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inbabylontheywept · 4 months ago

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bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

#dating stories #anecdotes #long post #funny story #babylon #im really bad at dating #like i can do a lot better than this but also it just was kind of a nightmare for me #shit like this did make the whole thing easier tho #like #every date after this i could go you know ive seen how bad it can get #and i lived #didnt even get shot #writing

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pseudowho · 3 months ago

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Motherhood had altered your 'turn-ons'; not that you lusted after mankind as a whole-- Kento was enough.

His cologne, split with the smooth tang of sweat on work-ripened skin. His hands, alternately gentle and rough, peach-handling or blade-wielding. The authority only the world saw; the authority only you felt.

Dressed-up, dressed-down, undressed, dressing you down, undressing you. Breaking you only to reform you with gold, tied with red thread, whispering you to completion in the dark sacred night.

So (you corrected yourself, as you watched Kento jog after your daughter at the indoor play centre) motherhood had not altered your turn-ons; it had added to them. Stacking high now, you considered the tower of your adoration was just as likely to be stable, as unstable; its endurance or toppling entirely at Kento's mercy.

The arrival at soft-play was a sensory nightmare-- one of many you could tolerate as a mother when you wouldn't have, before.

Obnoxious children's music blared, cut by screams and shouts and cries and calls and whirls and swirls of kids darting and weaving, watched and unwatched, by helicopters or the disinterested. The cocktail was potent, spiked. Your headache started behind your left eye.

Kento saw you. He was unfairly loaded at his own insistence, with change-bag and snack-bag and car keys and your daughter, planking and chattering, a possessed surfboard beneath his arm.

"Sit down-- have a coffee." Kento rumbled, low and slow, unclipping his watch into your cupped hands as you began to argue. "You've had her all week. You need a break."

"You've been at work all week, Kento, you need a break--"

"Don't argue. You know it's not the same. Sit down. Have a coffee."

He lied to you for your benefit; you could feel the bone-deep weariness of him, surely needing a day of sofa-bound naps over a day of childrearing. Alas; parenthood. And he would continue to take bullets for you, even to his own detriment. You knew this. You had planned ahead for this.

As you peered down at your phone, smiling at an eagerly awaited reply, your daughter piped up, bouncing on little toes, her pigtails bouncing too.

"'lide, daddy. Let's go fast. Faster. Race you."

Kento hummed, smiling. "Slide, you mean?"

"I said it. 'lide." Your daughter moved to dart to the towering play area, a flash of lightning into a maelstrom, and you caught her. Kento was distracted, looking into the swarm of other peoples' children, oddly, as he looked at a swarm of Curses. You whispered into your daughters' ear as Kento slipped his boots off.

"Hey, missus, listen."

Your baby girl perked up, sweet and conspiratorial, goofy-teethed and dimple-cheeked, whispering back.

"What is it, mummy?"

"I've got a surprise for daddy. So don't tell him...come here, mummy needs to whisper."

Lips at an ear; tiny hands clasping over a mouth, fizzlepopping with excitement. A long finger against lips; a little finger against lips. A secret pact.

"Are you ready, young lady? I'll get you in three...two..."

Kento reached down for your daughter, his hands clawed, a wolfish grin on his lips. Your daughter knew what it meant; she shrieked with panicked laughter, bolting. The monster formerly known as 'Daddy' dashed after her.

The coffee was shit; you didn't mind, instead hyperfocused on how Kento and your daughter would dip out of sight into the rainbow maze, only to reappear minutes later, with Kento looking more ravaged each time.

On the first loop round, Kento looked unfazed, unruffled, still clipped in his t-shirt and jeans. You simply admired the sultry half-smile he offered you, and the cling of fabric to his thick biceps, before he swept after your daughter again.

On the fifth loop round, flicks of hair escaped over Kento's forehead, the veins on his arms prominent from throwing and tumbling and monstering. He panted, his muscle so much heavier to carry than your birdlike daughter's personal load. Kento's playful growl, running after your giggling daughter, was deeper; huskier. You squirmed, sipping your shit latte.

On the eleventh loop round, a fine sheen of sweat misted Kento's forehead, a flush dashed on high cheekbones. His broad chest heaved, and he stretched his arms back, cracking his neck from side-to-side, with a groan usually heard only when he exerted himself above you, for less wholesome pleasures.

With furrowed brows, Kento prowled the bottom of the slide, and your daughter shrieked, scrabbling to get away from him as he lunged. Your daughter was bicep-curled up to Kento's face, laughing uproariously at his ferocious tummy-raspberries, before being set free, once more, for the hunt. You could not cope, aching, desperately hoping you had the energy left to sweat for him at the end of the day.

By the twenty-first? twenty-third? twenty-fifth? loop round, Kento jogged to a heavy halt, his shoulder blades taut as he bent double, hands braced against his own knees. You heard him panting, cursing under his breath, one long rusty groan. It was all too much-- Kento needed a break. You were unhinged and unsupervised. Surely there had to be some relief--

"Yo, Mrs.Nanamin! Am I late?"

A vision in peach, Yuuji flopped into the chair opposite you, with hands in his pockets and man-spread with a square-jawed, boyish grin. He stood taller than Kento, now, a full-grown man...but still shrunk beneath Kento's chastisement and lectures.

"Right on time, Yuuji. Are you sure you don't mind? It's all a bit..." You looked into the raucous soft-play, searching for words, "...feral."

Yuuji beamed, ruffling his own hair and kicking his shoes off. "Nah. I was gonna go to the gym anyway, but this seems more fun as workouts go."

You called out to your daughter as she reached the bottom of the slide, and Kento looked up, sweating and exhausted. "Baby! Your big brother's here!"

A gasp of thrill from your daughter, and Kento was all but forgotten by her as she pelted towards Yuuji instead, leaping into his arms. She slapped his scrunched cheeks, aggressively overjoyed.

"Big brother-- big brother-- big brother--"

"Yeah yeah, little sister, little sister-- c'mon squirt, I'm gonna getcha! Hey-- Dad--- uh, Nanamin! Gotta go!"

Kento watched his children run away with dewy eyes, his body still thickened by exercise and heavy breaths. You bit your lip as Kento approached, eyes half-lidded as you drank him in. You watched his Adam's apple bob as he gulped back water and gasped, husky with relief.

"God, I love that boy." Kento rumbled.

You melted to see Yuuji reach the bottom of the slide with your daughter on his lap. "Yeah...me too."

"He's saved my life...three times, now."

You laughed, your eyes dipped, tugging Kento to you by the hem of his t-shirt and beckoning him down with one curled finger.

"Think you'll still have some energy later?" You whispered, your breaths mingling with promise.

Kento's eyes narrowed, glimmering, his nose kissing yours. "For that? Always."

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months ago

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Hello! Just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing! A bit of a request for the batboys (Jason, Tim, Dick, and Damian), just something silly.

I recently saw a video of a girl saying her boyfriend's entire name as if he was in trouble only for her to tell him she loved him. It was funny to me at the time, it was also late at night lol.

Soo... How would the boys react to reader suddenly saying their full name out of the blue as if they were in trouble as a prank? 👀👀🤭

Dick is thinking to death about what he might done to earn you saying his full name, so much so the poor man was sweating bullets which each step he took in your direction

Did he miss an anniversary?

Date night?

Hayley’s vet appointment?

He wanted to know badly so that he could think up a way to make it up to you however you wanted. Steal his clothes because they smell like him, he didn’t care, he just didn’t like you using his full name.

So as he looked you deep in the eyes, mentally preparing for whatever left your mouth, only for you to relax your face and kiss his cheek much to his surprise.

‘I love you.’ You told him sweetly as you smiled at him.

‘What?’ Dick said.

‘I love you.’ You repeated, still smiling.

‘That’s…that’s all you’ve called my full, legal government name for, to tell me you love me?’ Dick asked as though he was waiting for a joke that was never going to come.

‘Yep.’ You said.

‘No catch.’

‘None.’

‘Can you stop calling me Richard now and go back to calling me baby, cutie, dickie bird or -preferable- handsome now?’ Dick again asks as he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders and was finally able to breathe again now that his questions could finally be laid to sleep.

You chuckled as you kissed his lip. ‘Sure, whatever you say, handsome.’

Damian is unfazed.

He’s use to his full name being used and he doesn’t exactly feel anything but annoyance that he has to leave the piece he has spent the better half of a week working on, just to answer your call.

Damian loved you without a doubt but he’s not exactly fond of whenever you try to follow along these tasteless ‘trends.’ Though he knows himself well enough to know that he would never stay upset or mad at you for long, you were his weak spot, his treasure forever and always even if this is the things they kept you entertained.

‘I know you’re not saying my full name for any particular reason my treasure.’ He told you rather plainly.

‘And how would you know there isn’t a reason I called for you?’ You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. Damian copied.

‘Because I have a good memory and I haven’t missed any important date, that’s not until next week, that and the fact that I can see the muscles in your face struggling to keep the smile at bay.’ Damian said as he pointed out your biggest sign that you were lying about something.

You always involuntarily smiled when telling a lie the title made it far easier for Damian to know that what you were saying was far from the truth. It was your Achilles heel and Damian knew how to use it to his advantage.

‘I’m not.’ You said, struggling to stop the smile.

‘You are and you’re doing a bad job at it my sweet.’ He replied as he was now the one cockily smiling, knowing he’s got you where he wants you that you couldn’t do anything but crack under his stare.

‘Fine you loser, I only called you in here to say I love you, there happy?’ You asked as you pouted.

Damian walked over to you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘All you had to do is say my treasure.’ Was all he said as he spent the rest of the day with you and Titus.

Jason is immediately in front of you within a heartbeat.

He, much like dick, didn’t like it when you use his full name.

You’re his partner! USE THE CUTE NICKNAMES YOU CHOSE FOR HIM INSTEAD! Who’s this Jason Todd? He only responds to Jaybird, jay jay, or baby with the occasional sweetheart from time to time.

‘Chipmunk, can you please tell me want I did wrong?’ Jason asked as he walked into the kitchen where you called him from.

You furrowed your brows. ‘Wrong? I only called you in here to tell you I love you.’ You replied as Jason started at you for a bit before he pinched your side, making you squeal.

‘You’re a little shit, you know that sweetheart.’ Jason asked as he kept pinching your sides, making you giggle and squeal in his hold. ‘Had me all worked up and everything.’ He adds as he starts biting your neck playfully.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Have mercy!’ You cried, trying to push yourself away from Jason but it was proven nearly impossible when your man was a literal wall of muscle.

‘’All I can hear as the squeaks of a cheeky little mouse.’ Is all Jason said as he continued to tickle, pinch at your sides. He hates it when you call him his full name, it reminded him of lesser then ideal times, sure it sounded far sweeter and loved when it was coming from you rather than theirs, but he’d much rather you call him anything it his full name.

Tim knows what you’re up to the very moment you use his full name.

His detective brain kicks into hyperdrive and goes into the logical explanation as to why the sudden change.

You’ve never used it before, so why now did you use it unless you had seen a cute trend or something that you thought was hilarious on TikTok, or on another social media platform and wanted to try it out for the sake of following whatever was the thing to do.

That or you were genuinely mad and he should at least go talk to you in hopes of de escalating the situation, should it come to it.

‘I love you.’ You said.

‘You’ve said my full name, lured me out of my room, just to say I love you?’ Tim asked with a raised brow as though his heart wasn’t going nuts once again with how much your words easily affected him.

You paused for a brief moment before smiling. ‘Yeah sounds about right.’

Tim sighs but he couldn’t help but feel a smile creep up on his lips. ‘You’re ridiculous sometimes I swear.’ He says under his breath, ‘you almost had me second guessing myself there but I’m glad this is what you called me out for instead.’ He finished as he pressed his forehead against your own, feeling relaxed and clear minded once more.

‘You may say I’m ridiculous but you love it when I keep you on your toes, it’s like a brain exercise in a way.’ You cheekily told him as you kissed his cheek.

‘You call that a brain exercise?’ Tim said. ‘That was barely a brain activity but more like a brain fart if anything.’ He said as you pouted and smacked his bicep, causing him to smile.

‘We can’t all be smart asses like you drake.’ You said and Tim shrugged as he tugged you close.

‘True but you certainly are a pain in the ass.’ Tim replied, which only made you slap his bicep again as he chuckled and you bury your head into his neck.

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parfaitblogs · 4 months ago

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false god ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer (literally) cannot wait to show you how pretty he thinks you are tonight.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut (18+ mdni) tags: established relationship. public stuff. fingering. the team is there. readers wearing a skirt. he looooves you. they're at a bar. kinda soft dom!spence but like only if you squint. i have never posted smut before if im missing tags tell meee word count: 1.9k a/n: biting the bullet. posting smut (shudders). i have a singular roman empire and it is spencer reid plus fingering. i think about it sooo often. i do not think he would be the type to actually do this in public so yes it is self indulgent yes u can all call me crazy!! idgaf!!! i feel like the pacing in this is kinda weird pls forgive i never write smut :< if it's bad don't tell me let me be blissfully ignorant thank YEW!!

You were pretty sure there was something wrong with him (Spencer Reid). Something fundamentally broken in his brain, because he had not said a word to you that made sense from the second he picked you up from your apartment that evening.

A lot of 'mhm's' and 'yeah's', which from maybe any other man would be normal, was not from him. He didn't speak incredibly eloquently, per se. But he did always respond to you in sentences. He liked to talk, so this lack of it was concerning you.

He was seated next to you, in the booth Penelope Garcia had scouted out the second she stepped foot into the bar you were all meeting at. It was supposed to be a simple evening. Some drinks, some talking, winding down after the awful case you had just come back from. Spencer's lack of talking had you feeling anything but (simple).

"Are you okay?" you had asked him when half the team stood up to go purchase the second round of drinks for everyone, and he wordlessly nodded his head, staring at the glass of water on the table in front of him, condensation sweating down to the wood.

He wasn't. But there was only so much you could do for him when he was shutting down, especially in a public setting, so you nodded your own head, and settled into conversation with JJ instead.

His hand found your thigh at some point during the conversation, and while you had flinched at its first contact, you didn't think much of it — he was never one for huge displays of affection, but he loved having his hands on you. An act as simple as a hand on your back had you swooning now, because you knew in his mind, he was thinking everything there was to possibly think about you.

What you did think much of, was the way it crept higher as the team returned with drinks, and the noise from your booth got louder as conversations clashed with each other.

Your head turned to the side, eyebrows furrowing, but he was still staring at his half-drank glass of water, with no real expression on his face. Frustratingly so.

He was never cruel, you learned. It was why his next action didn't occur until you had finished your sentence to JJ, as if to prevent what would've been your vocal chords tightening and lifting the octave of your voice as you spoke.

It was such a featherlike touch it was hardly there, and you probably wouldn't have noticed it if he didn't do it again. And again. And again. One of his fingers brushing delicately over the centre of your underwear in a quick swiping motion, that had your head snapping to the side, meeting his jawline and his unwavering gaze with his glass of water.

"Spencer," you muttered, and it was only then did he tilt his head down to look at you, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

His hand wrapped around the side of your inner thigh and tugged you across the seat, closer to him, his head ducking down to speak.

"You're really pretty," he murmured, and your eyebrows only furrowed further at that.

"Thank you," you decided to say. "But what are you doing?"

"I just wanna touch you. Is that okay?"

You were silent for a moment. Maybe a moment too long, because he was already pulling his hand off your thigh, nodding his head.

"I mean, yes," you quickly say, catching his wrist before it could stray too far. "I was just confused where this was coming from."

"I really like the skirt," he explained, and your lips parted and an amused huff of air left them. Of course.

"Me too."

"Need you to wear it more often," he then said, his hand finding its way back between your thighs. "Please?"

"Maybe," you said, because it was all you could say, considering he was moving things along a little bit faster now that you had consented (not that you think you would've denied it).

His ministrations were small enough that you could keep your voice steady as you kept conversation going with JJ, but firm enough that you squirmed every thirty seconds. He, on the other hand, was acting as though he was doing nothing to you, engaged in a conversation about the origins of pasta, with David Rossi.

"I mean, in Greek mythology, it suggests that the Greek god Vulcan invented a device that made strings of dough. Which could be classified as the first spaghetti," he said, and at the same time, his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, brushing over your embarrassingly wet folds.

You watched him stiffen, only because you had killed your conversation with JJ with one too many 'uh-huh's', and his jaw locked.

You were merely observant as he circled your clit a few times, until you were picking up your drink and forcing yourself to sip on it in order to keep your mouth busy — instead of releasing a moan that you really didn't want the team to hear.

His gaze flicked to you for only half a second, and you met his eyes with an embarrassingly desperate look, and he laughed, oh so quietly, before a finger slipped into you.

It was so gentle you thought you would go insane, and he rested the finger there for a few seconds as he responded to an argument Rossi had made about the Italian's inventing bolognese or whatever. You weren't really listening.

The internal war you were dealing with; a pool of fiery butterflies in your stomach and the constant screaming to stay quiet in your brain was a stark contrast to Spencer's relaxed state. Because he had lazily began to move his finger like it was Sunday morning and he was easing you awake, and not in the middle of a Virginia bar with conversations amongst the team happening around you.

You hated him for that.

Your hips squirmed when he crooked his finger, and your free hand bolted to his wrist, holding his hand still just before he could do it again, and elicit a sound from you.

The second Rossi had become immersed in something Morgan had said, Spencer's gaze was returning to you, an amused smile stretched across his lips.

"You okay, honey?" he murmured, ducking his face down to kiss your cheek, heat blossoming on the spot.

"I am trying so hard not to make a noise," you said, and he smiled, and you could feel it against your skin, wonderfully so.

"And you're doing an excellent job of it."

"You know, if you just took me to the bathroom..." you trailed off, eyes flickering up to him.

"Not happening. Do you know how many germs are in public bathrooms?"

"Probably as many as the seat you're currently fingering me on," you hissed, voice hushed.

At that, he pushed the heel of his hand against your clit, and you choked out a mewl.

"I can stop," he said, though it didn't come out as a warning. You knew he only offered it because he would get the reaction of you violently shaking your head. "Right. No bathroom."

"No bathroom," you agreed with a flip of your stomach.

His attention was captured by a conversation again, and with it, his finger began moving again. He was moving it with such an expertise that if this was any other situation you'd be impressed. Unfortunately, you were a little preoccupied with trying not to make a sound to appreciate how well he knew your body.

Lazy pumps of his finger had you reeling and he was hardly doing anything, which was definitely going to be embarrassing to think about later on when he brings this up. Like you knew he would.

Your A+ streak of making no noise was interrupted — quite rudely — by him slipping another finger in, the uncomfortable stretch that only lasted a second eliciting a whimper you couldn't keep to yourself. His eyebrows shot up and you were thankful Rossi had not been looking at him when his gaze rested on you again, and that the music in the bar was loud enough to drown out the sound to anyone who wasn't listening for it.

