#he actually was just there to walk her up

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

This Wasn’t in the Contract

Word Count: 1,6k

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When a gossip account claims Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend, he jokingly confirms it—except he names you, his childhood best friend, as his mysterious partner. Now, you’re stuck fake-dating the most unserious man on the grid.

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Chapter 1: A Joke Gone Too Far

You weren’t the type to start your day by checking celebrity gossip, but apparently, you should have been.

Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t have woken up to 237 unread messages and a phone call from your mother screaming, “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU’RE DATING LANDO?!”

“…What?” Your brain was still booting up, barely processing her words as you squinted at the sunlight streaming through your blinds.

“Don’t play dumb! It’s all over Twitter! ‘Lando Norris soft-launches secret girlfriend!’”

That got your attention. You bolted upright, nearly knocking your laptop off the bed. “Lando did what?”

“I don’t know, you tell me! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? The neighbors are texting me about it! The neighbors!”

You barely heard her as you scrolled through your phone, your heart pounding. Sure enough, there it was—a blurry paparazzi photo of Lando, looking suspiciously happy as he walked through Monaco. The caption?

Lando Norris spotted out with mystery girlfriend. Who is she?

Well, it’s not me, that’s for sure.

But the real problem wasn’t the article. No, the problem was the Twitter chaos that followed.

@F1TeaSpill: Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend… my life is over.

@WAGwatch: McLaren’s golden boy is TAKEN. The girl remains unknown, but sources say they’ve been dating for months.

And then, the worst part.

A verified tweet from Lando himself.

@LandoNorris: Fine, you caught me. It’s Y/n. We wanted to keep it private, but oh well.

You stared at the screen in horror.

“…I’m going to kill him.”

Your mom gasped. “I knew you were dating! My baby girl is in love!”

You hung up.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: How to Accidentally Get a Girlfriend

It took exactly four angry phone calls and one very aggressive Uber ride to track Lando down at his apartment. The second he opened the door, you shoved your phone in his face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Lando blinked at you, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He was still in his pajamas—a McLaren hoodie and boxers, because of course he was. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

You ignored him, scrolling aggressively through Twitter. “Did you—did you seriously just announce to the entire world that we’re dating?!”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, so, hear me out—”

“No.”

“—I thought it would be funny.”

You took a deep breath. Counted to five. “You thought it would be funny?”

“In my defense, it was funny.”

You smacked his arm. “Lando!”

“OW—okay, okay, look!” He took a step back, holding up his hands. “There was this dumb article saying I had a secret girlfriend, and people wouldn’t shut up about it. So I thought, why not have a little fun? I didn’t think people would actually believe me!”

You stared at him, unamused. “Lando. You have millions of followers. Of course they believed you!”

“…Oh.”

“Oh?”

He winced. “I mean… in hindsight, yeah, that makes sense.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is so bad. My mom thinks it’s real. People are probably stalking my Instagram as we speak!”

Lando hesitated. “So… what if we just roll with it?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned, that signature cheeky smile that meant he was about to say something very stupid. “Think about it! We fake date for a while, mess with the media, then ‘break up’ later. It’s the perfect plan.”

You scoffed. “Perfect for who?”

“Both of us!” He threw an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffened. “You get clout, I get people off my back about my dating life, and—bonus!—we get to mess with the internet. Win-win-win.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “That’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“…But?”

“…But it would be kinda funny.”

He gasped. “So you’ll do it?”

You sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. One month. That’s it.”

Lando beamed. “Deal. Now, let’s get to work.

You frowned. “Work?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Time for our first ‘couple’ Instagram post.”

You were already regretting this.

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Chapter 3: The ‘Soft Launch’ Debacle

If someone had told you that by noon, you’d be sitting on Lando’s couch with him hovering over you, analyzing potential Instagram captions for your fake couple post, you would have laughed in their face.

Yet, here you were.

“This one’s good,” Lando said, showing you his phone.

You squinted at it. ‘My ride or die. ❤️’

“No,” you said flatly.

He pouted. “Why not? It’s cute!”

“It’s cringe.”

Lando rolled his eyes, flopping onto the couch beside you. “Fine. What about—‘Finally caught myself a podium-worthy girl’?”

You stared at him. “Lando.”

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up.”

He burst into laughter, nearly falling off the couch. “Come on, Y/n, help me out here! We need to be convincing.”

You sighed. “Can’t we just post a normal picture?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “We need romance. We need passion.”

“We need therapy,” you muttered.

But you gave in. Because somehow, against all logic, you’d agreed to this stupid fake-dating scheme. You allowed Lando to take a selfie of the two of you, his arm slung around your shoulders, his grin wide and cheeky while you tried not to look like you wanted to strangle him.

Fifteen minutes later, it was live.

@LandoNorris: She said yes. ❤️

“…Lando,” you said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“This makes it sound like we’re engaged.”

“Oops.”

“Oops?!”

But it was too late. Twitter had already exploded.

@F1GossipGirl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE SAID YES??

@McLarenFan4Life: Engaged. ENGAGED. I need a moment.

@Y/nDefender: okay but if y/n makes him less of a menace on the track i support it

You groaned. “You suck.”

Lando, completely unbothered, smirked. “Oh, fiancée, you wound me.”

You were going to kill him.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 4: McLaren is Concerned

The next day, you made a mistake.

You agreed to physically show up at McLaren’s HQ with Lando.

You should have known it was a bad idea when, the second you stepped inside, his PR manager spotted you and immediately looked stressed.

“Lando.” The poor man looked like he hadn’t slept since 2018. “Care to explain?”

Lando, ever the picture of innocence, grinned. “Explain what?”

The PR manager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The engagement. The internet meltdown. The sponsorship offers from wedding brands.”

You choked. “Wait—what?”

Lando just laughed. “People love love, mate.”

The PR manager turned to you, exasperated. “Are you really engaged?”

You opened your mouth to deny it—

“She doesn’t like labels,” Lando cut in smoothly, throwing an arm around your waist.

You resisted the urge to shove him into a wall.

“…Right.” The PR manager didn’t look convinced. “Well, just… keep it under control, okay? We don’t need another Daniel Ricciardo social media incident.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but judging by the way Lando immediately sobered up, it was serious.

“Got it,” Lando said, suddenly obedient.

You made a mental note to ask Daniel about that later.

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Chapter 5: Paparazzi and Near-Death Experiences

Two weeks into the fake-dating scheme, things escalated.

First, the paparazzi started following you everywhere. Which was fine—except for the fact that Lando used this as an opportunity to be an absolute menace.

“Y/n, darling,” he said loudly one day outside a café, dramatically pulling you into a dip like you were in a bad rom-com.

You struggled in his grip. “Put me down before I punch you.”

“Ah, my sweet, violent love,” he sighed.

The cameras loved it.

Then, there was the incident with the McLaren team barbecue.

The entire grid had been invited, which meant you were subjected to hours of hearing Max and Charles tease Lando about his ‘wife.’

“She must be an angel to put up with you,” Max had joked, sipping his drink.

“I’m a delight,” Lando shot back.

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to blush when Charles leaned over and whispered, “I think he actually likes you.”

Which was ridiculous. Obviously. Right?

Right.

(Then Lando draped his jacket over you later that night when it got cold, and you started questioning everything.)

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Chapter 6: The Fake Breakup Plan

By the third week, you and Lando had a problem.

Your parents—who had never once taken anything you did on the internet seriously—fully believed you were dating.

Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except now your entire family wanted to meet Lando.

“My mom keeps asking if we’re doing a destination wedding,” you hissed one evening, pacing around Lando’s apartment.

He snorted. “Tell her I’m thinking Monaco.”

“Lando, focus!”

He grinned. “Relax. We’ll just fake a breakup.”

You paused. “…How?”

“Easy.” He leaned back, stretching. “I’ll cheat on you.”

You nearly choked on air. “Excuse me?!”

“Not really,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll stage something. Maybe I get ‘caught’ with a model or something.”

You frowned. “…We could just say we broke up because we realized we’re better as friends.”

He stared at you. “Where’s the drama in that?”

“You love drama.”

“I live for it,” he agreed.

You groaned. “Fine. But no cheating scandal. We’ll figure something else out.”

Lando pouted. “Boring.”

You ignored him, but deep down, a tiny part of you was unreasonably annoyed at the thought of him fake-dating someone else.

Which was dumb. Because this wasn’t real.

Right?

Right.

…Shit.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 7: When Fake Starts Feeling Real

Somewhere along the line, you stopped noticing when Lando reached for your hand in public.

You stopped flinching when he casually draped an arm around your shoulders.

And you definitely didn’t mind when he pulled you into his side during movie nights, letting you steal his hoodie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was fake. You knew that.

But then, one night, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said softly, “You know, I think I’d actually marry you.”

And for the first time, you didn’t have a comeback.

[dismalflo]

picture perfect

Rugby!James potter x Photographer!reader who meet for the first time while they're both working ✩ 3.2k words

summary: when Lily calls asking you to fill in for the team photographer, you agree. you meet a very nice and slightly flirty team captain - James Potter.

cw: just fluff, James is a sweetheart,

When Lily called you to ask if you could photograph the promo shots for the rugby team's social media, you should’ve said no. But, despite knowing her for years, saying no to Lily Evans is a skill you’ve never quite mastered, and lord knows, you’ve tried.

“I’m sorry, Lily, it’s just not the kind of photography I do,” you’d said, hoping she’d back off.

“I know that, but our team photographer quit out of nowhere to go ‘find himself,’ and it’s just this one time. You’d be my hero if you could help.”

“...Fine.”

So yes, you tried, but to no avail.

Now, as you drive onto the grounds, the nerves start to creep in. Lily’s request meant they were desperate, but that only ramps up the pressure. You have to get the shots right. Perfect. No room for mistakes. Because of this, your car’s boot is packed with a variety of lenses, camera bodies, and a couple of tripods. At least no one could accuse you of being underprepared.

Once you park, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. You’re not sure what you’re walking into, and the unknown is always unnerving. Hands still firmly planted on the steering wheel and eyes staring unseeingly at the dash. This is silly, you haven't felt this panicked once in the lead up to this job, but it seems to have hit you like a brick all at once at the worst possible time.

Just as your mind starts to spiral, a gentle tap on your window pulls you back to reality. You glance up to find one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, dressed in joggers and a jacket with the team’s logo emblazoned on it. His face is calm, his smile warm and relaxed. If sunshine were a person It’d be him. You try to shake off the wave of nerves and return an awkward grin, fumbling to get out of the car.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice steady and easy.

“Yeah, I’m, uh… I’m here to do the promo photos for the team,” you say, your tone hesitant, unsure of your place here.

“Oh, great. Lily mentioned you'd be coming,” he says with a nod. Then, with a casual gesture toward your car, he adds, “Need a hand bringing your stuff in?”

You're taken aback by his immediate kindness. You'd half-expected to be ignored by a bunch of burly men all day, but this tall, curly-haired guy is completely throwing you off. It's a relief, though—one you didn’t even realise you needed.

“That would be great, actually,” you say, voice softer now, but still nervous as you rush to add, “If—if that’s alright.”

As you round the car to pop open the boot, you can't help but feel a little self-conscious. Not only have you just managed to act like a bumbling fool, but there's also this man—who looks like he's been sculpted by the gods—following right behind you.

When the boot clicks open, he lets out a low whistle. “Wow, one of my mates is really into film photography,” he says, his face lighting up as he speaks. “Not sure he’s got a kit as impressive as yours, though. So, what do you need me to carry?”

You can’t help but chuckle at his comment. He’s kind, but rugby players aren’t exactly known for their gentle touch. As charming as this one is, you’re not about to risk it. You point toward the tripod bags. “Those, if you don’t mind,” you say.

He nods with an easy grin, effortlessly lifting one of the heavy tripod bags. “No problem. I’ve got it.” His muscles shift under his jacket as he adjusts the weight, and you try not to let your gaze linger too long on the way his jacket clings to his broad shoulders.

You grab a camera body, a little flustered by the close proximity of this boy, but you make an effort to steady yourself. “Thanks” you mutter, looking up at him, a little rushed.

“No worries,” he says with a chuckle, then adds, “They're all nice lads, you’ll be fine.”

The reassurance is exactly what you needed, even if it doesn’t quite settle the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “I hope so,” you reply with a faint smile, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

As you both start walking toward the stadium, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet morning air, he turns his head slightly, keeping his tone casual. “So, is this your usual kind of job?” he asks, clearly trying to get a conversation going as you both make your way through the car park.

You’re grateful for the distraction, even if the question catches you a little off guard. “I mean, I mostly do portraits and landscapes,” you answer, trying to sound like you have it all together. “I don’t usually do team sports, but Lily called in a favour.”

He gives you a sideways glance, his smile widening just a bit as he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, if it makes you feel better, the team’s not as scary as they look. And, if you need a bit of help with that, I’m more than happy to make sure they stay in line.”

You both reach the entrance of the stadium, and he holds the door open for you, his smile still warm. “After you, photographer,” he says with a playful wink.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “Are you always this charming?” you can’t help but ask, a little teasing of your own slipping into your voice.

He grins even wider, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Only when I’m trying to get someone to stop being nervous,” he says easily, then adds with a shrug, “Seems like it’s working, though, doesn’t it?”

You can't help but laugh, the tension easing slightly as you step into the stadium, the vast space unfolding before you. The first thing your eyes catch is the bright red hair of Lily Evans, making her way toward you, a grin spreading across her face.

"Thank you so much for this," she says, pulling you into a quick hug. "I mean it, you're a lifesaver." As she pulls away, you nod enthusiastically, your words failing you. Her gaze flicks over to the man standing behind you.

"I see you've met James," she says, reaching for the Tripod bag from him. "He's the team captain—and apparently not where he’s supposed to be."

James scoffs, indignant. "I was making sure this lovely thing got in here in one piece. Didn't see you rushing to help them." Lily doesn’t respond, merely shoos him away. To his credit, James takes it in stride, backing off with his hands raised in mock surrender.

Just as he turns to leave, you remember yourself and call out, "Thanks for the help!" But James doesn’t seem to hear you, already heading toward the changing rooms.

Lily gives you a soft, amused look and gestures toward a nearby hallway. "Come on, I'll show you where we'll be shooting." Her familiarity with the space is evident, and it's reassuring in a way—this is her turf, a fancy social media manager, and you’re just trying to find your footing.

She leads you down the hallway, her steps confident as she continues to chat. “Alright, so we’ll do individual portraits first. Each player will come up, and you can get the posed shots. Nothing too fancy—just something clean and simple for the social media pages.” She glances over her shoulder at you, offering a quick smile.

You nod, trying to lock that information into place. Individual portraits? You can do that. You’ve done countless shoots for portraits before, even if these players are a bit more... intimidating than your usual subjects.

Lily pauses at the edge of the room and gestures to a clear space by a set of large windows. The natural light coming in looks ideal. “We’ll set up here for the portraits. Nothing too wild. Just enough to show who they are, you know?”

“Got it,” you say, trying to steady your breath. You adjust the strap on your camera, mentally preparing for the first round of shots.

She gives you a thumbs-up before stepping away, her voice carrying back over her shoulder. “After the portraits, we’ll move to the pitch for the action shots. I’m thinking some training photos, maybe a few of them in motion, running drills.”

She turns the corner into the locker room, calling over her shoulder, “Let me know if you need anything. I’m not far!”

As you begin setting up your gear, arranging the tripod and adjusting your lenses, you steal a glance at the team members trickling out of the locker room. Their voices blend in a hum of casual chatter, punctuated by the occasional laugh. A few of them catch sight of you, offering quick nods or polite smiles as they take their positions.

But then your heart skips a beat. James emerges from the locker room, flashing you that cheeky grin of his as he surveys the space. Your hands freeze, nearly losing grip on the camera. He stands there—broad shoulders, relaxed posture—exuding a quiet confidence. His eyes lock with yours, and he winks, that familiar teasing energy lighting up the air between you.

