and your panties.

"...are you ready?" You asked Ijichi, smiling at his enthusiastic nod. You rolled the head of his cock between your folds, wet and warm, and Ijichi's arms almost buckled with the bliss and promise.

You guided Ijichi into you, squeaking as he bucked into you, bottoming out in one thrust. Ijichi snapped, cursing in a way that was so alien to the Ijichi you had always known. He gasped, one hand reaching down to sink into the side of your hip, relishing the way you jolted beneath him as he filled you with ragged thrusts.

Never had a man been so captivated by you. The feeling of Ijichi's inexperienced desperate rutting, was so vastly outweighed by the enthusiasm with which he treated your body. By the time you rolled your hips in time to meet his thrusts, pushing his cock deeply enough that you felt the first hot stirs of pleasure in your belly, Ijichi was crumbling around you.

"--please please please...please please please-- oohhhh fuck-- ooohhh fuck a condom, shi--"

Ijichi came with a strangled cry, so lost in his base instinct to cum inside you, that he couldn't help but let his seed spill into you, in ragged, disjointed bucks. You drank in the bliss on Ijichi's face...slowly seeing it morph into horror, and you were quick to reassure him, peppering kisses on his lips and cheeks.

"You're okay, it's okay...I'm on protection, shhh it's okay, I loved it, I loved it--"

"God I forgot all about you--"

"---you didn't, you did so well, and besides, we've got all night--"

"All ni...? Oh...oh. All night," Ijichi smiled, absolutely burning with adoration, as you burned for him. Your eyes flickered up to his head, and you pressed a hand over your mouth, eyes sparkling.

"...your glasses are still on your head, Ijichi."

"Ah! Oh...gosh."

#jjk #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #ijichi kiyotaka fluff #ijichi kiyotaka smut #ijichi kiyotaka #Ijichi smut #Ijichi fluff

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thefreakandthehair · 8 months ago

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written for ‘pin’ | wc: 388 | rated: m | cw: n/a | a @steddiemicrofic collaboration with the absolute incredible, always wonderful, mindblowingly talented @ahhrenata!

It starts with a map.

A faded, folded map with thin red and blue lines traversing the midwest landscape that Steve finds in the console of the RV Eddie hot-wired. When no one's looking, he tucks it safely into his pocket, carrying it with him as a symbol of hope through the hopelessness of the Upside Down.

Against all odds, they live— Eddie wakes up, Max walks again, Dustin’s ankle heals up just fine— and that little map sits in the glovebox of his car, untouched but not forgotten. At least, that’s where it rests until Eddie finds it one night a year later and Steve, a little hazy and loose, tells him all about his dream.

The RV. The six kids. The road trip.

“Well,” Eddie starts, voice syrupy with a slack smile that only ever seems directed at Steve these days. “We probably shouldn’t risk grand theft auto again and I definitely can’t give you six kids, but I do have a van and no responsibilities if you ever wanna stick a pin somewhere in that map and take off.”

And that’s how, against even greater odds, Steve finds himself on the hood of Eddie’s van at a rest-stop in Minnesota just off of I-94. He’s been driving for hours, trying to make it to the North Dakota border before nightfall, but both he and Eddie need to stretch their tight joints and tighter muscles.

It may not have been the plan, but Steve’s glad that they decided to stop here because sure, they haven’t technically reached Big Sky Country yet but damn if they aren’t getting a taste of what’s to come. Splattered in shades of pinks and oranges, sunlight pierces the fluffy clouds like prisms and throws the colors across the sky.

Eddie drags a flannel blanket out of the back and wraps it around both of their shoulders with an uncharacteristically shy smile. As they watch the sunset, Steve turns to Eddie to thank him for indulging this fantasy and finds himself close enough that their noses touch.

The expansive sky and unending horizon gives him courage, a kind of freedom he’s never experienced back in Hawkins with its arbitrary rules and expectations. Back in Hawkins, he'd pull away but in the vastness of Minnesota, he just matches Eddie's smile and leans in.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanart #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #myblurbs

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polarisjisung · 2 months ago

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03:21 AM — zhong chenle × fem! reader

wc: 0.6k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, reader wears makeup, one handed driving

notes: dug this out from my unfinished/unedited works as an apology for my inconsistent lotc posting + I think chenle is just such an acts of service kinda bf

There's a soft rnb tune playing in the background, one chenle hums along to with one hand on the steering wheel.

Since he's driving, he can't quite turn his head to look at you, but the fact that you're not rambling nearly as much as you were five minutes ago— something about how rainbows should have the colour pink in them, and a pot of gold at the end, forces chenle to sneak a glance at you

"Not sleepy huh?" he laughs to himself, considering the absolute fight you'd put up with him swearing you wouldn't fall asleep, precisely 10 minutes ago.

"Cute," he whispers, holding a hand out to shield you from the bright red of the traffic light in front of you when you stir in your sleep

The reflection of the gloss shining on your lips forces him to sigh in realisation— you hated sleeping with makeup on

And chenle doesn't remember when, but at some point in the last few years, his glovebox had become home to a small basket of micellar water, cleansing balm, and some cotton pads

They'd replaced the jumbo pack of mints he liked to keep on hand, and even taken up some of the space designated to his car manual, which now found its place somewhere on the back leather seats, flying back and forth if he ever needed to turn sharply or emergency stop.

For all the times he had complained about things not being in their designated space, somehow chenle didn't mind all too much about this, not when you'd thank him for being an absolute lifesaver each time you flung open his glove box after a long night; something you can't do now, considering the way you'd fallen asleep on the passenger seat beside him

In the past, he'd have tried to wake you up, by either calling your name or tapping your arm gently until you woke up. he doesn't know what urges him not to follow through with the same routine you've established today, maybe it's the way your soft snores fill the car— I don't snore chenle— your words linger in his mind and a smile casts itself across his face.

Or maybe, chenle just wants to take a moment to have you all to himself.

As he reaches over to grab the cotton pads, he wonders how the copper shade of shimmer pressed against your eyelid lasted throughout the entire night or how that coral shade of matte lip butter hasn't budged, a pretty pinkish hue still painting your slightly parted lips.

Chenle had seen your hurriedly pack on makeup enough times to know that the redness to your cheeks didn't come from the blush you'd put on earlier— that was a matching coral shade to your lips

As he presses the cotton pad against the spout of the bottle, he chuckles "how much did she drink"

Chenle can only pray you don't wake up as he pats the soaked cotton pads against your skin, starting with your eyes, the same way he remembered you doing it

For a moment he thinks he could live like this forever, even if it meant taking 10 minutes to remove all the makeup from just one eye, he wouldn't mind as long as you were by his side— his pretty pretty girl.

It hits him, burns through him like wildfire. The warmth of the moment suddenly feels all-encompassing, and it takes everything within him not to gasp at the thought, scared of waking you. A truth that shines brighter than any eyeshadow or lip gloss ever could, he loved you. Chenle, in that moment, decides that he'd love you now and in every lifetime to come.

#chenle x oc #chenle x y/n #chenle x you #chenle x reader #nct chenle fluff #chenle fluff #nct chenle #nct dream x y/n #nct dream x oc #nct dream x female reader #nct dream x you #nct dream x reader #nct dream timestamps #nct timestamps

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froggibus · 5 months ago

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Roadtrip - Overwatch Boys

Includes: Cassidy, Genji, Hanzo, Baptiste, Lucio & Mauga

Genre: fluff, some crack lol

Summary: take a summer roadtrip with your favorite OW man

CW: irresponsible/reckless driving, cops (Cassidy's), drinking (not while driving I promise), Genji slander, camping, very fun summer vibes w this one

This is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

Cassidy:

definitely takes you through the midwest somewhere

insists on driving the whole way but its ok cause he has an insane sense of direction

like knows every road and shortcut like the back of his hand

tries to pretend like he doesn’t like your music but ends up singing along

loves stopping in old local diners

at least once the owner of a bar recognizes him and reminds him that he’s banned for life

and somehow he ends up talking the owner into letting you guys stay??

only drinks black coffee and pretends like he enjoys it

you forced him to try an overly sweet 6$ coffee one time and now he insists on stopping for one in every town

pretends to obey traffic laws but speeds whenever you’re on a backroad

a cop tries to pull him over and suddenly he turns into Max Verstappen and is offroading through a random field to lose them

“what the fuck is happening”

“I’m winnin’.”

you guys get takeout and eat it on the tailgate of his truck

stops at any bar that advertises live music

will sing all the words all dorky to you and try to get you to dance with him

wants to stay on the road with you forever

Genji:

do not let this man drive he can’t drive for shit

wants to go somewhere neither of you have been before, but doesn’t really have a solid plan

matcha lattes at EVERY stop

you camp rather than stay in a hotel cause he never got to as a kid

like he’s never even tried a s’more or had a campfire before

chooses the most beautiful campsites ever with pretty beaches

neither of you can figure out how to set up the tent so you end up piling the blankets and pillows in your car and sleeping in the trunk

it’s surprisingly cozy though

also he totally winds up cuddling you for warmth

takes SO MANY pictures

insists on using a paper map because he wants a more “authentic” feel

results in you guys getting lost in the woods at least once

picks up handcrafted flavoured marshmallows at literally every gas station you stop at so he can make different kinds of s'mores

some of the flavours get wild too—like maple bacon or banana split

weirdly good at roadtrip games

brings his Switch or something so he can play Pokemon while you drive + names the ones he catches after the models of nearby cars

you end up staying on the trip way longer than intended because you guys have so much fun

Hanzo:

has a meticulously planned schedule of where you’ll visit and when

wants to take you through the Japanese countryside, maybe stop at a beach or two

very careful driver

has a Nissan Versa that he babies and refuses to let you eat inside of (though if you bat your eyes at him enough, he’ll give in)

brings a polaroid camera so he can take pictures of all the beautiful sites

keeps the polaroids in a little folder tucked into the glovebox

refuses to get fast food and insists on stopping at cute local cafes

has packed for literally every possible occasion in only one tiny bag

you ask him to stop so you can buy something weird and obscure and he just so happens to have it

