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campingwiththecharmings · 1 year ago

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driver!jake x rich girl!reader

👀👀👀👀

i...am 99.9% sure @melodygatesauthor has probably written this (or something similar lol) but i am happy to put my spin on it as well 😌

---

You're wearing that skirt again.

The one he's sure you know drives him crazy, the one that's so short it barely covers anything, the edges fluttering slightly as you walk, granting him glimpses of the tantalizing treasure beneath.

He tries not to stare, really he does, knows it's not the most professional thing to do (especially as an employee of your father's) but...it's just so hard (in more ways than one).

You certainly don't make his job as your driver easy. Dancing and drinking into the early hours of the morning with your friends (all of whom have tried to pick him up at least once), drunkenly piling into his limo in your designer dresses and heels, giggling and screaming as he quietly drives you back to your penthouse (where the party will likely continue). If he wasn't paid so much, he might be more annoyed at the state of his backseat after he's dropped you off--more than once, he's had to have his (normally) pristine limo professionally cleaned after one of your overserved friends has puked all over his leather seats.

Yes. You're definitely lucky he's paid so well.

Tonight had started as it usually did, with you and your friends asking to be dropped of at some club downtown. It's 1 a.m., and Jake knows he still has a few hours before the club closes for the night. Deciding to stretch his legs, he exits the vehicle, shucking his jacket and tossing it in the driver's seat. He closes the door with his hip, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

Briefly, he considers taking a walk but this part of town is a tad sketchy and he's not too comfortable leaving his car unattended here in the street. Instead, he opts to lean against the side, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it, groaning softly as he takes a pull, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. Jake closes his eyes to savor the pleasant buzz in his head from the nicotine, tipping his head back a little and exhaling slowly. He opens his eyes just as the last tendrils of smoke are blown away by the warm, night breeze, and sees you.

There you are, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of him, designer coat folded over your arm, soft smile on your lips. Jake starts, immediately throwing the cigarette down and stomping it out, his back going rigid as he stands to attention.

"Oh, ah--Ready to go, Miss?"

Your lips twitch, eyes dragging slowly down the length of him before you say, "Yes. Take me home, Mr. Lockley."

Jake nods, briefly wondering where the rest of your group is as he pulls open the door to the back of the limo for you. When you don't get in immediately, he looks back, questioning.

With a twinkle in your eyes that he hadn't noticed before, you tell him, "I'd rather sit up front this time, actually."

He nods slowly, wondering what game you're playing with him now. "Of course, whatever you'd like."

Jake closes the back door and turns, pulling open the passenger door for you instead. You make eye contact with him as you brush past, the delicious scent of you invading his senses.

Yeah. He's in big trouble.

Absently, he wets his lips, closing the door once you're inside. He takes his time making his way back around to the driver's side, trying to compose himself for the ride back to your penthouse.

You've always been a hard one for him to read. You've teased him before, sure, but...he'd always figured you were just having fun, that you were just toying with the hired help--that's just what spoiled, little rich girls did, right?

He tosses his jacket into the back and gets in, closing the door and pulling his seat belt on. The engine purrs to life when he turns the key in the ignition, the sound calming his nerves a little. He puts the car into gear, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You're looking out the window, head turned mostly away from him, body angled so you can rest your elbow against the door. He takes a moment to admire your profile, the soft line of your neck, the way the material of your skirt pulls against your thighs. Then, he clears his throat.

"Seat belt."

You look over at him, teasing smile returning to your painted lips as you look at him from beneath your lashes. For a moment, he thinks you're going to talk back, to argue, to tell him you can do whatever you want, but instead, you wordlessly buckle yourself in, eyes never leaving his. He nods, swallowing thickly as he returns his attention ahead.

Your penthouse isn't far from the club you'd been at, and it normally doesn't take long for him to make it back there after your nights out on the town, but he remembers too late that you left earlier than usual this evening and hits a little more traffic than he'd like. You've been quiet the entire drive, simply staring out the window, shifting in your seat every now and then. He can't be sure, but he feels like you might be doing it on purpose, to draw his attention to the fact that your skirt has ridden up so high on your delectable thighs that he can see a flash of the white lace panties beneath them. Jake fights the urge to groan, instead keeping his attention on the road a head of him.