You shake off the brief moment of distraction, focusing back on your task. You work through the shots with precision, photographing each player quickly but methodically. The room feels less overwhelming now as the others drift off, their photos already taken. Just as you finish capturing a man with dark hair and tattoos snaking up his forearms, you look up and realize there's only one player left. James.

He steps up to the backdrop, flashing you that grin again. “You’re impressive, y’know.”

You blink, taken aback. “How do you mean?” you ask, your face flushing at the unexpected compliment.

James shrugs casually, his posture still relaxed but with an edge of warmth in his eyes. “I mean, you’ve got this whole calm, collected photographer thing down. And you’re, like, making it look easy.” His voice holds a playful lilt, like he’s genuinely impressed but also enjoying how much he can throw you off with a few words.

You laugh, trying to shake the sudden flutter of nerves that surge through you again. “Well, I’ve had a bit of practice,” you say, focusing on adjusting your camera settings to avoid his teasing gaze. “And it’s only a little intimidating being surrounded by a team of professional athletes.” You glance up briefly, catching his gaze again. There’s something about him that makes your hands a little shaky, but you try not to let it show.

James doesn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, he looks even more comfortable, his hands resting on his hips as he gives you an easy smile. “I wouldn’t say intimidating. More like... impressive, right? We’re a bunch of big, tough guys who can knock each other out on the field, but off it? Pretty harmless.” He tilts his head, studying you as if trying to gauge how you’re doing with all the attention. “Plus, I’ve been told I’m easy to work with.” He winks again, and the teasing energy returns.

You roll your eyes playfully, setting up the shot. “Oh, I’m sure you are. I’m just worried I might accidentally photograph your ego instead of your face.” You smile as you say it, hoping it comes off as light-hearted, but internally, you’re wondering how you keep managing to get caught up in this back-and-forth with him.

James laughs, the sound easy and rich, like he's genuinely enjoying himself. “That wouldn't be a good look for me but you're the photographer, angel, do what you want.”

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure as you adjust your camera settings again, focusing more on the equipment than the man in front of you. His teasing grin hasn't faltered, and it's making it harder to concentrate. You need to get the shot—simple, clean, just like Lily said. But somehow, with James standing there, the task feels a little more complicated.

“Alright,” you say, trying to steady your hands as you bring the camera to your eye. “Just relax and look natural, okay?”

He nods with exaggerated seriousness, then steps back, looking you dead in the eye as if he's about to pull off some grand dramatic pose. But instead, he just stands tall, hands in his pockets, eyes soft, looking completely unbothered. And somehow, it’s perfect.

After a few shots, you pause, studying the pictures on your camera’s screen. They’re good. No, they’re better than good. The natural light falls perfectly on his face, and there’s something in his eyes—something that isn’t quite the usual mischief, but maybe a little more... real.

“Not bad, huh?” James’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to find him still standing there, this time a little more relaxed than before.

You nod slowly, doing your best to mask just how much you’re replaying the image of him in that moment. “Yeah, these are great. You’ve got a good... um, 'look.'” You immediately cringe, realizing how awkward that sounded, but he just flashes a smile, unfazed.

“Of course I do,” he says, winking again, and you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

A brief silence settles between you both as you both focus on the photos. Clearing your throat, you turn to James. “Thank you for–” but you're interrupted when the door swings open, and in walks the man with dark hair and tattoos.

“Prongs, stop flirting with the pretty photographer,” he says with a teasing grin, throwing an apologetic look your way. “We’ve got work to do.”

Suddenly, you feel heat rush to your cheeks, realizing you’ve held James up for longer than you should have. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you rush out. But when you look at James, his soft gaze is fixed on you, his smile still warm and genuine.

He shakes his head slightly. “It was really nice talking to you.” His voice is calm, steady, and there’s no teasing in sight. Then, with one last glance, he turns to follow his teammate out the door, leaving you to ponder the sincerity behind his words.

The rest of the day is very uneventful. Aside from the fact your gaze kept wandering back to James, the fact that he kept making eye contact with you as if he’d already been looking, and one rogue comment from Lily.

“What have you done to James?” she asks, smirking.

“I– nothing… what?” you reply, confused and a furrow to your brows.

“He’s usually very focused,” she gives you a pointed look before leaning it, “He doesn't seem to be today.” her tone teasing.

You decided at the time not to dwell on those words. But now, as you make your way back to the car with the equipment, they echo in your mind, replaying over and over. What did she mean? You can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to make James uncomfortable. A small—no, a rather large—part of you hopes he might actually like you.

Fumbling with your keys, your hands full and your mind racing, you hear a voice call from a distance. “Hey!”

You look up to see none other than James, jogging toward you with that effortless smile.

“Let me help,” he says, reaching for the strap of your bag and gently lifting it off your shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, James,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips as your heart skips a beat.

"Anything for the best and prettiest photographer around." The compliment makes you fluster as he loads the bags into the car. "I can't wait to see the final results." His grin is the biggest you've seen all day, and you return it automatically, lost for words.

"Listen…" James straightens up to face you, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I was wondering if I could get your number?"

Your mind races through a million possibilities, but you quickly dismiss the idea that he's interested in you personally. Instead, you settle on the thought that he probably wants it for professional reasons.

"I—uh, I did this as a one-off. I'm not a sports photographer."

He chuckles softly, glancing down at the floor before raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I know," he says, meeting your eyes. "But I meant it more like... I was hoping to take you on a date." He pauses, then adds, "If you'd like to."

"Oh." You're stunned into silence, and James immediately takes it as rejection.

"You should say no if you don't want to," he says quickly, looking away. "I can handle it."

"No, I—I'd really like that," you respond, nodding more to yourself than to him, but your smile betrays the nervous excitement bubbling up inside.

James’s face breaks into a grin that nearly lights up the entire car park, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice suddenly softer, as though trying to gauge whether this is really happening.

You nod, suddenly shy, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. “Yeah,” you repeat, giving him a small, tentative smile.

“Good,” he says with a relaxed chuckle, almost like he didn’t expect this to go as smoothly as it has. “So, uh… I’ll text you, then?”

“Yeah. Definitely,” you say, finally letting yourself exhale, feeling the tension leave your shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate, pulling out his phone and typing something quickly before showing it to you, waiting for you to type in your number. As you do, you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t mind it. This doesn’t feel weird or awkward, it feels—well, kind of exciting.

“Alright,” he says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll let you get going.” He turns toward the building, but not before looking back over his shoulder with a smirk. “I’ll be in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him walk away with a mix of amusement and disbelief. Once he’s out of sight, you take a deep breath, your hands feeling lighter now, a strange warmth spreading through you.

By the time you get into your car and start driving away, your mind is a whirlwind. You keep replaying the moments—his smile, his words, the way he looked at you.

Once home, your heart is still racing, the adrenaline from the shoot finally starting to settle, replaced by a warm, giddy feeling you didn’t expect.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find a message from James: “Had a great time today. Can’t wait to see you again. ;)”

You laugh, your fingers hovering over the screen as you try to think of the perfect response. Maybe something casual, something cool... But who are you kidding? You quickly type back: “Same here. Looking forward to it.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[abbadoabbadon]

This is actually so fucking wild to see someone else talking about this, because this exact same thing happened to me.

I was diagnosed with BPD when I was only 15. I knew the psychiatrist for a total of 3 sessions, 45 minutes altogether, and she diagnosed me with BPD. And her diagnosing me with BPD was also her telling my mother how everything I do is for attention and me manipulating everyone else around me.

When she told me (with my mom sitting next to me) that I was nothing more than a manipulative little girl for self harming and that my mother was going through enough and I was making it worse, I tried getting up to walk out of the session. She yelled at me to sit back down and not have a "borderline attack" on her.

My mother bought the exact book you mentioned: Walking on Eggshells. She read the book and tried to force me to read it, as if it was something I needed to change about myself and feel ashamed of.

Relationships were exactly how you described. I asked for honesty and communication and clarification because of my lack of communication skills and picking up on social cues and sarcasm. I'm met with being told I'm just trying to seek validation and I'm too much and overwhelming and manipulative.

My ex turned the entire household against me where I lived once when I was 23-24, because of a false fucking diagnosis of BPD. He told everyone how abusive and manipulative and controlling I was, strictly because of a BPD diagnosis that didn't even apply to me any more. My most recent ex also gaslit me and told me I was just having "BPD splits" on him when I would try to talk to him about how badly he was abusing me, and even how he had raped me, where I just wanted to talk about his actions and make him realize how he'd hurt me.

My meltdowns were also called manipulative and attention seeking, and I was called crazy and abusive, when really, I was overstimulated with everything around me being too much and being treated like a fucking animal by everyone I loved.

I do not fit the criteria for BPD. There are some things I relate to from BPD, so I do question if, hey, maybe I do have it? but those are also autism traits that I fit 100% of. Anything that is not an autism trait that is also a "BPD trait", I do not fit.

Those with BPD, I have your back. I will fight for you, you have a safe place on my blog. Because I know how you're treated, as I was treated the same fucking way every day because of the misdiagnosis.

There was a post I saw recently about BPD being "destigmatized" and "pretty girl disorder" now, and that couldn't be farther from the truth.

You're seen, you're valid, you're real, and it's not your fault.

As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.

[softtdaisy]

need your touch / Aaron Hotchner

summary. Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until he became touch-starved.

words count. 2 776

what to expect. kind of grumpy x sunshine, very sad, mention of foyet and the attack, but very sad

a/n. I had this idea reading a book and I felt so sad about the man suffering from that, that of course I wanted to do with Hotch too so here it is

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

The shivers. The disgust. The sudden need to wash his skin.

Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until it was too late.

It wasn't until he actually became touch-starved that he realized this. 

The first time he realized something might be wrong was after a case. One that they all thought would take days but was surprisingly done after a few hours. After they finished packing, Rossi walked behind him. “Well done,” he congratulated Hotch by patting his shoulder. 

He had a slight and unconscious movement of recoil. Something Rossi didn’t notice, already focused on someone else. But something that stayed in Hotch’s mind and didn’t leave him. 

Soon, he realized how every little moment where he was touched by somebody else made him feel sick. 

He had to fight against the need to run to the bathroom after shaking hands with anybody.

He started avoiding every form of affection from the team, not that they were numerous but still present.

And if after his divorce with Haley, Hotch stopped the whole dating process, the idea of being intimate with someone became a real anxiety issue. Hands getting lost on his body, the feeling of lips leaving wet marks on his skin… this was too much for him. So much so that he didn’t even know how to get over this now.

And with months spent staying away from any type of physical contact, he started to feel the consequences on his mental health. He was the one avoiding it, but in his mind, the idea of being repulsive started to grow.

The thing was, he knew exactly where it came from. 

It could have been “the best part” of this if he could find a way to fight against it.

But it was definitely the “worst part” of this whole mess.

Because there was nothing he could do about the memory of almost dying in the hands of George Foyet. Every physical contact was a reminder of the worst night of his life. His brain ended up associating it with the feeling of dying. Again and again.

If he had been feeling better, he probably would have found it funny that the universe decided to put you in his life at the exact moment he was starting to lose it.

Just like that, one day, when he arrived in the meeting room, you were there next to Penelope.

“Let me introduce you to the most amazing little fairy you will ever meet,” she said, her hands on your shoulder like a proud mom. Which, of course, caused some laughter from the team. Not that they doubt you could be some kind of fairy, especially if you were the one Penelope chose to work with her. 

“As you know,” she pursued, “I asked to have another pair of hands to help me, and so here is my little ray of sunshine.” 

“Ok,” you laughed, patting her hand gently. “I think we can stop with the cute nicknames; they got the idea.” 

The whole time you spent explaining what your job would be, basically supporting Penelope in her office but also going more on the field with the team to be the connection between them and her, Hotch never stopped looking at you.

Penelope was right: you were a pure ray of sunshine. You lighted up the whole room in a way he forgot was possible after years of discovering the worst cases between these walls. You kept smiling and laughing, joking with Derek at his silly remarks and blushing when you heard Emily’s compliments on your hair. You were already a part of the team in less than five minutes.

And when you walked to him to shake his hand, he realized there was something even more special about you.

For the first time in months, he was able to touch someone else without feeling any disgust. It was even pleasing.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a low voice, still in shock from the lack of reaction his body gave. He got lost in the beauty of your eyes when you looked at him. More than the color of them, which was straight from a painter’s palette for him, he found some peace in it. You didn’t know all the struggle he was going through. 

You were like an open door to something new. To feel like himself again.

Of course, it would have been too easy if he could have just started to feel at ease next to you and put his touch revulsion away in a flash. 

Hotch was still the boss, and you were working for him. If he were being as responsible as he felt he had to be, he would put a respectful distance between the two of you. He couldn’t be there, longing for your touch.

But, without meaning to, you were making things way harder for him.

You were the affectionate type. And soon the team learned that they couldn’t escape your overflowing need to have physical contact with them to show your appreciation. Even Spencer, who made it clear from the start that he wasn’t comfortable with this type of affection, ended up asking for some of yours. 

Like the high five when the team progressed in the case, the handholding—or grabbing, in your case—for the person next to you in the plane or the comforting touch when you felt like one of them needed it. A hand on the shoulder, a squeeze on the arm, your fingers patting your thighs softly when a meeting was going wrong, or even a hug when it was necessary. It was a normal habit for you, and soon it became one for the team too.

You weren’t sure Hotch was appreciating it though. He was your boss, and for obvious reasons, you tried to keep a distance so you wouldn’t get fired for sexual harassment. But if you felt like some of them barely needed your affection—yet, still appreciated it—like Emily or Derek, and some truly loved having you around, like Penelope, there was something different with Hotch.

That man was the incarnation of sadness, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first time you overpassed your feelings about it was during a case involving children. The meeting with the sheriff went terribly wrong, and Hotch, who always seemed so calm and composed, let his anger out when he got up. Slamming the chair against the desk and closing the door just as hard. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before running after him. “Hotch!” you yelled, a little louder than intended since people turned around. Well, most did, except for the one concerned. You had to run after him outside to finally be able to grab his arm. “Oh god, I’m not trained for this stuff,” you said, out of breath. 

He stayed silent. Still in shock that you went after him. Still in shock that your touch didn’t make him feel sick. Once again. He even found some comfort in the way your thumb was naturally brushing his wrist; he could feel your tenderness even through the tissue of his shirt.

“Are you ok?” you asked before laughing. “I’m stupid; of course you’re not. But…can I do anything?” 

Hotch was impressive for many, many reasons. He was your boss, sure. He was older than you; it was a fact. But he was terribly and undeniably handsome. It wasn’t easy to be in front of him most of the time. But right now, alone in the street, facing his eyes that were leaving your face and his deep silence, it was even harder.

“Can I offer you a hug? Maybe?” Your voice was so low that you were convinced he didn’t hear you. Which was probably for the better. You could live with the idea of missing the opportunity because you didn’t speak loud enough. Less with the idea that he deliberately ignored you.

But soon, you watched his movement as he made a step towards you. As his arms opened up before closing against your body. As his head is buried in your neck. It took you a second to react, and you held him tight against you. Your hand went to his back to caress it slowly. 

You wondered when was the last time he experienced a comforting hug.

Hotch knew it had been roughly a year. 

The following weeks, you noticed Hotch took some distance with you. You’d like to say he did it again, but the truth was you don’t think he was doing it deliberately before the hug. Now he was doing everything to not be close to you.

It was late at night when your bell rang. The camera on your phone immediately gave you the image of the man standing in front of your door. A tall man with dark hair and a dark coat that you knew well since these days have been cold and it was your boss’ favorite.