"Too much?" he asked, but the second you felt him slowly pulling that second finger back, you were shaking your head, nails digging into the wrist that you still had captured.

"No. It's not. Promise."

He smiled, and wordlessly nodded his head as he allowed the finger to straighten inside of you. Then, he moved them in and out of you a few times, achingly slowly.

"Spencer," you breathed out, frustrated.

"Yes, angel?"

"Can you please... just... go faster," you bit out, heat flushing your cheeks. Again.

"That would make it obvious," he answered, and you let out a huff of air. You knew he was right. "But," he added, upon detecting your annoyance. "I can do this."

He was once again proving how well he knew your body, because his thumb so easily found your clit, and circled it in a way that shot sparks up through your body.

"Yes you can," you agreed, nodding your head eagerly, and he breathed out a chuckle.

It seemed to be a lot easier to do that fast enough and hide what he was doing to you at the same time, because his fingers bent upwards at the same time he flicked his thumb over your clit, and whatever self-control you thought you had was swindled.

Your teeth bit down on the disintegrating paper straw, just to stop the moan that caught in the base of your throat from leaving it, and at that, he did it again.

Spencer Reid was good at a lot of things. Making you come from the lightest of touches seemed to be joining that long list. Your head buried itself into the forearm of the hand that was touching you, at the same time he used it to push your hips back into the seat when they had begun to lift upwards.

"You're making it obvious," he said to you, and what you're sure would've been a wonderfully eloquent argument died in your throat when he flicked your clit again.

"I can't," you managed to get out, shaking your head as your fingers dug perhaps a little too hard into his wrist.

"No?" he mused, though didn't stop his movements. You shook your head. He smiled. "So you want me to stop?"

"No."

"Mm, you're conflicting yourself, angel," he said, and you groaned for more than just how he was making you feel because you knew that.

You bit down on his arm through his shirt to silence another moan when he pushed his fingers in a little harder than before, and if it hurt, he didn't say anything. You decided it must not have, because he repeated that movement.

You were fighting against the need to squirm as your stomach tightened. And he must've figured out what was happening, because he masked your incandescent need to moan by using his opposite hand to entangle within your hair, bringing your face into his chest, acting as a hug to anyone who could see you.

"There you go," he murmured, awfully gently, in your ear, as your walls fluttered around his fingers.

You weren't sure if you were imagining your hips jerking until he was slipping his fingers out of you and pushing them down into the seat again.

He wiped his fingers against his pants, and your lips parted, eyes staring at him, dumbfounded.

"What?"

You shook your head, regaining a little self control as you settled down. "Nothing. I'm wearing this skirt again, though."

"Good."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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gravegoer · 9 days ago

Note

Hiii! English is not my first language so please forgive any mistakes. Could you do an imagine of Sevika where the reader and her have been together for a long time, and the reader almost dies in battle? (Like, she got shot in a place that bleeds a lot, which makes Sevika super worried) And she makes a little confession to the reader? Saying that she can't lose her and stuff like that. Sorry for the long request, it's my first time ordering 😭😭 Thanks anyway 🩷🤍🩷

Wont lose you ʚɞ

thank you for the request,! it was a bit rushed but I like it anyways let me know if you do :)

masterlist!!

Silco sent you on an important mission, taking down this factory all relied on you. Sevika had insisted on being by your side the entire time, but her request was denied.

Her and two other goons sat on the sidelines to make sure you could get in and out without being seen. No fight. No problem.

Why did she have to get stuck with these guys? She would have been better off down there helping you.

She sat outside the doube doors, one of the men lit a cigarillo for her. All was going according to plan so far.

You had gotten in and deactivated some machines. Now you needed to get out.

Sevika, your long time girlfriend was worried. Despite not wanting to admit it you could tell by the look on her face before you crossed the threshold to the factory.

You chuckled to yourself, thinking of how she patted your back on the way in as encouragement.

But you were confident you could carry this out without a hitch.

What you didn't know is there weren't just guards on the outside.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the seemingly empty factory. All you had to do was pour gasoline around the inside perimeter and on the machines and strike a match. It's not that hard.

You were bent over a machine, checking out the parts and gears before you feel a sharp pain of a blunt object on your back. Turning around you instinctively grab it.

A tall, lanky woman stood towering over you. Before she could pull it from your grasp, you kicked her in the stomach. She stumbled backward with a grut. When you dropped the bat, you were met with another thwack to your head.

You let out a muffled cry, biting your lip. You heard the woosh of an object and half-ducked-half-fell. An ambush. How mature. Another metal bat slammed into the ground beside your head. A broad figure stood over you, moving to hit you again. You rolled to the left but not without getting a swift kick to the stomach.

"Urgh." The wind was knocked out of your lungs. But you had no time to hesitate, jumping to your feet and blocking the next strike of the bat with your forearm.

You grabbed it and pulled it forward, bringing the weilder with it. Letting go with one hand, you slam your fist into their throat. The woman from before came back around, picking up her bat again. You met her metal bat with the one in your hands.

It's okay. You could win. The mission was still going according to plan. Two people with bats you could easily take on. You heard a familiar cocking behind your head.

"Drop it"

Fuck.

You didn't.

Instead, you turned to deliver a high kick to their head. But they managed to pull the trigger faster than you could land it.

Bang

You let out a shrill cry and clutched your side. Blood seeped through your fingers and stained your shirt.

"I told you to drop it," Their deep voice hissed.

You could hear three people rushing into the factory, footsteps echoing throughout the establishment. The person that shot you turned their attention to your team. The trigger happy idiot immediately started firing.

Bullets ricochet against the metal. Sometime amidst the chaos, you started to lose consciousness. Black spots littered your vision, and you finally dropped to your knees. A figure bent over you, yelling incoherent things. She jad a hand on your back, gripping your shirt between clammy fingers.

Looking up, you saw Sevikas distressed expression. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and there was a worried crease between her brows. She was shouting things you couldn't quite make out. Maybe something like "We need to leave" or "We are lighting it up." Maybe both.

She grabbed your legs, hand still on your back and hoisted you into her arms. You could feel her warm arm on your upper back and the hardness of her prosthetic against the back of your legs.

In your groggy state you looked up to Sevika, her teeth gritted as she ran throughout the factory with heavy steps. You could hear an explosion come from far behind you.

A ringing in your ears.

She looked down at you.

Then you passed out.

What seemed to be a few hours later, you groggly awoke. Light seeped into your vision and you attempted to get up. "Fuck," A sharp pain shot through your side.

Oh, right. You got shot.

You looked down to where you now held your side, but instead of blood like how you expected, there are sterile bandages. They wrapped around your now mostly bare torso.

Looking around the room, it seemed familiar to you. Right before you could put your finger on it your girlfriend came walking into the room, holding a glass of water.

Her eyes shot wide open, and she started walking a little faster towards your bedside. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You laughed at her suprise, "Yeah. Now that you're here"

Your voice was raspy and dry. You reached out for the water in her hand. She instead pushed your hand down and brought the cup up to your lips herself.

"I thought I'd lost you," She sighs in releif.

You took big gulps of water. She had just finished smoking. You could smell it on her hands. You pulled your lips away from the cup and she brought a thumb to your mouth to wipe away stray water droplets.

It was your turn to ask, "Are you okay?"

She let out a dry laugh, "You're the one sitting in bandages in my bed, and you're asking if Im okay?"

She brings her larger hand to your arm, rubbing circles into your skin. Her rough calloused hands brought some comfort to you.

"Im sorry I let that happen. I shouldn't have let you go in there alone. Silco was wrong," She grumbled, clutching her temples.

"Hey, I can do things by myself. It was an unfair attack." You chimed in.

"I don't care. I dont know what i would do if i lost you in there," She spoke firmly.

Her lips were pursed into a straight line. Trying to calm that tension you reached up to grab her face, bringing her lips to yours.

Her lips chased yours when you pulled away. Hissing as you grabbed your side again. "Shit, do i need to change your bandages?" She got up, already heading for the cabinets.

You were usually the one to dress her wounds, not the other way around. "Aww, you bandaged me up?" You cooed.

"Shut up"

#arcane #lesbian #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #sevika arcane x reader #wlw #arcane netflix #arcane s 2 #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane season two

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modedelagauze · 23 days ago

Text

Lying is The Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

pairing: Ellie Williams x f!reader summary: Ellie finds out you do burlesque and fucks you in costume after the show. cw: nsfw, dom!Ellie, thigh riding, praise kink, cursing, strap, fingering (4.2k) Read the extended version on AO3 HERE

an: I've got serious p!atd brain rot right now so stream Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off to get the full vision~

unedited btw!

“Five minutes!” shouted a voice over many, somewhat distorted by the echo of clicking heels rapidly shuffling between the narrow corridors of the dressing rooms and storage closets sandwiched among one another downstairs. You took a moment to reapply a thick layer of the blood colored bullet in your fingers and puckering to place a kiss on the surface of a half boa covered mirror as a way of wishing good luck to yourself before the show. You were one of the only cabaret girls who actually sang at the club and the only girl to have ever sang for Ellie Williams personally. At the beginning of the semester you’d often spend late afternoons alone and enclosed within the padded walls of the black box theater, on campus, practicing. You were blissfully unaware of the fact that there was someone else who was also using the space on occasion, probably for the better. It only was two weeks into the term that you’d stayed later than usual singing–ten minutes at most–and been disturbed by the nervous brunette carrying a guitar. To avoid drawing attention, Ellie had always entered the theater through its reliably unlocked back doors only to be gifted with the sound of your voice. Entranced by the melody, she decided to wait behind the curtains, standing just far enough for a view of your form without being noticed. It was only when you turned to take a swig of water that you became aware of the girl watching you. After that encounter she suggested that the two of you spend some time singing together, that you could learn a thing or two from each other. You ended up learning how magical her fingers could feel buried deep within that aching cunt of yours. With time, of course, she’d gone and destroyed what the two of you had built by indecisively bouncing back and forth between you and some girl back home. So, here you were ignoring her third call of the week and at the same time hoping to see her in passing just for one moment of spite.

On the stairs down from the dressing room, you practiced breathing exercises in preparation for the upcoming vocal stress. Girls called out wishes of support as you made your way down the long hall until their voices faded into the hushed whispers of patrons and the sharp clanging of glasses upon their wooden tables. It felt as though time had sped up tenfold how a wire was so quickly slid behind your ears and down your costume; a small flesh colored earpiece rushed into your right palm to be placed comfortably at your own will. Right at center stage was the band’s pianist, side facing the curtains, whilst the rest of the group were all tucked along the left side of the stage facing the audience. He passed along a supportive nod in your direction as you rushed into position; that being sat atop the far right side of his piano with an arched back and one thigh flush against the wood while the other was kicked up and bent.

“Thirty seconds till curtains rise,” ushered one of the techies and thus began the pianist, a playful and upbeat tempo before joined by the bass then guitars. The crowd cheered, queueing everyone behind the curtains that the two dancers upon the stage beyond had begun dancing along to the music. Slowly the velvet draping began to reveal light, decorating everyone behind the curtains too in ribbons of dancing radiance.

In synchronization with the drums having now kicked in and the curtains fully raised, you began in a teasing tone, “Is it still me that makes you sweat?” Your hands navigated down your hair and to your breasts, stopping to cup them ever so slightly before tauntingly sliding a single bra strap down between the lines, “am I who you think about in bed when the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you’re sliding off her dress?” An o-shaped expression of faux-embarrassment graced your face for a moment before gliding off of the piano and maneuvering around it to wrap your arms around the pianist in an attempt to imitate the look of a neck kiss. The next line was one of mockery, “Think of what you did and how I hope to god she was worth it.” As the final words of the phrase escaped your lips, your eyes landed on Ellie sandwiched within the crowd along the center stage, earning a stutter only recognized by the pianist as his eyes quickly darted to you and back to his instrument of choice. “When the lights are dim–And your heart is racing as your fingers touch her skin.” The line was rushed in order to catch up with your stutter, though the pianist threw in an additional key to make up for it, smiling as he played. In one fluid motion the two dancers along stage, darted to your figure and tugged on either side at both arms. You sang with pure confidence, borderline arrogance “I’ve got more wit” as one dancer dropped your arm the other spun you into hers and ran a hand along your face, thumbing at your flush bottom lip “a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck than any girl you’d ever meet.” Your song choice for the night had been a very carefully curated one though you weren't expecting to see Ellie any time soon–especially at your place of work out of all locations–it felt so good to sing your emotions out and leave them on the stage, but seeing her just now had felt like the greatest fuck you that the universe could offer. Had she even known that you’d be here or was it all by pure coincidence? Regardless, you'd come to the conclusion that now was no better a time than ever to remind her of the mistake she’d made. The other dancer’s hands found their way to your waist, unraveling you from the original’s hold and into her own. Both of your hands landed in your hair, teasingly pulling at it leading her to imitate the ghost of an open-mouthed moan, “Sweetie you had me.”

The routine required you to pick a random guest in the audience to sing to and Ellie had just so managed to pick one of the best seats in the house. Navigation was really quite effortless as you made sure to spend a lingering moment here and there singing into the face of occasional patrons. Each strum of the bass was a stride forward before unabashedly ending up at Ellie's table. You managed to dance around the other people sitting there and right into her face without wasting a beat. You asked and received and here she was in all her glory, a bewildered look upon her face as if she hadn't expected for you to make such a commotion about her appearance. You knew under that carefree attitude that she loved to portray there was still that same nervous girl tucked away within. It was as if she’d planned to show up in order to provoke you and realized that now was too late to back out. Usually she had no issue confronting any issue at hand but the problem was that she hated the attention confrontation brought her. She wanted your attention after having not seen you in so long and was desperate enough to risk embarrassment for it, which said more than enough.

Her gaze brought out a degree of seduction in you that had been fighting to finally be on the prowl again, tantalizing and enough for the girl in front of you to practically taste you with her eyes. You could see her fingernails hopelessly digging into the arm rests of her chair, respecting the club rules that patrons weren’t allowed to touch any of the performers unless they placed the hands of patrons upon their bodies themself.

A wicked smile was unavoidable as your hands grew to extend themselves past your own body and onto hers, delicately tiptoeing down her shoulder blades, scuffling the tips of your freshly manicured nails down the sides of her biceps. How you knew she loved the scratches; the way you would often leave her skin tinged red the following morning after a scandalous night. Maintaining eye contact was the name of the game for the entire duration of your little escapade. Naturally you already had the girl by an inch or two, but with the added height of heels you were a steel tower of carnality that she wished to rip apart. If anything she liked that you were taller because It made watching you sink down onto her strap all the more enjoyable. Seemingly the length of your legs created an illusion of prolonged time settling down upon her crude nature and she could watch you ride all night long.

You were sure to drag your claws along her jeans, pressing just hard enough for her to feel it through the fabric as your hands retracted down to her knees and you dropped to a close legged crouch looking up at her, running your hands across your own skin and through your hair, suspending it all in the air long enough for her to get a good glance at the exposed skin of your neck and hickeys from someone who wasn’t her. Slowly you stood again, rocking your hips back and forth as and circled her seat. She hadn't taken much of a sip from her drink and so from behind you snatched the floating cherry stem from its alcohol soaked entrapment. When you could see her eyes again, you reached to wrap your left hand around her jaw, forcing it open as you allowed the cherry to hover over your outstretched tongue then flicking it inside of her mouth. Of course she caught on and separated the cherry from its stem and you dropped what was left of it back into the drink. “Oh no, you know it will always just be me.”

From there you made your way back to the stage and concluded the set. Exiting the stage, you caught the view of a faint glow upon Ellie's face as was seemingly typing away furiously upon that screen. When you finally got to the dressing room your phone had lit up with a flurry of messages from the distressed brunette. The first about how beautiful you were, next demanding you keep your costume on, followed by how much she wanted to ruin your pretty makeup and finally concluding it all by asking if you could just come outside for a moment. And of course she got the better of you. Frankly you were turned on by how desperate she looked and sounded. Maybe you’d punished her for long enough? Washington got cold fast and by early November snowfall was impending so you grabbed your fleece and made for the back door where-to nobody’s surprise-Ellie was parked almost directly in front of the door whilst leaning against the passenger door waiting for you.

“It’s good to see you.” She spoke as she moved to open the door for you to get in.

With only inches between your lungs, you crossed your arms stopping dead in your tracks. “That’s not what you said to me Ellie. You asked me for a moment, not a damn joyride.”

The brunette rolled her eyes, now dropping her crossed arms to motion at the enormous building behind you. “Can you just listen to me for five minutes (†)?” she sighed loudly before continuing on in an almost pleading tone. “You just gave me a fucking amazing show and the place is obviously about to close. The least I can do is congratulate you on all this, because I haven't heard a lick from you in the last two weeks and suddenly you've become a damn good showgirl.”

Avoiding the situation, you sniffled at the bitter cold before gliding inside of her leather interior. “I’m freezing.”

She was quick to slam the door shut, mumbling something about you irritating her as she made her way back around to the driver’s side. Humming quietly, the speakers inside said what she refused to say aloud, “Why don't you show me a little bit of spine you’ve been saving for his mattress. I only want your sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me.” And of course you would've done just that, but it was only fair that you made the process difficult. Too many times had you easily given into her apologies within hours. Truthfully you missed her and the way she fucked you, but don’t get it twisted, it wasn’t that Abby hadn’t been easily laying you to rest when you couldn't see Ellie and vice versa, but why have only one pretty girl in your life when you could have two of them? It was pure and utter unapologetic greed.

As she had previously requested, you kept the same lingerie from earlier on; a pair of fishnet tights, low rising short shorts decorated by black sequins with a matching bustier so low cut that she was surprised it had not warranted one nip slip throughout the entire show. A plethora of golden cuffs spanned either of your biceps while a frilled garter belt adorned your left thigh and your hair, she couldn't even begin to speak on those perfect ringlets and how they framed your face, cascading down your shoulders into ink blotted waterfalls. The charm decorated braids placed sporadically around your head were always the cherry on top of it all because she loved how she could always hear you coming before she actually saw you; waiting like a dog with perked ears for a treat.

After her door was closed and locked you turned to face the girl, now ready to lay bare whatever needed to be said and done. “Well?” You taunted, sliding your feet from their heeled prisons and bringing your legs up to your chest to sit comfortably.

Ellie adjusted the gear before she moved to reach behind the head of your seat , reversing out of the parking lot. Her eyes darted over to you then back on the road, laughing dryly as she responded. “Please don’t play stupid with me (†). We both know why you’re in my car.”

You opened your mouth to speak then decided against it, staring out of the window with crossed arms when you responded. “How did you even find out where I work at Ellie?”

She laughed before placing a hand on your thigh, playfulling squeezing the tender tissue. “I knew that I only had to look for the most glamorous place around. Besides, Jessie really doesn’t like conflict.”

“And who the fuck are you, going around asking my friends about me Ellie?”