He's relieved when he spots the familiar building that houses your penthouse, internally breathing a sigh of relief as he smoothly halts at the entrance. The doorman rushes out to open the door for you, but you wave him off, instead turning back toward Jake, that gleam still in your eyes.

"Would you mind walking me upstairs, Mr. Lockley?" you ask, your voice soft and far more innocent than the look in your eyes. "I'm not used to being up there all alone."

Jake pauses, considering the repercussions. If he says no, will you complain about him to your father? He could lose his job. But if he says yes, and you do what he thinks you're going to do, he'll lose it anyway, won't he? (that, or your father will kill him)

So either way he's screwed, it seems. Least he can do is have a little fun first.

Jake nods, wetting his lips again as he steers the car toward the garage beside your building. He parks in the spot marked for the penthouse (a spot that's conveniently located right beside the elevator), and helps you out of the vehicle. The edge of your skirt has risen up so high, he can see the curve of your ass cheeks peeking from beneath it as you walk ahead of him to the elevator. He stifles another groan, trying his best to remain professional just in case he's misreading this situation.

The ride up in the elevator is excruciating. All he can think about is pinning you up against the side and shoving his face between your legs. He wonders how you taste (he imagines something rich and sweet, like champagne), how you'd sound, how you'd look just as you're about to come.

The elevator chimes, startling him from his thoughts, the doors opening into the foyer of the penthouse. It's lavish, elegant, but also somehow understated. Perhaps a little like you, he thinks.

Inside he breaths a sigh of relief, thinking his task is done, that he's free to return to his car and go home for the evening...but as you step off onto the white marble floor, you turn slightly, waving him inside.

"Come in, have a drink with me."

Jake hesitates, and you must see it because you chuckle and say, "It's the least I can do for making you walk me all the way up here."

He smiles, nodding his thanks as he makes a waving gesture with his hands. "Please, Miss, there's no need. I'm just doing my job."

Disappointment clouds your eyes at his words and you look away with a quiet sigh, one he only catches because he's watching you so closely. Suddenly you look so....lonely. Standing there in this grand penthouse, all alone. He shouldn't feel bad for you, you have everything you could ever want, everything he doesn't, but...he can't seem to help himself.

Knowing he'll likely end up regretting it, he steps inside, his shoes squeaking slightly on the floor. Your head swivels back toward him at the sound, a light in your eyes when she realizes you've decided to stay. The sight makes something warm unfurl in his chest.

Half an hour later, you're both sitting in your living room (on the most uncomfortable couch he's ever had the misfortune of sitting on), glasses in hand and a bottle of Macallan whisky between you. Your ridiculous heels lay discarded on the floor, delectable legs curled up beneath you as you both laugh about something one of you had said.

Jake's always prided himself on being able to hold his alcohol but, honestly? He's pretty certain that, if he's not drunk now, he is well on his way. He can't stop staring at you, at the way your smile lights up your whole face, the way your eyes sparkle when you say something cheeky...the way your skirt is still riding up your thighs.

He takes another sip from his glass (which he should really stop doing if he's planning on driving himself home later), the liquid burning down his throat. Jake licks his lips, eyes glued to your thighs, wondering idly how soft your skin is, how you'd react if he pushed his calloused hand beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers dancing along the edge of your panties--

"Jake?"

His eyes shoot back to yours, heat flaring in his cheeks at being caught. You're close (when had you gotten so close?), so close he can smell you, can feel the heat of you through your clothes.

He hums in response, not trusting that his mouth is capable of coherent speech at the moment. You smile, putting your arm against the back of the couch, the length of your body pressed along the side of his as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I want you."

Jake groans softly at your words, unable to contain himself any longer. He feels you smile against the side of his neck, your lips dragging along the skin there. You press a feather-light kiss just below the hinge of his jaw and he leans back a little, giving you more space. You hum, nipping at another spot and soothing it with your tongue. Your fingers find their way into his hair, plunging into his soft curls, and gently angling his head where you want it.

You kiss him and he groans again, eyes fluttering shut as your lips move tentatively against his. His hand cups your cheek and you sigh, the action making something tighten in his chest. Soon you're straddling his lap, skirt ridden up so far you might as well not be wearing it (which would be just fine with Jake). His hands are everywhere--cupping your face, slipping beneath your top, clutching your ass, pushing up your thighs toward the hem of your skirt--

You break the kiss with a gasp as his fingertips skim over the delicate lace covering your pussy, your thighs quaking on either side of him.