You didn’t question Hotch's presence at your door until you opened it and were met by his sad figure. “This has to stay between us,” he immediately said in a hoarse voice. And before knowing what this was about, you nodded. You had the feeling you couldn’t refuse what he was asking for. 

You watched as he entered your apartment. As he took off his coat, putting it on a hanger and hanging it on the coat rack in precise movements. Like he repeated it in his head many times to make sure everything went smoothly. Or to reassure him that if he didn’t mess up here, it meant he was doing the right thing.

And you watched as he faced you, again, and went to your arms immediately. This one took you by surprise. You were used to being the one initiating the hug, not the one receiving it. Or, more exactly in this case, giving it without offering it in the first place.

Because Hotch wasn’t holding you. He was being held by you. More than that, he was holding onto you tightly, craving your touch. You could feel his fingers grabbing the thin tissue of your pajamas. Like he feared you might disappear any second. Fearing that he would lose the only person that made him feel good about himself again.

The hand you put on his back slowly moved to his neck, softly touching and caressing his skin. In any other moment, this was something that would have stressed him. Hotch always felt sensitive in this part of his body. He used to love being touched there, but after these past months, the idea of someone else's hand here was impossible to conceive. But here he was, longing for your touch. Hoping you never stopped.

And when you leaned back, he was glad that your hand didn’t leave its place. “Let’s sit so we can talk, ok?” you offered in a whisper. It seemed right to grab his hand at that moment to guide him, as if your apartment wasn’t small enough that your living room was more than apparent from the door.

You found it funny, once you both settled in your vintage sofa, how you looked like two opposites. You are in your pajamas, far from the professional outfit you wore all day. While Hotch was still in his suit, it looked like his day had just started. 

Except for the tired eyes and the exhausted expression. You knew it wasn’t even caused by work; you had a very casual office day. Maybe that was the saddest part. How life has exhausted him to a point of no return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, suddenly realizing that maybe you should give him the chance to decide instead of imposing an explanation. 

At first, Hotch didn’t reply. His eyes were still on your hand holding his, how little it looked compared to his big fingers. There was something almost fragile in his behavior, how he looked smaller, trying to disappear in your cushion. 

And so, you started to talk for him. You told him what you did when you got home, what you ate, and what you watched during dinner. Trying to keep his mind entertained. And since you had the habit of speaking with your hands, you kept playing with his fingers or hitting his thigh. 

“You’re the first person that can touch me,” he finally said after hearing one of your silly facts about burning your soup the other day. But his revelation didn’t ruin the mood. Sure, you weren’t laughing anymore, neither was he—even if he didn’t truly laugh, simply giggling. But the way you turned to him, your knee falling on his lap and your hands grabbing his in a protective way, he felt at ease. 

Hotch couldn’t look at you when he told you about Foyet, what happened that night, the stabs, and how he actually remembered everything compared to what he said to the others. But he was still looking at your hands. “After that, I realized that the idea of being touched was frightening. I just couldn’t handle it and avoided it at any cost. The feeling of someone else’s skin on mine was just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes at the memory of the sickness it used to give him. 

When you stopped brushing his skin with your thumb, he put his hand on top of yours. “But not you,” he continued, looking up at you. “Being touched by you is like an antidote. I can’t explain it.” 

Now that you were thinking about it, you realized that more than once you saw Hotch step back to not be touched by anyone. Something you never paid more attention to. You weren’t a profiler, not like the team. So you didn’t question his freeze when someone approached him, the tension in his jaw when he had to shake hands, or that the only person he sat next to on the plane was Spencer, the one that wouldn’t touch him without permission. 

“I don’t want to escape your touch.” He said after a long pause. You could tell from his eyes that it wasn't easy for him to say those things. “I need it.” 

This sounded like a confession. It was actually the first time that Hotch acknowledged that more than accepting your skin on his, it became a necessity. An urge to be touched by you. And feel alive. 

“What are you asking me, Aaron?” You asked. You were confused about the situation. “I’m happy to help, and I would have understood if you had asked me to stop being this affectionate with you because it makes you feel uncomfortable. But here…”

Something changed in his eyes; you could see it. And before you could understand, Hotch was up and already walking to your door. “I’m sorry. This was inappropriate.”

Running after your boss in your pajamas and slippers was not on your to-do list today. So you grabbed his wrist, but when you tried to pull him close to you, he stopped at the same moment. And so you fell against his chest. Naturally, one of his hands went on your back to secure your body. You did the same, putting a hand on his chest. 

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. “I want to help you,” you said in a low voice, like a secret you wanted to keep between you. “I’ll gladly do it.” 

Something softened in his body when he couldn’t find the one thing he was convinced people had for his behavior. Judgment. Hotch had been convinced that anyone was judging him. And maybe some did, for what he knew.

You didn’t. All he could see was a comprehensive look and a will to do right. 

“But I need you to guide me,” you added. Slowly, you went for his other hand, held it, and brought it to his chest. 

You stayed like that. Skin to skin, body to body. This moment lasted longer than all the physical contact Hotch had in the past months. And you could feel his fingers untighten slowly, just like most of his body. Accepting your embrace, your touch, your help. You even saw a little smile grow on his lips, very subtle but that meant so much.

Maybe Hotch died a few months ago. Maybe a little part of him had accepted it.

But now, he had the feeling that in between your hands, he could experience life again. And with your help, making it worth living.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[swoo-bats]

Tucker didn't think he'd ever be interacting with one of the Big Bosses. Glimpses of them in the lobby, hallways, other work areas, sure; that's how he got in on the open secret, after all. A few too many times of the Waynes showing up to work with injuries that didn't really coincide with the "skiing accident" or whatever they claimed it to be. But Tucker, familiar with Danny's tendencies to hide his own injuries, knows what to look for.

After getting a little suspicious, Tucker started paying more attention to the Bats. He religiously followed social media posts. Twitter was a hot bed for sightings and Tiktok was great for seeing clips of fights. And after a few weeks of paying close attention to social media and any local celebrity gossip as well as the short sightings at work, Tucker can definitively say that Bruce Wayne is Batman and Tim Drake-Wayne is Red Robin.

Though he had to put in the work, he figured that with observation of the more obvious injuries and work absences over a long period of time, any Wayne Enterprises employee would come to the same conclusion. He just sped up the process a bit in his unrelenting curiosity. It must be an open secret like Danny's identity in Amity Park; people are being polite by not talking about it.

He even confirmed his speculation with his coworkers. At lunch he had casually mentioned to Jamie, a fellow systems engineer, "With what the Waynes get up to, I'm surprised they're actually at work as often as they are."

To which she eagerly replied, "Right?! They're probably so tired all the time. If I did what they did, I'd be calling out super often." She tilted her head back and forth, considering. "Though I don't have the money for that."

Two other coworkers nearby also joined in, commenting on how the Waynes are so rich, it's not really a surprise what shenanigans they get up to. Tucker nodded along, excited now that his suspicions were basically confirmed.

So when he had heard two guys in the alley outside of his apartment talking about a big drug shipment (do people really think no one will hear them if they talk in echoey alleys?), he figured he could pass it on to the Bats. Just slip a post-it into a file that's getting sent up to their office, no problem.

Safe to say, Tucker was not expecting to be called up to talk with them. Did they want more information about the drug shipment? He already wrote down everything he knew! Or... oh no, he hopes that they don't think he's involved with those guys. He walks out of the elevator, hoping he looks like a normal employee and isn't giving off, like, criminal vibes or whatever. He knows he's not guilty of anything, that this is definitely one of those scenarios like "oh shit, what if I accidentally brought a gun to the airport?" where the anxiety obviously doesn't come from any rational place. But he is still excited to meet them for real. They're heroes! The only other hero Tucker has ever met is Danny and he doesn't really count.

He makes his way to the secretary at the desk in front of the office doors and says that he was asked to come up to talk. They confirm his name with his employee ID and let him through.

The first thing Tucker notices is that the office is way less cool than he thought it'd be. It's a little bland, honestly. He wasn't expecting, like, a Batman costume to just be displayed in the room, but typical office gray is what meets his eyes.

The second thing he notices is that Tim Drake-Wayne is the only other one in the room. Tucker guesses that makes sense, he heard Batman got a nasty hit over the head last night, so he's probably taking care of his concussion or head wound or whatever.

Tim gestures for him to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Tucker does. It isn't a comfortable chair.

"So Mr. Foley, I was wondering if you could explain why you passed on a note involving a drug deal to me."

"Well, sir, I figured this was the most direct way I had to pass on some information to the Bats. I don't know anything more than what I wrote on there, though."

Tim's expression turns confused. "Why would you think I have a method of communication with the Bats?"

Tucker's own face becomes confused. Are they still pretending they both don't know that the other knows? "Why wouldn't you?"

Tim blinks. "Although they may have... saved me... from kidnappings a couple of times," he says very reluctantly, "I definitely do not have direct contact with the Bats. I suggest you find another way to contact them." He finishes, pushing the note towards Tucker.

Mind running, Tucker picks up his note. Why keep denying it? Unless he thinks that Tucker's gonna tell someone? But it's already an open secret in the building, so why worry about that? Maybe he doesn't want any rogues going after WE employees and targeting them since they know the Bats' identities? But how would the rogues find out what the employees know? Everyone is pretending they don't know, since it's an open secret and everything...

Understanding dawns on Tucker's face. Plausible deniability! If Tim confirms his identity to Tucker, who knows who Tucker could tell. If the Waynes never outright confirm it then they can decry anyone who blabs as making it up. Tucker nods.

"Ah, I see, sir. I'll definitely make sure to pass it on correctly this time." Tucker puts the note in a pocket of his slacks. When he looks back up, Tim looks skeptical. "Anything else you need to discuss?"

"You didn't answer my earlier question. Why did you think I had a way to communicate with the Bats?"

Tucker runs a few answers through his mind and picks the least plausible one. "I've never seen you or Mr. Wayne in the same place as the Bats."

Tim's expression turns bewildered and Tucker holds back a laugh. This guy is a pretty good actor, though Tucker's answer was pretty funny too. Too bad "the butts match" isn't a joke he can make in a work setting.

"I'm sure you haven't seen most people together with the Bats though? Why us?" Tim questions.

For a moment Tucker wonders why Tim's dragging the explanation out, but he knows this building is full of security cameras and whatnot. One of Batman's enemies might be like Technus and be able to get to this footage.

'Wow, he's thorough,' he thinks.

Tucker shrugs, "Celebrities are more interesting to gossip and form theories around." He pauses and scrambles to add, "Not that I'm gossiping about you and Mr. Wayne or anything! I just mean in general, celebrities have to deal with more gossip because they're assumed to be more interesting than average people."

He watches Tim's face until it eases into something more neutral. Tucker really hopes he didn't just talk himself out of his job.

"Ah. I see. That's all then, you can go."

Tucker sighs in relief. "Thank you, sir." He stands and takes his leave. In the elevator back to his floor Tucker wonders if he should actually send the note again or if that's redundant since he knows they already got it.

Well, he may as well look for an alternate method of communication in case something like this happens again.

---

Tim watches Tucker Foley exit his office and his racing mind is full of questions about the man. He was definitely lying about the "same room" excuse, there's no way he would be working in system engineering if that was the extent of his logical reasoning ability. Tim wants to know what actually made him suspicious to Foley, why he thought that Tim could easily communicate with the Bats.

The preliminary research paints a picture of a man wanting to get out of his hometown and live in the big city. His hometown is a city itself, so he was probably looking for something new and exciting. And nothing screams exciting like Gotham.

The interesting part of this research is that Amity Park's main tourist attraction is their supposed haunted city and ghost hero. Who fights other ghosts. Tim rolls his eyes at the obvious gimmick. But more research proves the hero to be real, whether he's a ghost remains to be seen. Though it seems like the city's opinion was the complete opposite when the hero first appeared, lumping him in with the other "ghosts." That early information is hard to find, just sparse blog posts about "Phantom" and the occasional facebook post made by complaining residents. In fact, all of their digital newspapers only seem to go back a few years. If it was only a couple papers it wouldn't be weird, but all of them have nothing earlier than five years ago.

No wait, he needs to focus on Foley. Find out what he thinks he knows. And he can't have the other Bats look into him either because then Foley will know for sure that Tim is connected to them. So a trawl through his digital footprint it is, then.

He can't get through the security.

Tim is frustrated, at home on his own computer trying to access Foley's tech and nothing he's doing is working. If Foley did this himself then Tim is glad he's working for WE because he is having difficulties getting through the security. He scowls at the screen.

As Red Robin he's on par with Oracle with their tech knowledge. So there's no reason why he can't do this. He just needs to persevere.

Two hours later finds Tim angrily looking for more information on Amity Park. Is it secretly a tech haven? Could it rival Silicon Valley for their advancements in cybersecurity? He finds a few engineers located in the city but none of them are listed as cybersecurity or any related fields. One listing has him pausing when he sees "ecto-tech engineers" next to a name. The Fentons. What the hell is ecto-tech?

The Fentons' website is cringe-inducing, but he scans through their bright-colored pages and comes away not knowing whether or not this technology could be used to amp up someone's cybersecurity. Though it definitely could amp up someone's building security, given that you were trying to secure it from ghosts. Tim sighs.

Are these even real engineers? This has to be part of the city's ghost tourism attraction, right? But on the Fentons' About page, they do list degrees from the University of Wisconsin in... ectobiology? Tim wants to slam his head against his desk. What the hell is up with this city?

Tucker gets a job at Wayne Enterprises, and instantly clocks Bruce and Tim and Batman and Red Robin (and thus by extension figures out the rest of the family).

But since he figured it out so easily, he assumes it’s an open secret that everyone knows but keeps on the down-low for privacy and whatnot. After all, that’s what Danny’s identity had been like by the time they all graduated. Basically everyone in town knew unless the feds were asking. Because those white-suited government bastards can Fuck Right Off.

And thus, when he later finds an important potential lead on something, he doesn’t think much of just… handing it off to them to deal with. Yeah, he’s temporarily breaking the illusion, but it’s not that big of a deal.

Needless to say, Tim vehemently disagrees with that assessment, and is now deeply invested in finding out what the hell is up with his employee and his weirdly secretive hometown.

[22ayla21]

Hi!! I read your scene where the amphoreus husbands took revenge on their wives which led the kids to be concerned, I loved it so much!!

Could you do a scene that takes place a while after the incident with the kids in the morning where they notice their wife actually struggling due to pain and takes care of her?

Thank you so much! I love your works, they keep me going <333

Daddy's Mistake

Children's reaction to "daddy's mistake"

The morning at home started out a little different than usual. Mom was limping more than yesterday, and dad, surprisingly, hadn't left her side all day, helping her even with the little things she could handle on her own.

- Mom, are you okay? - the eldest asked when he saw her carefully leaning on a chair before sitting down. She smiled as always, but the children noticed that this smile was... strange.

- Everything is fine, - she answered calmly. But the youngest sister frowned.

- But you weren't limping like that yesterday... - her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

- Are you sure?

Mom just nodded, and meanwhile dad, who usually didn't get involved in such conversations, immediately moved a pillow for her comfort and put a cup of tea in front of her.

It was... strange. Very strange.

- Dad, what did you do to make you so concerned about mom now? - the middle child asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Mydei froze for a moment.

- Me?..

- Well, yes, - the eldest now also joined in the investigation. - You must have done something, if you are now so attentive to mom!

- I... - he coughed into his fist, avoiding their tenacious glances. - I am just... showing concern.

But the children were not fools. They looked at mom. Then at dad. Then at mom again. And then the middle daughter turned out to be the bravest:

- Did you accidentally hit Mom?!

Mydei choked on air.

- WHAT?!

The youngest sister looked indignant.

- Dad, did you hurt mom?!

- Of course not! - he was indignant, but seeing how the children were boring into him with suspicion, he suddenly lost confidence. And mom just sat, silently sipping tea, and did not even try to save him.