“I really wish I had Shrek 2 on DVD right now”

“check the glovebox”

???

has a soft spot for roadside fruit stands and had to stop at every single one to buy stuff

the whole trunk is filled with fruit. there’s no escape

lets you play whatever music you like and will have your favourite songs memorized by the end of the trip

prefers experiences to souvenirs, but if you buy him a keychain or something he’ll treasure it forever

Baptiste:

annoyingly slow driver

everyone is passing you guys

has a pretty solid plan of where he wants to go but he’s open to feedback

has an immaculate sense for choosing the best local restaurants

always wants to try the most niche food combos he can find—like deep fried milk

needs to have his water bottle, an energy drink and a fun drink or else he can’t drive

wears sunscreen in the car and stops every few hours to reapply

cringes at your driving no matter how you drive and definitely gives you at least one (1) lecture about the dangers of speeding

loves tourist traps and wants to stop at every one you pass

insists on getting those dorky commemorative t-shirts from said tourist attractions so that the two of you can match

loves salt water taffy and looks for fun weird flavours wherever you find them

his entire centre console ends up being FULL of them by the end of the trip

he has the ac in the car on full blast to the point you’re shivering

not big on taking pictures but loves videos—he has about a thousand of the two of you trying new fun drinks and snacks

it’s been so long since he was able to be on the road without worrying about Talon—and he never wants to go back

Lucio:

nobody is more fun than him on a road trip

has a super fun car that he’s souped up and decorated to hell

the car has window tint so dark that you can’t see into it

does not obey traffic laws. you’re getting so many tickets, im sorry

buys those window markers so the two of you can draw on them when you’re bored

chooses the music and probably has a thirty hour long meticulously curated playlist

car singalongs all day

drinks so many energy drinks you’re surprised his heart still works

wants to stop in every single town to try their local specialties

doesn’t really have a solid plan or anything, just wants to hit the road and see where you end up

wears increasingly goofy disguises when going out in public

“omg is that Lucio?”

“where?”

gets dragged into performing at least one impromptu concert somewhere

takes turns driving with you so the other can rest and reads out gossip articles about himself to entertain you

every hotel you stay in is a different gimmick and he goes crazy for it. the sillier the better

posts cute pictures of the two of you on his insta and is always taking candids

wants to make your roadtrip an annual thing

Mauga:

insists on taking his big ass Jeep that he refers to as “Little Betty” and refuses to let anyone else drive ‘her’

completely reckless driver too

drives with one hand on the wheel, music way too loud, the windows down even when you’re going like 110

he lets you pick the music as long as its upbeat

constantly drinking some weird protein shake

absolutely no plan of where he wants to go, just wants to hit up some nice beaches

has all of your stuff crammed in the back so high that you couldn’t possibly see out of the back window

drives in the sluttiest skimpiest tank top ever

wants to try all the local cocktails and party in every town you stop in

gets drunk and becomes best friends with everyone he meets

needs to collect a Hawaiian print shirt in every place you stop in to commemorate the occasion

wants more than anything to teach you how to surf

he stops at every beach you pass and BEGS you to try it out

either wants to sleep in a five star hotel or on the beach with no shelter. there is no inbetween

takes one awkward blurry picture of the two of you throughout the entire trip and puts it in his wallet

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

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cumikering · 4 months ago

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F1 John Price x reader

2.7k | fluff Price raced for Mclaren. You didn’t know that (part 2)

No human body was made for this: jetting across continents and time zones for nine months out of twelve.

Even after the years, John Price hadn’t got used to it. Neither was he used to flying from Las Vegas to London for a photoshoot only to hop on another plane the day after for his next race in Qatar.

He groaned internally, his body aching as he plopped down onto the backseat of the cab before taking his black surgical mask and cap off. He didn’t get a proper rest with how turbulent his flight was.

“Oh, I’ve seen ya mate!” the middle-aged driver exclaimed, eyeing him from the rear-view mirror. “You’re famous- you’re the F1 bloke, innit?”

John gave him a polite smile.

“Could you sign something of mine?” He popped open his glovebox. “Wait, this wouldn’t sell so high…” he muttered as he rummaged through it.

The cars behind started a cacophony of honks.

“Am in the way.” He chuckled sheepishly as he pulled away. “You better not run off before I find something!"

Downtown London was packed at the hour. The driver had plenty of time to look through every nook and cranny of his car, but cursing when he could only come up with a yellowing notepad and a drying pen. John made do.

“Could you also put your name down, please?” He held the pad over his shoulder after he’d inspected it. “So we know who you are.”

And he did, with another rehearsed smile.

“Cheers, mate.” With a pleased grin, he tossed the pad onto the passenger seat, not even bothering to make eye contact amidst the traffic.

At the red light around the corner of the magazine HQ, the taxi halted in front of a coffee shop. He glanced at his watch - he was 20 minutes early and he desperately needed caffeine.

John pulled his mask and cap back on before exiting the car. The cap was still stiff, one with a French flag patch he grabbed at random at the airport with a grumble. He’d misplaced the plain one he liked.

He kept his head down as he stood in the short queue.

“Hot Americano, double shot, please.”

His phone chimed when he waved it over the payment terminal. He was going to regret this. He wasn’t a big coffee drinker.

“Can I get a name for that?” You looked up from the cup you scribbled on.

“JP.”

You smiled, glancing at his cap and wrote his name down. “Like Jean Pierre?”

He chuckled, only now making eye contact with you. It was a joke between him and his teammate, Kyle, or Gaz as the fans called him. You must be one of those well-meaning people pretending to not recognise him, giving him a slice of normalcy.

He always appreciated the gesture, especially the more years passed. As glamorous as life had been since F1, John discovered he wasn’t about all the glitz and glam.

He didn’t care about looking immaculate all the time, scripted speech in designer clothing or driving expensive cars. Have you seen the state of London’s streets? Everything was PR, PR, PR - like this wasn’t even his life he was living anymore. He wanted to be home on his racing simulator or get the neighbourhood takeaway in his thick hoodies without anyone shoving a camera in his face. He just wanted his old, quiet life.

You worked the coffee machine, your back to him, and his gaze wondered to the pastry display as he leaned on the counter. The cookies were massive, thick in the middle, probably chewy too. They would be perfect with his coffee.

He glanced at the line which had grown longer, and at you at the register now, scribbling another customer’s order onto a cup with a smile. It was odd that no one else was in sight to help you at the busy time.

A quick peek at his watch: he didn’t have the time to queue again. He’d just have to come back later after his business.

“Enjoy.” You flashed him a smile as you placed his order on the counter.

It didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes.

Sure enough, hours later after a photoshoot and an interview, caffeine still buzzed in John’s veins. He could only imagine how long he’d be up later that night, but it was worth it. At least he didn’t look like a zombie in the footage.

His mask didn’t hold off the gust of wind - cold against his cheeks as he stepped out of the building. His stomach rumbled. While pubs had started to fill up with people in work attire, the lights were still on in your shop. He crossed the street only for the sign to read ‘closed’, the last couple exiting the door.

His shoulders sagged, but he pushed the door open anyway.

You looked up from the tablet you fumbled with, your smile apologetic. “Hiya, we’re closed. Sorry.”

He glanced at the display, empty safe for two remaining cookies. He pointed at them. “Hi, so sorry to bother, but I just wanted those, please. I didn’t get the chance earlier.”

Recognition flashed in your eyes. “Oh, I remember you. Jean-Pierre.”

“It’s me.” He laughed.

You slid the bag of two cookies across the counter. “On the house.”

“No, no. You’re doing me a favour already. Have one with me at least?”

You hummed. “Why not.”

At the nearest table, he had taken his cap and mask off. You set down a mug of milk.

“You’re spoiling me.” He chuckled, taking a bite of the cookie. “Oh my god, it’s spot on,” he groaned.

You smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It took me a while to come up with the perfect recipe.”

“I’d thought about this for hours and it doesn’t disappoint, but I bet it tastes even better warm.” His gaze couldn’t help but fall to your untouched cookie.

You laughed, pushing the paperbag across the table.

“I’m sorry, this is so, so shameless.” He gave you a sheepish grin. “But it’s wonderful, really. I’ll be back. Definitely.”

“You’re very welcome to.”

“Can I place an order? For my team. Three dozens for tomorrow morning, or is that a bit last minute?”

“Yeah, no, I can do that.” You smiled. “If I may ask, what do you do, JP? Sounds like a big team.”

He frowned. “I thought you knew?”

You tilted your head. “Sorry, I don’t think you told me?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. Heat crept up his neck from the presumption. “I work with cars.”

“Like a mechanic?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, that’s impressive. You must have steady hands.”

“I do, I suppose.” He held your gaze for a moment. “Oh, sorry, you were about to close. I’ll just finish this-“

You waved your hand. “Do take you time. I hadn’t had the chance to sit down.”

“Busy day?”

“Very. One of my girls is sick so I worked alone today.”

“I can stay a bit, if you don’t mind.” He smiled. “Actually, would you like dinner? I’m famished. I can get something for us?”

“That sounds fantastic.”

“I saw a kebab shop a block away. Are they stingy with their chips?”

“Of course not. They wouldn’t be my favourite otherwise.”

He dashed out the door with a grin.

When John returned with dinner, you called out from the kitchen as you put away the cookie dough you’d just prepped for his order.

“I make the dough at least 12 hours ahead. That way the flavours have a chance to mingle.” You sat across him.

“Is that why they’re so good?”

You shrugged, smiling, as you unwrapped your dinner.

“I’ll be back for this too.” He nodded approvingly at the kebab, bursting at the seams with chips.

“They’ve got great food around here.”

“All the more reason I’ll have to be back.”

You chatted over the meal, about the area and its hidden gems. He was convinced he didn’t even know half of the city even after living there for many years.

“Thanks for dinner, Jean-Pierre. You can go now if you want.” You put away the wrappings. “I don’t want to bore you with all the cleaning I’m going to be doing.”