“He’s my friend too. I don’t understand why you have to be so damn difficult when you’re sitting barefoot in my car. I can’t think of any other reason you’d be undressing yourself already.” You’d been so busy pretending to be mad at her that you hadn’t realized that the car had just come to a stop in an empty parking lot, with only the faint illumination of a nearby lamppost to reveal the silhouette of her face in a warm wash of light.

Finally you decided to face her, “Maybe I’ve decided to change things up. I like hearing you whine, Ellie.” her gaze softened, eyebrows raised as a smirk played at the corner of her mouth fighting to reveal itself.

Ellie reoriented herself to lean on the center console, partially to close the space between the two of you and also to allow her eyes finally a better view, mentally undressing your figure in the process. “You’re so demanding (†).”

You leaned in, whispering a final retort before closing the gap. “I get off to being worshiped by you, Ellie.”

You could feel the girl smiling into the kiss as her fingers entrenched your curls, holding them tightly in a delicate cluster. After the two of you finally pulled apart a string of saliva had remained connecting you both until you’d moved far enough to break the thin bond. Her eyes were darker now, thinking of the ways she could mold you into whatever she wanted in this car. “Get in the backseat,” she demanded breathlessly. The girl then increased the volume of her music before she joined you back there, the next track being ‘Is It Really You’ from Loathe.

The two of you fought like swordsmen to control the encounter, Ellie forcing you into the cold glass of the window when she was the one kissing you and then switching to Ellie restrained with her head to the leather when you were the one kissing her. You sat straddling her lap, one leg folded up along her hip and the other fallen between the leg space separating the front and back seats. Your fingers threaded through her hair as an arm moved to gently squeeze your throat, locking you in place as the other reached around, palming your ass for a couple seconds before she snuck a finger around the ribbon holding your bustier together, tugging at the material. “So fuckin pretty,” she gasped between the dancing of your tongues. “Put your arms up.” You did as told with a careless disregard for the long process of getting that thing back on after all of this was over. You just wanted her all over you now.

Ellie was a mess as she watched the reveal of your breast falling free from the bustier, instantly taking a taunt bud into her mouth and tweaking the other in her fingers. You moaned at the shockwaves it sent echoing down your body straight to your pussy, but there were no breaks to this ride.

You didn’t even realize her fingers had already peeled back the crotch of your shorts when the sound of your fishnets ripping under her grasp brought you back down to reality. The air was cold against your clothed, sticky cunt as it begged for room to breathe. Her fingers began massaging small circles onto the inflamed pearl, already wet enough for it to stick to your panties. “All this dancing around the fuckin’ questions I ask you,” she laughed over your hushed moans before stopping to slap your desperate pussy. “Tryna pretend you didn't want this, but you’re so fucking wet already (†).”

You’d forgotten who you were under her hold. Somehow it had become so embarrassing to be as bratty as you were, deliberately pissing her off in order to earn a good fucking, sitting there with your eyes screwed up and a hand over your mouth, silencing the pornographic noises attempting to escape your throat over mere dry humping. “Come back to me baby; You don't get to run away.” she teased, resulting in an aggressive hickey pressed into the skin above your nipple. Another electrifying shock when she bit down and in that same moment sneaking her digits into your panties to now perform an inhumane assault on your pink parts. “I wanna hear you.” The vulgar brunette hummed.

“How many times did she make you cum?”

Your eyes threatened to shut closed again, nearing the verge of pleasure filled tears sliding down your perfectly powdered cheeks, “What baby?”

“Abby.” At this point she was starting to sound annoyed, picking up the pace.

Out squealed a voice that you hadn't known could even come from within, “I don't know.”

“Then we should start counting how many I can put you through.”

Just as you could see the horizon of your orgasm approaching she retracted her fingers from the sopping canal, earning an exasperated whine on your end. She took your jaw into her left hand, turning your face away from her as she drug her tongue down your skin, biting at it rougher than she normally was-like there was something to be proven. “You want me to fuck you real bad huh?” She gloated, hooking a finger around the seat of your undies and running her digits along your slit, collecting more than enough slick for it to run down her fingers and onto her palm “Yeah?” She continued, pushing two fingers into your hole without warning.

“Please,” was all that you could muster, grinding your hips onto her fingers for any sort of additional pressure. Almost there. Like clockwork she caught onto what you were attempting and stopped you dead in your tracks with her fingers having gone limp and the other hand holding your hips in place.

“Now, you know better than that.” She spoke imitating faux-empathy, “especially when we’re like this with each other.” Because normally after arguing the two of you fucked it out and at some point during the transaction someone apologized resulting in an orgasm for the other but for now this was world’s nastiest game of chicken. In passing moments, she began again, fingers curving directly into that spot that made you see stars in the night, a hand placed on your hips rocking them back and forth. “C’mon baby, fuck yourself for me.” And you damn sure rode her like it was nothing, eyebrows knit together as you focused your entire being on getting off. It didn't even take a whole minute for you to get there, and Ellie grinned at her handy work, but this was only the beginning. “One. That’s a good girl.” Your legs shook in reaction to her aggression and you attempted to stop her fingers from continuing on, wrapping your own around her steady wrist.

“Move your hands (†).” She ordered as your eyes began to water from the overstimulation.

“I can’t.” You pleaded in broken whimpers.

All she could do was laugh at you again, offering encouragement as if this was nothing to her. “You will. I need to hear that shit real loud on my dick.” Those words alone were enough to send you through another fiery orgasm. You swore your moans were loud enough to be heard beyond the entrapment of this car and Ellie liked pushing herself to see just how loud she could get you. “Two. It was that easy.”

Stiff fabric was good for hiding things just as she had until now, exposing the strap on that you had assumed to have been her phone in her pocket earlier. Ellie took you into her arms, rearranging the two of you where she was now the one on top and your head resting against the door’s storage compartment. “You ready baby?” she enquired, taking a minute to kiss your cheeks. You nodded, cunt throbbing for more as she watched it produce more of that thick hot arousal.

“You got the prettiest pussy in the world, (†).” She began, taking the plastic dick into her hand and tracing your slit, bewitched by the beautiful glass shine of your cum dripping down onto the leather seat as if an antiquated romantic painting. In that moment the guilt came flowing down her conscious for everything. Just wanted to make up for it by making you feel good. “Fuck, I can’t wait,” the girl whined, slowly pushing herself into you, feeling her own wetness completely entrenching her boxers and making its way for her thighs. The way your hair laid along the car interior, fanning out around you like a headdress made her melt, stopping to kiss you again before she began stroking slowly, making sure to allow you time to adjust to the feeling of fullness.

“More,” You pleaded, beginning the process of catching her rhythm in your hips.

“Yeah?” She answered, taking your thighs into her hands and sliding them over her shoulders, thrusting deeper for a couple of moments. “Feel good?” You struggled to formulate a coherent response and decided on simply nodding between moans. Ellie took this as a sign to make up for lost time, fucking into you with such force you were sure she could feel it on her own end, getting closer to finally cumming.

“Like that! Just like that!” ripped a scream from your lungs, satisfied with her rhythm having at last caught onto matching with her. She thought you were too fucking gorgeous of a girl that just looking at you had her loosing it, just seeing your expressions and the way your tits bounced so beautifully, revealing the stretch marks on their underside that she so loved to trace when the two of you laid in bed together; a live erotic portrait unable to be topped by even the masters themselves. Your arms locked around Ellie’s neck, taking her hostage in your grasp and moaning feverishly into the girl’s ears. Before one could get past your lips another would come, choking you on your own pleasure. “So fuckin good El’s.” If she was doing everything right then you wouldn’t have been able to speak, so she slipped an arm between your stomach and hers, pressing your abdomen down while the other arm kept you locked in place for her to use and abuse. You yelped, surprised by the added pressure, now feeling her deeper than before. Your hands loosed around her neck, digging into her back possibly even drawing blood.

“Take it, pretty girl.” she cooed, wanting everyone on the street to know her name and how good she made you feel. Didn’t matter how late into the night it was. It wasn't long until you came unraveled under her, your thighs clenching in anticipation for the coming waves of your climax. “Atta girl, I got you,” she whispered, continuing her dangerous pounding. A banshee would’ve been disturbed by the sound of you two. Of course Ellie always had to get the last laugh. “Three,” she sighed, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on her clammy forehead, bits of her fringe stuck adhered to the skin. "Forgive me?"

Would you guys be interesting in full length fic? I had lot of fun writing this. :p

Original Release: 11/7/24 Edit: 11/8/24

#the last of us #tlou #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #x reader #poc reader #black reader #ellie williams smut #with plot #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader

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caffeinewitchcraft · 6 months ago

Text

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home. You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

#my writing #short story #superheroes and villains #my superpowers

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janiehellion · 4 months ago

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Healing Touch

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: When Daryl Dixon is injured and stuck in bed, he’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of being pampered by the group. But you? You’re more than ready to take care of him—and show him just what it means to be a good boy. Think Daryl Dixon’s all rough and tough? Think again...

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HANDJOB / TEASING / EDGING / ORGASM DENIAL

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.033

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S2E05—ᴄʜᴜᴘᴀᴄᴀʙʀᴀ & S2E06—ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, the Georgia sun burning down on you as you walked over to Maggie and Glenn outside of the house on Hershel's farm.

Every so often, you'd look towards the cars where a few others in the group were working, trying to make the most of the now limited supplies you all had left at the moment.

"I got a lot of corn here," Maggie said, holding up a can. "Maybe we can make some soup tonight. What do you think?"

Glenn laughed, "Soup sounds fine, I think. As long as we don’t have to eat beans again. I think I’m starting to sprout beans myself."

"Hey Maggie," you shouted over to her. "How’s everything going so far? You two need any help?"

Maggie gave you a small, but rather distracted, smile. "It’s been a quiet run, so we’re okay. We just came back a few minutes ago with some new supplies."

You nodded. "That's good. Means we won't starve anytime soon. Hey, listen, I heard Daryl’s still inside the house. Do you know how he is feeling? I really hope he is feeling better. Everything that has happened, I just... I don't know. I still can't wrap my head around it."

"Well, dad took care of him, just like he did with Carl, so I wouldn't worry too much about his condition. And if it would've worsened, dad would've told Rick already, that's for sure. But what has happened to him out there, and then the bullet? I don't know him well enough, but I think that he’s too stubborn to admit he even needed help in the first place. And that ear necklace? I'm sorry, but that was beyond creepy."

You remembered… Daryl has been out there, trying to find Sophia again. Of course, it all had to go sideways. You didn't know the details exactly, but you remembered how he had dragged himself back to the farm, looking like he’d been through hell and back. Covered in dirt and blood, and barely conscious.

Then, just when things couldn’t get any worse, Andrea took a shot at him from the roof of the RV. She’d been told to hold off by Rick, Shane, and Dale, but she fired anyway, hitting Daryl in the head, with the bullet grazing his temple.

"I’ll check on him," you now said, putting the supplies aside again. "You're right, he's too stubborn to admit it, but he needs someone to make sure he’s not pushing himself too hard. And if he could, he'd already be out there again."

As you walked towards the farmhouse, you passed by Rick, who was busy organizing and looking through different maps. He looked up at you, giving you a nod. "Hey," he said, his voice sounding rather exhausted. "Are you going to check on Daryl? Or are you going to help Beth and Lori in the kitchen?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I’m going to make sure he’s okay. Daryl's been through hell while trying to find Sophia."

"Good idea. He’s definitely been through a lot, that's true. I mean, we all have. But just… be careful with him. You know how Daryl is."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know, Rick. That’s why I’m going to make sure he stays put and tied to the bed. Don't worry."

As you walked into the farmhouse, you could hear a voice coming from the kitchen, where Lori was preparing a meal with Beth together for Daryl and the rest of the group.

"Hello," Lori said and looked at you. "Are you going to see Daryl, or do you want to help us? Rick has been annoying me with me apparently needing help, even though Beth is helping me already."

You nodded, giving her a smile back. "Don't worry, Lori. I want to make sure Daryl's alright, you know, after everything that has happened lately."

She gave you a quick and thankful thumbs up before you continued heading to the room in which Daryl was in, but paused for a moment in front of the door, taking a deep breath. The thought of Daryl lying there, probably still hurt and so vulnerable, made your heart ache. He’d always been so strong, but seeing him in such a state was hard to imagine. And just as you were about to open the door, you heard a voice coming from the inside of the room.

You stopped, listening for a moment before pushing open the door to find Hershel standing by Daryl’s bedside.

"Evening, Hershel," you said as you entered the room, trying to keep your tone neutral despite the knot of nervousness in your stomach.

Hershel looked up, smiling at the sight of you. "Hey there, good to see you. I could use an extra pair of hands."

You moved closer to the bed, where Daryl lay, and Hershel continued, "Daryl’s been in and out of consciousness yesterday most of the time, but I’m hopeful he’ll recover fast if he gets the rest he needs. And if you could help changing the rest of the bandages right now, that would be great."

You nodded, taking a closer look at Daryl. "Sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I know he can be stubborn, but he needs to take it easy eventually."

"That’s the spirit. I’ve done what I can for now. He’ll need the rest."

You were still looking at Daryl as Hershel took a few steps back, who now moved slightly at the sound of your voice. His eyes opened just a little bit, and he looked at you with confusion.

"Hey, tough guy," you said. "How are you holding up so far?"

"Just peachy, as always," he answered rather annoyed.

You couldn’t help but smile at his answer. He certainly sounded like the Daryl Dixon that you all knew so far. "Well, I’m here now, so you’d better let me take care of you."

Hershel gave you another nod before finally walking out of the room. "Good, I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, like more bandages, don’t hesitate to ask. We still got enough medical supplies left if needed."

"Thanks, Hershel," you replied, watching as he left the room.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the task ahead.

"What’re ya even doin’ here?" Daryl suddenly mumbled. "'M fine. Don’t need no babysittin’ bullshit. Ain't needin' ya 'round here either."

You gave him a smile, trying to hide how annoyed you already were with his usual behavior. "You’re obviously not fine, Daryl. You’ve been through a lot, and you know it. I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like trying to get up and do something you shouldn’t."

He grumbled in frustration, trying to turn away from you. "Yeah… whatever."

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. "Yeah... Too bad, huh? Because right now, that means letting me help you."

"Ain’t nothin’ you can do that Hershel didn’t already do," he mumbled again.

You set down the small medical kit Hershel had brought with him and pulled a chair closer to the bed. "Hershel did his part, sure, but it’s not just about the wounds. You need to rest and relax, and that’s where I come in. Also, taking off the old bandages and putting on new ones isn't that hard, but I doubt that you can do it yourself. And Hershel just left the room, so it's up to me now to change the rest of them. I don't care if you complain about it or not."

You then began to carefully take off the bandages from his side, where the crossbow bolt had pierced itself through. Daryl winced a little, but he didn’t complain so far, his pride keeping him quiet even though you could see how uncomfortable it was for him.

"You know, for someone who’s always acting so tough, you’re a real damn mess right now," you said, trying to break the ice with a bit of humor. "How’d you end up like that anyway? What even happened out there?"

Daryl smirked a bit to himself. "Ya think I’m gonna tell ya a story now? Hell, jus' get it over with."

You shook your head and laughed quietly, focusing on cleaning the wound first. "Hey, I'm not the one that looks like the wrong side of the bed became sentient and beat the ever-loving shit out of you. So you’re going to have to deal with me being the one to help you. It’s either that or I get someone else who’s less careful."

"Less careful?" Daryl asked, and he winced again as you applied antiseptic to the wound. "Sounds to me like yer enjoyin’ this."

You stopped for a moment and looked at him with a teasing smile. "You know what? Maybe I really am enjoying this. Or maybe I just want to make sure you’re not going to cause us any more trouble, even though we all appreciate what you did. Especially Carol."

"Ya think I need ya to look after me? I can handle myself jus' fine," he grumbled and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at you anymore.

You soon finished cleaning the wound and then continued with the fresh bandages. "Oh, I’m sure you can, Dixon. But that’s not even the point. The point is, you’re not in any shape to be running around and playing redneck cowboy."

Daryl moved slightly again, trying to get more comfortable. "Ain't in need to be told twice. Thank ya very much."

You stopped wrapping the bandage around him, waiting for him to get into a more comfortable position. "Stop it with the damn sarcasm, Daryl. For someone who’s always trying to play it cool, you’re really not doing a great job of hiding how much this is bothering you. You do realize that looking weak and needing help are two different things, right? You're far from being weak, and you've done much more for this group than you can probably imagine, even if you're doubting yourself and telling yourself that it's all bullshit in the end." You told him and then continued, putting on the final bandage. "But it's not. And right now, you need to let yourself be looked after, and you need to give us the chance to care about you. Even if it's only for once."

There was a moment of silence, and for a second he looked at you only to look away again, clearly struggling with giving you an honest answer about what he thinks.

You took a deep breath. "Alright, I’m done with the bandages. How about a quick check of your other injuries?"

Daryl nodded quickly, but you could see he was starting to relax a bit. "Yeah, fine. Jus'… make it quick, will ya? Ain't got no time for this bullshit."

You smiled and began checking his other wounds. "So, what’s your actual excuse for not telling us what has happened?"

"Ain't worth tellin’. Jus' 'nother day of me bein’ stupid," he grumbled back as an answer.

Soon enough, you finished checking his other wounds and stood up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Well, now that I’ve made sure you’re all patched up, try to get some rest. We’re all counting on you to be back on your feet soon; don't forget that."

He snorted. "Yeah, sure. I’ll try to stay outta trouble while bein' tied to this damn bed."

You smiled and began to pack up the antiseptic and unused bandages, putting them back into the small medical kit. "That’s all I ask for. Get some sleep, Daryl. You know you need it. Something to eat will be ready soon."

As you put away the last of the bandages, you noticed how tense Daryl seemed to be. So you decided to take an extra moment to help him relax, thinking how a little extra care couldn’t hurt.

Your fingers soon massaged his side as you sat down once more, careful not to touch the wound. It was meant to ease the tense muscles around it a bit, but as your hands moved over his skin, you felt that he seemed to react differently when he gasped slightly.

"Ya really don’t have to," he started, but he stopped talking as you continued, your touch slow and feeling soothing.

You looked up, now looking into his eyes. "Why not? You’re all tense. And it’s not just about the injuries; your whole body’s been through a lot. A little extra care might help. There's nothing wrong with it."

He grunted, trying to remain tough, but his breathing grew heavier, betraying his growing discomfort, and you noticed how his body responded to your touch—a reaction he was clearly trying to hide.

His cock began to harden under the sheets. The outline of it was becoming more pronounced, and you could see the rise of the sheets with each breath he took.

You tried to ignore the current awkwardness of the situation, but it was impossible not to notice, and even more impossible not to look at it. Your fingers stopped, and you hesitated momentarily before continuing to massage his side, with Daryl’s eyes squeezed shut and another groan escaping his lips.