- Then why is she limping?!

Mydei glanced quickly at his wife, but she only smiled reservedly, enjoying his torment. He swallowed.

- Just... an accident.

- Oh, dad... You try so hard, but you still ruined everything, huh? - the eldest sighed compassionately.

- Exactly, - Mom nodded with satisfaction, taking a sip of tea. And the children, completely confused, but certain of one thing - Dad was clearly guilty of something - continued their breakfast, casting suspicious glances at him.

The wife tried to keep her back straight and walk as if everything was fine, but the children, as always, were too observant. If in the morning her limp could still be hidden, then by midday even the most inattentive of them noticed that their mother was moving slower than usual.

- Mom, are you in pain? - the youngest son pulled her hand, looking up from below with concern. She smiled, stroking his head.

- No, I'm just a little tired.

But children were not so easily tricked. The daughters immediately looked at their father, who was behaving... strangely. He was watching his wife too carefully, offering her to sit down, bringing tea, even taking on her share of the work.

It was... suspicious.

- Dad, did you do something? - asked the eldest daughter, folding her arms across her chest. Anaxa froze for a second, but then returned his face to its usual imperturbable expression.

- Why do you think so?

- You're acting... too nice. Like you're making amends.

The middle daughter narrowed her eyes.

- Did you do something that hurt mom?

The wife almost choked on her tea. Anaxa looked away, clearly trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't raise any more questions.

- I just... maybe... overdid it a bit with the training.

- You made mom train? - the eldest was indignant.

- Well... you could say that.

The youngest son frowned and approached his mother, hugging her tightly around the waist.

- Dad, you should be more careful! Mom isn't as strong as you are.

The wife almost burst out laughing, but she held back, watching Anaxa struggle with her pride. He wanted to object, but he knew that making excuses now would only make the situation worse.

- I'll... take it into account.

- Okay, - the youngest son nodded, pleased that his words had been heard.

The daughters looked at their father suspiciously for a while, but, not having gotten a confession from him, decided to leave the matter. But the wife was clearly enjoying the whole situation. Especially when Anaxa, realizing his guilt, carefully helped her sit more comfortably and even brought a pillow.

- Well, well, now you've suddenly become so caring? - she whispered when the children turned away. Anaxa only chuckled, but a mixture of guilt and hidden threat was visible in his eyes.

- I'm correcting my mistake. But don't think that next time you'll be able to escape so easily.

She grinned.

- We'll see.

The children began to notice this in the morning.

At first, everything seemed normal: their mother woke them up as usual, ate breakfast with them, but when she got up to clear the dishes, her movements were slower than usual. She limped slightly, and a barely noticeable expression of discomfort flashed across her face.

- Mom, does something hurt? - one of the sons asked, frowning.

- No, no, everything is fine, - she answered quickly, but her gaze slid briefly towards their father. And that’s where it became interesting.

Phainon, who was sitting next to her, immediately perked up, distracted the children and barely noticeably moved a chair towards her so that she could sit down. Later, when they were walking through the house, the children noticed that he literally adjusted his steps to hers, as if he was ready to catch her at any moment.

- Mom, are you sure everything is okay? - the youngest repeated insistently.

- Of course, - she answered, smiling softly, but glanced sideways at Phainon again.

But father... he looked guilty. All day long he had been extraordinarily solicitous of mother: handing her a cup, offering her a seat, doing all the housework himself, and when the children noticed her limping again, he immediately picked her up and carried her into the other room, despite her indignant protests.

- Dad, did you do something? - the eldest son finally asked, narrowing his eyes. Phainon froze.

- Um... of course not, - he answered too quickly.

- Then why is mother limping, and why are you acting like a guilty puppy? - father cleared his throat, and his wife only chuckled, shaking her head.

- That’s... um... a long conversation.

The children looked at each other, still puzzled. They didn’t know what Father had done, but he had definitely done something. And since he's trying so hard to make amends, it means there was something serious.

Now they have a new riddle. And they'll definitely solve it.

[puck-luck]

Trevor gives off the vibes where he’d love just being in his girl even if it’s not sexual like they’ll just be sitting there watching tv and before you know it he’s inside of her and they’re just vibing together. I also feel like he’d be so into free use with his girl like he’ll be playing video games and she’ll get off while she uses him or she’ll be laying there reading and he’s just inside of her getting off on his own

4 + 1: Free Use with BF!Trevor

I.

After talking about it, you’ve taken to wearing thongs and an oversized t-shirt around the house. Trevor needs easy access, after all, and you had made a promise. 

You’re reading a book on the couch when he gets home from some Ducks event. You’re laying along the length of the cushions on your stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed, kicking your feet in the air aimlessly. The book is propped up against a throw pillow and you’re lazily turning the pages. 

When Trevor arrives home, you look up at him. “Hi, baby,” you greet. “Good day?”

He’s the perfect picture cuddly boyfriend, which is why he’d been late getting out of bed for this event in the first place. He hadn’t even had time to change. He’s still wearing those BU sweatpants you love so much and the white hoodie he’d found at the foot of your bed. 

Trevor offers you a complacent smile. “It was fine.” He walks over to the couch and pushes your legs down until they’re flat on the cushions. He collapses on top of your back, laying with his head just between your shoulder blades.

You let out a small chuckle, barely more than a puff of breath, and return to your book. You’re being pressed into the cushions by a lot more than gravity now, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have your boyfriend so close, especially as he’s snaking his hands up the sides of your shirt and tracing your skin.

He kisses your spine. “Can I?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled and pouty against your back. He shifts up on his knees so he can press his hips to your ass.

It’s the first time that Trevor has wanted to do this since you talked about it. Free use. Goosebumps rise on your neck. 

“You don’t have to ask,” you remind Trevor, although it’s nice that he did since it’s the first time he’s actually going to use you like this. “‘m all yours, babe.”

Trevor hums proudly at that, pecking your shoulder before pulling away from you entirely. He leans back on his heels and pushes his sweats down. 

You look again to your book. You can feel Trevor stroking himself to his full hardness and you bite your bottom lip. You’re wet thinking about how Trevor just wants to be inside of you, to treat you like no more than a hole to be filled when he wants to fill it, but you’re not particularly inclined to participate. That’s the whole point, after all, isn’t it?

He pushes your legs apart, then settles between them. The blunt tip of his cock probes your entrance and sinks into you.

The drag is harsh and it gets harder and harder to read as Trevor becomes more drunk on this feeling. You feign nonchalance. 

Trevor grips your hips and drives his cock into your heat over and over and over again. There’s no regard for you, for your pleasure. It’s only about his pleasure and, honestly, that makes you feel good. Trevor’s climax, in this state, means much more to you than your own. As long as he’s feeling good, then you’re happy to be used.

He doesn’t waste time on anything other than chasing his orgasm. You get to hear Trevor in his purest state– this is like fucking his own fist in complete privacy, but instead, he’s fucking into you. You get to hear all of his grunts and groans and puffs of breath and stifled whimpers, all of which he makes when you’re together too, but he likes to make them more manly and sexy when he’s putting on a show for you. Truth be told, you like these better. You like that Trevor can’t stop the stutter of his hips and the keen that escapes his mouth as he starts to shoot off inside of you.

You love how he moves to bracket your ribs with his arms, palms flat on the couch. His hips continue to move as he works through his orgasm, cum dribbling from his tip into your cunt. Trevor’s lips find your neck, your shoulder, your spine… he plants grateful kiss after grateful kiss to your back until his movements slow to pure stillness and Trevor lays against you.

His cock remains inside, acting like a plug to keep the cum from leaking out of you onto the couch. Trevor hooks his nose over your shoulder. “I hope I didn’t disturb your reading,” Trevor mumbles. He takes some of the fabric of your shirt in his mouth, tugging on it. “Couldn’t resist.”

II. 

“Hey, babe, c’mere,” Trevor calls from down the hall.

“What, Trev?” you reply. You scrunch your hair in a towel, having just gotten out of the shadow a few minutes prior. When he doesn’t reply, you roll your eyes and leave the bathroom, making your way into Trevor’s game room. “What, Trev,” you repeat in a more exasperated voice.

He looks over his shoulder and moves one of his headphones to the side. His face splits into a grin. “Oh, good. Take your towel off and come here.” He spreads his legs, scooting back in his wheely chair so you can fit partially beneath the desk. “I want to use your mouth.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, then shake your head and chuckle. “Really?”

Trevor nods and lifts his hips enticingly. 

“Are you going to game while I suck you off?” you ask.

Trevor nods again and smiles wide. 

You start to laugh again, walking over to where he sits and putting your hands on his knees. You bend at the waist and peck his lips before sliding to your knees. 

Trevor grabs a hairtie from the desk and ties your hair into the world’s most hurried bun. Then, he leans back in his chair and picks up his controller. He puts his headphones back over both ears and resumes his game. He lifts his hips as you start to drag his waistband down. 

You lick Trevor’s tip slowly with the flat of your tongue, peeking up through your eyelashes as you do and catching the way the corners of his mouth turn up. His eyes stay on the screen. 

The hair on Trevor’s thighs is soft and you pet through it as you slide his cock into your throat. You scratch your nails gently over his skin, closing your eyes and starting to bob your head. Trevor’s cock is thick and tastes slightly salty as precum oozes from his tip and seeps into your warm mouth.

Trevor’s breath is deep and his expression remains mostly unaffected. You aim to change that.

You swallow him down as much as you can. Trevor’s cock flexes with your swallow, filling all the space that you give him. You gag, but force your way down until your lips are wrapped around Trevor’s base. You lift your eyes to his face and find Trevor’s gaze on you, wide smirk on his face.

“Showing off?” Trevor asks knowingly.

Stilted by the cock in your mouth, you shake your head. 

“Then fuck your mouth for me, will ya?” Trevor instructs goodnaturedly, nudging you with his foot and grinning at you. 

You choke a little bit on Trevor’s cock when you laugh at his words, but you pull off and put your mouth to work.

You lay your hand flat on Trevor’s hip and caress his abdomen with your thumb, bobbing your head up and down. His tip knocks into the back of your throat as you push yourself down, alternating between lathering your tongue over his tip and deepthroating him until you have to pull off and gasp for breath. 

Trevor plays on. You can hear the clicking of his controller and the way he’ll let out an annoyed groan whenever something goes wrong on the screen.

You lap at his tip and fit your lips around his crown, sucking softly and flicking the tip of your tongue over his slit, collecting the precum there and begging for more to come out and coat your tongue. You hum and take him down about halfway, drawing your fingers gently up and down the rest of his shaft. You’re barely touching him in this moment, just ghosting over his veins and ridges. When you take him all the way down, you cup his balls and roll them in your palm. When you give them a squeeze, Trevor’s cock jumps in your mouth.

It’s the first physical reaction, beside how hard his length is, that you’ve gotten from Trevor.

You repeat the actions over and over. Trevor’s cock is steadily leaking precum now, the taste filling your mouth, and you can feel his pulse growing more and more rapid on your tongue. You breathe through your nose, choking yourself on Trevor’s length and allowing spit to drip down his cock until he’s positively coated. 

Massaging the vein on the underside of Trevor’s cock with the flat your tongue, you swallow around his tip. His cock jerks again, bumping into the roof of your mouth a telltale three, four, five times before pearly white cum shoots down your throat in long, thick threads.

You swallow around him until Trevor is done coming and there’s nothing left in your throat but the aftertaste. 

You kneel back on your heels and use the momentum to make your way to your feet, pecking Trevor’s mouth again and heading back to the bathroom to finish your post-shower routine.

III. 

You’re wearing Trevor’s pink sweatshirt, the one with Roman numerals on the breastbone, and chopping up vegetables for a pasta sauce. You’ve already got four tomatoes halved and thrown in the blender, plus an onion that you cut into quarters. There are a few cloves of garlic thrown into the blender with those veggies and you’re about to start blending them, once you finish chopping this carrot into fine little pieces. Really, you’re just trying to blend all of your veggies that are about to go bad together so that they don’t go to waste. Even if it tastes like shit, your boyfriend is like a vaccuum when it comes to any kind of food, and he’ll eat as much as you give him.

It’s been a couple of months since you and Trevor started this free use journey and you’ve stopped wearing underwear altogether when you’re around the house. Trevor has ruined a few pairs already, by stretching them out or physically ripping them off of your body due to his lack of patience, and you’d rather not have to buy new underwear every other month. 

It’s lucky that you’re wearing nothing, given how Trevor walks in the front door after practice and drops everything where he stands before beelining to you. He presses his face into your hair and breathes in deeply, shoving his hands up the sweatshirt and kneading your boobs.

“Long day?” you ask, chuckling and chopping up the final pieces of carrot before putting the knife to the side. You pick up handful after handful of carrots and toss them in the blender, eventually wiping your hands on the teatowel you’d thrown on the counter after washing the tomatoes. 

“The longest,” Trevor replies. One of his hands leaves your chest, retreating to pull his cock out of his pants. He fists the base and rubs his tip against your folds until he’s hard and straining and you’re slick enough for him to press inside.

You’re doing your best to pour a dash of vegetable oil and a bit of heavy cream into the blender so that the vegetables blend more easily, but Trevor has started to thrust against you. The carton of heavy cream slips and you pour way more than you wanted to, but you catch your mistake before the sauce will be too creamy. You close the carton with one hand, using the other to find purchase on the counter and brace yourself for Trevor’s bucking hips.

He notices your stiffness and slips his hand back up to your boob, holding both in his hands and keeping you in place so that you don’t have to. “Sorry, baby, I’ll be quick,” Trevor murmurs with a kiss to the back of your neck. “I needed this.”

“Don’t apologize, Trev,” you say. “You feel good. Take what you need, sweet boy.” You press the button on the blender and the loud whirring fills the room, but you can feel the puffs of Trevor’s breath on your neck and his low moans next to your ear. 

He pinches your nipples beneath the sweatshirt and the feeling travels through your body to your pussy, squeezing Trevor tight. He swivels his hips against you, grinding deep before he draws back and starts to pound into you again. His forehead meets your spine. You can practically feel how close he is already, even though it’s only been a few minutes. He just needs a release after a long day and you’re more than willing to offer that to him.

You press your hips back and watch Trevor’s reaction in the glass of the blender. As he throws his head back and furrows his eyebrows, jaw dropping open, his hips drive into you in a slower, harder, more precise way. His body claps against yours and you turn off the blender just as Trevor comes, moaning out loud and flooding your cunt with his seed. 

You transfer the blended sauce into the pan on the stove and hit a few buttons, setting it on low heat as Trevor pulls his cock from your pussy and watches the cum drip from your hole. He pushes it back in with his fingers, then guides his softening cock to your entrance and fills you again. He stays behind you like that as the sauce simmers, playing with your boobs and kissing your neck as you dump the strained pasta into the sauce and mix them together. 

“That looks good,” Trevor mumbles. He kisses the space right behind your ear. “You’re so good to me.”

You giggle when his breath tickles the shell of your ear, shivering at the sensation. You turn the noodles over in the sauce. “It’s ‘cause I love you,” you tell him.

Trevor brings a hand to your clit, circling his fingers. “Gonna get you back after we eat,” Trevor says. “Make you come a couple of times.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you reply. You reach for the teatowel and hang it over your shoulder. “Now, clean me up and put this in the laundry after, will you?”

IV.

The next time Trevor needs you like that, you’re asleep in bed. He didn’t expect you to be up waiting for him. That’s a honeymoon phase thing– you guys have been dating for a while. You’ve gotten into fights. You’ve been living together for a while now. You both have seen the best and worst parts of each other over time, and you’ve gotten comfortable enough in this relationship that you and Trevor are both perfectly okay with your not waiting up for him after every game.