“It’s John, and I can do the dishes.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You said you were tired, and look how long I held you up.” He gestured at the dark sky outside.

You chuckled as you shook your head.

“Come on, let’s get to work,” he said over his shoulder as he sauntered to the kitchen.

You wiped down the counters and did the floor as John helped with the dishes, asking about you and your shop. While he didn’t like doing chores, doing them with you didn’t feel troublesome.

In fact, it was nice to spend some time out, not cooped up all alone in his apartment. It was refreshing to not be talking about racing or cars, to get away from it all. You laughed so heartily, so bright at his jokes. Within these four walls, maskless, he didn’t have to pretend.

He wore his mask as you locked up, but not before sliding in a few bills into the tip jar when you weren’t looking.

“So.” He turned to you, hands jammed in his pockets.

“I’m taking the bus.”

If he had his car he’d have offered to drive, but it was just as well he wasn’t driving. What if he wouldn’t want to leave?

So he walked you to the bus stop before calling a taxi for himself, back to his own reality.

While John was away for a Grand Prix weekend, between media day, qualifying and other preparations, he didn’t have the chance to be alone with his thoughts. However, as soon as he lay in his hotel bed that Sunday night, adrenaline still pumping in his blood from the race hours before, his mind drifted to you. He wondered what you were up to, if you’d thought about him since Wednesday morning when he picked up his order.

See, his problem wasn’t that he didn’t ask, but that he asked too easily and often came off too strong. He didn’t want that, especially not to you, someone the slightest bit more than an acquaintance now, a funny and pretty one at that.

But he should have asked for your number. He had so many chances to: during dinner, while walking you to the bus stop, or when he swung by the day after. You would have loved to know how everyone flocked to him when he walked into the room, oohing and aahing over your cookies.

He’d just have to wait until the next day.

Monday was his favourite day of the week because it was his day off, allowing him to not even leave his penthouse apartment if he so wished. But in the afternoon when he arrived back in London, he had somewhere else to be. On his way home from the factory, he took a detour, parking around the corner from your shop.

He wasn’t supposed to think so much about you, let alone miss you, but he did against his better judgement. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when you greeted him as he approached the counter.

“Hiya, what can I get you?”

“I’d like to place another order for tomorrow. Everyone loved your cookies.”

“Sure.” You smiled. “You know, you could just give us a ring, yeah?”

“Right, about that. I was wondering if you fancy dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, I’ll have to prep for the cookies-“

Behind you, a young lady at the coffee machine quipped over her shoulder with a stifled smile. “I can handle that.”

You turned and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her. “Where to?”

“Anywhere you want. I’m driving.”

When you sent him to wait at a table with a cup of hot chocolate, his smile faltered. He didn’t think this through. He was driving his Mclaren. Shephard, the boss, made up this silly clause in the contract for him and Gaz to drive their own McLaren to and from the factory. Good for PR, he said.

He hurried outside as he dialled.

“Kate? Kate, I’m at that coffee shop.”

There was a beat. “Okay?”

“Would you please drive my GTI over?”

“Why, did your car break?” She chuckled. “A towed Mclaren isn’t a good look. Shephard won’t be impr-”

“No, I need my GTI in-“ he glanced at his watch. ”Exactly 52 minutes.”

“What? John, I’m your manager, not your errand boy.”

“Please! I’ve got no time to explain, just do it.”

“Or what?” she said dryly.

“I’ll tell your wife in Qatar there was a lighter in your coat pocket which smelled an awful lot like smoke.”

There was a pause followed by a huff. “Fine. Text me the address.”

Kate rolled up in his Golf GTI in time for your shop to close. You picked a place not too far from your flat, and he was thankful it wasn’t packed. You sat at the table in the corner and kept his cap on.

It was evident you were less tired that night, more playful with your jokes. He could listen to your laugh and look into your eyes all day. But before it was too late, much to his chagrin, you called it a night.

He pulled up at your flat. “I promise no more last-minute orders.”

“Just give us a call next time.”

“Rather call you.”

John Sloane, he typed into your phone.

You smiled, sliding your phone back in your pocket. “See you soon, John.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You held his gaze for another moment before giving him a quick peck on the cheek. His heart soared, but before he could react, you’d shut the door behind you with a supressed smile.

He grinned to himself as he drove home.

“Gaz!” Soap bellowed at the door. “Sorry am late. My alarm didnae go off.” The engineer hurried to the table to see Kyle munching happily. “Och, did ye get more cookies, Cap? I’m starvin’.”

Everyone on the team wore a cap, but Price was the only one who couldn’t be caught without one, therefore the curious nickname. That, and he often swore up a storm on team radio, like a bossy sailor. Simon, his engineer, could only remain silent witnessing the outbursts like he wasn’t even there. He earned his moniker Ghost that way.

John chuckled. “Help yourself, mate.”

He popped open the box, groaning after a bite. “Aye, that’s the one.”

“You sure you don’t want one, Ghost?” Gaz teased as he grabbed his third cookie. “You’ve been staring.”

“Alright, just one.”

“Oh, that didn’t take a lot of convincing,” Soap quipped between bites.

Ghost gave him the side eye. “Would you rather I eat the whole box, Johnny?”

Soap pouted and took his seat next to Gaz, and the team meeting for the upcoming race commenced.

As always, the crew flew out on Thursday, but this time, he had you to text. And he did, between the press conferences and briefs, or work, as he simply told you. If he was home, he would ask you out again in a heartbeat. Texting couldn’t compare to seeing that smile in real life, but it would have to do for now.

Abu Dhabi was the last race of the season. He was very much looking forward to winter break, even more so this time, because for the first time in years, he had someone to come home to. Okay, maybe that was too generous a statement. There was someone he would very much want to see, to say the least.

John landed in London Monday evening, still thrumming from his P1 win and finishing second for the season. He went straight home to switch cars before picking you up at work for dinner with a giddy smile.

He had a few days to himself before leaving for Liverpool for Christmas, which hopefully meant one more time of seeing you, if you let him, that was. But when you gave him another peck on his cheek when he opened the car door for you, he decided it was impossible to stay away from you.

I’ve missed you too much.

Ex boyfriend Price Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @keegansshark @kyletogaz @footyandformula

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miheartsedthings · 9 months ago

Text

Long Drive

SFW

You can’t sleep. Your body too full of a thrumming sadness you can’t be rid of. The source of which you can’t pin down. Your heart feels stuck to your sternum and you turn over in bed again searching for some kind of relief.

“Can’t sleep?”

Billy’s husky voice finds you in the dark.

“Not even a little.”

The two of you climb into the car, you bring your thin blanket and he doesn’t bother putting on a shirt. He’s warm enough to brave the spring chill without one. You let the passenger seat back and watch dark trees slide by the window. A navy sky empty of stars. His hand comes groping under the blanket, searching for your hand and you offer it, lacing your fingers with his.

“What’s got you sad?”

“How’d you know?”

He gives you a skeptical look.

“All this time, you still think you can keep a secret from me?”

It makes you smile, however sadly.

“Just feeling…far away…don’t know why.”

He nods slowly, his eyes watching the horizon while he mulls over what you’ve said.

“From me?”

You shrug.

“From everything. Just…feel like I’m missing something.”

He brings your hand to his lips.

“I’m here.”

You smile.

“I know.” You say “I know you’re here. I know I’m not really on my own I just…” You don’t have the words to finish this feeling. It has no particular name. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

He heaves a deep sigh.

“Steve texted me.”

This rings alarm bells, you raise the seat to sit up and look at him.

“Yeah? Is he okay?”

He shakes his head.

“The nightmares came back. Bouncing’ off the fuckin walls over there.”

You groan, your heart filling with worry.

“How can he still live in that town?”

He shrugs.

“The kids are there. He won’t leave till they graduate.”

“Fuck.” Your head falls against the rest. “I worry about him,” you say. “A guy like that shouldn’t live alone. He needs people around.”

“I told him,” Billy grumbles, clearly worried about his friend. The sensitive boy he sometimes thinks of as a brown-eyed puppy. He rifles through the glovebox, retrieving his cigarettes with a huff.

“You told him he can live with us, right? If he wants to?”

“I fuckin’ told him, baby,” he says around the cigarrette. He rolls down the window a second too late, filling the car with the heady musk of smoke. “He’s a stubborn asshole.”

You cough and he apologizes, giving your knee an affectionate squeeze. You tell him it’s fine and crack your window as well. The two of you sit in silence for a while. Winding through streets in no particular order.

“You think people can feel it when you're thinking about them?” Billy glances over at you. Unsure how to answer. “I mean, psychically. Like…I think about it with celebrities sometimes. When there's thousands of people thinking about you all at once, it has to have some effect. Maybe it just makes them sneeze.” He grins a little, taking another long hit from his Marlboro. “So maybe Steve’s sneezing his brains out right about now.”

“I hope so. I hope he knows we give a shit.”

“I think he knows you care. You tried hard after everything. He trusts you now.”

“Hmm.”

He takes another long pull from his cigarette and angles the smoke toward the window. He avoids downtown and all that traffic, choosing instead to wind through the empty streets curving toward the San Bernadino mountains.

“Are you gonna call him?”

He sighs. Already his cigarette is nearly gone.

“And say what?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes people just need to hear they’re gonna be okay. And it means something coming from you.”

He scoffs. The cigarette is done, and he scrubs it against the heel of his shoe before flicking it out the window.

“You don’t think he listens to you?”

“If he listened to me he’d leave that asscrack of a town.”

You shrug, slumping down in your seat.

“Leaving your home can be scary.”

“So fuckin’ what? Shit gets scary, do it anyway.”

You can’t help laughing.

“I knew it, I knew you read that book!”

You can see him start to blush in the cool blue light from the dashboard. You’re talking about the book his therapist recommended the year after moving out of Hawkins. Do It Scared. He’d insisted he wasn’t interested in reading it, yet here he was quoting it like scripture. Your teasing gets to him, and he retaliates by jamming his fingers into the ticklish spot on your side. You’re forced against the door where you can’t wiggle out of his reach. Instantly you’re apologizing, begging for him to stop through painfully uncontrollable laughter.