"Ugh... Daryl?" You asked quietly, your voice full of curiosity as you realized what was happening. "Are you… okay?"

He opened his eyes and turned his head away from you. "Yeah, jus', jus' let it be. Shit, jus' stop!"

But you couldn’t ignore the evident hardening beneath the sheets anymore. As you moved slightly in your seat to get a little bit closer to him, your hand accidentally brushed against his cock, and Daryl’s reaction was immediate—he sucked in a breath, his body tensing even more.

"Ain’t needin’ ya to… to be all handsy now, goddamn it!" Daryl's voice was trembling, his body shaking a bit, and his muscles straining, even as you didn't continue to massage him. But the sudden power you had over him was intoxicating, and you decided to take your chance and act on it.

You reached down and carefully pulled back the sheets covering his lower body. Daryl’s breathing hitched as you exposed him, and his cock was already hard, pushing against his pants. You could see it clearly now, the visible outline of it.

You smirked at him as you pulled the waistband of his pants down, just enough to pull his cock out and free it from his underwear.

As you pulled it out, Daryl's eyes widened as he watched you handle him. There was no need for words; the look on his face said it all. He felt vulnerable.

You gave him a smile, your hand now wrapped around his throbbing cock. "You look like you're about to lose it, Dixon."

He glared back at you, but there was no real anger in his eyes. "Ain’t fair, ya know…"

You leaned in close to him, your lips touching his ear. "Well, who said life was fair?" Your hand started to move, giving his cock a slow, torturous stroke that had him groaning. "But maybe… if you ask nicely…"

"God… Please," he groaned again, but it was clear he wasn’t used to begging, yet the desperation in his voice was there beyond doubt.

"Good boy," you murmured, and you could see how his eyes slowly closed as he gave in to your touch and words.

You soon picked up the pace, your hand moving faster, his hips bucking into your hand. "Shit, jus' like that," he moaned, his eyes squeezing shut even more tightly.

Fuck… How he wanted it. Your hand working his cock, making him forget about everything that has happened…

You could tell he was close already. His cock twitched in your hand, and the quiet sounds he was making were turning more desperate. "Please," he gasped again. "I… I can’t..."

"Oh? Already, huh?" You teased him, your thumb brushing over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-cum over it that had gathered there.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him. "Do you like this?" You teased him further.

"Yeah, jus' like that…" He panted, his body trembling. "Please... I need ya to touch me more. Can't fuckin' take it..."

"Touch you where, Daryl? Use your words. Be a good boy and tell me exactly what you want."

"My damn dick... please, jus' touch it." You immediately switched your pace back to pump him slowly again, and each stroke of your hand made him shiver, his moans growing a little louder with every touch.

His hips bucked involuntarily, but you kept your rhythm controlled, never speeding up, not letting him get the orgasm he wanted so desperately.

"I thought you were a tough guy. But look at you—so damn needy already. Come on, Daryl," you mumbled. "You’re not done yet. Not until I say so."

He whimpered, trying to thrust into your hand, but you stopped him, keeping him on edge.

"Fuck, please…" He groaned in frustration. "Don’t stop… jus' fuckin' finish me off already!"

You laughed, your grip tightening just enough to torture him a little more. "And why would I do that? You need to learn so much more about patience."

With each stroke, you used different pressure and speed, sometimes going slower just when he thought he was about to finally cum. The feeling was almost unbearable for Daryl, and you could see it in the way his muscles tensed and relaxed again and again, his breathing only coming out in gasps.

"How does it feel, Daryl? Being held on the edge like this?" You asked, looking over at the door to listen if somebody was coming closer.

"Shit, feels so damn good…" He gasped, his voice strained. "I jus' need… I need to… Fuck!"

You smiled, leaning closer to him once more when you were sure that you'd be left alone. "Not yet, tough guy. I want to see just how much you can take."

You continued your teasing, your strokes slow and torturous. "You can take it. I know you can. You want it, don’t you? You want to make me finish you so badly, but you’re going to have to earn it," you whispered.

Daryl could only nod. "Please… Hell, I can't take much more!"

He couldn't take it anymore. The teasing—it was all too much. He wanted to cum. And he needed you to make him cum. Hell, he loved it. Your hand pumping his cock, teasing him, making him groan with need. The way you toyed with him, bringing him so close only to pull back? Shit, he was losing it… And the way your fingers wrapped around his cock, jerking it just right… It was driving him insane.

You simply grinned, feeling excited because of the power you held over him. "But that's good. Because I want you to remember this. Remember how much you wanted it and how much I made you wait."

His eyes were still squeezed shut, his fists clenched at his sides as he fought against the urge to give in.

With that, you continued to edge him, every touch, every stroke keeping him on the brink, pushing him to the limit of his own control.

And the feeling of sliding your hand back and forth along his thick shaft, the way he groaned and moaned quietly, trying to keep himself quiet just for you—it was everything you wanted...

"Fuck, please," he moaned again, his voice now breaking slightly.

His cock was pulsing in your hand and still leaking pre-cum, and you knew this was the moment he might not be able to hold back any longer. And just when he was about to finally stumble over the edge, you stopped pumping him completely, pulling your hand away from his throbbing cock.

Daryl’s eyes flew open in shock, anger, and need. "What the fuck?" He growled, his voice hoarse. "Why’d ya stop?"

You leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Because I wanted to see you beg for it, Daryl. And you’re not quite there yet."

He glared at you in need, his cheeks red, and sweat started to form on his body. "Ya can’t jus' leave me like this! Please!"

"Oh, but I can," you answered with a smirk. "And I will. Unless you really beg for it."

Daryl closed his mouth, and you could see the muscles in his jaw twitching around as he gritted his teeth, his pride and ego fighting with his desperate need. Finally, he let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow.

"Please, please, let me cum," he whispered and finally started to beg and whimper a little more. "Please! I can't take it anymore. Please…"

God... How much he needed you. Desperately. Your hands, your touch, everything about the way you teased and pumped him, the way you handled him… It was like you knew exactly what he wanted and what he needed, and you were giving it to him for free, if only he would beg for it...

You smiled, satisfied with his response. "That’s better. Now, let’s see how much more you can take."

You went back to your teasing, your hand moving slowly over his cock, feeling him twitch and pulse again with every touch. His moans grew a little louder, even more desperate, as you brought him to the edge again and again, only to stop just before he could finally cum.

By the time you finally decided to give him what he needed, Daryl was nothing more than a trembling and pleading mess, his hips bucking toward you again and again, his eyes now looking desperatly at you.

"Fuck, you’re such a good boy, Daryl," you whispered quietly. "Look at you, trying to keep quiet for me, trying to hold back so hard. Taking it like you should… Don't stop looking at me."

You sped up, your movements rough and fast, giving him no time to adjust to the now quick pace. His body was shaking, and you could feel he was more than ready to snap.

"Yeah, you want to cum so bad, don’t you?" You teased. "Go on, Daryl. Cum for me. Show me how much you need it. How much you want it."

With a choked groan, Daryl's body tensed. His orgasm hit him hard, his cock pulsing in your grip as he came all over your hand. You kept pumping him through it, milking every last drop out of him.

"Oh, you really are a good boy, aren't you?" You mumbled. "Let it all out. You did so well for me."

He collapsed back against the bed, completely spent and exhausted, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

You reached for a towel next to the small medical kit, wiping your hand and cleaning up carefully, making sure not to leave any evidence of what had just happened behind, before you looked down at Daryl, a wide smile on your face.

"Fuck," he panted. "That was… fuck..."

"Told you I’d take care of you," you answered him, giving him a wink.

He opened his eyes, looking at you quite exhausted. "Yeah, ya did…"

He didn’t protest as you cleaned him up; he just watched and stared at you with those intense blue eyes, still catching his breath with his mouth slightly open.

"There," you said, as you were finishing everything up. "All cleaned up again."

Daryl didn’t say anything for now, just giving you a small and a little ashamed nod as you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his sweaty face.

"Get some rest now, tough guy," you whispered, pulling back and standing up. "You’re gonna need it. Remember: Be a good boy for me."

"Yeah… I... I..." He grunted in response, unable to even finish his thoughts after hearing your words, which were still making his head spin.

You simply smirked, heading towards the door. "Anytime, Daryl. Anytime."

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied as well. Daryl Dixon might be tough as hell, but in that moment, he was completely and totally yours.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

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nanqmies · 27 days ago

Text

Dainty | Boothill

cw: really bad southern slang, slight bondage, overstimulation, facial, he eats you out, praise, creampie, exhibition cause you’re outside, consent isn’t verbally stated but it is consensual, hitting it raw, biting + marking, oral, brat taming, porn with plot and i think thats all?

wc: 2.5k

a/n: i finally have motivation again.. it took months but my brain is flowing with ideas!!!! please enjoy my work!~

nsfw under the cut~

God-fucking-dammit. One second you're relaxing in the comfort of your penthouse, gazing out the window as music lowly plays in the background. The next your mother is kicking you out the house for a "wake up call" throwing a bag of necessities out next to you on the street, calling you spoilt and ungrateful for not appreciating the things she and your father have done for you. Sending you out to this dirty old countryside with no buildings, no people, and no service for miles! Seriously? She must be crazy! What about college? Your friends?? Even your butler bids you goodbye when dropping you at some stupid rusted bench in the middle of nowhere. Powering your phone on and raising it high in the air, desperately trying to get some bars to call an uber, groaning in annoyance when your phone overheats and shuts down.

How long has it been since you got here? Sweat coats your forehead causing your hair to stick uncomfortably to your skin, begrudgingly dragging your luggage behind you. Your mouth is dry from dehydration, stomach rumbling for a crumb of food on your plate. It feels like you've been walking along this dirt path for a lifetime. Fortunately your efforts have paid off, finding a small inn, the first building in the miles of grassy fields and farmland. Maybe god truly was on your side! Moving your aching legs to the double doors of the inn, pushing it open and begging the owner for a room to stay. Digging through your wallet and slamming a few hundreds on the front desk, the man behind counts the crinkled bills and leads you to through the halls. Unlocking the last uninhabited room with the key to reveal the ratty and unkempt space, the dim lamp flickering on and off, unexplainable stains on the sheets of the bed with musty smell emitting from the room.

Your nose crinkles in disgust, there... there's no way this room is $200 a night... Glance over the owner, you notice the gold tooth in his mouth shimmering while he grins,, as if he expects you to sleep in some dingy place like this?? You turn around and rush out the doors as quickly as possible, there's absolutely no way in hell you're sleeping in that room... Speeding out on the dirt road and falling to your knees, stress, exhaustion and hunger overwhelms your body. How could you possibly survive in a horrid place like this? No butlers, no phone, no air conditioning, this has to be abuse right?! Laughing hysterically at the absurdity of your situation.

You don't know how long you’re sat there until the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts, looking up you see him. A tall man with slightly tanned skin, long white hair adorned with black accents, covered by a dark gray cowboy hat. He wore a cropped jacket with a scarf hanging down the back with tight black slacks that flared out at the ends. A belt around his waist with a holster and a stack of bullets on the hips

"Ain't yer ma' tell you it's rude to ignore someone when they're talkin' to ya?" the strong southern accent snaps you back to reality, brows furrowing at the man when you shakily stand on your sore.. sore feet.

"What's some city boy doing round ere' this time of day.?" The man persists in his questioning, an annoyed look plays on your face. "I was kicked out, sent away, whatever you'd prefer to call it. For some stupid wake up call." -"| see.. kicked out by yer folks? Nowhere to stay?" His brow rises in curiosity, how amusing.. Some spoilt city boy hauling his luggage around like some sort of idiot, it was painfully obvious to him that you weren't from these parts.. You stomp your foot in annoyance trying to power your phone on but alas it stays black, the screen hot to the touch.

"Ugh! Can my butler just pick me up! The only place to stay is that damned inn." Before you're able to complain you're interrupted by a loud laugh, the cowboy wiping his eye with a chuckle, revealing his sharp toothed smile.

"Aren't you cute.. Ain't no butlers round ere' to save you dainty boy." His words immediately ticked you off, crossing your arms over your chest with a glare. Is he really laughing at your expense? "Dainty boy? Is that supposed to be a joke?" You were now clearly irritated, raising a brow at his laughter, he smiles and tilts his hat down. "Just an observation sweetheart." clearing his throat to try and calm his chuckles. "Tch.. You think you're better than me cause you're from the countryside?" You lean on your luggage for support, you were already exhausted from the scorching heat and long journey his annoying attitude wasn't making it any better. Snickering a bit he decides to indulge in your bad mood a bit more..

"Better than you? Course not.." he takes a step towards you.

"Fancy little electronics and butlers.. so fudging clean and proper.. Ain't never gotten dirty in yer life.." he takes his last step directly in front of you. Leaned over to your shorter height, casting a shadow over you. You swallow thickly, sensing danger in those dark eyes of his. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself composed, the close proximity making it difficult.

"And what's wrong with being clean and proper huh?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady, "Who wants to be sweaty and dirty like you?" challenging his tone. You expect him to back off but he does the opposite, laughing lowly at you. A raspy one at that. Tilting his hat down and running his tongue over his cracked lips..

"Ain't that right.. Boys like you are my favorite."

You can't even question what he meant by that statement because he stands to his full height and glances over at you, immediately asking another question.

"Anywho.. You got nowhere to stay right?" You're caught off guard but nod reluctantly, "I don't.. but I'm sure your place isn't any better than that dirty old inn." Responding with a scoff, his eyes narrow slightly, a twitch in his smile that's barely noticeable. Scoffing, he drags you along to his horse, helping you get on as it rides through the fields with long gallops. You hold onto his waist, terrified to fall off the moving creature. On the way to his farm he shares his name.. Boothill he tells you, telling him your own in return. Conversation flies by easy with Boothill, listening to you complain about your parents and the boring countryside they left you in. Only answering with a nod or a hum, as easy as the conversation flows by you can't help but feel a bit uneasy around him. Not mentioning family or friends or anything about his personal life, barely knowing a lick about him while he knows your life story.

After about an hour the horse stops at the large farm buildings, a stable for horses and a small batch of chickens and a few cows grazing in the fields. It's oddly.. nice? You trip slightly off the horse, looking at the perimeter of the place. Boothill leads you into his farmhouse, a comforting look you didn't expect. Warm and nicely decorated, cinnamon candles burning a pleasant scent around the house. Grinning at your awed expression, "Is it old and dirty like that inn?" He taunts you, a cocky tone in his words. Sighing in defeat you shake your head no and roll your eyes. Like the gentleman he is he brings your luggage upstairs, touring the house. Boothill nudges the door of the guest bedroom open, dropping your belongings on the bed. And lord he was right,, it was so much better than that stupid inn! Relishing in the feeling of soft sheets under you, Boothill grins once more at the sight.

"Well now.. better rest yer aching bones.. cause tomorrow.. yer working for me." Immediately you shoot up from bed, confusion clear on your face.. WORK? What does he mean work?? He can tell by your expression that you're awfully surprised. "Hm? You didn't think i'd let you stay for free didya?" He wishes you goodnight but not before mentioning you'll "need it' for tomorrow.. Whatever that means..

Waking up with breakfast isn't what you expected, wearing a pair of thin jean shorts and a tank top. Boothill looks over his shoulder when you finally awaken, "Ah.. Rise n shine sleepin' beauty.." he hums cooking, flipping the pancake in the pan. You sit at the table and wait for him to finish breakfast, looking around for a while. He ends up breaking the silence with an odd ask, "Do you like rope city boy?" You were rather confused by this, eyebrows furrowed. "Rope..? Why do you ask?" The kitchen falls quiet for a few long seconds, "Just askin’.."

After breakfast you're led outside, he tells you the tasks you're assigned with:

Feed the animals

Plant and water the crops

Time passes with the tasks you're forced to complete, he's sick of moans and complaints about the hot weather, the sun being too bright and the work being too hard. Boothill feels throbbing i n his temple, jesus you're annoying. Bratty, loud and ungrateful. Has nobody shown you anything about respect? Clearly he'd have to be the one to smack some manners into you..

"God.. always complaining about something huh." Boothill mumbles as he ties the coarse rope over your thighs, keeping them tightly together. Moving up to do the same with your wrists. He watches with a sharp eye, you're sprawled out underneath him in the grass unable to squirm away from his grasp. "I 'ought to force the brat outta'ya myself." Boothill bends you over and forces your head into the grass, yanking down the flimsy fabric of those shorts of yours down to your thighs. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight, completely bare underneath such thin shorts. * Easy Access * "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes darlin." gripping your hips tightly and spreading you open, impatiently kissing over your thighs..

Carnal desire burning inside his chest as his lips part eagerly to run his tongue over your tight rim, plunging his tongue in with such intensity it sent shivers down your spine. Tongue lapping down to your cock then back up, hand tightening around your throbbing shaft as he pulls the skin back to start stroking you. The euphoric sensation becoming overwhelming as he continues, it's so difficult to ignore the hot feeling of him prodding inside, spreading you open like never before. Hands clenching and writhing against the rope tightened over your delicate skin, pitiful mewls slipping through your lips.

"A-Ahn..! hmn~ don't! not there..-" A boyish yelp coming out when Boothill's hand struck down on the flesh of your ass. "Yer so goshdarn prissy.." he mumbles against your skin, fastening the pace of his hand on your dick. Unable to stop the way his tongue goes from running along the outside to fully thrusting his tongue inside. "Not letting a man finish his work.." he hums while you shake underneath him eyes rolling back when you finish, coating his hand in white. Murmuring in amusement not bothering to cover his laugh.

"Well color me surprised. ain't ever seen such an eager thing.." kissing up your back whilst he pulls your shirt off, forcing you down further into the grass. He unzips his slacks to free his hardened cock, spitting on his hand to lubricate his shaft. Lining himself up with your sex and slowly pushing in, teeth clenching when his cock stretches you open with a mix of pain and pleasure. "H-Hahh…. i-it won't-fuck.. fit..!"

Tears streaming down the apples of your cheeks, Boothill knits his fingers into your hair. Rocking his hips back and forth with a slow pace, getting you used to his large size. "Look at you.. whining all over me..ain't that sweet darlin!." he drawls into your ear, body on top of yours fucking into you. His pace quickening with his intense assault on your body, sharp teeth biting into his lips. Groaning loudly at the feeling of you squeezing him tightly, the sounds of your angelic cries of pleasure echoing in his ears. "Hnng..! I-Its ah.. s-so good.. jesus.." mumbling incoherently when your hips move against him for more, a creamy ring of white circling the base of his cock. "Ah.. hmn.. god..! Yer squeezin' me like a virgin." he sinks his sharp teeth into your shoulder blade, causing the skin to break and bleed.