But after a long east coast roadie, Trevor has been missing you. You look so pretty in his big t-shirt. When he peels back the covers, Trevor sees that it has ridden up to show off your stomach. Like you’ve been expecting him, your legs are spread apart and, as always, you’re not wearing panties. 

Trevor smiles. You’re ready for him. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek, then moves slowly to the other. He slides into bed with you, having stripped down to his boxers already, and shifts between your legs. He rolls his hips down into your core, his clothed bulge gliding against your folds.

You stir, the hand resting next to your face on the pillow coming up to blearily wipe at your eyes. “Trevor?” you rasp, confused and sleepy. 

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry for waking you,” Trevor whispers. He purses his lips and brushes them against yours. 

“S’okay,” you reply. “How was the game tonight?”

“It was fine.” Trevor kisses down your neck and brings his fingers to your slit. “I missed you.”

He can feel your cheeks shifting as your lips widen into a smile. “You are such a horny guy,” you tease.

Trevor pushes a finger into your heat, feeling the slide grow easier with each thrust. “Can’t help it when my girl is so pretty,” he says. 

“Hmm,” you hum. “Be quick. Wanna cuddle.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist. 

Trevor leaves his lips in contact with your cheek as he pulls his finger from your body and fishes his cock out of his boxers, fucking into your pussy at an unhurried pace. You’re so warm and tight; Trevor hasn’t fucked you in days and he knows he won’t last an impressive amount of time. You told him to be quick anyway. Once his pelvis is flush with yours, Trevor breathes in deeply through his nose and kisses down the curve of your neck. He wraps his arms around your middle and splays his fingers across your lower back, lifting you slightly to provide a better angle for your pleasure… although he’s admittedly not aiming to get you off right now.

Trevor rocks forward in aborted movements. Your gummy inner walls hug his cock tightly, rubbing against the nerve endings along his shaft and tip in a way that has him panting in just minutes. 

Your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, pushing into his hair. He feels like he can feel your nails scratching his scalp better now that he cut his hair shorter, even though that’s nonsensical. You sigh contentedly in his ear, chest rising and brushing his. “Fill me up, T,” you croon, pulling him even closer with the leg wrapped around his waist. “Know you want to. I’ll keep your cum inside all night and you can fuck me again in the morning. I’ll ride you, hm? How’s that?”

Trevor feels his cock throb, feels his balls grow tighter just before you clench down on him and he shoots off inside of you. Trevor feels like his brain turns to mush as he comes, his limbs loosening and lips smushing against your skin. He lays atop you when his cock is done twitching and leaking, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and soap and the natural smell that is so you. He could fall asleep right here.

You push at his shoulder and insist that he sleeps on his side of the bed rather than on top of you. 

Still, Trevor pulls you into his side and falls asleep with his nose against the crown of your head.

V.

You’ve been feeling especially feral today. You’re not sure why, but every time you look at Trevor, a lightning strike travels through your body and the energy settles riiight between your legs. 

He’s not even doing anything hot. You’re actually pretty sure you saw him biting his nails earlier and that itch on his nose might have been him digging for gold. You are not sure and you’d looked away so that you could give yourself the benefit of the doubt and convince yourself that, yes, he’d just been itching his nose. Nothing more than that. He’s not that gross. He might be a boy, but he’s not that gross. Surely.

Even if he is a gross, disgusting boy who bites his nails and might pick his nose when he thinks no one is looking… you’re absolutely feral for him today. 

Trevor is sitting on the couch watching TV. His legs are spread wide, creating a nice space just for you.

You’re sitting on the other end, torn between scrolling on your phone and staring at your boyfriend. You think you’re caught staring when Trevor’s hand shifts to his lap and covers his cock, the slight bulge of which you could see in his boxer-briefs. Your eyes widen, then your gaze flies to his face. 

And Trevor is just staring at the TV. He gives his cock an absentminded squeeze and moves his fingers over his length briefly, then stretches his arm out over the back of the couch.

You suddenly blink to yourself and draw your eyebrows together. Why the fuck are you still turned on by a man who just scratched his balls right in front of you?

You need to get this out of your system or else you’re going to be distracted for the rest of the day. So, for the first time, you approach your boyfriend and straddle his lap, planting yourself on his cock and grinding down. 

Trevor is delighted by this turn of events, you can tell by the silly smile on his face. His hands come to your sides and pinch your hips. “Hey, pretty girl,” he greets, his attention now on you rather than the screen.

“Take your cock out,” you command before tugging your shirt over your head and dropping it on the coffee table. “I want you to suck my tits while I fuck myself on it.”

Trevor’s eyes light up and he lifts his hips, shuffling his briefs down until his cock springs free. You can see it reacting to your presence and you wonder, very quickly, if he’s still itchy at all. You stamp the thought down and forget it as soon as it comes, rising up on your knees and lining his cock up with your entrance. 

Since you’ve been turned on all day, your pussy has been ready to accept Trevor since the moment you clambered onto his lap. Once aligned, you sink down and take him. You move your hips in figure-eights, gyrating and finding the pleasure you enjoy. When you’re riding Trevor in an effort to make him come, you’ll bounce– but that’s never brought a climax to your body on its own. No, for you, it feels better when you rock your hips and roll your pelvis forward in a scooping motion, punctuated by a series of bounces here and there just to shake things up.

You close your eyes and lean your head back, facing the ceiling in a relaxed pose. You can feel yourself being consumed by the movement of Trevor’s cock inside of you and how it presses against sensitive spot after sensitive spot.

You’re sure if you look down right now, Trevor will be staring at you like he’s looking into the face of God. When you’d first talked about free use, he’d made it very clear that he didn’t want it to just be about him. He spoke at length about how if you wanted to use him, he’d be more than willing. In fact, over the time that you guys have been practicing this newfound kink, Trevor has had to remind you that he wants to be used. You’re finally doing it.

He fulfills your request shortly after you find your groove. His teeth encircle your nipple and tug, his hands wrapping around your back and pulling you closer like he just can’t get enough. He alternates between your breasts, licking and sucking until your nipples are wet, straining, and aching with pleasure. 

Your stomach thrums with excitement, clit swollen and making contact with Trevor’s abdomen when you swivel your hips just right. You repeat the motion over and over again until it’s just not enough, snaking a hand between your bodies so that you can rub your fingers over the bundle of nerves in rapid passes. You make a soft noise halfway between a whine and a squeal when the balloon of tension in your gut explodes and forces your eyes, closed as they are, to the back of your head. You swear that if your vision wasn’t black, you’d be able to see the back of your skull with how strong his orgasm is. 

Trevor moans against your tits, bucking up twice and spilling into your heat, adding to the mixture of warmth that is coursing through your body and making you feel like jelly. You sag against him and Trevor holds you tight, burying his face between your breasts and kissing your sternum. He stays there for only a moment before kissing a line up your neck to your lips. “Fuck, that was so sexy,” Trevor breathes out. “Let’s do it again.”

i need to write a dom trevor fic soon bc hot so we might see some free use in that too, these were all pretty soft so

[slutforvoldy]

“ YOU'RE LOSING ME. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader struggles with the painful realization that no matter how much she gives, lando will never fight for her the way she fights for him.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, lando is a d!ck, gaslighting, communication issues, mentions of y/n

pairing: lando norris x female!reader

tag-list: @oscduck81

a/n: this may or may not be loosely inspired by a real life experience..........

THE ROOM WAS dimly lit, the soft blue glow of Lando’s sim racing setup casting shadows across the walls. The hum of his game filled the silence, the sharp sound of tires screeching on a digital track drowning out the soft, broken sobs escaping your lips.

You lay curled up on the bed, your back turned to him. Salty tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the pillow. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore—was it sadness? frustration? or just the aching emptiness that was growing inside you?

You knew he could hear you. He always could.

But just like every other night, he turned up the volume of his game. Hinting an unspoken message: I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to deal with you.

And gosh, it hurts.

He always does this. He rarely talks to you despite living in the same apartment. As if there is a big wall between the two of you. As if both of you have two different worlds. His priorities had shifted, and you weren’t part of them anymore. Gaming. Racing. Nights out with friends. Work. Everything came before you. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew deep down that he just didn’t care the way he used to.

He used to act differently when your relationship started. You missed the time when it felt like his world revolved around you, when he made you feel like you were the most important thing in his life, but now you don't know when or what went wrong. You can only wonder what happened to the man you love.

Your friends are all begging you to leave.

"Wake up, Y/N!" "You deserve better." "What else is there to hold on to?"

It started to become obvious that the things Lando has been doing have been affecting you to the point that you started seeing a therapist, desperately trying to piece yourself back together.

But the worst part is that Lando never even noticed.

You knew that this was not healthy. You knew you should leave. But things are easier said than done.

The thought of walking away—of starting over, of loving someone who wasn’t him—made your stomach twist. It felt impossible, unbearable.

Despite everything, despite the pain, you still wanted to stay. You clung to the hope that one day he would wake up and realize what he was losing. That he would see you again—as someone he once loved. Someone worth fighting for.

So you stayed. Because letting go felt harder than holding on.

It’s a big day in Abu Dhabi—the moment that will decide the 2024 Formula 1 constructors' championship. McLaren almost has an even tie with Ferrari; therefore, they desperately needed Lando to win. So you take your time to self-soothe after what happened last night.

"You just don’t understand, Y/N. Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’m a busy person?" Lando exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice.

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, I’m sorry—if bar-hopping with your friends and getting all over the media with random girls counts as 'busy,' then I must be such an idiot for not taking the hint!"

His jaw tightened. "Those pictures are from a long time ago," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" you said amusingly while scoffing.

Silence stretched between you before you finally snapped. "All I ever wanted was for you to notice me! To talk to me! Hell, to actually see me! Is that really too much to ask?"

Lando ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I don’t understand, Y/N. I’m giving you all the attention I can."

But it was never enough. It never felt like enough.

You sighed in defeat, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn’t understand."

This morning, like every morning, you glared at him with storms in your eyes. But he didn’t notice—he never did. You wondered how numb he could be to not feel your grip on him slipping away. How could you love someone and not see them breaking right in front of you?

All you needed was his reassurance—that despite everything happening, despite the way he treated you, you were still the one he loved. But every time you brought it up, he twisted it around, making it seem like you were the problem. Every conversation turned into an argument instead of a solution, and with each fight, your resentment only grew.

One night, you needed him more than ever. After a brutal argument with your parents, they kicked you out, leaving you with nowhere to go. Lando was the only person you could turn to—the one person you thought you could rely on.

"I tried calling you. I rang your doorbell over and over and over again, but you never answered." Your voice wavered, frustration and hurt bleeding through. "So tell me, Lando—where were you that night?"

"I was sleeping!" he insisted, his tone defensive.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Sleeping? Really?" You shook your head in disbelief. "I literally saw the notification on your Twitch that you were live with Max!" Your voice cracked as anger and betrayal surged through you. "You left me outside your house for hours!"

Lando exhaled sharply. "Maybe it’s your fault for always expecting too much," he muttered under his breath, but you caught every word.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe..." His voice became louder. "It’s my fault for not being enough for you," he added, his voice flat.

"Or maybe it's our fault for not making this relationship work properly."

That was your breaking point.

Lando won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, securing McLaren’s victory in their fierce battle against Ferrari for the Constructors' Championship. You were proud—proud that your boyfriend had claimed another Grand Prix win, proud that his team had finally won. But deep down, you knew the truth: tonight, he wouldn’t be celebrating with you.

You often envied the girlfriends of other drivers—the way they rushed into their arms after a win, how they spent their victories surrounded by their girlfriends and families. But for you, it was different. You longed for that warmth.

Now, it was time to pose for the cameras, to put on a dazzling smile and make your relationship look picture-perfect—at least on the surface. In the photos, you were the devoted girlfriend, the perfect couple. But behind your fake smile, a storm raged inside you.

You had always been there for him—through his highs and lows, his victories and defeats. But when it was you who needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

And as the flashes of cameras captured the illusion of happiness, a sinking realization settled in your chest. You couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep giving all of yourself to someone who never gave anything back.

One thing was clear tonight—you were done hurting yourself for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

You took a taxi back to the hotel alone, your vision blurred with tears as the city lights streaked past. The moment you stepped into the room, you began packing—hands trembling, heart racing. You hadn’t planned this, but deep down, you knew it was inevitable. It wasn’t just impulsive; it was necessary.

As you zipped up your suitcase, your fingers brushed against a worn polaroid tucked between your clothes. Your favorite picture—back when love still felt easy, when he still looked at you like you were his entire world. You held it for a moment, your thumb tracing the edges, debating whether to take it with you.

But some things belonged to the past.

Flipping it over, you picked up the hotel pen and, with a heavy heart, wrote your final words.

I love you forever, Lando. I'm forever grateful. —Y/N

You placed the polaroid on the bed, letting it rest there. Then, with a deep breath, you grabbed your bags and walked to the door.

Before stepping out, you turned back for one last glance at everything you're about to leave behind. All of the memories you and Lando had, either good or bad.

Just like that, you walked out of his life, and with every step, the weight you had carried for so long finally began to lift.

[maikee-akihiro]

“We’re gonna be late.” Vince taps his foot impatiently. He looks at his watch with a sigh, he really doesn’t want an earful from their teacher this early. Should he call her again?

With a grumble, he unzips his back, fishing out his phone.

As he was about to reach his phone, the doors suddenly creaked open.

The door suddenly slammed against the walls, and there appeared the person he was waiting for looking at him with wide eyes.

Vince looked at his best friend with furrowed brows. He was about to berate her for being late but something caught his mouth.

He stared at his friend– there was something.. Different, something alien about her. 

He thinks he’s just lacking sleep, so he pulls her by her arm as they start speed walking.

“Girl, I was about to call you again. What took you so long?” He asks. Aki was never this late, especially on Mondays. “Did you shave your legs or something? You should’ve said so, cause’ now we’re late.”

He was expecting a classic snide reply, but what came out of her mouth left him perplexed.

“Yea, sorry bout’ that.” She said 

Huh, did his voice sound so serious? 

He slowed down his pace, letting go of her arm. “Nah, you’re good.” 

Why is her demeanor so peculiar today? Usually she’ll be over about her make up and complain about life, but today she’s awfully quiet.

The morning wind hits their face as they walk to the bus stop, no one spoke a word as the silence brewed over them.

“So uhm,” Vince suddenly breaks that silence. “Did you do the information literacy essay?” He breaks the silence with a prank, though Aki most likely knows they didn’t have an essay due today– he really wanted to break whatever ice Aki ate this morning

He keeps a cool face, aware of her face scrunching up as her thoughts wander. He already knows she’ll hit his shoulder along with a ‘we don’t have one, dumbass.’ reply.

“Uh, I finished it an hour ago.”

Vince looked at her oddly, but didn’t say anything as he nodded at her. Weird, did they actually have an essay?

He shooks himself out of those thoughts as they made it to the dimly lit bus stop.

They sat down on the vacant seats, with him pulling out his phone. He feels eyes staring at him from the side, but he ignores it as he opens up his notesapp.

“There’s no essay..” He mutters to himself. Trying to find any deadlines for today.

None.

“There’s no what?” Aki asks, a curious look on her face as she stares. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her grip her skirt as she tapped her foot in rhythm with his heartbeat. She tilted her head with a sweet smile, waiting for his reply.

“–No economics study for today, Haha.” He nervously puts his phone back in his bag. “I’m being forgetful lately, this is so not like me.”

She hums, that pervasive stare not leaving him. “It’s alright, I forgot too.” There was an edge to her voice, something misplaced about it that he couldn’t exactly pinpoint. There was really something about her today, is she sick?

“Hey Vince, since we’re already late– why not get some coffee around the corner?”

His body stiffens at that. 

Aki doesn’t like coffee, she’s acidic. 