He’s smiling when he relents, satisfied to have taken his revenge. You settle back in your seat with a sigh. Followed by a yawn.

“There it is,” he says, affection softening his tone.

He brings your hand to his mouth again. Each of your fingers gets a turn against his lips. You watch him, taking in the details of his profile. You've looked at him so many times you've completely lost count, but every time you do it feels new. You discover something in the beauty of him that makes you realize again how much you want him nearby. This time, you watch his careful gaze as he looks out onto the road ahead. His lashes, tail lights shining into ocean blue. He’s worrying.

“Anyway. Not everyone can just barrel through stuff. He’s scared and he could use a call from you.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll check on the little dweeb. Happy?”

“Very,” you answer with a sleepy smile.

You find yourselves far from home, wondering on and on as the hours roll by. You both have class in the morning, but there’s something so comforting about the car and the darkened streets. You waste time, long stretches of it going by without a word spoken between you. Not much needs to be said in company as familiar as this. You’re able to be together, letting go your tensions with every new scratch of mile. Drowsy and quiet until sunrise.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy stranger things #fanfic #story

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,” he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

#billy washington x reader #ewan mitchell #billy washington x y/n #billy washington x you #billy washington smut #billy washington angst #billy washington imagine #billy washington trigger point #trigger point billy washington #billy washington fan fiction #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fan fic #trigger point #trigger point fan fiction #trigger point fanfiction #trigger point fanfic #trigger point fan fic

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erisolkat · 9 months ago

Text

lana advantages:

- she'll be chill

- lanas music is fucking irritating but you can at least ignore it

- you can probably steal some of her designer accessories she keeps in her glovebox with her heroin and cigarettes if you tell her theres a hot older man with domestic abuse charges across the street

- her other music taste will most likely be predictably awful but in a handle-able 2014 soft grunge tumblr way

lana disadvantages:

- the car WILL smell like cigarettes

- you have to listen to lana del rey.

- her car is either a 1995 toyota with more crusty unidentifiable stains than you can count, a self driving tesla, or a sports car that should require special training before purchase

- she might get pulled over for like, going 90 miles an hour in a 25 zone

swiftie advantages:

- free bracelets as long as you dont mind them saying 1989 and eras

- will probably let you borrow her makeup

- car does not smell like cigarettes

- too young to drive so you dont have to live in fear

swiftie disadvantages:

- if you dont scream sing to cruel summer with her she'll cry

- you have to listen to taylor swift the whole time. anything else will be unpredictable and most likely bad

- way too energetic

- most likely five other swifties in the car. they hunt in packs.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

Note

Please write me a Billy W story - no particular premise, but I would like heart wrenching angst and disgusting smut. Something that will make me feel like I want to bite through my own forearm like I know only you can.

@ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 xoxo

You got it, baby~ Tried the heart-wrenching angst but didn't want to kill my precious boy, hope you like!

Lost Without You

Warnings: past trauma, swearing, angst, mentions of breakup, smut (p in v, oral m receiving, tiddy succin) | Word Count: 6k~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Billy W Taglist

Billy hadn’t been in a car since Cranstead Fields.

Couldn’t and wouldn’t.

In the summer, with the incessant heat and dry air, it was totally fine. He would walk for hours and hours, mostly people watching and mulling over the events of that hot July where he had nearly fallen victim to his own overly trusting nature. Or perhaps he was naïve. It was difficult to tell the difference these days.

London flocked with tourists in the Summer, with the school holidays in full swing not long after. He'd happily disappear into the crowds, not wanting to be seen, and only observe. He'd watch families enjoy their time off in the blazing sun, even at Cranstead Fields, sometimes he'd walk past and see young lads playing footie right where his car had been. The grass now free of the tinged black tips from the fire, had turned a pale yellowish green with the harsh heat.

He thought it was wrong that he kept coming back. And he didn't know why he did.

People had fucking picnics there, absentmindedly sucking on ice lollies to keep cool, laughing and enjoying life.

Right where his had nearly ended.

He felt helpless. But he hated that he even felt that.

He remembered panicking so much in that driver's seat, so much so he'd nearly made himself sick. Shouting desperately for his sister to help him. Remembered her face through the window as she'd winced at what she'd seen inside the glovebox.

He barely remembered the extraction.

The in-between was blurry and he'd been sobbing so hard that only one thing could've brought him to his feet now that he was kneeling on the grass behind his car.

He'd nearly laughed as she pushed a policeman out the way, ignoring the orders for her to stay away. After all, there was still a live bomb inside the car. But she'd paid it no mind and had been kept away long enough. She ran across the cordon, her skin beneath the sundress she was wearing flushed with heat, exhaustion and outright terror. Her bare knees hit the grass with a thud, they'd be stained later, as she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a helpless hug.

If he wasn't so upset, he'd have worried about how covered in nervous sweat he was, how unbearably terrible he must have looked with his tear-streaked face. He'd never cried so much in front of her before. Even now as he snakes his arms around her waist, pulling her close, he'd buried his face in her neck so she wouldn't see. He could feel her breathing heavily, her heart beating fast, and how much she was trying not to cry at finally feeling him in her arms.

She settled for running her hands through his hair, damp from the heat and sweat, whispering his name as if to bring him crashing back into the reality where they were both here. He was safe.

She always made him feel safe. Wanted. It was a feeling Billy didn't know he needed before she came along.

But as usual.

He'd fucked it up.

After Cranstead, she did everything. All the cooking, cleaning, making sure he was taken to the police station to submit his statement. Sometimes it felt like she was more his secretary than a girlfriend.

At first, he appreciated her company, her willingness to commit herself to his wellbeing. And it wasn't like she wasn't selfless before, she'd always been good to him, but she'd really turned to the dial up to 10.

Some weeks in, it began to have the opposite effect. He felt like shit.

It felt like he was a kid again. And while, deep down, he wanted her help, he couldn't help but feel like she was pitying him. And he didn't need any more fucking pity. That's all anyone does. The further away the Cranstead Fields incident got, the more his parents returned to their previous conversations. Jobs. Commitments. When he and she would move in together. What he was going to do with his life.

As if it was just as simple as just forgetting it. As if the experience hadn't torn him apart.

She began to notice something was off a few weeks after the incident. He was recluse, giving one-word answers annoyed, spending most of his time smoking out the balcony doors of his flat instead of eating.

He couldn't bear to look at her. Didn't want to see that sinking look on her face. To come to the realisation that their relationship was failing and entering that murky, horrid form, where you know you should end it, but neither party wants to say it.

He thought, she had realised sooner than she wanted to admit. She loved him and wanted to be there for him, like any good girlfriend would be. She stood, watching him have his cigarette with his back to her, her overnight bag strung over her shoulder, wondering what she should say in response to what he'd just said.

"I don't need your help and I don't need you"

She opened her mouth a few times, willing something to come out. But she was too hurt to reply. She knew what that really meant.

She thought about writing a note. But instead, holding the hot tears back, she threw her bag in her car and sat in the driver's seat for a moment before gathering the strength to leave. Billy watched her car, a tiny little Volkswagen, pull away. And never come back.

With her, the families and tourists also left London, making way for the dull, wet humidity that Autumn came with. Even though they never moved in together, he felt the loss of her presence in his flat. Every time he came home, it slapped him in the face and if he felt shit before, when she was here, he felt even worse now for having broken up with her the way he did.

He hadn't even had the courage to really say it out loud. Nor to face her.

Billy did what he usually did, and accepted the feeling with open arms, dragging himself further down into a spiralling era of depression. Therapy did fuck all these days, he thought. Just paying someone else to take pity on you, which is the last thing he needed.

The flat slowly became a tip without him really even realising, packets of empty cigarettes piled up and all he did was go out every now and then for food and pop by the jobcentre. Not like there was much out there at the moment. Job seekers allowance would have to do for now.

Today was no different. With Autumn came shorter days and he'd barely realised, stuck in the jobcentre that it had become dark and mercilessly rainy. He pulled his hoodie over his head, stuck his hands in his pockets and went out into the pelting showers. It soaked through his clothes immediately, not dressed for such weather. Hair damp and sticking to his head and his jeans clinging uncomfortably to his legs with every step.

Pulling out his vibrating phone, he declined the call from Lana and shoved it back in his pocket. She'd been on his case like no other. Asking where his girlfriend was and how he'd let himself get like this. She was always the one to call him out, he hated it on one hand, but on the other it was nice to have it handed to him plainly sometimes.

Not today though, he thought.

The weather was unrelenting, rain pelted down so quick he could scarcely raise his head without it getting in his eyes.

He stepped off the curb to cross the road, without looking. A pair of headlights screeched to a halt.

"Jesus!" He pulled back onto the pavement again, face illuminated by the bright lights as he squinted.

He'd only realised what was going on when the driver's side opened. Her Volkswagen still had the lights on and the windscreen wipers were still quickly whirring.

She stood out the car slightly, her otherwise dry hair now gathering drops of rain, her jeans now a darkened blue the longer she stood there.

He felt his neck get hot, seeing her now after so long.

"Billy" were the only words that came from her lips,

"Fucks sake…" he turned a bit to walk away, not looking back even when he heard the car door slam shut.

"Billy!" She called after him, rain slapping on the concrete as she jogged up to him and pulled on his arm, "Billy, stop"

He pulled his arm away, looking down at her, "what!"

"I'm not letting you walk home in this. Get in" she said, voice elevated over the sound of the rain, which was running all over her face, down her neck, soaking her clothes right through.

"I didn't ask for your help"

"Would you stop being so fucking stubborn for one second?" She countered, clearly annoyed. They stared one another down for a moment, ignoring the ways their stomachs fluttered to see each other again.

"Come on, get in" she said, softer this time. Both of them now completely sodden.

He watched her get back in the car, torn at whether he should or not. He was still a good fifteen minute walk from his flat and already wet through, his shoes as well.

A short five minute drive in the car with his ex was a tough choice.