Trying to hold on to anything but to no prevail, arms tied behind your back. "Cause. am a virgin~!" Slurred words constantly fall from your mouth, Boothill only put haste in his thrust, desperate to fuck the attitude outta you and make you his. "Hm..? Must be why yer so gosh darn sensitive... haven't even started yet." Suddenly you're pulled up, back against his chest. The warmth, the closeness overwhelming your senses.. The full feeling of his girth tearing you open to places your measly fingers could only imagine reaching. Maybe he should be more gentle with a dainty thing like you, roughing you up burns an insatiable fire inside him. Once perfectly smooth skin now bruised, bitten, marked and covered in rope burns. But who would he be not to test your limits? Folding you in half to rut his fat tip against your sweet spot, eyes rolling back to see the stars above.. How you beg him to slow down, be more gentle but your body saying the complete opposite, cumming time and time again, thin fluid splattered over your abdomen and chest..

"Absolutely ravishin'..." Boothill groaned into your ear. Pumping his next load inside, the excess of the last trickling down the base of his cock. You can take another can't you? Don't disappoint him, with all that snark and backtalk you must be able to back it up.. Boothill pulls out your warmth, watching his seed overflow and drip down your thighs. You groan and move your head up to look at him as he unties you, exhausted by the intense session. Sweat coating your skin and marks over your shoulders. "Now.. isn't it rude not to clean up the mess you made?" Leaning down and whispering into your ear, taking his hat off and placing it on you instead. You swallow thickly and shakily sit on your knees, enamored at the size of it compared to your hand. Just like he asked you kindly clean off the excess, using your hands for the parts your mouth cannot reach. As he grows close he pulls you off and strokes himself quickly, panting and groaning under his breath. "Yea.. look up at me.. just like that sweetheart." cooing at you, with a grunt he finishes over your face. A soft smile playing on his lips.

"Ain't that a sight for sore eyes.."

Boothill picks you up in his arms, holding you close to his chest, entering back into the farmhouse and kicking the door shut. You'll love your time here at his farm, he's sure you'll be back.

please do not translate, steal or repost my work.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

#boothill #hsr boothill #11.03.24 #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill x male reader #x male reader #bottom male reader #nanqmies #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #honkai #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #mlm ns/fw

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magicbystarlight · 13 days ago

Text

Tú Sabes

Summary: After inhaling a mysterious powder on a mission, your life is put on the line.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen, multiple partners, rough sex, cream pie, Plan B, tad bit of cockwarming, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, overstimulation (brief), they’re all head-over-heels in love with you. Minors DNI.

Dividers can found here.

A/N: Translations will be at the end. Please be aware they’re not always word-for-word translations, but meaning/vibes based. I’m like decently confident in my very basic Spanish here, but I’m not fluent. So if you see anything wrong, let me know.

“I told you not to come.”

Maybe you should have listened to Marc. If you had, you wouldn’t have been in that stupid warehouse looking for some stolen relic they had been hired to find. They didn’t need your help, not really, but you just had to go. And Steven couldn’t say no to you.

If you had listened to Marc, you wouldn’t have got caught in a gunfight. You wouldn’t have been next to some stupid ancient sealed jar set on a shelf. You wouldn’t have breathed in the strange yellow powder when it was hit by a stray bullet.

Getting out of that warehouse and back to Steven’s flat was a blur. It didn’t take long to start feeling the effects. The heat. Gods, the fucking heat.

“Could you not do the ‘I told you so’ speech right now?” you groaned, fanning yourself as you sat in front of the fan. “Wait until I’m dead at least.”

“Oye, that’s not very funny, is it?” Steven glared disapprovingly, a look you didn’t quite catch through your half lidded eyes. “We don’t even know what you inhaled! You very well could die!”

Sweat was beginning to drench your clothes. “It’d be a relief at this point.”

There was a huff you recognized as Marc’s.

You peeled yourself off the floor. “While you boys are busy being offended, I’m going to go stand under some cold water.”

They watched you walk towards the bathroom, averting their gaze as you began to pull off your shirt before you’d even made it. Neither of them could understand how you were so nonchalant. They were terrified. You had only been in their lives for a short period of time and they weren’t ready for that time to come to such an abrupt end.

A deep rumble of a laugh pulled the men from their shared worry. Their glares focused on the giant humanoid skeletal bird sitting on the bed who had finally decided to show up after they’d called to him a dozen times.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Marc growled.

“Mortals are so weak. A bit of copulation powder a few millennia past its expiration and they’re on the verge of death.”

“Expired what?”

Khonshu sighed. “Maybe Steven isn’t the idiot.” The god appeared next to the window, seemingly staring into the distance. “That powder was pollen from special lotus flowers Hathor bloomed for some fertility festival after a harsh plague. One whiff caused a rather long orgy in the palace.”

“So she inhaled some old horny dust? That’s it?” Steven relaxed. Better than anthrax.

“Yes, she should be perfectly fine after she gets it out of her system.”

Marc could have hugged the god. You would be fine. “Great, that’s great! How long should it take to run its course?”

“Oh, Marc you are the idiot, aren’t you? She needs to fuck someone for it to get out of her system. Otherwise she’ll die.”

Marc’s gaze locked on the bathroom door as Steven’s voice cried out, “No! There has to be something else. Can’t you, can’t you speak to Hathor? Get a remedy?”

“There is a remedy,” Khonshu stated. “Fucking.”

Steven met Marc’s gaze in the mirror. They had done this to you. If they’d just made you stay behind you wouldn’t be on the verge of death. Marc turned to glare at Khonshu. “You need to go speak with Hathor and find a cure. Now.”

“I’m not going to waste my—“

“Saving her life is not a waste,” Marc growled.

Khonshu bellowed, “It is a waste of my time.”

Marc’s hand curled into fists before Steven folded his arms across his chest. “Alright, you stupid pigeon, what do you want?”

There was a long silence that stretched as the god seemed to contemplate before his shoulders sagged. “I am sorry, Steven. But it would be a waste of time. There is no other cure. She needs to fornicate with another human or she will die.”

Steven continued to argue before his obscenities turned to pleas. He had to save you. He had to.

“He’s telling the truth,” Marc interrupted, stone faced. “He would have made a deal with us even if he thought there was the slightest chance he could save her."

"So that's it, then? We either let her die or we go in there," his finger jabbed towards the bathroom, "and force ourselves on her?"

Marc couldn't meet Steven's eyes in the mirror. "We'll give her that choice."

"It's not a choice! She can't make a choice under the influence of some millenia old sex pollen!"

Marc snapped his attention to the mirror, stepping closer. "So we just let her die?" He hated it as much as Steven did. More. If had put his foot down, kept you out of this life like he wanted, kept you at a distance, kept you safe...but he hadn't. This was his fault. He couldn't let you die. Not you.

“You should make a decision soon. If you won’t save her, a bullet would be kinder than letting her suffer.”

Steven spun on his heel, but the god was gone. Their gaze fell to the bathroom door. The water was still running.

"Pinches pendejos."

—

The water did little to help. The freezing water splattered over you as you slumped to the bottom of the tub. Your eyes squeezed shut. Everything hurt. You'd expected a bit of a fever, maybe an ache, but no. Body wracked with pain, every cell aflame, and a throbbing between your legs that had only been heightened when you'd let your fingers wander. Your head fell back against the edge of the bath.

A touch on your shoulder made your eyes flutter open. You barely suppressed a whimper. They kneeled beside the tub, face uncharacteristically impassive. Through the pain it was difficult to tell which of them it was. "I-it's not helping," you croaked, head lolling to the side. "I feel like I'm burning alive."

Fingers trailed up your neck, your thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the ache. "The dust you inhaled was an ancient aphrodisiac.”

Your mind struggled to process the words, too caught up in trying to place the accent. "Dust...aphrodisiac?"

"Khonshu confirmed it. Hathor made it from some flower," their voice dropped, eyes falling away from your face. "The only way to get the pollen out of your system is to fuck. Either that or die."

The world you’d found yourself sounded ludicrous. A year ago you’d never have believed some sort of sex pollen could exist. You’d just been on vacation in London when you’d turned down several wrong streets one night and accidently stumbled into a fight between a man dressed in a white suit and a few comically accurate bad guys in black masks. They’d thought they’d use your mishap to their benefit, trying to leverage your life for their swift escape. But unfortunately for them—and fortunately for you—they were men who didn’t see the benefit in wearing cups to protect their tender bits. Steven’s excited babbling about it after had Marc’s concerned outbursts in between feel like whiplash. But a magical suit change made Steven and Marc’s situation a tad less outlandish. If a whole pantheon of ancient gods existed and had avatars running around, sex pollen wasn’t out of the question.

Your body felt too weak to move, but your lips still twisted into a lopsided grin. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

"I'm giving you the option," they clarified.

You could have laughed if you weren't in pain. “What are my options, exactly? Sex or death?"

"Yes."

The bluntness wasn’t Marc's usual sort and the accent didn’t belong to Steven. Maybe it was just the pollen confusing you. Your head lulled to the other side, eyes closing again. The fingers climbed higher, palm cupping your cheek. Sex or death. What a terribly difficult question. "And you’ll do it?“

“Yes.”

Your hand covered his. "Okay."

The world shifted. Lifted from the tub with water still beating against the porcelain, he held you with ease. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you let out a relieved groan. The contact alone lessened the pain. “Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor,” he whispered with a kiss to your hair. His clothes grew damp as he carried you to the bed. Gently, he laid you down on the mattress.

Your hand fisted in the front of his shirt. "Who are you?"

His lips spread into a taut line. "You know who I am."

"You're not Marc and you're not Steven. They don’t speak Spanish." If sex pollen could exist, so could a third. Your hold relaxed. "So who are you?"

He was quiet for a moment before he responded. "Jake."

"Jake," you repeated, letting your hand press against his chest. "Are you here because they didn't want to?"

"They were stuck on the morality of it and taking too long to decide.” He took your wrist and pulled it to his lips. It’s the faintest of brushes across your skin, but it had you near breathless. “I’m not patient enough to wait for them to come to the same conclusion I already have.” His fingers trailed up your forearm. They continued to your shoulder and traced along your collarbone. When they brushed across the base of your neck you let out a choked whimper. He shushed you. "Yo sé, amor.” His hand curved around your neck and pulled you to him. His kiss fanned the flames, pain consumed by need. Lips rough, impatient, he drank in your desperate breaths like a man deprived of water. When he broke away, you chased after him. Fingers gripped his hair, tugging him back.

You wanted more.

Needed more.

Your nails scraped across his scalp, over his shoulders, down his back, and pulled at his shirt. It was discarded quickly. His lips moved to the side and traieled kisses along your jaw, nipping at the curve of your ear. You let out a soft cry when his teeth sunk into your neck. Hands wandered. Bites and scratches had you squirming beneath him, moaning for more. There was a moment where he pulled away and you nearly cried in frustration. But he was back quickly, pulling your legs apart and pushing the head of his cock into your soaked cunt.

He didn't start slow. Didn't take his time. You didn't want him to. His pace was punishing, fucking into you like it was his life on the line. Fingers dug into his shoulders, back arching off the mattress, cries and pleas pouring from your lips.

"That's it," he rasped.

Your hips rolled, meeting his thrusts, wanting more. He was relentless, biting and sucking along your neck and shoulders. Digging his fingers into your hips, he pulled them closer.

"Jake," you sobbed. It was almost too much. His pace quickened, the sound of his hips slapping against yours nearly drowned out your whines. It was too much. Your nails dug into his back as you came. He slowed but didn't stop, fucking you through the waves. Jake, Jake, Jake. His name became a prayer on your lips. As your body calmed he began to pull out.

But with the high fading the pain returned.

"Fuck," you hissed, eyes screwing shut.

The weight above you disappeared. "Amor?"

"Hurts," you ground out. Your hands fisted in the sheets, tears pooling at the edges of your eyes. It was unbearable. Worse than before. "Gods, it fucking hurts."

He cursed. Your eyes opened as the weight returned. His hands cradled your face. "Look at me," he ordered. You met his gaze, panting. "It was for some fertility festival so I think the only way for it to stop is if I finish in you."

"Finish." The word was foreign. The world spun. "Cum. You've got to come in me."

"Yes."

You swallowed. "Do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Please, please, please. Please. Fuck."

When he pushed inside, you sobbed with relief. The pain was ebbing again. But this time his pace was gentle, slower. One of his hands slid down to your waist. He guided your hips, pulling them higher. Your legs wrapped around his waist. It was too much and not enough. Your eyes shut, head turning to the side, and he growled, "Mírame."

Your eyes snapped open. His dark gaze burned, his thrusts becoming harder. The coil was beginning to tighten again, the heat building. You pled, cried, begged. More. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Please. Please please please.

He leaned down and bit the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you arch off the bed. Pain mixed with pleasure as he sucked the skin into his mouth, marking you. A strangled moan left his lips as he pulled away, watching you writhe. A pressure on your clit had stars sparking in your eyes. The coil snapped, a silent scream caught in your throat. He groaned your name, a deep, guttural sound that could have fueled a thousand climaxes. His hips stuttered and slowed. His cock pulsed.

When his arms began to tremble and his forehead fell against your shoulder, you let out a heavy breath. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as he collapsed.

"Fuck."

He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side and taking you with him. Arms curled around you. You buried your face in his chest, the warmth and the scent of him calming you.

"Fuck," he repeated, softer. "Are you okay?"

Your body was beginning to ache, but it was nothing like the agony of before. "Better."

"Bien. Muy bien." His hand began to rub soothing circles along your back.

You hummed, nuzzling against him. It was only a moment later that the exhaustion caught up. Your body began to grow heavy, mind shutting down. He said something, but you didn't hear. You were already drifting.

—

When you woke, it was slow. Eyes blinking, adjusting to the light, mind groggy.

"How are you feeling?"

Steven.

You let out a low hum. Sore maybe, but no real pain. "Better, I guess."

"Good."

"Where's—" You had to think for a moment. The name was fuzzy, but the accent came rushing back. "Jake?"

It's Marc's angry expression that crossed their face. "That's his name?"

"It's what he told me."

"Told you," Marc repeated.

"Before..."

Steven's brows knitted together, eyes flitting across your blanket covered body. "Did he hurt you?"

"What? No. Gods, no. He was..." You cleared your throat. Less was more. "He thought you were taking too long to decide and did what he thought he needed to."

Marc's jaw set. “We weren’t going to let you die.”

"We didn't want to force ourselves on you, but we'd have done it. To keep you alive. Only needed a minute to come to terms with it, ya know?" Steven's familiar doe eyes pleaded for understanding.

“I know,” you told him quickly, reaching to take his hand. "It's alright. I know."

"We would never, we'd rather die than—"

"I know." You squeezed his hand.

There was a long pause. You were content to watch their face shift. Marc and Steven were one and the same, but you could tell the difference. It was in the details. The way their brows furrowed, how they held their shoulders, the tilt of their chin. It was the little things that changed. Marc's thumb brushed along the back of your hand. "What was he like?"

For a moment you thought he was asking about what the sex had been like. The word amazing had been on the tip of your tongue before his real meaning came through. "Impatient. He spoke Spanish. And he knew me." Your head tilted. “Did you know he was there?”

“Figured there was another of us. Had a few blackouts neither of us could explain. The prick’s probably watching us now,” Marc huffed. “But he’s never tried to contact us before.” He holds up a piece of paper with very neat cursive curling across it. “Said to make sure to get you some Levonelle.”

“England's version of Plan B,” Steven answered your scrunched brows.

"Right, yeah. Cause he had to finish in me." You regretted letting that part slip out.

Marc's eyes darkened. "He...finished? Inside?"

"That fucker."

They got off the bed with a string of obscenities leaving their lips, letting your hand go.

"Wait, wait," you called as they began to make their way to the door. You followed them. "What are doing?"

"We're gonna go find the tallest building we can and jump off it."

"Marc!" It wouldn't kill them, but it'd hurt like hell.

"Oy, the bloke bloody deserves it! Taking advantage of you like that to get his rocks off!"

"He had to!" You took hold of their arm and they turned to you. "It didn't work otherwise. You know, fertitlty festival and whatnot."

It's Steven's wide, doe eyes making their way down your body that had you realizing you were still undressed. "And he had to do all that then?"

Marc reached for your shoulder, brushing over the skin. You flinched as he pushed against a particularly sore spot. "You said he didn't hurt you."

"He didn't."

"You're covered in bites and bruises.”

"He was trying to help."

"You've got fingerprints on your waist."

"He didn't hurt me," you assured, though your words were beginning to falter. The image of Jake, face contorted, lips parted, came rushing back. Your body warmed. "The opposite."

"I don't understand why he couldn't be a little gentler," Steven grumbled.

Marc's fingers brushed across another mark, a bite at the junction of your shoulder. "He wanted to mark his territory."

You pulled their hand away from the sore spot. "Why do you both keep focusing on this? He did what was needed. That's it."

"He took advantage of the situation."

"And he's been taking advantage for who knows how long!" Steven threw his arms in the air. "Who knows how many times he's taken over when we weren't even aware?"

Marc's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sure he was just doing what he thought was best," you tried.

"He's a bloody coward. Hiding away after he got what he wanted, leaving us to clean up his mess."

Your hands folded over your chest and you took a few steps back. Is that how they saw this? How they saw you? "I'm just a mess to clean up then?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Steven stammered, but you had already turned away.

You made a beeline for the bathroom, tears welling. A mess to clean up. A mess. A fucking mess. They didn't want you. They didn't. If they did, Jake wouldn't have had to take over. Your fingers curled around the knob, ready to shut it behind you.

The door didn't budge when you tugged.

"Estas siendo injusta."

You rounded on Jake. "I'm being unfair? They just called you a coward!"

The accusation didn't faze him. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the door. "He was right. I was a coward. I should have introduced myself to you a long time ago." He looked past you. "Lockley. Jake Lockley." You followed his gaze over your shoulder to the three paned mirror. All you saw was a reflection of yourself and him. But Steven and Marc would talk to each other like this sometimes. "You were wasting too much time debating the ethics." His eyes trailed back to you and you were once again reminded of how bare you were. "She didn't complain," Jake scoffed, shaking his head. There's a long moment of silence for you, but his face hinted there was a lot being said. When he finally spoke again, it was to growl at his reflection. "I was willing for her to hate me, hate all of us, if it meant she was alive. If either of you had the cojones to let her know about your feelings before, I wouldn't have had to step up."

You were missing a huge part of this conversation. An important part. "What—what feelings?"

His eyes flicked back to you. "Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes.” A single step forward was all it took to close the small distance between you. He held your neck with dark eyes boring into yours. "Maybe one day you can have them for me too.”

Your lips parted. Breathless, all you can say is, “Jake…”

“Un día.” His thumb brushed across the bite mark he’d left behind. "I’ll see you soon, amor. Be nice to them.”

There’s a shift in his face. A softening of features. “Steven?”

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean you were a—“

You pressed your lips against his. He stammered and stopped, body tensing. Your hands slid up his chest. He relaxed against you, trembling hands finding your bare hips and resting there. When the kiss broke, you smiled up at him. Doe eyes wide and cheeks flushed, a dopey grin broke across his face. Gods, he was so sweet. "I know."