He stays calm, finally facing her. “Sure, I definitely don’t want to see Ms. Edwards’ grouchy face this early.”

Who the hell is this?

This is a WIP cuz I still couldn't think of a proper story direction for this one LOL anws special mention to @vinceisaswiftie cuz im using him as my main character here (⁠~⁠‾⁠▿⁠‾⁠)⁠~

Ion know when I'll finish this one so advance rip wip if I acc dont finish this (⁠*⁠﹏⁠*⁠;⁠)

Your “friend” has been replaced by a doppelgänger. You aren’t sure where it came from or what it is under the disguise. But you know one thing; you prefer it over the original.

[whatifitis]

♡ come home with me - LN 4 ♡

Summary: what will happen when lando is finally in the same room as his crush? Will he play his cards right as a mastermind or will he fumble the deck?

Authors Note: this is my first fic in a month so bear with the shit as I try to relearn lol

WC: 1840

CW: Lando being tipsy, lando slightly panicking, fluff, I think that’s it

Everyone knew who Lando's crush was. The boy couldn’t make it any more obvious. Anywhere he went, all he could do was talk about you. He was always praising you for the work you did and how down to earth you were. Lando would also be caught practically drooling over any picture of you whether it was you on a billboard in the middle of the city or a photo on his feed.

Oscar is pretty sure there’s footage from a Mclaren video shoot where Lando spotted a poster of you on a wall and asked Oscar to take a photo of him next to it. The boy had the cheesiest smile on his face as crinkles appeared near his eyes.

Lando was often teased for being so down bad for you. A lot of the guys in the garage would joke about how he would probably faint if he ever got to meet you, or even be in the same room as you. However, the boy always insisted that he would remain calm and collected if that day ever came, claiming that he would pretend to not know you and play the role of the dark and mysterious guy that would intrigue you to the point where he would be all you thought about.

One day, Zak Brown got the idea to make a bet with Lando. There was an event coming up soon where all the F1 drivers and their teams would be in attendance to raise money for a few charities. Many celebrities were invited to bolster the event, you being one of them.

Zak had bet Lando that if you ended up making an appearance, that Lando would be a fumbling mess and would not be able to get your number. Lando being Lando took on the bet. With a firm handshake and $1,000 on the line, the deal was set.

The day of the event comes up and Lando is absolutely shitting bricks. He’s getting ready in the hotel room and losing his mind about the rumors that you’ll actually be at the event.

“Mate, they’re saying she’s actually coming. Even this fan account said it and whenever they post something, it’s true! Oh my god, Max. I might meet her today!” Lando all but yells as he drops his phone in disbelief.

“Listen, mate. Breathe. You assigned me the role of wingman for tonight so it’ll be okay. Right?” Max states calmly, trying to get his best friend to tone it down for a second.

“Right. How does my hair look? Is it okay? Does it look shit? Fuck, I knew I should’ve had it cut ages ago. What if she thinks I don’t clean up?! What if she thinks I’m a mess?! Fuuuuuck! It’s over. I’ve already fucked it.”

“You haven’t fucked it…yet.”

Lando scoffs and pulls a face at Max’s words.

“I’m kidding you muppet. Your hair is fine-”

“Fine?! Just fine?! This is Y/n we’re talking about. Not just some random person. Y/n deserves the best. I have to be the best.”

“Okay… Your hair is amazing. Literally the best it’s ever looked. She is goin-”

“I don't appreciate your sarcasm…”

“I’m no-” Max tries to argue but quickly gives up. Instead opting to pinch the bridge of his nose and take some breaths himself, “Just put your shoes on. We’re leaving in 5 minutes.” he says as he turns his back to Lando and walks towards the bathroom.

“Wait but-”

“5 minutes!” Max says with his back still towards Lando, raising 5 fingers above his head just to give Lando a visual representation of how long he has.

-=+=-

The boys hadn’t even been at the event for an hour and Lando was already quite tipsy. To calm his nerves, Lando decided to have a drink… or 4… This whole time, Lando stood in a corner with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, constantly checking his feed to see if you’d arrived yet. As time passed, he began to wonder if you were really gonna show.

Lando was about to give up and leave the event when an echo of screams could be heard from a distance. The boy immediately pulled out his phone and checked social media, refreshing the page over and over again until he saw it. At the top of his feed was a blurry video of you walking through the doors of the building he was currently standing in.

“Max! Max! MAX!” Lando yelled, trying to get his friends' attention.

“What? What? WHAT?!” Max yelled back.

“Y/n just walked into the building!”

“Oh yeah. I know.”

“... You know?”

“Yeah. I was talking to Zak earlier and he said that she was on her way.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?!”

Max giggled “Yeah. Wanted to see your reaction when she walked through the doors after you moped around for an hour.”

“I was not moping.” Lando frowned.

“You were and you-” Max’s voice drifted into silence as Lando’s gaze shifted to the main entrance. He watched as you walked through the doors and it was like time stopped. You were enchanting. Lando watched your beauty in real time, breath slowing as he tried to process.

You were wearing a blush pink dress that hugged your figure perfectly, flowing down to your feet with a slit on the side. Your skin glowed in the dim light, sparkles appearing in your eyes as you smiled at everyone around you. It was like you were the only girl in the world, at least that’s how it seemed to Lando. It was like you took all the air in the room and replaced it with a feeling that was so overwhelming yet so gratifying.

Lando was stuck in place as you elegantly wandered through the room, sharing smiles with strangers as Lando wished he was one of them. Just for a moment. He wished that he could be one of those strangers, even if it meant he only got a small moment with you, knowing it may never lead to anything more.

He was only able to escape your enchantment when he watched your silhouette make its way towards him. Lando shook his head and panicked, quickly chugging the rest of his drink and turning to place it on the table behind him.

“Don’t come on too strong.” Max had leaned over and whispered into Lando’s ear as you approached.

In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of Lando and it was as if he had the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him. That you had walked over to him… on purpose.

You smiled with rosy cheeks as you opened your mouth to speak “Hi, I’m-”

“Come home with me.” Lando had blurted out.

“Sorry?” you asked, confusion spread across your face.

“I’m the man who’s gonna marry you.” Lando gulped, “I’m Lando.”

Your eyes moved to look at Max as you asked “Is he always like this?”

With a tight smile, Max replied “Yes”

“I’m Y/n.”

Lando smiled “Your name is like a melody.”

“Are you a musician or?” you asked. You had known of Lando. People often tagged you in videos or photos of him and your friends loved to send you any video of him where he fawned over you. You weren’t gonna lie, you did think he was cute. To be completely honest, he was the main reason you even came to this event. You always tried to avoid attending events like this to avoid unnecessary headlines of “who was y/n with at this party?!”. But, you made an exception tonight.

“I drive cars… and I like to play video games.”

“Oh a driver and a player. I’ve met a lot of guys like you.” you tease.

“No, wait. I’m not like that.” Lando says, panic lacing his face as he fears he’s already messed up his chance.

Max watches as Lando begins to throw himself in the deep end and decides to butt in for a moment, “He’s not like any man you’ve met.”

“How so?” you question, raising an eyebrow at Lando.

“I’m not perfect by any means. And I can’t promise that, if given the chance, being with me will be easy and happy all the time. I mess up a lot. But I can promise to do everything in my power to make all the time with me worth it. I’ll take any broken pieces and make them whole, well, as whole as they can be. We could be something and make something so beautiful that the world seems in tune.” he smiles before it drops and he panics again, “I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING LIKE BABIES. I MEAN I WANT THEM ONE DAY BUT NOT SOON. I DON’T WANNA PRESSURE YOU. FUCK! Okay, just- All I’ll say is all the flowers will bloom when you become my wife.”

“Oh! He’s crazy.” you joke and spare a look at Max, “Why would I become his wife?”

“Maybe because he’ll make you feel alive.” Max states matter of factly.

“Alive? That’s worth a lot, ya know. What else ya got?” you excitingly ask Lando.

“Uhm, I won’t make you relate to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift?”

“That sounds good, Mr. Norris. I’ll be in touch.” you say whilst trying to stifle a laugh, turning your back to the two boys and making your way to mingle with some of your colleagues and friends.

Watching you walk away, Lando lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and basks in the fact that he shot his shot and now he’s one step closer to achieving his dream. Also not to mention that Zak now owes him $1,000. Maybe Zak will tattoo today’s date as well.

After a moment, Lando felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He goes to grab it and stills when he sees the most recent notification.

“HOLY FUCK!!” you heard from a distance, “SHE JUST FOLLOWED ME BACK! HOLY FUCK! OH MY GOD! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!.... FUCK WINNING MIAMI! THIS IS MY GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT!... wait… how did she-”

“She probably gave the go ahead to her social media manager.” Max mentions.

All of a sudden, Lando felt a hard smack land on the back of his head, turning to look at Max.

“What the hell?!”

“You’re lucky you’re rich and handsome. Who the fuck says “come home with me” to someone they’ve never spoken to?! If you were just a random man, you would’ve ended up with a restraining order and not an instagram follow.”

“Well, I never said I was smart.”

“Yeah. We know.” Max says as he pats Lando on the back and drapes his arm over the boys shoulders, “Let’s get you back to the hotel, mate. Before you’re too drunk to walk and I have to carry you.”

“Drunk off joy.” Lando smiles.

[frudoo]

I am a plague tonight and I’m making it your problem 💀

John Price x tattoo artist reader… he finds them cos they specialise in neo trad stuff. The boys keep teasing him that his tattoos are aging worse than he is, colour fading and lines blurring, so John decides to treat himself, have a little self care time getting poked.

Doesn’t hurt at all, not with that pretty face poking him. Doesn’t she look so sweet when she concentrates?! Obvs he can’t help but imagine what else he could absorb her time with.

Spoiler alert it’s him

Emmy! Here's nearly 1,850 words worth of a prompt you sent me last year (oops)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Needles, obviously. Suggestive. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

Muppets, the lot of them, guffawing at their beloved captain over the rims of their condensed glasses. John is far from tipsy but not quite stone cold sober, a nice buzz brewing in his brain. It blissfully distracts from the idiocy of his drunken team and their jabs at him. 

     “Fookin’-” Johnny hiccups, then continues. “Ah reckon they’re fookin’ ancient! Wha’, Cap, did ye steal yer designs from a bleedin’ museum? The- the hero… herogilfibs… the heir-?”

     “Hieroglyphics, y’knobhead,” Simon snorts, smacking the back of the Scotsman’s neck as he finishes the last of his drink. 

     “Tav’s go’ a poin’, sir,” Kyle grins mischievously. “Ya tattoos really are lookin’ worse than ya face, ol’ man.”

     “Shove it up your arses,” John rolls his eyes, tossing back the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle down on the table. “You’re all coverin’ my tab.”

     Slurred protests and pleas fall from the other three men’s lips as John leaves the bar without so much as a look back. The cool rush of evening air hits him, and John breathes it in gratefully. The smell of booze was starting to give him a migraine. 

     As he heads in the direction of his flat, the streetlights illuminate what little of his tattoos show past the sleeves of his t-shirt. The guys are right—his tattoos that were once vibrant and full of color have dulled, much like… well, himself.

     God, when’s the last time he did something for himself that didn’t include going out to the pub or rotting in bed all day while on leave? He’s not even fucking forty yet, and still his knees creak, and his face is bone-dry, and there is nothing to celebrate in his life besides the fact that he’s been able to avoid death for this long. He’s in desperate need of something to look forward to other than piles of paperwork and the crippling knowledge that his next mission could very well be his last. That’s hardly any comfort.

     He checks his phone and grumbles when he sees that it’s only eight o’clock. Fucking hell, he’s displaying more old man tendencies than he thought. He weighs his options; there’s no way in hell he’s walking back into that pub and risking more lighthearted insults—or, worse, actually having to pay for his own drinks. He could head back home and climb into bed, staring at the ceiling until it hurts to shut his dried out eyes. Neither choice is more attractive to him. With a groan, he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction of his flat, determined to find something to occupy his time. 

     It’s either fate, luck, or some sick joke that he ends up standing face-to-face with a little tattoo shop. He scans the outside of the brick foundation, reading the poster that they have hanging in the window. There are three artists here that specialize in realistic black and grey, and another who specializes in color. Back when John first got his tattoos, he wasn’t interested in having a certain style, he simply just pointed at the wall and told his artist to put it on him. 

     John sighs and reluctantly walks into the shop, looking around at all the art on the walls. It’s beautiful, of course, with intricate details in both large and small works done by the talented artists. Hopefully they’re as good with tattoo machines as they are with pencils and markers. 

     “Can I help you?” 

     John turns toward the voice behind the counter, his eyes widening slightly as he sees, quite possibly, the most gorgeous woman to ever live. Captain John Price, the big, scary bear of a man, whose mere presence is enough to demand respect, stammers over his words.

     “I-I, uh… I’m looking to g-get, erm…”

     “Sir, if you don’t know what you want, you’re welcome to have a seat and figure it out, or stop wasting my time,” the deity raises an eyebrow and John feels all the blood in his body rush south.

     “Tattoos! I-I need to get my tattoos… replenished?” He hums, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

     “Can I see what we’re working with?” 

     John is quick to roll up his sleeves, revealing sad, sun-worn ink. When your fingertips gently brush over the work on his freckled skin, he has to will every goosebump threatening to rise to stay beneath the surface. 

     “Damn, when did you get these done? The Renaissance era?” You joke, huffing through your nose as you look up at him. 

     “Been told they look pretty rough,” John grunts. 

     “Nothing I can’t handle. How much were you expecting to get done tonight?” You cross your arms over your torso—the man is fighting demons trying not to stare at the delicious crease of your cleavage.

     “What time does the shop close?” 

     “How much money you got?”

     “Touché.”

     With a giggle that makes birdsong seem more akin to nails on a chalkboard, you lead him back to your station, plopping a clipboard of paperwork into his lap the moment he slides into the chair. Once he’s finished filling out all the forms, John takes a moment to admire the canvases decorating your area, humming with approval. It’s all clean, perfectly neat work. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll be able to turn the eyesore that is his old tattoos into something worthy of being displayed in a gallery. 

     You slump into your own chair, motioning for him to roll up his sleeve once again. He complies, of course.

     “Since it’s just your bicep, I’m thinking we can get this arm done tonight if everything goes smoothly, which I expect it will,” you explain. 

     “Sounds good to me,” John smiles.

     You grin in satisfaction, giving him a small nod as you snap on a pair of sterile gloves. While you shave and prep his skin, he leans back against the headrest, allowing his eyes to shut peacefully. It’s nice, knowing he’s doing this for his own benefit, not for the greater good of the world or the men in suits who order him around to do their dirty work for them. When he hears the first buzz of your machine, he opens one eye long enough to watch as you bring it to his skin. 

     “Ready?” You ask, and he hums his confirmation.

     As expected, it doesn’t hurt. Not really. Compared to the countless injuries he’s sustained on the field—bullet wounds, knives to the abdomen, things he’d rather not think about at the moment—the pain is nothing. If anything, it brings him comfort. If he’s not hurting somewhere at all times, he tends to forget he’s alive. 

     “Considering you got these done back when dinosaurs were roaming around, it’s pretty good work,” you tease, and that makes his head perk up. 

     “Got jokes, do ya?” He muses. 

     “Oh, plenty. The night’s still young,” you wink up at him and John thinks he sees stars.

     Truly, you are ethereal, tattoos of your own scattered across your supple skin. His crystal blue eyes trace over every inch of your face—the way your tongue catches between your teeth while you work on the smaller details, the scrunch in your brow as you trace over the thicker lines. You do the tiniest little dance between each stroke, and it makes him chuckle. He can’t help but admire you.

     “Got a staring problem?” You tease, taking a break from filling in the outlines to wipe away the blood. 