He opened the passenger door, eyeing the seat for a moment. He leaned forward, and opened the glovebox to find it empty (apart from her logbook and various other scraps), his heart going a million miles an hour. Eyes darted about the footwell, desperate to see if it was safe or not.

"It's alright, Billy…" she said softly from the driver's seat. In the low light of the car, he'd almost forgotten how pretty she was.

To both of them, it was clear that there was still love there. But neither wanted to be the first to say it. Or even acknowledge its existence.

He swallowed nervously and slumped into the passenger seat, suddenly feeling bad at how wet the seats must be. But it didn't seem like she minded. She just put the car in gear and drove the familiar five minutes to his flat in relative silence, apart from the quiet hum of the radio.

Of course the first time he's in a car in months, it's with her.

She pulled up to the curb, keeping the car running, as if she'd expected him to open the door and just run out, without saying anything. But Billy surprised himself, sat firmly in the passenger seat, he didn't move.

He didn't know what was happening to him. But for some reason, now that he had her back within reach, he didn't want to let her go.

He felt like a dick. For treating her as he did back then, and even tonight, when she'd offered him a lift, not expecting to even come in for a cuppa, he'd been cold and reclusive.

She turned off the ignition, looking over at him as he stared distantly into his lap, "You alright?" She asked carefully.

He wished he hadn't caved and looked at her, but he did. And his mouth went completely dry when he met her gaze. She made him feel so safe. So safe. Even now, when there was no real danger or chance of it, her mere presence seemed to calm that quick pounding of his heart.

"Do uh…you wanna come in?"

It came out more desperate than he'd intended. But he didn't regret saying it.

One of her hands noticeably gripped the steering wheel tighter, and he could see the internal battle she was fighting. Deciding whether or not it was a good idea.

She cleared her throat, unbuckling her seatbelt, "Sure, yeah…"

Billy winced remembering how messy the flat was when he'd left, and wondered what she'd think. He knew she was never the type to judge, but it embarrassed him all the same.

He felt his heart pitter patter in his chest at seeing her in his flat again, where she used to spend so much of her time. Where they'd nuzzle close on his tiny sofa, watching old 90s movies. Where she'd make him breakfast every Sunday morning, without fail. Where she'd come home after a bad day, seeking nothing but the comfort of being wrapped up in bed with him, stroking her hair.

"Tea? Coffee?" He asked, slipping into the kitchen. She followed, her hands wrapped around herself from the chill of being damp.

"Tea…thanks"

The loud, unrelenting hiss of the kettle filled the silence for a bit. Billy was trying to figure out what to say, keeping his hands busy fiddling with the teaspoon. He hated this. Hated that now they had to pretend to be strangers. As if they hadn’t spent the last few years devoted to each other. Spent night after night in his bedroom, basking in the fucked-out glow of the evening watching whatever was on late night telly ‘til either of them fell asleep.

Milk. No Sugar.

She suppressed the smile that he remembered how she liked it.

She nods her head whispering a thanks as he hands it to her, palm over the top of the steaming mug. It must hurt, she thinks. But he gives it to her this way so that she can put her fingers through the handle and not scald herself. At this small, tiny act of kindness on Billy’s part, she can’t help it, she does smile. A sad one. But a smile nonetheless.

His hallway that leads to the living room and bedroom is a bit cluttered, with his several pairs of Adidas shoes piled near the entrance, where he’d toed them off and never bothered to put them away. Billy brushes behind her to carry his own cuppa to the living room, the warmth in her tummy doesn’t go amiss either. He’s a lot taller than she is, one of the things she always shamelessly loved about him.

On the corkboard are several receipts, important looking bills as well as some letters from the NHS, easily spotted with the blue header.

“Still going to therapy then?” she asked, voice half-raised to reach him in the living room.

The therapy I organised, she thinks.

“Sometimes, yeah” he answers quietly.

The living room is a reflection of Billy. Messy, not put-together, various items strewn about the room like empty cans of beer and old letters he’d not bothered to throw away. It’s not necessarily a disgusting mess like old plates of food, more just items, but worry still gnaws inside her at how he is currently living.

She looks out the balcony doors, mostly to avoid looking right at him sat on the sofa, bouncing his leg anxiously and at the obvious way he is also trying not to be caught looking at her.

"How's your parents"

She looked at him only briefly, "Alright. Dad's retired now. Moved to Australia last month. I'm paying them rent til the mortgage runs out"

Billy's eyebrows raised in surprise. The thought of her in that house by herself was a sobering one and he thought she must be lonely there all alone.

She'd always come to his flat, for a sense of privacy and independence, but also to do the things they couldn't when she was in their house.

Those lazy weekend mornings, warm beneath the sheets with their bodies pressed together. Sleepily brushing the sheets from her bare skin to touch it, tracing all her feminine lines and curves. Her breath against his neck, hurried and needy. Fucking her into the mattress until the early afternoo-

"You're being quiet" she said, almost so quiet he didn't hear. Billy steeled his expression, to try and make it obvious he wasn't thinking about all the times he'd had her in that very bed. Like he didn't know all her sweet spots, the ones that made her breathe his name in a way that couldn't possibly be replicated. In a way that made his stomach lurch into his chest in flutters.

"I don't know what you want me to say" she was holding the mug in both hands, staring out the balcony windows, looking at her car outside, being hammered with rain.

Billy poked his cheek with his tongue, hands still clasped on his lap, thinking.

"Think it's me who owes you an explanation" he replied, voice low. Like he was a child in trouble. What he'd said made her look over at him, her face and hair still damp.

"I don't know" she put the mug down, turning to him, as if she didn't trust herself to hold it, "is it?"

He forced himself to look at her, hating the way she was trying to mask how troubled she was.

“Look, I know you’re upset-”

She scoffs, pulling her tears back, crossing her arms, “Understatement of the year”

“I don’t want a fucking fight right now”

“Neither do I. But I have a feeling your explanation will make one” she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, nervous.

Billy sighed, “I just-I didn’t feel like myself. Realised you were too good for me, and that someday you’d realise it too” he explains quietly, hands clasped together, “Thought why not speed up the process”

“And you think you know what I want, do you?” she counters, her fingers digging slightly into her palm, trying to ignore the way her chest is getting tight.

“I just want you to be happy. Sometimes you can’t get that with someone dragging you down like I was doing”

She laughs, a short puff of air off her chest, hardly able to believe what’s coming out his mouth.

“I didn’t do all that I did for my fucking health, Billy. I did it because I loved you. And not once did I ever make you feel bad for it, for giving you space” she argues, catching her breath a moment, “I just-”

“It’s not about that” Billy says sharply,

“Isn’t it? You said you didn’t need my help, remember? Or is that just a Billy way of saying you don’t love me anymore?”

“I do love you” his expression could have fooled her. He looks exasperated and angry, frustrated.

“You have a funny way of showing it” she snaps, “I was just trying to help you”

She steps back a little when Billy stands up, his height shocking her for a moment as she has to crane her neck to see his face. His fists are clenched hard beside him, body quite literally shaking with the anger he’s trying so desperately to keep in.

"You were suffocating me!”

She scoffs, “Oh I’m sorry, I’ll refer to the handbook next time my boyfriend is trapped in a car with a bomb in the glovebox, shall I?”

If he hadn't been so upset, he'd have laughed. She was always funny. Unintentionally as well. Yet another thing he loved about her.

He must have shown a little bit of it on his face, because she shook her head, “Oh I’m funny now, am I?”

It didn’t shake the small smile from his face. Billy only swallowed over the lump in his throat, feeling uncomfortably hot against the still damp hoodie that was sticking to his chest. His eyes softened instantly and he couldn’t bear to look at her as he thought about what he might say.

“It just made me realise…I mean come on-I haven’t got a job, a future, my brain’s fucked…” he confessed quietly, “...I didn’t have anything but you and I can’t help but feel I drag you down-”

“Billy…”

“No-look at you, you’ve…got your life sorted out, a home…you deserve someone on your level, someone…that might not be me”

His heart lurches right into his throat, blue eyes brimmed with tears, when she steps forward to take his hands, almost outright sobbing at the feeling of her skin against his again. Her thumbs drawing soft and gentle circles on them.

“Don’t think like that, please..” she practically begged in such a soft, desperate tone, “I could never ever imagine my life without you and when I had to-I just couldn’t…love you too much to do that”

Billy feels his heart hurting. For months it had been so rarely used. And now to feel it so full of love just in the last hour he’d seen her, the stretch to accommodate it was painful. But the nice kind.

“I nearly lost you” she chokes out, “And I hated that I couldn’t do a single thing about it…”

He feels his mouth go dry. Thinking back, after the incident, she never did cry about anything. Rather, she pretended to be the rock, emotional walls built high, so that Billy could allow himself to let go.

He was so absorbed, perhaps rightly so, in his own situation. How he'd felt. That he hadn't stopped to think how broken she'd been by what happened, and all he could think about was that desperate hug she'd given him that day. How tightly she held him, her hands touching every piece of him she could to check it wasn’t some cruel dream.

She was hurting just as much as he was.

"I'm so fucking sorry, I-" he paused halfway, choking up and unable to form the rest of it once he saw her teary eyes.

He could've sobbed when she put her hand so gently to his face, her small thumbs wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. She gave a small watery laugh, her smile breaking through the sheer exhaustion of her heartbreak in her eyes.

"You're really fucking thick sometimes, you know that" she laughed softly.

And he couldn't help it, he let out somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Finally allowing himself to run his fingers through her hair, some strands drying and some still stuck together, forming waves in their wake. Another thing he loved about her.

"It's a Washington trait" he replied, his voice quiet and desperate. Both of them trying hard not to lose it again and cry.

"I know, '' she said with a genuine smile, her eyes lighting up in front of him again from the glow of a street lamp outside.

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but neither of them cared enough to think. If her hands on his face was a small slice of heaven, having her lips against him again was paradise. She just fit against him so perfectly as he wrapped his arms around her waist, desperate for the contact he had been denied in her absence. His hand dipping slightly beneath the hem of her shirt, feeling her tacky rain-soaked skin, almost groaning right against her mouth as he broke to take a breath. The hand that was at his face tugged him closer, deepening an ever-desperate kiss, like they had both been freed to desire each other.