"Please," you whine breathlessly, mouth falling open as you chase his touch.

Obligingly, Jake slips a finger inside, groaning softly at how warm and wet you are. He swirls his fingertip around your clit, gently teasing it, and dragging the most delicious sounds from between your lips. He watches transfixed as you writhe in his lap, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted. You moan as he slips his fingers further south, briefly teasing your entrance before dipping inside. Your fingers clench in his shirt as you move against his hand, his name spilling from your mouth like a prayer.

"That's it, bebita," he breathes, his chest heaving a little as he watches you. "Take what you need."

You moan again as he circles your clit, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, breath fanning against his lips. You whine his name again and he groans, the sound going straight to his cock. When you come, he swears it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, your breath hitching, mouth slack, eyes closed in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you.

Jake brings his fingers to his lips as you try to catch your breath, moaning as the rich taste of you explodes on his tongue. He wants more, wants to devour you, to make you come over and over and over again on his tongue until he's swallowed every last ounce of your essence.

He wonders if you'd let him.

You kiss him then, slow and sensual, humming a little as you lick into his mouth. He groans when your hand slips inside his trousers, taking him in your hand.

"Need you, Jake," you pant, lightly rubbing your thumb over his tip.

He throws his head back against the edge of the couch, cursing under his breath in Spanish. He hears you chuckle, your delicate hands working him from his pants.

He clutches at your hips as you sink down onto him, that silly little skirt bunched up around your waist. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as you ride him, your hands fisting in his thick hair as you pull his mouth back to yours. You're squeezing him, your cunt fluttering around his length as he fucks up into you, searching for the spot he knows will fling you over the edge. You break the kiss with a gasped moan when he finds it, whimpering and whining into his ear as he hits it again and again ("Oh fu--right there, Jake. Yeah, just like that. Oh God. Oh fuck---"). You gush around him when you come, soaking and squeezing his cock. He follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a broken groan.

He ends up staying the night (and if he makes you come a few more times before the sun rises, well, who's to say?).

**apologies for any mistakes, this was absolutely not proofread lol**

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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PART 2

#em tag #my fic #(i guess?? lol)#i know you're busy rn em but please feel free to add to this if you want #ik i went a little nuts lmao #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley smut #moon knight fanfic

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laswells-ashtray · 3 months ago

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I'm so sorry if I'm clogging your inbox but I'm nothing but a hyperactive gal with chronic brain rot

Domestic Kate Laswell?

Domestic Kate Laswell who gets into not-so-quiet arguments with household appliances.

Domestic Kate Laswell who sits at the kitchen table and doomscrolls while her wife makes a recipe she saw on Instagram reels.

Domestic Kate Laswell in ratty lounge clothes with her hair pulled in a tangled ponytail, somehow holding a cat, book, and a bag of Lays.

I saw Kate Laswell and immediately knew what I had to do. Not apologising for this, I like Laswell posting so it's gonna be long. Also, when it comes to Station Chief Kate "I love my wife" Laswell, there is no clogging my inbox.

Kate Laswell, the esteemed woman she is routinely argues with their toaster because it's broken but she refuses to get a new one because it was the first ever appliance she bought herself. She and her wife have the money to purchase hundreds of new toasters but she refuses because this one is her toaster. Sarah Laswell has walked into their kitchen on multiple occasions to find Kate talking to this fucking toaster. "You under-toast the bread and then you over-toast the bread. Just toast my fucking bread correctly." "Let's get a new-" "No."

Kate, who has a Pinterest board full of recipes that she thinks Sarah might like to try and she'll send them to her wife only to find that it's the same recipe from the Instagram reel that Sarah had bookmarked last night. So, now she sits and watches videos about behind-the-scenes facts from movies while Sarah argues with herself about how much garlic is too much garlic.

Kate, who spends her day off on the couch with Minnie, their Maine Coon, on her lap with a book resting on Minnie's back and a bag of chips held between her chest and the cat. She's wearing sweatpants that are so old she can't identify what logo used to be on the leg. Her shirt is definitely Sarah's because there's green paint around the collar and it matches the green in the painting above their mantel.

Kate Laswell, who can routinely be heard threatening to put one of her cats in the soup. What soup, you ask? The soup.