     John’s face flushes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand in embarrassment. He’s hardly a humorless man, but the way you joke with him so freely has him blushing like an idiot. 

     “It’s okay. I’m used to elderly men checking me out.”

     John groans as you cackle at your own words, but in reality it amuses him to no end. 

     “Do I really look that bloody old?” He grumbles.

     “Nah, I’m just messing with you. You’re kinda… I mean, you’re a dilf,” you shrug.

     “I’m a fuckin’ what?”

     “Let’s just say that there’s a niche and you fill it perfectly,” you grin widely, enjoying the confusion written on his features. 

     He’s silent for a long moment, only the music playing over the speakers and the soft hum of your machine audible. Every time you move even slightly, his gaze follows. Normally, if it were anyone else you’d be uncomfortable, but he’s so charming and handsome. You welcome it, really. 

     “Do you have a wife? Kids?” You break the silence, meeting his eye briefly while you dip the needle into some more ink.

     “Not hardly,” he answers, sucking his teeth. “Not for lack o’tryin’, though.”

     “Sorry to hear that,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling bad for bringing the subject up.

     “I’m not. It’s just reality that no woman goes after a grumpy ol’ man past his prime,” John chuckles humorlessly. 

     “Bullshit,” you roll your eyes. “You’re fucking hot. I bet there’s a whole group of women drooling over you that you’re not even aware of.”

     “You seem pretty certain,” John raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling just barely upward.

     “I told you, there’s a niche that you fill,” you double down on your statement, beginning to fill the linework of the final piece on his arm with color. “And, maybe, I just so happen to be an enjoyer of that niche.”

     John’s heart skips a beat. His fingers twitch with excitement, and he can no longer hold back a smile.

     “That right, love?”

     “Ah, don’t go getting a big head, now,” you laugh, sniffling softly. 

     “Well, you sure know how to inflate a man’s ego,” he jokes. 

     “Keep that shit up and I’m charging you extra!”

     “Do that and I won’t give you a tip.”

     “Which kind?” You ask, biting back a snort as you watch his face contort with a scandalized look.

     “Cheeky fuckin’ thing, you!” 

     Your shoulders bounce with your laughter as you finish the final touches of his last tattoo. You clean the entire area of his raw skin with alcohol wipes before carefully covering it with a few large pieces of saniderm. You smooth the wrap out gently, ensuring that there are no air bubbles. Satisfied, you lean back in your seat, disposing of your used needles and other supplies.

     “You’ll leave this first saniderm on for about 24 hours, then you can take it off and gently wash the tattoos with unscented soap and warm water,” you explain, spinning your chair to face him. “You can come back to me tomorrow night, and I’ll replace the saniderm for you.”

     “I’m all set, then?” He asks softly, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

     “Yes, sir,” you beam, telling him the amount he owes you. “Wait, one thing, though—I never asked for your name.”

     “It’s John, love.”

     “Well then, John,” you hum, handing him one of your business cards that oh-so-conveniently has your personal number written on the back. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     The man slips your card into his wallet, radiant, sparkling eyes meeting your own as he stands.

     “I guess you will.”

[deerspherestudios]

THEORY!!

i have had this theory for a while now , but i feel like MO is based on the sleeping beauty. how so? 1.) Mychael's three hens parallels with the three faeries in the sleeping beauty 2.) Menu screen theme but thats more obvious lolol 3.) The princess in the sleeping beauty was cursed to prick her finger on a spindle's needle , when it was time for the curse to take it's action she was almost in a state of hypnosis[?] and walked up to the spindle wheel to prick her needle. NOW mc in MO is sort of hypnotized too because we see on day 3 how mc [sort of] willingly walked upto a mushroom ring [if your choices lead to that] and attempts to touch it. i think i've connected the dots..... /silly 4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep.... sleep... sleeping.... sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi.... 5.) Maleficent cursed aurora because she was considered an 'outsider' and wasn't invited and welcomed to the grand celebration. guess who else is the 'outsider' [sort of]? MYCHAEL!! humans do not welcome him well! 6.) the forest themes... yummy.... i loved the aurora living in a cabin in woods parts of the movie... who else lives in a cabin in woods? you guessed it!! mychael!! 7.) my memory is hazy but i think one of hen's name is a direct reference to the sleeping beauty... primrose was aurora's name when she had to hide her identity as a civilian. thats what i think so far... i might've not worded some of it correctly but i hope this made sense! i really really reallyyyyyyy enjoy MO<3 thank you for sharing this piece of art with us :DDD have a lovely day i hope this ask finds you and doesn't get consumed by tumblr algorithm TnT <333

,,,I'm actually stunned speechless because hey? I kinda see it,,,?

I can debunk it wasn't based on Sleeping Beauty but I commend you for connecting dots I didn't even realize I'd made haha! It's just incredible coincidence you were able to find pretty decent comparisons here.

I don't usually add much to theory posts because that's the fun of theorizing but enjoy me yapping below if you'd like!

Of everything above, the only thing I can confirm is

4.) this might be a little farfetched but mychael watches us sleep…. sleep… sleeping…. sleeping beauty,,,,, honk mimimimi….

is exactly what I was going for; since Mychael did indeed discover you while you were sleeping (ironically the one point you thought was farfetched haha) and that's what made me choose the main menu theme!

The reason it happened to be a music box version of Once Upon A Dream is because (get ready for Cheea lore here) I played an OFF fan-game titled UNKNOWN as a teen, and in it was a music box version of A Cruel Angel Thesis; it changed my brain chemistry about music box covers ever since. (I don't even watch the anime 😭!)

In fact, I almost used the music box version of Waltz in E-Major, Op. 15 Moon Waltz by Cojum Dip in Astronought's ending scene!

It's also a major part of the reason I gave Mychael a kalimba! I recommend looking up music box covers of songs you know if you enjoy the sound!! <3

Everything else was a coincidence!

Also just an extra tidbit for people who read this: when I was deciding Mychael's favorite Disney movie, it made me think how much he'd want to be Prince Phillip, (I mean genuinely the movie was never about Aurora it was about the fairies lmaoo but I digress) especially after the finale with him defeating Maleficent with the fairies' help.

He'd never consider himself a princely hero but he wishes he could be. And something about meeting your soulmate in the woods by accident really spoke to him.

[badger2025]

You and Jack Finnegan…Finn…have been best friends for as long as you can remember. You played football together in high school, chased pussy together, lifted weights and were as close as any brothers ever were. Y’all spent so many nights on sleepovers at each other’s houses that your families consider each of y’all as another son

It was in high school when he started dating your sister Mary

You, Mike Sullivan…Sully…were the smart one…tutoring Finn all throughout high school so he wouldn’t be dropped from the team and would graduate school on time…which he did by the skin of his teeth. He’s not stupid by any means…the subject matter just never interested him. Finn was the more mechanically minded of the two of you and taught you how to work on and maintain your truck. He could do anything with his hands

Y’all would spend days in the wilderness camping, fishing and hunting. This was Finn’s natural environment and he just had a knack when it came to the outdoors. He was always patient with you…just like you were at tutoring him…and the joy on his face when you got it figured out was infectious

“Right on Sully…I knew you could do it” He would absolutely beam

You found yourself working hard…not so much for yourself but for Finn’s approval. His smile was your reward and it always made you feel something…that ache

By your senior year you had pretty much figured out that you didn’t feel the same way about females as Finn…in fact, you realized you had feelings for him but you kept that pushed way down and went through the motions of dating girls. You couldn’t risk doing anything to jeopardize your relationship…you just wanted to be close to him even if you couldn’t have him

You had considered college…but knew that would take you away from Finn…so one night when y’all were lying in his room you made a suggestion

“I’m considering trade school…I spoke with my dad and he thinks it’s a really good idea…I think you should come with me”

“More school Sully?…I barely got through high school…I don’t know man”

“This isn’t like that man…no papers, nothing like that and we can get a solid job after”

Trade school was no joke and this time it was Finn’s turn to get you over the finish line. But you both made it and landed a good job at the same mechanical engineering company as pipe fitters…you actually enjoyed the work and got to spend your days with Finn

When he married your sister, you were his best man and smiled and laughed along with everyone else…but the ache was still there

Finn was married and living with your sister. You got your own place and started hooking up with a series of one nighters…random men just to take out your frustrations on…never anything serious and they were always gone well before Finn picked you up for work

Five years on and he’s in your apartment…y’all have been drinking beer…a lot of beer

”She’s fucking some guy she met”…he said…”Says I’m always working and she’s lonely…fuck Sully…she doesn’t work and the way she spends money…I gotta keep the lights on and food on the table”

You said nothing…only letting him vent…but all you could think is how much of a dumbass your sister is to throw away something you’d give anything to have

The beer kept flowing and that’s when Finn dropped the bomb

“I only married her to stay close to you…you’re the most solid thing I’ve ever had man…and I didn’t want to lose you” He was looking at his beer…his thumb playing with the pull tab

You sat there in stunned silence…eyes wide…just looking at him

“Shit Sully…did I just fuck up? Say something man”

Instead, you stood up and ran a hand through your hair and walked to the window. Finn got up and followed…standing apart but close enough to put his hand on your shoulder

“Sully?”

You hung your head and spoke “is this the beer talking Finn?”

He chuckled “yeah…liquid courage to finally tell you how I feel…how I been feeling”

“How long Finn?”

“High school…look man…”

That’s when you turned and pulled him into the kiss…furious and hard…hungry like neither of you had eaten in years

He was pressed against you and you could feel his throbbing tool against yours. You ran your hand over his hairy chest making him sigh against your lips…then you hooked your thumbs into the band of his briefs and dragged them down until you were eye level with his twitching dick…a string of sap hanging from the bright pink tip

You buried your face in his crotch…inhaled his musk and groaned as your tongue and beard rubbed against his nut sack…his cock was so rigid it pointed due north

He gasped…both hands on your head…fingers pulled your hair…and when you took him into your mouth he moaned and you felt his legs trembling. You swallowed him as far as you could…your right hand on the base of his shaft pulling on his tool

“Oh FUCK…Sully…oh man”

He shuddered as he shot his spunk into your throat…a bit leaking from your lips and down your chin. When he finished you stood up and kissed him…letting him taste his spunk on your tongue…he groaned and pushed his hand into your shorts groping for your dick

“Jesus Sully…that’s…impressive man”

You’d seen each other countless times naked in the locker room…but never fully erect. Finn’s dick was a happy average…stocky…like him. You were larger by a few inches and moaned into his kiss as he pulled on the sap slicked knob

You pulled him into your bedroom and pushed him down onto the bed and shucked off your shorts…dick standing proud…Finn’s eyes wide but he had that smile you ached for. You pulled him to the edge of the bed, pushed his muscled legs up to his chest and buried your face in the split of his ass. When your tongue flicked at his pucker he moaned…you went at it with everything you had. Then you flipped him onto his stomach with his knees to the floor…his renewed dick pointing south…you tongued the length from the tip of his cock to his asshole…he was groaning and pushing back into your face

You grabbed the lube from the bedside table and greased your dick

“Relax Finn”

He started to buck as you pushed into him…your torso on his back…you murmured into his ear

“You okay man?”

“Yeah Sully…never better” He gasped as you went deeper

When you were balls deep you just held it…letting him get used to you. Every time your dick would throb, he’d moan

Then you slowly pulled back…dragging your tool over his button and he let out a long low moan

“Oh God Sully…oh Jesus…fuck me Sully…just fuck me”

You started pumping…his whimpering made it even hotter and you could feel yourself getting to the threshold

“I’m gonna cum man…oh FUCK”

You were pumping him deep…flooding his guts while he bucked under you…his asshole tugging your dick as he came undone…again…shooting down the side of the bed onto the floor

Then you just lay there panting…years of pent up longing now deep inside Finn’s ass

You pulled out and stood up…chest heaving…admiring your best friends sweet ass. You placed a hand on his butt cheek and stroked his used hole with your thumb making him flinch and laugh

“Jesus Sully…that was…that was really something…I mean…fuck man”

After y’all had showered and were lying naked in your bed…the back of his head on your chest…your hand stroking his chest hair…you spoke

“It was high school for me too Finn…when I realized I had…feelings” He was quiet and you continued “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you either”

Then he sat up looking down at you…searching your eyes…he leaned in and kissed you

“We need to make up for a lot…and I do mean a lot…of lost time..…damn Sully”

Then he smiled at you again “Seems I married the wrong Sullivan”

[scoupsakakitty]

hi!! im so glad youre back, i hope you had a good rest~ can i request a woozi fic where reader accompanies him whenever she realises woozi is overworking himself again, always there to give him support in the quiet studio as he writes his songs, eats his meals, etc!

Mr. Producer | idol!woozi x Reader | fluff

Woozis eyes were glued to the screen, brows slightly furrowed, lips pursed in thought. The dim lighting cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles that softened whenever he blinked away exhaustion.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him in silence. She had been there long enough to recognize the telltale signs—sleeves rolled up, an untouched meal pushed to the side, and that persistent crease between his brows. Woozi was deep in his zone again.

With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the doorframe and made her way inside. "I brought food," she announced, holding up the takeout bag.

Woozi barely acknowledged her, still focused on his screen. Y/N rolled her eyes before walking up behind him. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin lightly on the top of his head.

"Take a break, genius," she murmured. "Show me how far you've gotten?"

Woozi exhaled, leaning back slightly against her. "You’re really persistent."

"And you’re really stubborn. We balance each other out," she teased, squeezing him gently. "C’mon, just a quick pause. Eat with me."

He sighed but didn't argue. Instead, he reached for a water bottle and took a sip, pretending that was enough to appease her.

She wasn't buying it.

"And no, you don’t get to say you’re not hungry. I know you haven't eaten in hours."

Woozi glanced at the bag, then at her. "What if I say I'm too busy?"

Y/N smirked. "Then I say I'm too stubborn. And I'm not leaving until you take at least five bites."

He chuckled again, this time shaking his head as he spun his chair to face her. "Five bites, huh? What do I get in return?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Your sanity, probably."

"Mmm, tempting." He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest as he pretended to consider her offer. "But what if I want something else?"

Y/N tilted her head. "Like what?"

Woozi studied her for a moment, eyes glinting with something unreadable yet warm. "Like a deal. If I eat, you have to stay and keep me company."

She scoffed, amused. "You say that like I was planning on leaving."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Just making sure."

Rolling her eyes, she grabbed the bag and handed him a container. "Eat first, then we'll talk deals."

He took it with a dramatic sigh, opening the lid and picking up the chopsticks. "Fine, but only because I know you'd probably feed me yourself if I refused."

She grinned. "Oh, absolutely."

As Woozi took the first bite, he hummed in appreciation. "Okay, this is actually really good."

"Told you," Y/N said smugly, resting her chin in her palm as she watched him eat. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him take a break, even if it was just for a few minutes.

He glanced at her between bites. "You really do take care of me a lot."

She shrugged. "Someone has to."

Woozi's expression softened, a quiet fondness settling in his eyes. "I don’t say it enough, but… thank you."

Y/N felt a warmth spread in her chest at his words. "Well, you can repay me by writing me a song one day."

He smirked. "Who says I haven’t already?"

Her breath hitched slightly, but she masked it with a laugh. "Flirt."

Woozi simply grinned, reaching for another bite. "Only for you."

As they continued eating, Y/N suddenly lit up. "Oh, I saw the prettiest bag today—this Miu Miu bag. It's ridiculously expensive, though. Like, stupidly, shamelessly expensive."

Woozi barely hesitated, setting his chopsticks down and holding out his hand. "Show me."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Show me the bag," he repeated, casually taking another bite. "I'll get it for you."

Y/N stared at him. "You—you can’t just say things like that so easily."

He smirked, leaning his elbow on the table. "Why not? You take care of me, I take care of you. Seems fair."

Her heart did an embarrassing little flip, but she huffed, waving him off. "Eat your food, Mr. Producer."