His lips trailed from hers to her jaw, to her neck, inhaling her familiar scent, sighing at the perfume she would always wear. That hadn’t changed either. He left open-mouthed kisses against the tender skin there, trailing down the slope of her neck to her collarbones, hot and quick pants of his breath coming in huffs against it.

Her hand tightened on his shirt, “Billy…”

She’d hate it if she could see the boyish smirk on his face. At him knowing how much she wanted him, needed him. How hot her body got when they were near each other and how that familiar pool of arousal settled between her legs at the idea of this intimacy.

He pulls her to him by her waist, tugging her to straddle his lap as he lands on his sofa, resisting the urge to rut against her as he feels her clothed core rub against him. She can feel how hard he is, how hard he has been since the second they'd touched lips. Their kisses are having less effect, only delaying the inevitable wanton need they have for each other. And yet he chases her warm, soft lips and goes back for more which each break of breath.

The second she goes to pull off her top, throwing it somewhere across the room, his hands are on her, unclasping her bra to join it and his lips and tongue running over the newly exposed flesh. It smells like a mix of her perfume, her natural scent and the earthy smell that the rain leaves behind.

He savours every breath, every soft moan that tumbles out her mouth when he mouths one of her perk, rosy nipples, taking one and running his tongue all over it. His hand joining the other to give it attention. He could die a happy man buried between her tits like this, feeling the pleasant thrum of her heart beneath her ribs.

When her hand slips beneath the waistband of his jeans, wrapping around his cock, he groans against her chest, sending vibrations through her torso. She smiles a bit, with flushed cheeks, that he's already hard.

"Miss me?"

He'd missed her playfulness. But the way she's tugging at his length, squeezing ever so slightly harder when she gets to the tip, smearing precum over the head of it as it weeps with arousal. It gives her attitude a run for its money.

His half lidded gaze looks up at her, her hair framing her face no nicely in the dim light of the room. Rosy lips parted in anticipation of his reaction to her touch, glazed and kiss-bruised from before.

"Fuck…" he breathes, tipping his head back slightly.

With his eyes shut she dips her head to his neck, sucking and biting softly on his pulse point, speeding up the motions of her hand only slightly. But not enough. She skims over his clothed chest, letting her legs fall between his to the floor, her lips kissing just below his navel over the smattering of sandy blonde hair.

Billy looks down with a sort of admiration, watching the way she tugs his jeans over his hips, taking his boxers with it. Her mouth covers every bit of skin that's shown, taking his hot and aching length in one hand to give him some languid pumps before she dips her tongue against the base.

It's the teasing that makes Billy breathe faster. But nothing prepares him for the way her mouth sinks over his cock in one smoothe warm motion. After having been together for so long, she knew how to take him well and so she takes as much as she is able into her mouth, relaxing her jaw and using the other hand to pump whatever else she can't fit.

He pulls his hoodie over his head and she can see the way his muscles on his stomach flex, trying to hold back as much as he can. His fingers thread through her hair at the side of her face to the back, not pulling her on him, just holding her as she bobs her head against him, her tongue running against the vein on the underside, a motion that makes his fists tighten against her scalp. Every now and then when her eyes look up at him, his breath is stolen from his lungs and feels as if he might cum right there and then.

She hums around him appreciatively, enjoying the heady, intoxicating taste of him after so long. Not wanting to cum too soon, Billy gently pulls her off him, his cock shining with her spit and still standing hard against his stomach.

"You're so fucking good…" he whispers as his thumb drags over her bottom lip, tugging her to his own in a deep and wanton kiss. She pulls her jeans down with her underwear before sitting astride his narrow waist again, dragging her wetness over his cock as she sways her hips over him. Being naked in front of each other like this again is just so right, so basic and human, it's like nothing ever happened.

He smirks in the kiss at how ready she already is.

"Miss me?..."

Her face blushes with embarrassment and she playfully swats his shoulder, "shut up"

He reaches between them, running the head of his cock through her slick folds. It'd be so easy to just slide inside, to be enveloped by her warmth and feel the familiar ridges of her core, squeeze him just as tightly as they always had.

"Billy please…" she sobs as he teases her, moving away when she tries to sink down on him, "please just fuck me..."

He didn't need to be told twice.

He squeezed the flesh of her ass hard when he sank inside, leaving red marks against her skin as she stretched to accommodate his size. Her lips parted, eyes softly shut as a gasp escaped her mouth, matching his.

Their breaths mingled with each other as she took him fully, the head of his cock kissing that rough spot inside, easier in this position.

"You were fucking made for me…" he breathed against her lips, using her hips to move her on hip. She mewled out in pleasure, tears pricking the corners of her eyes at feeling him so deep inside her.

He moved her on top of him, back and forth, over and over again, fucking her using his own hold on her waist, meeting her halfway with his own pressing of his hips, watching the way her tits bounced with ever harsh thrust. Her sounds, every soft moan of his name, were music, only urging him on.

“God…Billy…” running her fingers through his hair, she held him close, lifting her hips to aid their chaotic fucking. Trying and failing to hold back the intensity of her moans as her first climax fills her limbs with warmth, thighs trembling around him and a series of expletives as he shoves himself harder into her through it. It takes the wind out of her for a moment while she gathers her breath, the lewd sound of her slick against the base of his cock the only sound in the room.

Only he could make her feel like this. Lose control like this. It didn't happen overnight either. At first he'd been apprehensive to show how much he wanted sex. But when she teased it out of him, it couldn't be contained any longer.

"Taking me so well-shit" he moaned out, her breasts against his face.

He could feel himself getting close.

She squeaked in surprise when her back met the sofa, looking up at Billy over her as his large palm pulled her legs apart again. He looked so good. Naked, his cock hard and covered in her arousal, lithe form and his face, rivalling that of a statue carved out of stone. Sharp jaw and nose, his soft blue eyes, sandy blonde hair now tousled from their intense lovemaking.

How could she not love him.

He was perfect.

He unapologetically gave that boyish Billy smile as he looked down at her, her chest speckled with heat from the passion of it all. Her tits moving with her breathing and her cheeks as she smiled lazily up at him, tinged with the prettiest pink he'd ever seen.

Billy remembered the last holiday they went on together, in the late spring. They'd driven to Cornwall with a hired minivan. And before arriving into Port Isaac, they'd stopped on a country road in the late afternoon when the sun touched the sea. He'd made love to her in the driver's seat and admired the way the orange sunset kissed the colour of her hair. She looked gorgeous then, face flushed and legs astride him.

How she looks at him now reminds him of that afternoon.

"What?" She asked, when he just sat and admired her.

He just shook his head, "You're just beautiful…"

He captured her lips with his own, leaning over and slowly teasing himself back inside her, sliding through with the aid of her new rush of arousal from her orgasm. Slowly like this, she feels every ridge, every vein and it does nothing to stem the desire to have him do whatever he wants. As long as it's with her.

With the soft thrust of his hips against her, pulling her legs around his waist, his hand runs up her front, between her breasts to her neck, gently holding her while he looks down to see how his cock just effortlessly disappears inside her over and over. His hips meetings hers slower than before but with just as much power, as if trying to imprint the shape of him inside her so they’d never forget how each other felt.

Billy bites at the skin between her neck and shoulder, hoping the marks take there, before pulling her leg up in his palm and pushing it higher so that he can raise himself and fuck down into her.

"Billy…don't stop…" she breathes as her eyes meet his. He can tell the new position reaches somewhere so incredibly deep that she clutches his shoulders for purchase, nails leaving half moon shaped indents in his skin.

"Fuck, you're so-" he chokes out, the veins in his neck pulsing with desire the more he feels himself losing control. Her mewls and moans fill the otherwise quiet room, whispering his name like a chant, "I'm gonna-"

"Yes…Billy…need you" she whispers, her hands gripping his shoulders again when the pressure inside her lets loose once again, making her tighten around him.

He cums with a shattered moan against her neck, rocking himself against her a few more times for friction before stilling inside her warm heat as it convulses around him, the aftershocks of he orgasm only serving to prolong the pleasure of his. He can feel his blood humming with hunger and a sense of completion, like he's found the other half he'd been after, and doesn't want to let it go now.

He can feel their heartbeats against each other, her chest meeting his with every sharp inhale. Her skin is so warm and soft against him, he never wants to know what it's like to not have her again.

When he looks down at her, her eyes find his quickly and for a moment they admire the fucked-out expressions on their faces, the large dilation of their pupils and how their touch goes form harsh and needy to tender and loving.

She smiles tiredly and he can still feel her heartbeat inside her, even as he begins to soften.

"Tea's gone cold…" he breathes out between pants.

Her laugh fills his heart with warmth, a genuine laugh with teeth and those little lines around her eyes. And he can't help but feel a bolt of pleasure up his spine at how the laugh reverberates through her body to his cock.

He falls to his side against the sofa, lazily pulling a blanket over them and pulling her to his chest, running his fingers through her wavy, slightly tangled hair. He kisses the crown of her head, inhaling her scent, musky from the rain with a whisper of her shampoo.

"Stay here…please…" he begs, his voice thick, as if he couldn't bear the rejection of her saying no. Not after everything. He even feels his chest tighten at the thought.

Her head moves to look up at him, reaching out to bring his face to hers, kissing his lips so tenderly it made him want to weep.

"I could never leave you…ever" she whispers against his lips, slotting hers against his once more, her hand ghosting over his heart. To feel how alive he is.

Those three words don't even need to be said. They both knew it. Knew it had never left even in their absence. When their hearts had been divided.

But for old time's sake, they said it anyway.

Dividers by @saradika

General Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Billy W Taglist: @fan-goddess & for my Billy simps @assortedseaglass

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

#billy washington smut #billy washington fanfiction #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington angst #ewan mitchell characters #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell #trigger point #billy washington trigger point #trigger point series #trigger point bbc

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bellysoupset · 3 months ago

Text

"Hold this," Max said, fishing out one of his many plastic bags from the glovebox and passing it to Vince. The man was leaning against Max's white pickup, more than a little pasty, with a green tinge to his complexion, his lips almost camouflaging against his skin so devoid the color they were.