His forehead pressed against yours. "Maybe this Jake bloke isn't that bad." His head turned to the side, back to the mirror. "You'll have to take that up with her yourself, mate. l've learned my lesson to shut up." A beat later he heaved a sigh.

You knew the change before Marc spoke by the way his hands steady. "We nearly got you killed today. Do you really want to entangle your life in ours even more?"

Your hand came to rest against his face, his eyes closing at the gentle affection. "I'd argue that entangling our lives more saved my life today."

"Baby, I'm serious."

"So am I."

He leaned into your touch. "You deserve better than us. Someone not fucked up."

"I want you. All of you." Your thumb traced his cheekbone. His eyes opened and studied your face. For the briefest of moments, a flicker of a smile ghosted his lips.

"Okay,” he whispered. Anything louder would have shattered the moment.

His kiss was so different from the others. Jake's had been starved. Steven's was awed. Marc's was worship. His arms cradled around you like you're the most precious thing they'd ever held. Your fingers found the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling there, tugging, drawing him closer. You swallowed his groan, tongue brushing along his bottom lip.He lifted you and encouraged your legs to wrap around him. With a few steps, he dropped to the couch. When his hips rolled, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare cunt, you pulled back, breathless. He watched, enraptured, as your eyes fell closed.

His mouth found the curve of your breast. You whined when his lips wrapped around your nipple. His tongue grazed the sensitive peak.

"Marc."

He hummed in response, the vibrations curling curling your toes. His hips moved again and he groaned against your skin. His hand found your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your head fell back with a low moan.

”You are so beautiful." He kissed across your chest, up your neck. Praises murmured into your skin, punctuated by kisses. Your hands tugged at his shirt and he lifted his arms to allow you to pull it off.

Nails raked down his back causing his breath to stutter, mouth falling open. You grinned, grinding down against him. "Baby," he breathed. His head fell to your shoulder. Hands on your waist, he let you move as you pleased.

"Marc." Your voice was soft.

"Hmm."

Your fingers trailed down his chest and over his stomach and grasped the button of his jeans. "Can I?" You could feel him beneath you, hard and straining against his jeans. He wanted this. You. But Marc denied himself his wants constantly.

After a few long moments, he nodded.

The button came undone and the zipper went down. He lifted his hips and pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out. You stared down at his thick cock, mouth watering. Technically you'd had it in you already, but it wasn't the same as seeing it.

Your fingers curled around him, giving him a few gentle strokes.

He moaned, hips stuttering. "Baby."

Your hand continued its slow pace, thumb swiping across the tip and smearing the precum gathered there. The pads of his fingers dug into your waist, jaw clenched, lips parted, and eyes screwed shut.

"Please, baby. I need you."

"Need me?"

"Yes."

"How do you need me?"

"I-I," he stammered.

You raised yourself just enough to line his cock at your entrance before slowly sinking back down. "Is this what you needed?" The stretch is agonizing bliss. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing, adjusting.

"Yes, yes."

You gave yourself a moment to adjust to the feeling before you started moving. But his arms wrapped around your waist and stilled you.

"Hold on, baby. Want to feel you for a minute."

A fond smile pulled at your mouth. Your hands found his hair, running your fingers through it. His lips met yours again and you melted against him. Gentle and tender, like he was savoring the taste.

"I love you," he breathed against your lips.

Breath caught in your throat, your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you," he repeated.

"Marc..."

"I don't expect you to say it back. I just needed you to know." His face dropped to your shoulder, hiding it from you. It's an awkward position, but he didn't seem to mind.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him. There was a long, quiet moment. His shoulders tense beneath your arms. "Marc?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Look at me."

With a sigh, his head lifted and turned. Watery eyes flitted between yours.

"I love you too," you whispered.

His mouth parted, brows knitting. "You don’t have to say that.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "But I want to."

"Really?"

Another kiss. "Really."

"I..."

"Shhh." Another kiss.

You began to rock your hips. He let out a low moan. "I love you," you said, pulling his bottom lip between yours. He swallowed the sound. His arms tightened around your waist, lifting you up and down his length. Your lips found his neck, sucking the skin into your mouth. His thrusts became more erratic, moans and groans turning to pants and gasps.

"Baby," he gasped. "I'm close."

His hand slipped between you, thumb brushing over your clit. Your walls tightened, the coil wound, and stars sparkled in your vision. With a cry, your walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper. Marc cursed. A few more erratic thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, crying your name.

He slumped back into the couch. You laid on top of him, both trying to catch your breath. "Are you alright?"

"Perfect," he sighed, kissing the top of your head. "You?"

"Better than perfect."

"Good. That's good." His thumb brushed along the curve of your waist, but halted. “No, no, don’t you dare—“

A shiver rolled through their body. “Oy, that’s sensitive,” Steven trilled, lifting you enough to slip out his spent cock. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, “Well no, actually, I’m not because he cut in line.”

You let out a huff of laughter. The two squabbled like brothers. Marc was probably equally as peeved.

"That is,” his arms loosened around you, “if you’re interested in my company?"

You pecked his lips. "I'd love it."

“Fantastic.” He stood, lifting you easily. ”Because I’m starved.”

Giggling, you said, “We can grab some takeout from the Chinese place by the pharmacy.”

He kissed your cheek. “Takeout? Sweetheart, I’ve got a whole feast right here.”

For the second time in—gods how many hours had it been? Was it even the same day? Didn’t matter. For the second time in however long it had been, you’re dropped on the bed. Less gently this time. He bounced on the mattress after you, eagerly throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving happily into the mess his predecessors had made. The groan he let out against your core was downright sinful. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging, as his tongue explored.

It’s…surprising how good he is. You’d expected him to be inexperienced. He had been in your fantasies. But Steven seemed particularly skilled at this part at least. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh. The tip of his tongue ran along your slit, dipping into your entrance and gathering the cum that had begun to leak. He hummed. "You taste delicious, sweetheart." His tongue swiped over the bud, sending a jolt through you.

"Steven."

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours.

"More."

A grin spread across his face. He lowered his head again, tongue tracing patterns. Your head fell back.

"I want to hear you," he murmured.

You didn't need the encouragement.

He began sucking on your clit, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth and humming. His fingers pried your lips apart and sunk into you. One, then two, pumping, curling.

"Fuck, fuck, Steven," you cried.

His tongue flicked your clit.

It's all too much. Your walls tightened, clamping around his fingers. You moaned his name, tugging at his hair. He kept moving, coaxing out an orgasm far too quickly for your overworked body. You shook beneath him, gasping for air. The high ebbed, but his ministrations did not. His fingers continued to pump, tongue continued its work.

"Steven, please," you plead, trying to push his head away

He lifted it, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. "I'm not done."

Your hand fell to his face, cupping his cheek. "Please, I can't. Not yet."

"Just a bit more, yeah?" His free hand slid up your waist, fingers caressing your chest. "I want to feel you fall apart one more time. Please?"

The pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

"Just keep making your pretty little noises for me, alright? Won’t take long." He didn’t wait for you to deny him, letting his tongue return to its previous endeavor.

He’d reversed your roles. Usually, he’d be the one who couldn’t deny you. Now you’re sure he could ask you for anything and you’d agree with your own dopey grin. The hand on his face moved to the sheets, clutching at the fabric. Fingers curled inside you, pressing against the spot that had you seeing stars. His mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking and licking and humming. Your back arched off the mattress, a silent scream stuck in your throat.

Stars.

Everything was stars.

His movements slowed, fingers and tongue working you through the waves. When the high faded, you could only manage a stuttered breath. He lifted his head. A proud smile had his eyes dancing. He seemed ridiculously proud of himself. He kissed his way up your body, pausing at every bruise or bite mark Jake had left behind. His fingers traced patterns over your stomach and up to your breasts. Whispered how good you were for him, how amazing, how perfect.

You expected to feel his cock prodding at your entrance, but all he did was curl against you with a content hum.

"You don't want...?"

He kissed your shoulder. "Later."

"Steven..."

"Later," he repeated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

You sighed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face in your hair, mumbling something about how good it smelled. You could hear his breathing growing heavy through the endless praises.

"Mind if I take a kip before we head out to the pharmacy?”

You kissed his hair. “Not at all, love. Sleep.”

Translations

Pinches pendejos. : Fucking idiots.

Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor : I know. I’ll take care of you, love.

Mírame : Look at me.

Bien. Muy bien. : Good. Very good.

Estas siendo injusta. : You’re being unfair.

Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes. : You know, love. You have them too.

Un día. : One day

#jake lockely x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight smut #oscar issac characters

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obliviouskara · 3 months ago

Text

Supergirl doesn’t huff. She doesn’t. She’s National City’s superhero, beloved and adorned. Has captivated the hearts of many, saving it tragedy after tragedy. Supergirl is indestructible, bullets bounce off of her, laser beams shoot out from her eyes. Her enemies tremble at the sight of her and yet here is she, huffing like a petulant child withheld her favorite candy all because Lena Luthor keeps ignoring her.

In Lena’s defense, she’s not ignoring ignoring her but she’s also like not giving her the time of day.

While all of National City’s — some would even argue including Metropolis, eyes are on her she can’t seem to capture a specific pair of exquisite emerald hues that belonged to a certain L-Corp CEO.

It doesn’t matter that she’s saved said tech genius multiple times now (not that she loves to dwell on the fact of just how many times she had to save her) but Supergirl always comes to her rescue. Always. Even more times than the media tabloids can count. So much so that there are rumors spreading, mostly from magazines wanting clickbait headlines. Headlines like how the resident superhero has been spotted carrying a certain CEO to safety way too many times.

People talk, tweet, whisper. Who wouldn’t? A Luthor and Super working together is a headline worthy to keep people talking. But no matter how hard Supergirl tries, nothing seems to be working. She can't catch her attention. At least not the kind of attention she secretly hopes to get out from her.

The CEO thanks Supergirl, as she always does. So polite yet begrudgingly reserved.

Supergirl earnestly tries to make sure to be her knight and shining amour and if from time to time she makes a show or flare about it, that’s her business. None of this garner any huge reaction from Lena though.

So, it makes her huff because she’s Supergirl. Although she would never admit it out loud, she does get a little thrill when people watch her in awe. She tries to hide the proud smirk when she successfully blows a house caught on fire with one breath. She doesn't even break a sweat.

If only Lena would look at her the same way.

But as fate might have it, the L-Corp CEO would simply give her a grateful smile and a practiced “thank you” and she’s off— goes on with her day as if she wasn’t just inches away from death.

Lena doesn’t bat an eye when the Kryptonian does her heroic stunts which some would argue is a bit over the top for someone who isn’t even of acquaintance to the CEO.

Supergirl’s touches are so soft, careful, reverent in such way when she rushes towards Lena’s safety like a scene straight out from a comic. This makes Sam, Lena’s friend and arguably only friend she allows to judge her to an extent— raise a few eyebrows.

So, the National City’s superhero pouts.

Pouting like a six-year told being told to go to bed earlier than she would have wanted. This inevitably pushes her to find ways to impress the green-eyed CEO who watches her with the most blank expression.

She’d even once sent her a wink when she punches a particular large alien straight to oblivion while staring directly at the CEO. Lena's reaction? Nothing. Didn't even crack a smile. She seemed almost unimpressed. Borderline bored. The only thing she receives is a smack in the head from Alex telling her to “stop being inappropriate while wearing the suit”.

Thankfully, Kara doesn’t have pout for long because while Lena barely gives Supergirl the time of day, she gets a completely 180 when she’s Kara Danvers.

For some reason, Lena smiles wider - brighter whenever she’s around the shy, fidgety, clumsy reporter. A CATCO reporter that Lena seems to be head over heels with.

Lena doesn’t even shy away showing how much she enjoys Kara’s company. It should embarrass Kara how much Lena unabashedly favors her in more ways than one but she’d be lying if she doesn’t admit how much she loves spending time with the her. The undivided attention is just a cherry on top.

While Lena barely makes conversation with the resident superhero, she has lunch dates with Kara. Movie dates. She filled her office with flowers as a thank you for the article she published describing about the new acquisition and owner of Luthor Corp now turned L-Corp even though Kara shyly explained that she was simply doing her job, all while the Kyrptonin simply gets a “that’s lucky” for saving her from almost plummeting to her death.

Kara doesn’t miss the slight change of expression on Lena’s face when the Supergirl nervously explained how she found out Lena was in danger.

Was that jealousy? That’s ridiculous! Why would Lena even care that Kara and Supergirl are friends?

But Kara, oblivious Kara only seem to see herself worthy of Lena Luthor when Kara is her alter ego. She feels more confident when she’s Supergirl than she is as Kara. She’s not really sure why. Probably because she feels she has more to offer compared to her reporter persona. Kara is just so…Kara. Simple. Flimsy. Boring.

Lena doesn’t deserve simple. How could someone be as amazing as Lena Luthor possibly find shy, nervous, boring reporter Kara Danvers interesting? She’s just being kind. That’s just how Lena is. Even though Lena literally bought a million-dollar company she knew absolutely nothing about all for Kara. An investment that left Sam completely speechless and Jess losing sleep for a week.

Kara convinces herself that Lena is just a good person and that’s one of the many things she loves about her best friend.

But it continues, and Lena falls for Kara even more. She falls for her perfect smiles the way her face lights up with each new random fact her brain comes up with, her silly jokes that Alex points out are not even that funny but Lena laughs the loudest if only to bring another smile on Kara’s face, their genuine conversations that has Lena opening parts of herself that she has never told anyone about maybe other than Sam and super platonic cuddling.

This makes Kara as Supergirl bolder. She becomes confident in expressing how she feels for Lena while she wears a cape. Lena isn’t the only one falling. So is Kara. Hard.

She falls for Lena’s genuine kindness; how smart Lena is and yet somehow, it’s like she doesn’t know how amazing she is. She falls for the CEO even when she’s wearing the suit that the lines between her and her superhero alter ego almost blurs. Almost.

So, she openly flirts without shame. For someone who’s supposed to be professional in her line of duty, she seems to make it a hobby to send a overtly flirty smile or wink towards the CEO. Supergirl lifts 10-ton trucks in front of Lena, intentionally flexing her biceps basically just to show off. To get the slightest reaction out of Lena but all she gets is a tight lip smile before Lena shoots Kara a text to have lunch.

And while Lena spends more time publicly with Kara, they barely get swarmed with paparazzi. I mean, who would find Lena having lunch with an unknown reporter interesting.? That’s not news worthy.

It’s not even gossip worthy.

But as soon as she’s standing close with Supergirl, their photos are front and center of every magazine cover.

It becomes a headline in a span of minutes, twitter loses their mind. They earn a little fan club even and Lena tries her best to ignore it.

Really, she does but it bothers her a little. Not for the reasons people might think. She finds every headline of her and Supergirl “dating” irritating if not annoying because that’s not exactly the blonde she wants her name to be associated with.

Sure, she and Kara are getting closer - Lena can feel it. A connection more than friends tethering their bond, an unspoken knowledge neither one of them brave enough to admit. Yet.

She ponders. Hopefully.

The nonstop rumors about her and Supergirl are starting to get on her nerves since last thing she wants is for Kara to get the wrong impression.

Lena considers what she and Kara have fragile. Delicate. Like the slightest turmoil would send it crashing. She can’t have that. Not if she can help it. She won’t allow rumors about her and a hero with an awful god complex ruin it.

She worries what Kara might think of her connection with Supergirl because there isn’t. It’s purely transactional. Business at best. They’re barely even friends.

She’s given the superhero the coldest shoulder she can whenever they’re in close proximity. It's probably not fair but she makes sure to keep a respectable distance between them. It doesn’t help however that the superhero seems to enjoy being close to her.

Hovering almost. It infuriates her even more.

So, she tries to hide it. It’s not the alien’s fault Lena has fallen for the reporter. It’s not Supergirl’s fault she has issues and is overprotective of her relationship with Kara.

Lena isn’t a fan however of the fact that Supergirl somehow is never shy to leave a comment of what she thinks about Lena. While Lena doubles her effort to make sure she doesn’t mention Supergirl in any of her interviews unless necessary, Supergirl is the complete total opposite.

She talks about Lena. A lot. Her projects, her advocacy (How did she even have the time to remember that? Lena’s only mentioned it once) and what she does for the community. It’s so hard to hate the superhero when she’s nothing but nice and supportive towards the scientist.

Almost like this unwavering and undying devotion which to her is a little dramatic since she doesn’t even think highly of herself at times.

Lena thinks, “Thanks but like, can you please just shut up about me for one second?!”

Apparently, Supergirl does and she praises Lena every chance she gets, every time a microphone is shoved towards her asking what she thinks of the L-Corp CEO.

Lena knows the media is doing it on purpose too and it’s fueling whatever rumors that are going on about them. And while she appreciates Superhero’s opinions and generous words, there is only one opinion that she really cares about.

She was mortified when she saw Kara staring at a photo of her with Supergirl, arms wrapped protective around her in one of the magazines on her desk (she’s sure Sam did it on purpose, she doesn’t remember ever getting a copy for herself), Lena immediately snatches it out from Kara’s hands, shoves it inside her drawer and starts rambling defensively preparing for a full-blown explanation to whatever possible questions were running through the reporter’s mind. Noticeably, Kara barely says a word.

Even as Kara stays silent, Lena still feels as though she needs to explain herself. She tells Kara nothing is going on, and she doesn’t see Supergirl that way at all. She shouldn’t be defensive when Kara has not made as much fuss about it but she can’t help it. Sweet, nice, understanding Kara Danvers just smiles and says “I don’t know. You two look good together”.

Now it’s Lena that freezes. She stands there, gob smacked and absolutely lost because what was that supposed to mean?

Does it bother her that Kara almost seemed okay with it? Does Kara think something is actually going on or she doesn’t think much of it? Did Lena expect a little bit jealousy? That’s insane and frankly quiet immature for her to hope to get a rise out of Kara. But Kara simply shrugged and started devouring their shared lunch.

It’s fine. Lena’s fine. She doesn’t care that Kara doesn’t care. This is good. This should be good. It doesn’t bother her at all. Or so she tells herself. Until it does.

Lena tried to casually prob the topic again. Tries her best to not sound too desperate. She thinks of the easiest way to brooch the topic without being conspicuous. With perfect timing, the TV flashes an image and it showed a picture of Supergirl clutching on Lena protectively from a blast, another poor attempt on her life.

Whether it’s because of Supergirl’s overprotectiveness or just her natural aura which was how the photo was taken, it came out beautiful. Stunning. Almost breath taking that you would think it was staged.

On top of that it’s also intimate. The way the superhero is holding her. Lena barely remembers being held by the super. She was too busy trying to not have a panic attack after just seconds away from an exploding bomb.

Lena held her breathe. Any minute now.