He chuckled. "Only if you promise to send me the link later."

She groaned. "Unbelievable."

But she was smiling, and he knew he had won.

[artstennisracket]

request: please I’m begging you write more parts to the Patrick Zweig Coach fucking his much younger client I’m dying that was too good

tennis coach!Patrick x fem reader, part 1

cw: nsfw (18+), d/s overtones tbh, dom!patrick, dirty talk, minimal use of daddy kink (reader says it once), not proofread

You were sore for that next week of practice. Getting fucked by a tennis racket handle wasn’t on your bucket list but you’re not particularly mad at it either.

You thought the dynamic would change between you and your coach but it’s like he went right back to ignoring you.

It wasn’t until Wednesday’s practice when you were preparing for a tournament you had this weekend.

You were genuinely out of it. You were going to be versing Anna Mueller and she’s currently ranked number 4 for women’s juniors. Sometimes you got in your head about things even if you knew how good you were.

During your serve drills Patrick could tell you were off. By the time you got to scrimmaging you weren’t giving it your all to beat him like you usually would.

On your next rally Patrick catches the ball instead of returning your serve. He walks to middle meeting you at the net, “You’re not fucking with me right? What’s going on?”

You sigh, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the cardigan tied around your shoulders, “No I’m not I just- I keep thinking about the tournament this weekend.”

He gives you a tight lipped smile, pushing his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head, “There’s nothing for you to worry about. Anna Mueller is all show, no real skill. And she’s a racist bitch, you’ll beat her into the ground without even trying.”

You let out a chuckle at that statement, “I can’t tell if you’re trying to make me feel better or light a fire under my ass,” I mean who doesn’t want to beat their opponents, especially the racist ones.

He smirks, “Why can’t it be both?,” He takes a step closer, the net still in between you two. You instinctively take a step closer just to be in his personal space. He bites his lip quickly, you can tell he’s thinking. He leans over to whisper in your ear, “And I said if you were good this weekend, I’d give you what you want.”

The smell of cigarettes fills your senses. A smell you usually hate but for some reason it just works for him. You let your eyes slip close momentarily to imagine what your first time with Patrick would be like because jesus fuck—

“We don’t have all day L/N, let’s go,” He calls out from his place on the other side of the court. Shit, how long were you standing there with your eyes closed?

You half jog back to your side of the court and take your cardigan off. When did it get so hot?

You turn quickly to look at him again, only to see him quickly push his sunglasses back down and clear his throat. Oh he was totally staring.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, “Ready Zweig?” You call out right before you serve an ace.

…

The tournament had just finished and you absolutely crushed Anna Mueller. You tanked in the first set but came back and won the last two by a good margin. You were so zoned in you didn’t even notice when Patrick had moved his tennis bag to his lap to cover up his problem.

You were so hyped at the end, you felt like it was the best tennis you’ve ever played. Not to mention the points you’d win from this to boost your own rank.

You looked around the stands for Patrick but he was nowhere to be found. You scrunch your eyebrows together in confusion but you’re sure you’ll see him later. Your parents had covered two hotel rooms for you both for the weekend.

You made your way back to the hotel so you could take a shower and change. Once you finished there was a knock on your door.

You opened it to find Patrick leaning against the door frame with a CVS bag in his hand. You took a second to take him in. Curls damp, like he just took a shower. You were able to actually look in his eyes for longer than a millisecond (since he’s always wearing sunglasses) and they were beautiful. A mashup of light hazel and green. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans that stretched over his long legs. And he was only wearing socks? No shoes.

“You gonna let me in or you wanna keep checking me out?” He smirks. You move to the side so he can walk inside.

You close the door as he takes a seat on the bed after placing the CVS bag on the night stand.

“Where’d you go? After my match.” You ask sitting next to him so your thighs are touching.

He shifts so he can face you, “Had to get some stuff, take a shower,” He gestures to the bag on the nightstand.

“You didn’t even see if I won or not, and what did you just have to get from CVS?” You ask. To be honest you’re not even really paying attention, just enjoying being this close in his personal space. Maintaining eye contact so you can fully drink in this dreamlike experience.

“Just condoms,” He’s says so causally like it’s toothpaste or something.

You scrunch your eyebrows together, “Don’t they sell that at the little hotel store downstairs?”

He smirks again, “And how would you know that?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, “I just wanted to check I guess. And you never answered my questions.”

He shrugs, “I already knew you were gonna win and downstairs they didn’t have magnum.” He says so casually AGAIN. Fuck.

He sees the “oh fuck” realization on your face so he has to ask, “You’re not a virgin right?”

You shake your head no. Quite the opposite actually but he just made you nervous for some reason.

He moves his hand to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb resting just above your ear, “What happened to the confident little brat who made me fuck her with a racket huh?”

Fuck. You move forward to crash your lips together, you’ve been waiting for this for too long to get nervous now.

He kisses you back and it’s almost bruising. Tongue, lips, and exchanging spit. It’s filthy. He pulls you back before he says, “On your knees.”

You followed that command quicker than the speed of your serves. He chuckles softly and you look up at him, hoping this time you’d get what you want and not a tennis racket.

He stands up so your face to face with his clothed bulge. You can feel your mouth start to water subconsciously. He unzips his jeans, pulling them down until they fall at his ankles. Now he was just stood in front of you in his boxer briefs and a much more prominent bulge.

You felt some need to prove to yourself so you start to mouth at his bulge through his underwear.

“Fuck, woah slow down. Did I say you could do that?” He groans while grabbing your hair and pulling you off.

“No but I just—“

“I thought you said you were gonna be good? You were good this whole week, don't mess it up now.”

“Okay I’m sorr—“

“First rule is you only speak if I say so okay? Or if I ask you a question. Got it?”

You nod before you realize he just asked you a question. You rush out, “Yes yep got it.”

He smiles, “You’ve always been a pretty quick learner.” He moves his hand from your hair back to his own underwear. He pulls them down slowly, letting his hard length spring free and fuck. You knew he was big but this was a lot.

He continues, “Now, I’m gonna let you suck my cock but don’t try to be too ambitious. If I want you to take more, you’ll know. And if you need me to stop for any reason just pinch me.”

You nod staying in your place on your knees. He grips the base of his cock, rubbing his tip along your lips. You want so badly to open your mouth, lick the tip with your tongue. But you can’t, not yet.

“You can open.”

Before he even finishes that statement your mouth is open and you’re sucking on the tip. Little kitten licks in between. You refrain from trying to swallow him down because you haven’t been instructed to yet.

He moves his hand back to your hair, pushing you further down. You choke a little, but try to keep calm so your gag reflex doesn’t act up.

He lets out a low groan as he keeps pushing in, “Fuck,” and then he pulls out almost all the way before he presses back in.

This time you try to suck to the best of ur ability. Making a mess, spit building up in your mouth, covering his cock, drooling out of the sides of your mouth. You still haven’t taken it all but you bob your head up and down, covering the expanse of his cock that he’s allowed you to take.

The wet sounds of you choking, gasping, and breathing hard around his dick filling the room. Soon he pulls all the way out letting out an exasperated, “Fuck babe, gotta prep you now. Get up.”

You stand up, knees feeling sore from the roughness of the hotel carpet.

“Take off your clothes and lay down on your back.” He says, stroking his cock aimlessly, waiting for you to lay down.

This is the fastest you’ve ever taken your clothes off, record speed. You get into position, laying down on your back. A few pillows behind you so your back is elevated. He lays down on his stomach between your legs, his long legs hanging off the side of the bed.

He lets his finger run down the middle of your folds, gently grazing your clit, before he pushes into your hole.

“You’re so wet already, maybe I didn’t have to prep you,” He says before adding a second finger, pumping in and out of your slick hole.

He picks up the pace and you are a moaning mess. Moaning, whining, and whimpering just from his fingers as he keeps pressing against the right spot.

“Does that feel good baby?” He asks before he inserts a third, curling his fingers inside you now.

You nod before you remember that you have to answer verbally, “Yes please more, feels so good.”

He speeds up his pace, assaulting the soft spongy spot inside of you until you feel something build up in your stomach. He keeps eye contact with you, biting his lip as he watches the pleasure take over your face.

“Ah, ah, ah—Patrick wait I- fuck” You say in a high pitched whine as a rush of liquid gushes out of you, squirting all over his fingers.

Patrick pulls his fingers out, “Knew you had it in you,” he smirks moving up on the bed to capture your lips in another kiss.

This kiss is slow, like he’s taking his time to explore your mouth with his tongue. He bites your lip as he pulls away from the kiss, “Good?”

You nod definitely a little out of it. “Yeah,” you reply, your volume barely above a whisper.

“Still wanna keep going?” He asks, pushing your hair back behind your ear.

You nod, biting your lip as you smile, “Duh. Didn’t get what I want yet.”

He scoffs playfully, “I could argue that you did.” He grabs the CVS bag and opens the box of condoms, taking one out. “Would you like to do the honors?”

You nod again, sitting up on your knees and opening the wrapper. He strokes himself a few times to get himself back to full hardness before you roll on the condom.

He moves you to lay down on the other (dry) side of the bed and lines up with your entrance. He drags his tip along the center of your folds, teasing your hole, “Sure this is what you really want?”

You let out a huff, “Yes Patrick, how many times do I have to tell—shit“ Your cut off as he pushes inside of you.

He looks up at you as he bottoms out, “You still good?” He grunts out.

“Stop treating me like a baby, I can take it,” You gasp out. It really is a lot. You feel ridiculously full. Almost comparable to the tennis racket. “You literally fucked me with tennis racket.”

“Ungrateful as always,” He shakes his head before he pulls out. You whine at the loss before he flips you over so your face down ass up.

“You were good all week, now you wanna be an ungrateful slut,” he tsks before slamming into you without warning.

“Oh fuck,” You basically scream out at the abrupt intrusion. He grabs both your wrists, holding them behind your back, before he really starts fucking into you.

He grunts out, “I was trying to be nice but you keep testing me, fuck you feel so good.”

He continues holding both your wrists in one of his massive hands while the other hand grabs your hair. Pulling you up so he can whisper in your ear, “So you’re gonna take whatever I decide to fucking give you, got it?”

You let out a whimper from how overwhelmed with pleasure you feel, “Yes fuck I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He smirks, “Too late for that.” He lets go of your hair letting you fall back into position. He grips your hips and starts pounding into you. Each thrust more bruising than the last. Hard and fast. It feels like you’re gonna break.

You go from leaning into the thrusts pushing yourself back against him, to almost trying to pull away. Not because you weren’t enjoying it but because your g-spot was starting to get overstimulated, it was starting to feel too good.

“Fuck baby, can’t run away now. This is what you asked for right? What you’ve been drooling over for the past two years huh? Bet you used to touch yourself thinking about this right?”

You can’t even think straight enough to realize he’s asking a question. It’s not until he comes to a halt to say, “I asked you a fucking question.”

Now that he’s still inside you, your brain finally processes what he said. “Yes fuck, Patrick I— yes, I did, I did. Please don’t stop please,” You whine.

He picks up his pace again as tears start to fall down your face. He can hear your sniffling mixed in with your moans, “Aw baby, are you crying? Does it feel too good?”

You nod. Your face smushed against the pillow that’s catching your fallen tears. You let out a weak, “Yes daddy,” and you don’t even realize what you just said, too fucked out to register.

“Shit why would you— fuck,” His hips stutter, “Christ you’re so fucking—fuck baby you’re gonna be the end of me.”

“Please please, so close,” You whimper. You can feel yourself on the edge until-

“Cum for me baby, want you to finish all over my cock, this what you’ve wanted for two years right? Show me how much you needed it.”

And that’s all it takes. You feel that sudden rush again before you squirt all over Patrick’s dick. He curses under his breath pulling all the way out in between thrusts to fully see it. That image is enough to have him spilling inside the condom, his thrusts stilling.

He pulls out slowly, taking the condom off and throwing it away. He grabs a small hand towel from the bathroom and comes back to you on the bed half asleep.

“I figured you’d be too tired to shower but are you sure you wanna sleep here? My room’s right next to yours and my bed isn’t…yeah.”

You nod sleepily, “‘Mkay, there’s a connecting door I think?” You lazily gesture to the door in the middle of the wall.

“Oh that’s…convenient.” He pulls on his jeans haphazardly, taking out his key card. He leaves your room, leaving the deadbolt on to hold the door cracked open, and you hear some shuffling outside. You assume he’s unlocked the connecting door on his side.

He comes back to your room, unlocking the door on your side, revealing direct access to Patrick’s room. He picks you up with ease, probably from all those years of tennis, and sets you down in the middle of his bed.

It’s chillier in his room. Probably has the AC blasting, so you curl in on yourself trying to get comfortable enough to sleep again.

He makes his way over to the thermostat to turn up the temperature a little. Then he takes a beat before he decides to cover you with the comforter, tucking you in.

“Better?” He asks as he lays next to you, on top of the comforter because he’s still hot.

“Better,” You mumble back before you fall asleep

[angelqie]

ㅤㅤ( PSH. )ㅤㅤ✶ㅤㅤOVERSIZED

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽

SOMAR𝒊O ─── wearing his favourite sweater 엔하이픈 성훈 𝐱 𝑓. reader ✉️ wc. 521 ✶ careful ! skinship, kissing, petnames/ nicknames

boyfriend!sunghoon who would always offer for you to wear his clothes and frown when you refused to wear them— waiting impatiently for the chance to see your small figure drown in his clothes. 

The chill air kissed your skin causing goosebumps to form on your body. The winter breeze hurried into the room and despite the layers of clothing you were wearing, you still felt cold. Sauntering into your closet, you skipped through your pile of sweaters, finding the sweater Sunghoon had left you in case you ever wanted to wear it.

Biting back your smile, you pulled on his favourite sweater and breathed in his signature scent still lingering on the fabric. Hearing voices downstairs, you motioned out of your bedroom and into your brother’s room, surprised to meet your boyfriend sitting on your brothers’ gaming chair.  

Having gone unnoticed because of the headphones on his ears, you snuck up behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders and leaning into the shell of his ear. “Hi, baby.” 

Abruptly spinning the chair, he pulled you onto his lap and met your surprised face with a grin. “Hi, princess.” Raking his eyes over your petite frame drowning in his sweater, his grin widened, and his brows raised at your covered hands and the hem of the sweater hiking up to your mid-thigh. 

“Is today my birthday?” He questioned, glancing between the door and your eyes before resting his hand curtly on your thigh. Widening your eyes at his body language, you placed your hand on his and pushed him away to no avail. 

“My brother could walk in here any second, Sunghoon.” His eyes slitted at his full name coming from your lips but quickly recovered by shooting you a disarming smirk and repositioning his hand on your thigh. “What? Scared your brother’s going to find you on my lap?” 

Sliding his fingertips gently upwards, he watched your eyes gape at him, before pulling you in for a kiss, not allowing you any room to breathe. Actually relaxing into his hold, your lips moved against his, every so often pulling away for air which he never seemed to need since he would connect your lips again only moments after you pulled away. 

His fingertips remained glued to your thigh, while footsteps closed in on the two of you and quickened your heartbeat. Hitting his chest, you hummed against his lips, trying to get him to pull away. 

After deciding that it was over for you once you heard the door knob turn, he finally pulled back, panting and disheveled, and helped you back up to your feet. 

Meeting his friends’ and your brothers’ confused gaze, you smiled nervously, trying to figure out whether they caught on already. 

“You’re teaching her how to game without me?” Heeseung spoke, diverting his attention to the discarded headphones on the table and the homescreen of the game on the monitor. Glancing at you, your boyfriend nodded,  explaining that he was just teaching you the basics. 

Excusing yourself to get snacks before you begin learning, Sunghoon called to you, “I like your sweater, by the way.”

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