"What is it for...?"

"Because you look fluorescent green," Max rolled his eyes, "puke bag."

"I'm not gonna be sick," Vince groaned, but got inside the car. He leaned back, closing his eyes and Max quickly circled the vehicle, getting inside as well.

"I beg to differ, you're one of those weird people who genuinely turn green," Max's was a little amused by how transparent Vince was, metaphorically speaking. The brunette kept his eyes closed, but frowned.

"So I've heard..." he gulped down when the car started moving and Max stole a glance at him, focusing on the drive. He hated the uncomfortable silence, Vince wasn't a quiet person and this was unnerving.

"Sooo... What's wrong, is it a bug?" Max poked his bicep and Vince sighed, opening his eyes, seeming a little annoyed Max didn't let him just sleep. The blonde shrugged to himself, Vince could be annoyed all he wanted, as long as he didn't pass out again.

When Max had barged in the classroom, the sight of Vince crumbling down to the ground had been more than a little frightening.

"No, I don't think so," Vince, in the present, said, staring out of the windshield. It took Max a second to realize he was keeping his eyes on the horizon, probably due to the nausea he was clearly feeling, even if denying it, "I didn't have time for breakfast this morning and has to skip-" he gulped down, pressing his lips in a line when a weak gag jolted him. Vince opened the bag in his lap, but didn't bring it up to his mouth, breathing slowly "skip lunch. I think it's just my blood sugar."

"You should keep some energy bars on you," Max scoffed, "aren't you an athlete? I thought your people lived on those."

"My people," Vince snorted, then groaned loudly as nausea caused his arms to get covered in goosebumps, "stop talking about food, please."

"Sorry," Max drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling a stab of guilt. He was so bad at this, he had never taken care of anyone before and it showed. Hell, most days he could barely care for himself!

He also hoped Vince hadn't realized that Max didn't ask for his address, he had driven him and that friend of his home that one time at 3 AM and it was terribly embarrassing that he had memorized it.

They stopped at a red light and Max turned to look at Vince, immediately frowning, "You're shivering," he pointed out. All the windows were closed and the car felt rather stuffy, there was no way Vin was cold, "are you feverish?"

"No," Vince rubbed at at his forehead, "don't think so..? I just feel really cold..." He was pitiful to look at, white as milk and shuddering like he had just gotten out of a frozen lake. Without thinking, Max leaned in to feel his forehead, then realized what he was doing and froze with his hand mid air. Vince snorted, looking at him through his dark lashes, "you can check it, it's fine. I don't think it's a fever."

Max's ears burned and he wanted to die from embarrassment. Instead, he slammed his hand harshly against Vince's forehead, then pulled it back quickly, "yeah, you don't have a fever, you're freezing."

"Low blood sugar," Vince breathed out through his mouth as the car started moving once more, swallowing convulsively and fidgeting on his seat, "are we almost there?"

"Almost," Max sped up a little bit more, they weren't far out, "you're still feeling faint?"

Instead of answering him, Vince simply nodded, too busy taking slow breaths. He leaned forward, mouth hanging open over the bag, causing Max to cringe in sympathy.

"Almost there," he repeated, squeezing Vince's nape without thinking and leaving his hand there when the man didn't shrug him off immediately. Actually, Vince seemed weirdly welcoming of the touch, something that shouldn't surprise Max given Monacelli had been all over him when he was sick, but that did anyway.

As soon as he parked in front of Vince's place, the man shoved the door open and leaned out of it...Then fell.

"Shit, Vince!" Max cursed, jumping out of the car and running around it. Vince had fallen to his knees and he had an arm wrapped tightly around his stomach and was dry heaving on the grass, "shit-shitshitshit-" Max sunk to his knees, holding Vince's shoulder, "hey... So much for not gonna puke, uh?"

As if to answer him, Vince retched once more - silently, he was a really quiet puker - and a splash of bright yellow bile fell in the grass.

Max rubbed his hand up and down the man's back, sighing in a defeated manner. Vince coughed once more, than let out a string of little tiny burps that seemed completely out of place for a dude like him, and was left panting, an arm still around his stomach, his free hand coming to wipe his mouth.

"Sorry," Vince's voice was shot by the acid, raspy and barely above a whisper, "that was gross."

"I see puke weekly, you're fine," Max thumped his back in a lighthearted manner, "you're done?"

"Think... Think so," Vince nodded and the blonde grabbed his arm, struggling to pull him up on his feet. The moment he did, Vin stumbled, but stayed standing with great effort.

"You're sure this is just not eating?" Max made sure he wasn't gonna fall, before grabbing Vince's bag and digging through it to find his keys.

"It's unlocked," Vince answered after a minute of searching, "I... Forgot to lock it."

"I know Doveport is pacific, but geez, Vince," Max frowned, pushing the door open. He had never been inside and it was striking the difference between Vince's place and his own.

Vince's tiny house was smaller than Max's place, everything cramped in one open floor. Nevertheless, it felt like a home. His living room area was a light beige and had a big brown couch, with a small TV rack dividing the "living room" from the "bedroom", a flat screen on top of it and a bunch of books under it. The coffee table was a little wobbly and Vin's fresh laundry was sitting in a bowl there, to be folded and stored away. His kitchen had barely any cabinets, instead everything was inside of jars in open shelves. His bedroom had a pink wall, a bunch of books and one of his football jerseys had been framed and put on a wall, covered in signatures.

"Okay, lie down-" Max guided Vince to the couch, but the man shook his head, pointing the bed.

"Couch's... too small," he stumbled in and finally fell on the bed with a relieved sigh, "thanks, Max, you don't-"

"Where's your food?" Max interrupted Vince before he could say the predictable you-don't-have-to-stay. He didn't wait for an answer, turning around and going through Vin's stuff in the kitchen.

He had almost no junk food, which again was the opposite of what Max expected. A bunch of spices and pastas in all sorts of shapes...

"Here," he found a box filled with energy bars next to his microwave and walked back to the bed area, sitting on the corner, "have a bite."

"No," Vince wrinkled his nose, "too queasy."

"You're queasy because there's nothing in your stomach," Max rolled his eyes, tearing the bar open and breaking a piece of it, "open up, c'mon."

Vince glared at him and Max sighed, lowering his hand. He was being too forceful, he knew that. It was just... Weird being around Vince when he was existing in this weird limbo of crushing on the guy, getting to know him and taking care of someone for the first time. He was both worried and overthinking it all.

"Help me out here, man," Max said quietly, "I don't know what to do."

Vince's shoulders moved down and he nodded, rubbing his face in a frustrated manner, "uhm... Energy bar is too rich," he said after a minute, making a disgusted face, "I have saltines in one of the jars."

"Alright!" Max leaped for them, going through all the jars. Part of him was enjoying the snooping around, he couldn't remember the last time he had been in someone's house... Well, except for his tinder dates, but those barely counted, "who needs that much pasta?" he whispered under his breath, then raised his eyebrows at the fancy set of pans inside the only cabinet. They were all baby blue and looked expensive as hell, "these are cute..."

"Max," Vince sounded amused, "saltines?"

Oh yeah. Max found them in the smallest jar, next to a metal tin filled with cookies, and he came back to the bed, holding five of the crackers as well as a Gatorade bottle.

"Here you go..." He fidgeted, watching as Vince started taking tiny bites, in between small sips of the electrolyte, "better?"

"It's been twenty seconds," Vince snorted, closing his eyes, "sit down, you're making me nervous."

"I'm making you nervous? You're the one who collapsed like a victorian lady," he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, "are the crackers staying down?"

Vin shrugged, not moving a muscle and Max simply stared, since the man had his eyes closed. Vince occupied most of the double bed and he looked... Weird. Not just the paleness and slight shivering, there was something off that Max couldn't figure out what it was. His curls had escaped the low ponytail and were around his face, making him look oddly like an ancient statue...

"I like your place," Max paced around, like a caged tiger, "are you gonna nap?"

Vin opened his eyes, looking a little amused, "can anyone nap when you're yapping?"

"Oh fuck you!" Max cried out, his cheeks heating up, "I'm just checking if you're alive, forgive me for giving a shit-"

"You helped so much already," Vince interrupted his outcry, moving slightly on the bed, "but I think I'll just nap now, you should go Max."

"Okay..." He really didn't want to leave. Not only he didn't trust Vince to stay alive when he was still that white, but he simply didn't wanna leave this tiny, cozy house.

"My mom is gonna be here in five minutes," Vince warned him, yawning, "you should leave or she's gonna rope you into coming over for dinner, it'll be a whole thing."

Max didn't hate the idea of going to the Monacelli's place for dinner. Still, he let out a huff, "yeah, I should go," he moved around, fishing Vin's phone out of his bag abandoned on the couch and then back to the bed, shoving the device on the man's hand, "get my number, I want you to text me you're alive later."

Vince let out a sigh, before unlocking his phone and handing it back to Max, a clear message for him to do it himself. Once that was done, that was really no other reason for Daniels to stay around a minute longer, so he patted Vince's arm in an awkward way, "text me. I'm serious, or I'll text your mom. I got her number, this is a threat."

Vince scoffed, looking more than a little sleepy, "yeah yeah..." he yawned, "Max? Thank you. Really."

He sounded so earnest. Max nodded stiffly, he needed to get the hell out of there. Liking Vince was a landslide, not even a slippery slope.

"Yeah, no problem," he walked to the door, "but start eating breakfast, Monacelli."

#mywriting #sickfic #emeto #emetophilia #vince monacelli #fainting #lightheaded #max having a crisis for 3k over how he's falling for vince

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writingstoraes · 1 year ago

Text

90 days 🍷

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (angst)

word count: 2.3k

notes: this is just very angsty and has little to no dialogue, apologies for errors this was not proofread lolol lmk what u guys think <3

warnings: none too gruesome! mentions of break up, fights, and recollections of fond memories only

about: charles can’t avoid you forever and he cannot afford to do so. it’s his first time seeing you again after you parted ways, and it seems as if the entirety of his being still belonged to you.