Kate, who very `begrudgingly` agrees to let Sarah buy the cat Halloween costumes. And then days later sends John a series of photos. Minnie, their big, glorious, sophisticated girl, is dressed like a hotdog. Borris, her favourite grumpy old man, has a stupid Dracula cape. Dolly, has on a costume that makes her look like Yoda. And John's favourite of their cats, Dot, the little mold spore has tiny ladybug wings because they were the only thing small enough to fit her. Kate makes a photo of the four cats and Sarah her laptop wallpaper. John makes a photo of Dot in her tiny wings his phone wallpaper.

Kate Laswell, the professional woman who after having spent 26 hours awake sits and scrolls through Facebook one night on Sarah's phone. Except she doesn't actually look at any of the posts, she just sits scrolling with her thumb for ten minutes before she realises what she's been doing. Sarah waits until after she's tucked her wife in to lose it laughing in the other room.

Kate and her wife who parallel play on their phone. They'll sit on the couch with a movie they've seen countless times in the background while Kate plays solitaire and Sarah does her daily word search on her favourite app.

Kate, who does that thing I've noticed literally every woman do when they're on the phone at home and they start doodling in the corner of the nearest bit of paper. It starts as squiggles, then they draw black circles and eventually there are various little flowers scattered across the page.

Kate, who absolutely adores the movie 9 to 5 and will throw it on whenever everything in her job starts to become a bit too suffocating. Sarah recognises the action and immediately orders dinner from their local Thai place. The man who owns it knows the two by name, she doesn't have to order, she just has to call up and she hears "it'll be about half an hour" over the phone. More often than not on those days they'll fall asleep on the couch together like they did at the start of their relationship.

Kate and her wife, who like to make gingerbread cookies at Christmas and decorate them. Sarah is amazing at it when she's not giving the gingerbread ladies gumdrop titties. And then there's Kate, she tries, she genuinely does but every year a photo of her gingerbread folks gets sent to a group chat with her, Sarah, John and Nikolai where they are subsequently body-shamed beyond belief. She saves some for Nik anyway and he accepts them gratefully.

Kate and her beloved blue shirt that she wears to work and owns three of because the first one mysteriously disappeared. Coincidentally, Sarah started baking in the kitchen in nothing but a pale blue shirt and Batman underwear around the same time. Her second has a blood stain on the cuff from where John had grabbed her, not knowing his palm was sliced open and he'd stained the light material with blood. He had felt horrible, Kate brought up the time she'd drunkenly thrown up on a pair of his nice shoes years ago when they were younger and more reckless. They moved on. That shirt is now her "Sarah has roped me into helping paint" shirt. If anyone fucks up her last shirt then she's asking Nikolai, John and Sarah separately all to get her a new one for her birthday so she'll have a decent stock of them.

Sarah, who has to keep a stock of Dr Pepper and Mountain Dew in the fridge because Dr Pepper is her favourite and Mountain Dew is Kate's but the other woman would never admit it or buy it for herself because she's weirdly embarrassed by it. But amongst a very small group of people, it is common knowledge, Station Chief Kate Laswell's favourite drink is Mountain Dew.

And lastly:

Kate Laswell, the woman who once snapped a man's neck with his own gun, is also the woman who loves her wife's family. When they get asked to babysit baby Katie [named after Laswell], the two women agree before the question is even half out of the relative's mouth. In fact, you're right, they should keep baby Katie for the night just to give her parents a night off because they're kind like that. No other reason. And this little girl adores her aunts, if Kate is near then the toddler is by her side clinging to her pant leg.

So, they go shopping and get snacks. They also get baby Katie a new stuffed elephant because she really needed one and who were they to deprive her. Then they go home and change into their respective comfy clothes. Katie's is a little shark onesie and the two women take no less than 19 photos. They spend the day drawing pictures with little Katie, and eventually, it results in the toddler colouring in Sarah's tattoos and drawing Kate some of her own. Eventually, they order some takeout from their local Chinese place and watch Zootopia with their favourite niece. Hours later Sarah takes a photo of big Kate fast asleep on the couch with little Kate asleep on her chest. Kate has an arm around the little girl and the toddler has a fistful of her t-shirt. The next day they very reluctantly take their niece home but not without managing to persuade her parents to let them take her in two weeks time again.

#kate laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #laswells wife #call of duty laswell #kate laswells wife #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #kate her wife and their cats are americas happiest family #i mightve went nuts just a little bit #oc: sarah laswell

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