Lena had been glancing at Kara’s direction since the news started, waiting. The news anchor mentioned what everyone else was already thinking. How sweet they both look, that somehow, they manage to turn what supposedly should have been an image that would portray fear and anxiousness into something almost heartwarming. She waits, and waits until she breaks the silence herself.

“I can’t believe people actually assume I’m dating Supergirl.” Lena scoffs, forces a laugh as tries to be casual, as if her heart isn’t about to beat out of her chest wondering what Kara might be thinking.

“I wouldn’t blame them. You two make a great couple.”

Before Lena could even respond, Kara adds, “I mean, you and Supergirl? It’s Supergirl, Lena. Everyone wants her. Half of National City probably has a crush on her. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Kara finishes off, with a fond roll in her eyes as if to tell her it’s not a big deal. That it’s normal. She takes the remote out from Lena’s hands while she uses the other to shove popcorn in her mouth. Lena swears she could almost see a smirk forming Kara’s lips. As if she was smug about something.

But it wouldn’t make any sense. Also, why was Kara so fine with it? And why was Lena so annoyed that it didn’t bother Kara? They’ve been going out on dates but nothing about it were friendly. At least not to Lena. Was she reading things wrong? She knows she’s not.

Lena’s too smart to be reading into things. She has three PHDs for crying out loud. She can explain quantum physics in her sleep but this? Lena has never been so sure and so confused about something in her life.

It’s possible to assume what she has with Kara is simply friendship but it’s hard to deny that there’s something more. She feels it. In the way she lights up when Kara is around, when a single text from the reporter brightens up even her darkest days.Good morning and Good Night shouldn’t be causing butterflies to fly rampant in your stomach or make your chest ache with so much joy. But it does. It does for Kara.

“Not me though,” Lena finally says after finding her voice. She looks away, afraid that blue eyes can see beyond the facade she’s trying to keep up. “I don’t… I don’t see her that way.”

Kara pauses mid-way from ingulfing her popcorn. Lips purse as if she’s thinking hard about something. “Really?” Kara doesn’t even hide the surprise in her voice as she slowly turns to face Lena, popcorn temporarily forgotten. “Why not?” Why was Kara whining about this? Lena should be whining, not her.

“What do you mean, ‘Why not?’”

“I mean.. Why don’t you.. But she’s so.. — it’s Supergirl, Lena! She’s like the strongest woman ever! She’s a superhero and she’s so..” Kara blushes, as if trying to find the right words but also somehow struggling to let them out at the same time. This confuses Lena even more.

“She should totally be your type! She’s like everyone’s type!” Kara throws her hands trying to make a point.

Lena just stares at her. Unimpressed. Scrunching her nose, she turns her attention back to the screen changing the channel. “Well, she’s not.” The CEO deadpans and that was the end of it.

Lena tries to forget about that disaster of a movie night. She really does. She wills herself not to think about it. She tries pushing it at the back on her mind for two days until Lena reaches her limit.

She’s furious. How dare Kara Danvers just — push her away like she’s nothing. ‘She should be your type’ plays on her head nonstop almost mocking her and it makes her want to scream! How could someone be this —ugh.

That’s how Sam finds her. Pacing around her office like a mad woman on a mission rage written all over her face. She looks like a ticking time bomb just seconds from exploding.

“Looks like someone woke up at the wrong side of the bed this morning,” cautiously Sam approaches, like walking close to a wild animal. She makes sure to leave a respectable distance just in case.

“Unbelievable!” Lena starts her rant, her hands balled into a fist. “I can’t believe out of all people she thinks Supergirl is perfect for me.”

“I mean she’s not—”

“Samantha Arias, I swear to god not today.”

Sam immediately lifts both hands in surrender, taking another step back.

“Here I was worried sick of what she might think about these stupid rumors only to find out she obviously doesn’t care! The nerve! She thinks supergirl should totally be my type?! Supergirl?!”

Sam opens her mouth attempting to ask a question or two but seeing as Lena is close to throwing the nearest thing she could grab against the wall, she decided against it.

But the thing is, Kara Danvers does care. She probably cares more than anyone. Kara Danvers cares about Lena Luthor so much that it bothered the Kryptonian that Supergirl isn’t Lena’s type hence why she’s huffing again.

However, another incident, another threat to Lena’s life changes everything.

It was such a close call that it leaves them both breathless and the girl of steel shaking as she holds Lena close. Blue eyes scan each and every corner of Lena’s face making sure she’s okay. Making sure she’s real and nothing bad has happened. She made it on time. She's safe. Normally, Lena wouldn’t allow this much intimacy between them but after this attack she needed something to ground her a little.

“You’re okay. Thank Rao, you’re okay.” Lena doesn’t move, her feet appear to be rooted both by shock and fear while Supergirl continues to examine every inch of her face. “I was so scared I was going to lose you,” Supergirl whispers and Lena could hear the tremble in her voice.

Everything happened so fast that Lena was having trouble trying to process everything. The attempt on her life, how she was merrily inches away from death. She remembers the exact moment she came to terms with it. This was it. Finally, from all the attempts on her life that this was the one to take her out. She should have known. An exploding bomb in her car was a classic. Lena would have been okay with it if not for a specific blonde reporter that she wished was with her at that very moment. She can’t die. Not yet. Not until she tells Kara how she feels. They at least deserve that.

However, the reality is Kara's not here. Supergirl is. Supergirl is the one holding her. Holding her the way she would have hoped a certain blonde reporting was holding her.

Lena had to close her eyes to stop looking back at blue eyes staring at her with so much concern. This can’t happen. She’s not — she can’t be. She loves Kara Danvers. She might be pissed at her but she knows deep down she’s in love with the nervous fidgety reporter and not to this impenetrable woman right in front of her.

Her head shakes as Supergirl’s tighten her grip as if too afraid Lena might slip away. During these moments when Lena allows herself to feel, she genuinely does not know what to make of it. Why does Supergirl care about her so much. No one is watching. There are no cameras recording their interaction.

She assumes it was all for publicly but this, it feels different. When it’s just them and no one else. Supergirl stands close to her, completely shaken and unbalanced. There is genuine fear in her eyes at the thought of being too late or not being fast enough. Lena has never felt safer.

As she starts to pulls away, green eyes meet glassy blue. She convinces herself it’s the dust and not the resident superhero actually in tears because that would mean…

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

“But why do you—”

Before Lena could respond, she feels a pair of lips against her own and everything around them seems to disappear.

It barely registers to her what is happening, completely getting lost on the pair of lips against her own. Lena feels a shiver run down her spine at the way Supergirl is kissing her, making her grab unto the superhero’s shoulder.

The action was meant to push the super away because this can’t be happening. These were not the pair of lips she wanted on her but somehow, it feels right. Like this was how things were suppose to be. She feels her heart raising as Supergirl deepens the kiss, feeling herself getting pushed slightly until the back of her knee hits against a hard surface but it barely registers to Lena because Supergirl is kissing her in a way she's never been kissed before.

Finally, Lena finds the strength to pull away the need to breathe outweighing her body’s desire. And for the first time, she wills herself to stare at the pair of brilliant oceanic eyes that she’s been trying so hard to ignore. She lets her eyes track down every detail of the superheroes face, trying to figuring out a puzzle with missing pieces. Blue eyes stare back at her with a mix of desire and unbridled affection as Lena continues to gasp for air and stares.

Something about Supergirl’s smile, the strong line of her jaw, the way her soft lips parts as she patiently waits for Lena to say something seems so familiar. Like an answer at the tip of her tongue but can’t seem to get it out. It’s frustrating as it is captivating and all Lena wants to do is drink it in, see past the mask that this superhero constantly wears and be able to see what all this means.

Being this close, Lena can see the moment Supergirl lips rise to form a smile. A smile Lena is all too familiar with now that she’s finally inches away from the superhero. It’s all too familiar now and finally, it dawns to her.

A tiny gasp leaves her lips at the realization, emerald eyes never leaving blue as Supergirl’s smile brightens. As if she too understands that Lena has finally figured it out. With trembling delicate fingers, Lena reaches up and cup Supergirl’s cheeks and instinctively, Supergirl leans against her touch. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Lena feels a gentle squeeze where Supergirl is holding her and she lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

“Kara?” Lena whispers, barely hiding the tremble of her own voice and there it was. The smile of the woman she’s been not so secretly in love with plastered on National City hero’s face.

“I am madly in love with you, Miss Lena Luthor.”

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 months ago

Text

Love That Burns ~ 1

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 1,235ish

Summary: You discover your mutation. You get recruited for a team.

Warnings: death, gun shots, fire, homelessness, nakedness

Notes: Surprise! I couldn't wait until Saturday. Besides, this is more of a prologue chapter than anything. Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don't ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! Also, help me decide the endings!

It was snowing, but that didn’t matter. Your insides were burning up to the point that you couldn’t stop sweating, soaking through your clothes. There was practically a puddle of sweat beneath you as you pushed yourself further into the corner of your closet.

Your parents were downstairs, having a screaming match. It was their fifth one today. They had been too occupied with their own drama to even notice what was going on with you. A tremor had started in your hands as your fingertips began faintly glowing orange. You placed your hand against the wooden door as you heard the fighting die down. The silence was eery and before you knew it, a gun was going off. You rushed down the stairs, failing to notice the trail of fire being left behind.

Your father was standing above your mother, gun still pointed at her. Your mother was lying on the ground with a bullet in her forehead.

“Go back upstairs, Y/N,” your father demanded, not sparing you a single glance.

“What did you do?” You frantically cried.

“What she had coming,” your father responded. “She wasn’t like us, Y/N. She was— is that smoke?” Your father looked over to see the stairs in flames. “We’ve got to get out of here.” When your father grabbed your arm, only to quickly let it go when his skin burned. “You… You did this!” He pointed the gun at you. “You’re a monster just like her!”

“I— I’m sorry, Dad! I don’t know what’s happening!”

“I do, monster.”

Your father pulled the trigger and your arm came up to try to protect you. Fire shot out of your hand, landing on your father. He screamed out as the fire quickly spread over him. You cried as you watched your father stumble back into the fire engulfing the stairs.

Yells and screams began cutting through the growing flames as the neighbors gathered outside. Realizing how this could look, you hurried out the back and continued running. What had you done?

~~~

It didn’t take you long to figure out that you had powers of some kind in the form of fire. Now living on the streets, you used your power to keep alive. You discovered your second ability when another homeless person went after you with a knife, cutting your arm. It healed, simply leaving a scar, after a few hours. It was 1965 and you had just turned 35 when you realized that you had stopped aging years ago. This forced you to move around more to keep from being caught.

Coming back from a heist with your bag full, you entered the alley that you were currently calling home. With a slight twitch of your fingers, you lit the trash in the nearby barrel to warm up the alley and provide some light.

“Some power you got there.”

You jumped at the voice, immediately forming flames in your hands. A man stepped out of the shadows, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“Major William Stryker and you are Y/N L/N.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been following you for quite some time.” He sat on a cart next to the barrel. “Tell me, did you mean to start that fire? Or was it a product of what happened to your mother?”

You grit your teeth. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I know things. Like what you are.”

“And?”

“You’re a mutant and someone special. I would like you to come with me. You’ll get training in your abilities and other skills. We could use you on the team I’m putting together.” He could tell you were considering it. “I know that you’ve been on your own and homeless for far too long. You would never have to worry about food, clothes, or a bed again. Not if you’re with me.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to come and see.”

You thought about it. This could be your chance to do something more. To learn about your powers and grow them in ways you didn’t think possible. The promise of the basic necessities was also night.

But there was also a chance that the man in front of you was trying to trick you. Taking a breath, you made a decision.

“I’ll go with you.”

~~~

Though the training was hard and the tests they constantly ran on your powers were draining, you never complained. Stryker had held up his end of the promise, providing you with food, clothes, and a place to sleep. He kept talking about his dreams for the team he was putting together and other mutants soon joined.

First, there was Fred Dukes, who possessed super strength and invulnerability. Next, John Wraith, a teleporter, and Chris Bradley or Bolt, who could control electricity. Agent Zero was next as an expert marksman with Wade Wilson, a swordsman who could never shut up, quickly following.

The six of you made an odd bunch and went out on regular missions for Stryker. You never fully understood what the point of these missions where, but you went on them anyway.

“Wade, I will melt those blades if you poke me one more time.”

The team had a day off, meaning that you were stuck in Stryker’s facility for the team until you were needed. The others had decided to plan a game of poker while you decided to read, with Wade choosing to annoy you.

“Where does the fire live?” Wade asked. “Like, is there an ember constantly lit inside of you? And why isn’t your skin hot?”

“Wade…”

“I’m just curious!” He threw his hands up. “Like how does the fire work? Do you— Hey!” Wade’s clothes burned off of him, leaving him naked. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have just asked.”

“Ew,” you cringed, moving away from him.

“Wilson!” John shouted. “Get some clothes on!”

“Why? You jealous?” Wade retorted with a smirk. He stood up and walked over to where the others were sitting. “Take a good look, boys. Take a look and wish you had this body.”

“Wilson!” Stryker exclaimed as he entered the room, with two other men trailing behind him. “Get your clothes on! We have new recruits.”

“Yes, sir,” Wade mock saluted before walking off.

You peeked over your book to get a look at them. Both of the men were muscular and clearly had their walls up. The one with shorter hair seemed more menacing than the man next to him. The man next to him caught your attention more. More emotions were swirling in his eyes. His hair was long, dark, and thick with mutton chops covering his cheeks.

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Stryker apologized. “That was Wade Wilson.” You stood up as Stryker introduced the other members of the team before ending with you. “And this is Y/N L/N.”

“A woman is on this team?” The menacing one scoffed. “No wonder you brought us in.”

“Don’t doubt, Y/N. Her ability to control fire can do more damage than your claws.”

“And you two are?” You questioned, getting annoyed again.

“This is my brother Victor Creed,” the other man introduced. He held out his hand to you. “I’m James. James Logan Howlett.”

You shook his hand briefly. “Nice to meet you, James. Welcome to the team.”

next chapter >

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x mutant reader #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x y/n #the wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x female!reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x fem!reader

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fangirl-dot-com · 8 months ago

Text

Epilogue - Sign of the Times

Just stop your crying it’s the sign of the times… Welcome to the final show, I hope you’re wearing your best clothes…

Here it was. The last lap of the 2025 season. Sweat pooled on your forehead as you kept pushing the car to its max. A car similar was right on your tail, and you wanted to keep him that way. You could see the finish line start to get closer. With an inhale and an exhale, you crossed the line with such speed.

“FOR THE SECOND TIME IN HISTORY, THE POINTS WERE EQUALLED BEFORE THE FINAL RACE. IN THE BEGINNING OF THIS RACE, WE THOUGHT THE CHAMPIONSHIP WAS GOING DUTCH ONCE AGAIN, BUT NOT IF Y/N L/N HAS ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. SHE HAS FOUGHT BRILLIANTLY THIS SEASON AND CAN ONLY BE REWARDED WITH ONE THING! Y/N L/N IS CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!”

You can’t bribe the door on your way to the sky… You look pretty good down here, you ain’t really good…

Your eyes flitted around your helmet as you finished your burnouts. Your heart was racing so quickly. Tears were pooling in your eyes. Was this it? Was what they were saying true? You wouldn’t believe it until you got out of the car. The “1” on the board in Parc Ferme seemed to stare at you as you climbed out. You looked at your team, who were all screaming and shaking the barrier.

Like normal, you stood up on the car and raised a hand. Only this time, your pointer finger was out, as if you had counted to one and suddenly stopped. You stepped off the car and kneeled down next to a tyre. Your helmet rested for a moment against the cooling rubber. A hand lightly tugged you up and wrapped you in their arms.

Oh yeah.

You had beaten Max in the last two laps of the race, claiming the P1 spot at the end. The Dutchman was shaking you around, celebrating. But, he had lost.

“KID, KID, YOU DID IT! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!”

Your eyes were wide as you looked up at him. They quickly turned into half crescents as you smiled at him, starting to jump up and down with him. You never left his arms.

“I’M A WORLD CHAMPION. OH MY GOSH. OH MY GOSH!”

Max let you go as you turned around to jump to the team. You jumped so far in that you took the barrier down with you. Sobs left your lips as everyone wanted to get their hands on their new champion. Hugs, helmet kissed, and pats were tenfold.

Later that evening, your flag was draped around your shoulders as you held your head high for your national anthem. You could remember how you were on this step just one year ago, third place in the championship. However, this year, you stood on that top step as Champion of the World.

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing for the first time ever, Y/n L/n is Champion of the World!

liked by verstappen33, arthur_leclerc, lewishamilton, and 6,294,018 others

y/n.nation OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH 😱

y/n&co LETS GO LETS GO THAT'S MY DRIVER

box_box_express YOUNGEST AND FIRST FEMALE TO WIN THE WDC

y/n.89 I still think I'm dreaming

landonorris in that case bug, I'll GLADLY take the trophy

y/n.89 NO YOU WILL NOT BACK OFF 🤺

lestappenlove I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE THIS DAY

If we never learn, we’ve been here before… Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets…

“CHARLIE!”

The Monegasque barely had any time to react as your body soon collided with his. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him for the second time that night. Your hands were on his shoulders, shaking him widely. It wasn’t long before Max joined you around Charles as well. Max had brought him into a bone crushing hug, while you waited to the side with Arthur, whose tears hadn’t stopped since the second to end lap.

The fireworks in the Abu Dhabi night sky were blood red. The crowds around them mimicked their shine and color in devotion for the driver who stood in the middle of the crowd.

When Max broke the hug, Arthur was the one to take his brother back in his arms. You and Max let the two have their moments. Among your jewelry that you were putting back on after the race was a pretty special ring. The Dutchman’s eyes widened as he saw you slip in onto your left hand’s fourth finger. You smiled up at him and winked. A groan left his lips.

“Has Charles been teaching you how to wink? Or is that a Leclerc special that you pick up if you’re marrying one of them.”

A giggle left your lips as Max’s whining, but it wasn’t long until he gave you a hug. His head rested on top of yours as you just stood there.

For the 2026 season, Lewis and Charles had built a literal fighter jet. There was no way that yours and Max’s cars could ever keep up. With the new regulations, Newey just seemed a bit lost. However, he was understanding them little by little and promised a championship contending car for next year.

But, you couldn’t even be sad about losing to Charles. And you had a feeling that Max felt the same way. The Monegasque deserved it, everything, and a little bit more. Lewis, in the bright red, stood next to him. He wore a proud smile for the teammate that he got so close to in the past two years.

You stepped away from Max and made your way to the Briton. The man opened his arm and let you slip right in. A sigh left your lips as you watched Charles jump into the sea of red, thanking the team for finally loving him the right way.

You sniffed, suddenly getting a bit emotional. And you knew why.

You didn’t look up at Lewis as you spoke quietly.

“You’re retiring right? I can feel it Lew, you don’t have to lie.”