Charles wanted to say no. He wanted so badly to decline his brother’s invitation by possibly coming up with some reason why he couldn’t go, but in his heart, he just cannot find the will to do so.

He was torn, between the possibility of seeing you again after everything that went down and the fact that he desperately needed a night out. Ever since the two of you decided to give each other’s hearts back, Charles had been picking up pieces of himself and he admits he’s all over the place. Not having you in his life sucked. He doesn’t bother to find any melancholic or beautiful word to describe it; everything just sucks. At the same time, he doesn’t think avoiding you would be any better. You both had many similar circles of friends and you both lived in the same, small city. It was only some time before your paths had to cross again, inevitably.

He thinks this might possibly be the better option, like ripping off a band-aid. Maybe by seeing you, he can assess the progress he’s made for himself, that is if he’s actually made any. But deep down he knows, he looks forward to seeing you, finally being in the same room as you because it felt like forever since he was last graced by your presence.

Had the two of you been together still, Arthur’s invitation will probably be of two counts instead of just one. It’s like he could still picture you standing in front of your shared room’s full-length mirror, trying on an outfit you have already decided on, proceeding to ask him what you should do with your hair. Charles adores the way you pull out pictures from your phone, knowing he was more of a visual learner, just so he could pick which hairstyle would suit you better.

As he proceeds to the bathroom so he can freshen up before leaving, he glances at the completely empty countertop. Before, tiny trinkets of your things were laid out on it neatly. He could spend an eternity watching you do your makeup or curl your hair. He misses seeing tubes of foundation and eyeshadow palettes spread on the marble top or cords of your hair straightener plugged in the socket near the paper towel. He remembers the time when you had let him do your make-up and he ended up giving you a spectacular smoky eye, and by spectacular, you looked like a raccoon. But the two of you laughed about it anyway, and he apologizes by peppering kisses all over your face as he drags the makeup wipes across your eyelids.

The nightlife you can find in Monaco was definitely unbelievably alive if you had to describe it. It doesn’t matter if it was a race weekend; even if it wasn’t, the city was always awake. High-class restaurants filled to the brim with reservations, bars littered with people who want a fun night that they forget whatever it is they’re running away from. He’s probably doing the same thing, so he can’t judge.

Charles ignores the fact that his car ride to the restaurant was just him retracing all your steps and recalling all the memories he’s made with you. The glovebox of his car used to have some of your belongings and he had been accustomed to seeing you in the passenger seat, now his undeniably really cool and expensive car just seemed lonely and empty. He knows in his heart that car rides with you were always the most peaceful and most fun, he doesn’t mind how you play all your favorite artists’ songs even if he doesn’t know half of them. He gets the kick when he sees you singing along, your voice filling the cold car. He misses seeing you close your eyes in solitude when the windows are down, reiterating how you prefer riding his car with the windows down because it gives you a clearer view of what’s outside.

He sighs to himself when he gets out of the car, prepared to accept whatever the world plans on throwing at him should it decide that it was time for him to run into you. Whatever this was that Arthur had planned was not a party, more of a lively dinner and chat with friends, which Charles was thankful for because he was sure seeing you again in combination with heavy liquor would just result in his relapse.

Charles enters the restaurant, seeing a few of his friends. He nods at some, smiles at others, and embraces the others rather tightly. He feels a bit lighter, slowly starting to think it might be a good idea he came. It was rather nice to be surrounded by friends, maybe for a while he can forget the despondency he left at home and in his car.

“Hey, you came!” Arthur gleams, as he makes his way over to his older brother. He slings his arm over Charles’ shoulder, right after they exchange light kisses on the cheek.

“Of course, I did,” Charles replies, glad he saw his brother again, who looked like he was having fun.

“Also, I know you already know but I invited her. She’s Carla’s friend and the three of us have a ton of mutual friends, it would just seem wrong not to,” Arthur raises the subject, something Charles hopes he wouldn’t, but it had to be addressed anyway.

“No, it’s fine.” he responds, trying to appear as emotionless as he can. “I mean, technically we have the same friends. It’d just be a matter of time before we had to see each other again.”

“I know, but-” the younger retorts, quite worriedly.

“It’s okay, Arthur. Besides, it was my decision to go anyway. I can’t avoid her forever.”

“Plus, it’s been what, 3 months? If by now I still can’t handle seeing her without breaking down then I really need to seek some help.” Charles says, followed by a light and quiet laugh. He tries to make a joke of it all, a desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but not even his own brother is a stranger to his obvious salvage.

But all it really was was just humor. It really has been three months, a shy of 90 days since you departed from his life, but he’s afraid to admit he was still tethered to you and he’s even more scared to face the reality he might never be completely over you.

Arthur then left him as he proceeds to sit down. He chooses a seat near the corner of the table, already beside Joris and in front of a friend. This way it’s unlikely you had to sit in front of him or beside him. Before his brother left him to his thoughts, the younger Monegasque was quick to reassure him you haven’t arrived yet, so at the moment he should have nothing to worry about.

But then he hears your name. He hears Arthur greet you at a distance he knows is in the restaurant’s front doors. The sound of your lively and soothing voice travels to his ears and it’s as if he winces in pain by hearing you. If your voice alone can shatter the pieces of himself he didn’t even think he had anymore, he’s in fear of what happens to him when he gets to set his eyes on you.

Joris sends him a knowing stare, a look of worry in his eyes, and Charles knows it was his signal that you were right behind him. Charles tries his best to not look back, to not glance at you, even if it felt like he was physically fighting the muscles in his neck and back.

You make your way to the table, smiling to friends and hugging some, and Charles feels his heart break as soon as his eyes landed on you. It didn’t make it better that you looked breathtaking, your hair neatly parted to the side, and the dress you wore hugged your body rather perfectly. He feels a lump in the back of his throat, still not immune to the effect you had on every room you entered. He didn’t know how you did it, but each time your presence fills a room, everything just becomes brighter and lighter. He feels his chest lighten, yet at the same time, it feels as if it’s being weighed down by tons of rocks.

The ridiculously long table Arthur had acquired was of no help. You were sitting fairly far away from him, but you were on the opposite side so he still got a clear view of you. The restaurant’s warm light hits you to perfection, the features of your face highlighted rather marvelously it makes Charles’ heart hurt. Deep down he feels you were avoiding his gaze, trying your best not to look at his direction, so Charles tells himself to do the same. For some time he desperately tries to fill his mind’s own silence by conversing with his friends, trying to forget the fact that you were mere seats away from him.

He feels as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and smashed it to the ground, stomped on it until all the blood had drained out of it until it turns white and pale. Truly, seeing you had just proven he was still aching, in the same magnitude as the first day he slept on a bed without you in it. 90 days and still he thinks he hasn’t made any progress, so terrible he wants to bash his head just to get over you.

Charles wonders how someone can go from a soulmate to a stranger, how you can go from being the person he runs to when he feels like the world is crashing down on him to someone who’s behind the tears he quietly sheds at night. How someone who’s met his family and the entire team in Ferrari, how one can go from being Fred’s self-proclaimed daughter to someone he can’t even look at without being in pain.

No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his eyes unconsciously still landed on you. He feels something pull at the nerves in his heart whenever you smiled and laugh, and he figures you were still as beautiful as the day he lost you. He closes his eyes and remembers the day the two of you hit your tipping point - the night you packed up your things and left your shared apartment, leaving Charles to ponder alone in a cold and empty room. He remembers how you both started to settle things as calmly as you could and he’d forgotten how you got to a point where it was just frustration and pent-up anger. He can still picture how you slammed the door behind you and he remembers how he threw his phone across the room - not aimed at you, but out of emotion.

“Earth to Charles,” Joris snaps his fingers across the table, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah? Sorry, zoned out a bit.”

“Uh, Peter’s asking how you’ve been,”

“Oh well I’m okay. Life’s not always sunshine and rainbows so it is what it is,” Charles replies, adding a small laugh at the end.

“Hey, by the way, I’m sorry about your split with Y/N. Must have been tough.”

“It was,” he says, turning his head to look in your direction and looks back at his friend right after. “But it’s all good.”

Except Charles was just a liar. It was not all good, he knew that, and everyone who knew him well enough would see right through him. He’s never been a good liar nor a good pretender, people close to him knew he was hurting. Joris knew it, thankfully, he got Peter to change the subject before he pried any further. But Charles couldn’t blame them, because they were witnesses to his greatest love story yet - the one he had with you.

He misses you, so bad it makes him want to just walk up to you and tell you he longs for you. He misses you more than he remembers you. He doesn’t care about his friends anymore or what people might say, he doesn’t care if he’s going to ruin all the progress he’s made no matter how little it was, he wanted you back in his life it’s disrupting all his senses. All he could do now was look at you and wonder how you’ve been doing, because God knows he can’t ask you himself. He has a hundred questions he wants to ask you; how you’re processing everything, if you’ve been taking your supplements daily because you tend to forget, and if it was still him that resided in your heart.

Except he can’t. So he decides to stash his feelings in a box and stowed it away in the back of his head.

“Hey, uh, I’ll just get some fresh air.” Charles excuses himself, deciding to give himself a breather. Too preoccupied with his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice you were gone from the table as well. And maybe he’s better off not knowing, he didn’t attend tonight just so he can weep and watch you.

Head down yet still cautious of the path he was walking, Charles continues his stride with the goal to get out of the restaurant so he could climb up its balcony that overlooked the city.

As he climbs up the stairs, he notices a shadow, someone else coming down so he decides to step aside and let them through.

Much to his surprise, he was greeted with the only one he’s ever longed for and loved, still.

“Charles,”

“Hi.”

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tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy (lmk if anyone else wants to be part of my tag list hehe)

notes: thank u sm for reading <333

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc angst #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 angst #f1 drabble

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