Just stop your crying it’s a sign of the times, We gotta get away from here, we gotta get away from here

Lewis’s chest rose, his breath slightly hitching, letting you know that you were correct. His grip only got tighter around your shoulders. A quiet “yeah” left his lips. You knew how heartbreaking it must have been to see you win in 2025 and then Charles in 2026, never giving Lewis a chance to get his 8th.

“I’m happy though. It’s been a long time coming. Fernando retired last year and has decided to just not come back, I guess it’s finally my time then.”

Tears started to drip out of your eyes. If anyone saw, they might have guessed that you were crying for joy about your friend’s win. But they didn’t know that you’d be crying for your friend’s loss too.

“Don’t cry sweetie. I’ll be around.”

“I’ll miss you Lew.”

“I know kid. I know. But I’m here if you ever need me.”

Fireworks went off again, igniting the sky and bleeding it red.

y/n.89 and arthur_leclerc have posted

y/n.89 the Leclercs 2027 🖤🤍

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, olliebearman, and 7,295,097 others

y/n.nation WHAT IN TARNATION IS THIS??

rb4ever I THOUGHT I saw a ring on her finger during the post-race interviews!!

maxverstappen1 I will have people know that I was the first to know

charles_leclerc um, excuse me?? Arthur phoned me after 😌

landonorris who do you think took the pictures?? 🤨

olliebearman who do you think he brought to get the ring - I win

formulala_delulu a match made in the stars!!

Just stop your crying it’ll be alright They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here Just stop your crying, have the time of your life Breaking through the atmosphere, and things are pretty good from here

The chilled air made goosebumps arise on your arms under your long sleeved dress. You huffed as you stood outside the area, waiting for the signal to start walking. But one person was missing. Your head violently turned left and right, mind getting worried that he was going to miss the cue. When a hand touched your arm, you knee he had finally made it.

“Vito, you were making me sweat, and then you were going to make me cry if you missed this,” you whined out.

The older man rolled his eyes.

“I would never do that to you. And isn’t it bad if you cry on your wedding day?”

A huff left your lips. You wanted to say something snarky, but soft piano music began to fill the area. You knew there was a brilliant white piano being played by a talented world champion right now, urging you to start walking.

Your arm was wrapped around Vito’s bicep as you started walking down the white cloth that had been laid down earlier in the day.

Arthur stood on the opposite end, a nice destination of where you’d end up. Charles smiled softly at the piano as he watched his brother’s exterior start to crumble at the sight of you in your white dress. Quite possibly, tears of his own began to fall on the baby grand.

Christian stood near Arthur and gave the younger man a tissue. Arthur took it with no hesitation. Max stood a next to a little space where Charles would come back to stand once he was done playing.

The Dutchman had been surprised when Arthur had asked him to be a groomsman. The two laughed when Arthur mentioned that if Max didn’t take his offer, you’d make him a bridesmaid and make him wear a dress. Max had never accepted something so quickly. Ollie stood next to Max, also crying at the sight of you. These were his best friends getting married, how was he supposed to stay calm.

After what felt like an eternity to you and Arthur, the two of you were finally back in each other’s arms.

You whispered a “hi” to him as he took your hands.

Arthur just cried a bit more.

The wedding was beautiful. The colors complimented everything so well in the Italian countryside where you and Arthur held the ceremony. Your estate would host the commencement activities. You had Arthur had talked about permanently moving in so that you two could start your new lives together. But, you’d still keep your Monaco house for visits to Max and the family.

Speaking of, your eyes landed on Kelly in the crowd. You wanted her to be in your wedding so much, but the little baby in her arms made if just fine if she couldn’t stand with you. You remember crying when Max asked you to be the godmother of his son, Adriaan Daan Verstappen. Oh well, you’d get baby snuggles later. Max and Kelly’s wedding was planned for the 2028 summer break, hence why your wedding was in December of 2027.

Max was back to being world champion, which was fine with you. You’d let him break his own record and then destroy it later on.

The rest of the 2024 grid were also there, along with a lot of the past F2 boys that loved Arthur as their own.

The vows were read and the ceremony ended shortly after. As you walked back down the aisle, finally known as Mrs. Y/n Leclerc, your eyes landed on an empty seat. A picture of Lorenzo sat there, reminding everyone about the man who loved you more than life itself.

Last night, you had heard Arthur whispering out the window. Tears had welled when you understood his words.

“I know that you love Y/n so much Enzo. I wish that you could have been here to see tomorrow, she looks so beautiful, even if I haven’t seen the dress. I just wanted to let you know that she’s doing ok. I am here to love her so much. I know I can never replace you, but I hope you can rest easier knowing that she finally has people who also love her so much.”

We can meet again somewhere Somewhere far away from here…

Arthur gave you a kiss on your cheek as he led you back down the aisle.

“Hello wife,” he said, gathering you in his arms after you rounded the corner out of sight.

You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Hello husband.”

During the “after party,” you couldn’t stop giggling as you got ready to throw the bouquet. You knew what was going to happen right after, and you made sure to throw it in the direction of the certain bridesmaid.

Charles had asked for your permission for this weeks and advance and you had happily accepted. You threw the bouquet, praying that it went in the right direction. Once you turned around, a smile grew on your lips as you saw that Alex had caught it. And right behind her was Charles on one knee.

You couldn’t wait to gain a sister.

y/n.89 and arthur_leclerc have posted

arthur_leclerc can't wait to spend forever with you 💍

liked by y/n.89, oscarpiastri, pascale_leclerc, and 7,943,857 others

y/nxarthur wow, I've legit had a front row seat to this entire relationship

maxiel_lover most of the drivers from 2024 where there 🥺

y/n.89 forever is too short

arthur_leclerc I'll love you in every universe and all of eternity

landonorris gag.

charles_leclerc get a fiancé and then we'll listen to you norizz

y/n.89 not on my wedding post please boys

landonorris yes ma'am

y/n.leclerc I will be sobbing forever

We never learn, we been here before Why are we always suck and running from the bullets? The bullets…

You walked into the garage, a smile on your face as you watched Max take pole for the last time in Formula 1. The crew around you cheered once the final times were set. On the wall next to you read the names and years of yours and Max’s championships.

The 2025 was yours, 2026 wasn’t on there, but 2027 to 2030 was all Max. He had finally broken the 7 championship record 2 races ago, winning his beloved 8th World Championship. You would have made him battle it out till the last race, but you couldn’t have done that since the 2028 season. Liam had done a good job in your car, keeping it warm until you could return.

Max stepped into the garage, eyes still full of life at 33 year old. He was practically a baby still if you remember how old Lewis and Fernando were when they retired. His eyes lit up as they landed on you. Before he could say anything, a screech sounded in the garage.

“MAXIE!”

The two-year-old in your arms wiggled until you put her down. Her little legs took her to her favorite godfather, much to Charles’ chagrin of wanting to be the favorite uncle. Except Max didn’t need to know that Ferrari was Lottie’s favorite team. The Leclerc’s love for the Italian Prancing Horse was definitely written in their genetics.

Charlotte Pascale Maxine Leclerc was born almost one year after yours and Arthur’s wedding. The announcement raised some eyebrows and you could see some adults calculating in their heads. But they ignored everything once she was born. Brown hair and bright hazel eyes were surely going to break hearts when she was older. She was a carbon copy of Arthur.

With you getting pregnant, you’d have to miss at least 2 years of Formula 1. You also didn’t want to miss any of her firsts so you announced a semi-permanent retirement for the 2028, 2029, and 2030 seasons. You may have cried when Max said that he was going to retire while you weren’t racing. But, you knew why he was doing it.

Penelope was 11 and Adriaan was 3. Max didn’t want to have to miss any more of their lives that he already had.

The Dutchman bent down to pick the toddler up.

“Hey kid.”

You knew he wasn’t talking to Lottie. You rolled your eyes as you approached him and gave him a hug.

“I’m not a kid anymore Max. I have a kid. So it kind of cancels everything out.”

Max only looked down at you with a smile.

“You’ll always be my kid, no matter what.”

“Sure Maximillian.”

We never learn, we been here before

Max this time did not roll his eyes or comment how that was not his name. He’s played this game before, and he’ll finally let you have it.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay one more season?”

He put a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll be close by, don’t worry. I told you that I’d be here for all of it. I’m not breaking that promise.”

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 Lottie insisted she watch Maxie drive the car with Adriaan 💙

liked by leclercfam, y/nsnumber1, kellypiquet, and 8,230,185 others

leclercfam STOP STOP STOP THEY'RE SO CUTIEEEE

rbxferrari I can't believe Lottie is turning 3 this year???

charles_leclerc still the favorite uncle 😚

maxverstappen1 not if Lottie has anything to say about it

charles_leclerc says the man whose son was in Ferrari merch earlier

y/n.89 max I fear Charles wins this time

charles_leclerc HA

maxverstappen1 you win ONE championship and your ego grows by 10 thousand

y/n4ever dare I say I'll miss them all like this?

Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets…

“MAX EMILLIAN VERSTAPPEN AND CHARLES MARC HERVE PERCEVAL LECLERC! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU’RE BOTH DEAD!”

Max and Charles looked over at Arthur with pleading eyes.

“Help us.”

Your husband only looked at them with pity.

“Shouldn’t have waited to tell her. Now she knows because of Instagram.”

Both drivers, er well, a team principal and driver winced at the sound of your footsteps getting closer and closer.

Charles immediately grabbed his son from Alex.

“I have a baby Y/n! You can’t do anything.”

Little Jules Herve Anthoine Leclerc looked up at his dad with big and round, green eyes, making cooing noises at everything, blissfully unaware that his aunt was about to try to kill his father.

“But Max doesn’t!”

Just stop your crying it’s a sign of the times We gotta get away from here, we gotta get away from here

Max slightly paled as he looked around for a child to grab, but Lottie was already in Arthur’s lap by the time you got down the stairs. He winced when you landed on the ground floor. You, Arthur, and Lottie had come to visit after Charles called that Alex had gone into labor. Your family of three hadn’t planned to stay this long, since it had been three weeks, but Lottie had insisted that she wanted to see Maxie, Pen, Adri, and Aunt Kelly.

Your phone showed an Instagram post from Red Bull Racing.

“Should I read this Max or do you just want to tell me?” you raised an eyebrow as you asked. Max winced again. This was the ultimate betrayal.

Arthur, looking at Max with glee, asked you to read it. The Monegasque didn’t react when he felt the Dutchman’s glare on him. You only hummed as you began to read.

“Max Verstappen will officially return to the F1 paddock, not as a driver, but as the Team Principal of Oracle Red Bull Racing.

“We are also delighted to announced that Charles Leclerc will be racing alongside Y/n L/n, as she returns from her retirement in the 2031 season.”

Max tried to give you a smile.

“Surprise?”

You turned to Charles, who tried not to jump due to Jules falling asleep in his arms. Your eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to be champion again this year. You can eat my dust for this.”

Laughter erupted from the small group. Lottie had no clue what was going on, but she crawled off of Arthur lap and demanded that she be held in your arms. Her head rested on your chest as you rocked lightly back and forth. You hadn’t planned to have her so early at 25, but the little girl in your arms was your pride and joy.

She tried to give her best stink eye to her uncle and godfather. She pointed her little finger at them.

“Maman is going to be champion!” her little voice squeaked out.

And Lottie was right.

Maman was going to be champion from 2031 to 2034, adding another four to her one.

Only four more to go.

Stop your crying, baby, it’ll be alright They told me that the end is near, we gotta get away from here

You looked up at Arthur with a smile. The now 36-year-old stood shirtless, with a small baby on his chest. The TV in the hospital room was playing the 2035 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Like they had back in 2026, the red fireworks lit up the night.

You knew what was coming after Charles won this year. The promises of retirement hung over his head as you watched another one of your friends leave the sport.

The only ones that remained from your fateful 2024 season were Lando and Oscar (still with McLaren), Logan and Lance (racing together for Aston Martin), George (who raced with Kimi for Mercedes), and then Yuki and Pierre (who found each other again in now back to Torro Rosso).

Daniel retired the year before Max along with Valtteri, Kevin, and Nico.

You looked up at your husband.

“Are you ok if it’s just him and Lottie? I’d like to continue racing until I retire and I don’t think any more kids might be possible after?”

Arthur looked at you with a smile.

“That is more than ok chéri. I think Lottie will just enjoy little Lorenzo Oliver Alessandro Leclerc’s company.”

You peered up at him.

“You do not have to keep saying his full name, you know that right.”

Arthur stepped over to the bed right as Charles was getting out of his car, finally a second time world champion. He gently put Enzo into your arms and gently rubbed over his head that was covered with blond hair. The same shade of eyes looked up into yours as your son took in the sight of you. If Lottie could be Arthur’s copy, Enzo was yours.

Arthur sighed.

“I can call him whatever I want. It’s not fair that he was named after Ollie and not his own father.”

“Bebe, you said you were fine with it.”

He knew you were teasing.

“It is all jokes ma chéri.”

Charles voice sounded in the room through the TV speaker. Arthur turned up the volume to hear his brother.

“I am so thankful for this opportunity for one more championship. I have loved driving for Red Bull and previously for Ferrari. But, uh, I feel as though this is my closing chapter.”

Mark Webber was the one to be interviewing Charles.

The Australian asked, “So is this a retirement announcement?”

The Monegasque gave a small smile. “It would seem so. I’ve given all that I can to the sport. It is time for me to continue my life with my family.”

Mark clapped him on the shoulder.

“I know I can speak for the entire Formula 1 world when I say that you will be missed.”

y/n.89 and arthur_leclerc have posted

y/n.89 little Lorenzo Oliver Alessandro Leclerc, you're more cherished than you will ever know

liked by oliverbearman, logansargeant, y/n&fam, and 9,205,834 others

leclerc_family not all of their kids having multiple middle names💀

y/n.nation them naming little Enzo after Lorenzo - don't bother the tears 😭

landonorris so...when am I getting a kid named after me?

oscarpiastri and me?

logansargeant and me?????

olliebearman hoes mad - you're just not superior 😝

y/n.89 sorry boys, no more kids, I'll name the dog after you

iamred_iamyellow I just know that little Enzo and little Jules are going to be best of friends

We never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets We never learn we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? The bullets…

You sat back on a tyre of your car, looking out at the crowds. You could finally breathe easily for maybe the first time of the 2040 season. The battle was tough. All the rookies this year gave you a run for your money.

But you had done it. Finally.

Nine championships to your name. One of a kind feat. Probably never to be repeated until the end of time.

You calmly walked over to the barrier. Arthur stood with your 13 year old daughter and 4 year old son. When had they gotten so much bigger? You were scared after Enzo was born, getting back into racing so quickly, unlike you had done with Lottie. But Arthur was with you every step of the way. So were Charles and Alex, and so were Max and Kelly.

You gathered your family into your arms and let yourself cry. Tears of sadness for the sport you loved with every fiber of your being, and tears of joy of finally accomplishing your one dream. It had taken 17 years for you to finally get what you wanted.

We don’t talk enough We should open up Before it’s all too much

At Milton Keynes, the years 2025, 2031, 2032, 2033, 2034, 2036, 2037, 2039, and then finally 2040 were hung in lights along the walls. You could have been done last year, but Lando had decided that he needed one championship in 2038. You were proud of the Papaya boy. All of his hard work finally paid off. And now he could have all the chances as he finished second this year.

You had one request for this podium. You wanted everyone up there with you. Arthur made sure that everyone from the 2024 grid was there.

(Yes, even Esteban).

The drivers you were close with when you were 20, watched as you were crowned World Champion for the ninth and last time ever. Max had red eyes the entire night. He made sure to splash you extra with the champagne. Your kids ran around squealing as their uncle Charles shot bits of bubbly at them.

It felt like a dream, to be up there with all of your found family. After the first few times, you thought that celebrating a championship would get boring. But, you were wrong. Each time was even more special than the first.

On the way back to the hotel, you looked to the back seat at your two kids. Both had fallen asleep the moment the car started moving. You blamed yourself and Arthur for driving them around as babies, and now car noise was the best way to put them to sleep.

Arthur looked over at you, smiling softly as he watched you look at your children with such love.

You whispered, breaking the silence, “I have more than I could have ever dreamed. And it makes me think that this is a dream, that I’m going to wake back up in 2023 in my drivers room and not be able to do anything.”

A quick pinch was given to your leg.

“Ouch Thur!” you whined as you rubbed the sore part.

Arthur had that teasing glint in his eyes that you missed so dearly.

“I don’t think it’s a dream chéri. You’re more awake than ever.”

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing our golden girl in her golden year, for the ninth and last time, Y/n L/n is Champion of the World ⭐️

liked by maxverstappen1, logansargeant, y/n.nation, and 10,583,850 others

y/n.nation thank you Y/n for all that you have done! it's time for you to finally relax with your family!

formula1fan at first I was annoyed with the domination, but Y/n deserves it more than anyone - you will be missed champ

y/n.89 my team, I am so proud to have been your girl - let it be known I am the golden child of Red Bull

maxverstappen1 um, no, you're not the original

charles_leclerc I was the golden boy at Ferrari AND Red Bull

sebastianvettel sit down, the original golden child is here

redbullracing we love you all equally

y/n.89 ... I'm still the favorite tho

author it's the end of an era, thanks kid for everything - stay golden

Will we ever learn? We’ve been here before It’s just what we know

At 42-years-old, you sat in a chair, looking over the estate watching Lottie and Enzo all play with Max’s family and Charles’s family. A drink was in your hand as you used the condensation to cool down from the hot Italian sun.

Retirement from all motorsports had been your decision alone.

Ollie and Dorian Pin had the two coveted Red Bull seats, however, Lando and Oscar were really duking it out for a world championship. You knew that the two would be fine.

After Formula 1, you did two years of endurance racing, winning Le Mans twice and the Endurance championship once in the years of 2041 and 2042.

In 2043, you tried out IndyCar, only wanting to win one race: The Indy500. Thankfully, you’d been able to do so in the only year you wanted to.

Thus, becoming the second person in history to win the Triple Crown of Motorsports, and the only female. It felt nice, breaking yet another record, even if someone had done it before you. But, it didn’t feel as nice as it did right now.

Arthur came out of the house behind you and sat on his chair that was built for him. When you had come back home, you wanted two seats in the backyard to be able to watch your children play for hours.

Lorenzo had told you a story of your parents on year. It was about the time when they truly loved each other. They too had matching chairs outlooking their own backyard. You wished you could have such memories of you parents. But now, you rarely thought of them.

Because in the end, you didn’t need them.

A tear ran down your face as you continued to watch Penelope, Adriaan, Lottie, Jules, and Enzo play under the Italian sunset.

“Why are you crying chéri?”

Arthur’s hand had come to your face to wipe the single tear away.

You didn’t look at him and kept watching the family that you built out of love and dreams.

“I’m happy, so happy.”

Stop your crying, baby it’s a sign of the times…

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